Genevieve Beckett never thought that THIS is how her life would have ended up. So much promise thrown away for a few hours of bliss. The moment she injected what she liked to call “magic potion” into her veins, all of the thoughts inside her mind drifted away. She didn’t have to think about anything or anyone. 

Tonight is no exception. She tied off mid calf and waited for the vein between her toes to enlarge. It was the only one she had left at the moment, blowing her last good one in her arm earlier in the day. 

She reached down and slid the needle into the ready vein, pushing the plunger down as she went. 

Instant gratification. 

Her mind began to swim in comfort. Everything began drifting…. drifting… gone. 

She leaned against the back of her couch and reached to her left. 

“Ah, dear friend, we meet again.” she said as she found a worn old box that once contained and iPhone. She had long sold that. The box though, came in handy. The perfect size to stash her valuables in her purse. Easy for that “on the go” woman. 

She chuckled to herself at the thought. The only place Genevieve was going was to dreamland. Her whole body was numb, and he eyelids were becoming heavy. 

Reaching into the iPhone box, she pulled out her “emergency kit”, as she called it. Inside the kit were all of the trinkets she held dear. A dead flower that now lay crunchy and sad, a couple rings she swiped from a pawn shop, and several razor blades. 

She grabbed on of the blades and marveled at how pretty the light from the lamp behind her looked reflected in it. A weak smile appeared on her face and stayed there until she held the blade to her thigh. 

Lightly at first, and then with more and more pressure she began slashing lines into her flesh. Blood dripped down onto her worn out couch. Before nodding off completely she admired her work. To others this was a cry for help, for her, this was something she could control. The only thing she could control in a world that was continuously crumbling down around her. 

She was out. 

—

“Evvy, wake up!” 

I kept my eyes closed because I knew my the hue behind my lids that it was daylight. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t of bothered me considering my curtains are dark black and as thick as a blanket. 

I moaned, knowing instantly who was doing the yelling. That would be my sister JoAnna. “A little bit of light can go a long long way!” was her motto. 

“Go away, Jo I’m sleeping!” I grunted and tried to roll over. Forgetting that I wasn’t in my room I rolled right  to the floor with a crash.

“Jesus, Evvy!” Jo exclaimed and crouched down next to me. In another part of the room I could hear a trash bag being filled. Must be Monday. The day my sister and her husband Luke thought it best to check on me. 

I opened my eyes. 

“Why do you guys insist on coming by? Haven’t I told you that I just want to be left alone?” I sat up and brought myself into a cross legged “indian man” position. On my thigh I saw a freshly bandaged patch where my lovely artwork from the night before used to be. 

“You need help Evvy. This is ridiculous. Why won’t you just get help?” Jo pleaded. It was the same conversation we had every time they came over. 

“What I need is for you to stop babying me. I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine. I can’t even remember the last time I was fine.

“We are taking you to Reagan Memorial. You need to be checked out. You need to get clean, Genevieve.” 

I waved her off. The only thing I needed to do was piss. And maybe eat. I felt sick though. I always feel sick when I wake up. Self medicating is always my first option, but alas with the sober police here, I am shit out of luck. 

I felt Jo on my heels. 

“Why do you choose to live like this?!” she cried. 

Why do I choose to live like this? Loaded question. Loaded, being the operative word. 

Before she could squeeze into my bathroom door, I quickly shut it and locked it behind me. I heard her sobbing in the hallway. Part of me felt bad, but the bigger part of me didn’t give a fuck. I’ll let them stock my fridge, and clean my house because, lets face it, it wouldn’t get done if it wasn’t done for me. 

I sat down on the toilet and peered down at my legs as I waited for the steady stream of toxins to leave my body. My poor legs were bruised and skinny. The legs of a girl who has been to hell and back. A fully self inflicted vacation of course. Why do I live like this? I pondered the question that my heart broken sister asked me minutes ago. I don’t know. What started as good natured fun has led me to this point. 

I laughed quietly at myself. I’m pathetic. 

A few minutes later I heard the front door open and then close. I knew the coast was clear and got up, neglecting to flush the toilet. I knew what I would find on the couch. It’s what I always found when they left. Brochures about treatment facilities, and a couple $20’s. They hated leaving me money because they knew what I would do with it, but they felt like it was all they COULD do. Sighing I picked up the brochures and the money. I pocketed the goods, and threw the rest into the trash. 

“You can not help those that do not wish to be helped.”