Note: Written for speedrent challenge #236. April and Roger used drugs and contracted HIV. But who started the drugs? Who got sick first?
"Can I buy you a drink?"
The red-haired woman exhaled a mouthful of smoke and flicked her cigarette as her eyes slid up and down his form.
"Sure. Have a seat, sugar."
Roger ordered two drinks and sat down. "Roger Davis."
"April Ericsson."
She hid the drugs and the track marks for the first two months. Then she got careless. She forgot to lock the bathroom door. As she pulled the syringe from the back of the drawer, Roger came in.
"Oh, sorry, babe. Didn't know you…" he stopped when he saw the needle. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Roger, go inside."
"No. What the hell are you doing?"
April set the syringe on the counter. "Roger, just go inside."
Roger's eyes turned angry. "I'm not some stupid kid, April. Don't treat me like one."
She sighed. "It's not like that, baby."
"Then what is it?"
April shook her head, blinking away tears. "Don't do this, kid. Not now."
"Damn it, April! Tell me what the hell is going on!"
April stood up, waving the small bag at him. "You wanna know what's going on? You see this? Huh? This is my life. This is my sanity. I got hooked on this shit three fucking years ago. Three years, Roger. That's what the hell this is. I'm fucked up. You happy?"
Roger put his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
April stepped away, brushing her tears away with one hand. "This is my life, Rog. Not yours. You're better than this. Better than me."
Roger shook his head. "No, no I'm not. I'm not better than you. Don't ever say that, baby. I love you."
April knocked past him. "Kid, you got no idea what the hell you're saying."
"Let me help you."
She stopped. "Help me what?"
"Help you quit."
"Roger…"
He looked at her, eyes pleading. "Just try. For me…please?"
Four days into withdrawals, April took to throwing things.
"I fucking hate you!" April screamed, hurling a glass across the apartment.
Roger ducked to avoid it. April made a beeline for the door but he caught her around the waist.
"Roger, let me go! I need it!"
"No, baby, you don't need—"
She struggled against him. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about! You don't know what it's like…"
"Then tell me."
April stopped struggling and turned in his arms, facing him. "You wanna know?"
Roger nodded. "If it'll show me how to help you, then yeah. Tell me."
April stepped closer to him, backing Roger up to the couch. He sat down and she straddled his lap. "It's the best feeling in the fuckin' world. And nothing can get you down, nothing can hurt you…best feeling ever…so fucking good…"
"April, I—"
"It's the only way I can stop feeling bad, stop hating myself and you fucking took it away from me."
Roger stared at her, stunned. She jumped off his lap and ran for the door.
Her words echoed through his head. You don't know…you don't understand…It's the only way I can stop feeling bad…Maybe he would understand if she didn't treat him like such a little kid.
He'd looked for her but wherever April had disappeared to, she apparently didn't want to be found. Roger stayed at the apartment, cleaning up the broken glass and various books, pillows, blankets, and dishes that had been hurled at him.
Roger was throwing away the bag of broken glass when he found it. One small baggie taped to the inside of the kitchen cabinet. You don't know. You don't understand…It's the only way I can stop feeling bad. Maybe she was right. He didn't know what it was like. Maybe he could help her if he knew what it felt like, what he was asking her to give up.
"Just once," he mumbled to himself. "Not like I'd make a habit of it or anything."
Roger went to the bathroom and searched the drawers. He found a syringe. Roger had been to enough parties, seen enough people shoot up to know how to do it. Stomach churning, Roger sucked the liquefied drug into the syringe and set it on the counter.
As Roger slid his belt off, wondering for a moment if this was a good idea. You don't know what it's like. You don't understand…it's the only way I can stop feeling bad. Roger wrapped the belt around his bicep and pulled it tight. He took a deep breath and slid the needle into the first vein he saw.
April came home three weeks later. She found Roger asleep on the couch.
"Roger," she said, nudging him.
He didn't move.
"Roger!"
She stroked his arm and felt something strange. "What the hell…"
April yanked up his shirt sleeve and nearly screamed when she saw the tie knotted around his arm. Track marks marred his skin. Shaking her head, she started lightly slapping his cheeks.
"Roger! Wake your ass up!"
He opened his eyes slowly. "Huh…April?"
"How could you do that? Are you fucking stupid?"
Roger sat up and stared at her. "What?"
"I saw your arm. You wanted me to quit so bad and you're just as fucked up as I am, you fuckin' hypocrite!"
Roger leapt to his feet. "I didn't touch it until you fucking left me!"
"What?"
"You kept screaming that I didn't understand! That I didn't know! That it makes you stop feeling bad and then you fucking left me!"
"So you tried it?"
"What the hell else was I supposed to do? I couldn't stop feeling bad. I couldn't stop searching the streets. I couldn't do a fuckin' thing except worry that you were dead!"
April sank down to the couch. She hugged her knees to her chest. "I ruined you," she said softly.
Roger didn't answer. He didn't have to. She knew it was true. Instead, he pulled a baggie from his jacket pocket and found a syringe. Without a word, he shot up and then watched as she did the same.
Once April began shooting up again, her guilt disappeared. Roger didn't hate her or blame her, so why bother with guilt? Besides, the sex was even better when he was high, something April hadn't thought possible.
He still didn't know why she'd started using. Each time he asked, she danced around the question, promising to tell him soon. It wasn't important, so he didn't push it. He was just curious.
Roger was out scoring more smack from their dealer when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"April Ericsson?"
"Yes."
"This is Eddie Michaelson. I'm with the NYPD."
"Oh?"
"Ms. Ericsson, I'm calling in regards to the rape charges you filed a few years ago."
"Three and a half years ago. He's in jail."
"Yes, he is."
"So what the hell do you want?"
"Ms. Ericsson, your attacker, Mr. Holden, tested positive for HIV."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, miss, but there's no way to determine if he had the virus at the time of the attack. We're calling all of the victims to recommend that you get tested as soon as possible."
"I will."
April hung up and slid to the ground. HIV? People died from that. She couldn't die. And Roger…oh God, Roger…
"Babe, I got it," Roger said as he came in. He saw her sitting on the ground. "What're you doing down there."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "We, uh, we've always used condoms, right?"
"What?"
"Condoms. We always use condoms, right?"
Roger nodded. "Yeah."
"Even when we're high?"
"Far as I remember. Why?"
April didn't answer right away. Roger's eyes widened.
"Are you pregnant?"
"What? No. No, forget I said anything."
Roger frowned but shrugged. "Whatever. I need a hit."
"You use my needles," she said slowly.
"Yeah, big deal."
April shook her head and stormed out of the loft. This time, Roger followed her. He tucked the syringe and bag into his pocket and followed her into the alleyway.
Two weeks later, April sat in the clinic waiting for her results. She hadn't told Roger. He still didn't know she'd even been raped. It had happened before they'd met, before the drugs. Hell, it's why she started with the drugs.
"Ms. Ericsson?" the doctor asked as he stepped into the room.
She nodded. The doctor shut the door quietly.
"Ms. Ericsson, the results of your HIV test have come in."
"And?"
The doctor sighed. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Ericsson. Your results came back positive."
April walked back to the apartment slowly. How was she going to tell him? All April could think of was the sweet, somewhat naïve young rocker she'd fallen for. And look what she'd done to him. Now he was nothing but a junkie who was probably dying. April didn't fight the tears that overwhelmed her as she reached the apartment.
She saw the note on the table.
Babe,
Just went out for a run.
Back in a few.
R
A run. That's what he called it when he went for drugs. April's eyes filled with tears. She knew what she had to do. Shaking, she reached for the pen, flipped over his note and wrote on the other side.Baby we got AIDS.
I'm sorry, sugar.
April