Amelia Carroway looked around the room she was in. It was small and dark with no windows and was, overall, pretty boring. She had been waiting for a while; she wasn't aware of the exact amount of time that had passed because there were no clocks. It was all a trick, she knew because one of the first things that you learned in her line of work was how to recognize interrogation techniques. Others might start to fidget and sweat, but not her. Amelia knew exactly what was going on, they would come in as soon as they realized that she wasn't about to start panicking. There was no point to worrying, she was in control and the cops knew it, yet they still insisted on trying to break her. They were wasting their time, and hers. She already planned on talking, talking until there was nothing left to tell about. She would get revenge on those who had wronged her, but, for now, she had to wait.
***
The door to the interrogation room opened and a woman entered the interrogation room. She was tall, with brown hair. She appeared to be in her thirties and had a tired, worn out look on her face.
"I'm Mrs. Kelly and I'm here to talk to you Morgan."
"That's not my name, my name is Amelia, Amelia Carroway."
Oh sweet Jesus, a social worker.
Mrs. Kelly sat down and began to organize her papers. Amelia waited, beginning to lose patience with the crumpling and shuffling sounds that papers make when they are unending sorted. She cleared her throat, once, twice, three times.
Then the storm broke.
Amelia leaped out of her chair, knocking it over with a crash. "Dammit woman! I don't have much time. Do you want to talk to me or not? I have quite a bit to say if only someone would listen. I'm sure the cops would love to get the inside scoop on one of the largest meth operations in the city, but they won't be getting it if you keep stalling," screamed Amelia.
The social worker put down her papers and looked up. Her face remained calm as she studied the angry, pacing girl. "Please sit down. I'm sure we have much to talk about," Mrs. Kelly responded. Amelia sat down and looked her straight in the eye,
"Yes ma'am we do."
I followed the grimy man down the dark alley that was littered with paper and cigarette butts. I wasn't exactly sure where I was except for I knew it was somewhere in the bad part of town. What had I gotten myself into?
Some people would say that whatever I got, I had it coming. They would say "This is exactly why you don't do drugs." Well they don't know the whole story. They have never had to make the choice between clarity and near insanity and chosen insanity because it hurts less. I'm not a bad person. I have a reason to get the stuff that I'm gonna buy.
***
If only those preps could have kept their mouths shut. If only I had kept my damn preferences to myself, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have had to see my girlfriend in the hospital because some homophobes decided they didn't like the fact that she dated girls. If only I had been there, I could have done something, even if it was to distract them enough so that they would leave Lisa alone.
I wasn't there.
I was supposed to be. She was waiting for me at the park. I was late. Why am I always late? I got there in time to see the police. I got there in time to see her mashed up face before they loaded her into the ambulance.
I didn't get there in time to make a difference.
She won't talk to me. I want to tell her how sorry I am, that it's all my fault.
But she already knows that. There's no point in talking to me.
***
I was at a friend's the first time I used heroin. I had been hanging out with some of my less than savory friends and it was the first time I had gone out in over two months. We were sitting in my friend, Matt's room and some of the guys were shooting up some brown liquid I didn't know the name of, when Matt asked me if I wanted some.
"Come on Morgan, do you even know what this stuff does? It makes you happy, really, really happy. I think you need to be happy. You can't cry over your girlfriend forever, you need to move on. This stuff can help you do that. Just a little couldn't hurt."
I looked at the syringe, then at the heated liquid, then the syringe again. Happiness in a needle. Matt was right, I did need to be happy.
"Sure. I'll try some. But you'll need to be in charge of the syringe, I've never done this before and I hate needles"
As Matt got everything ready. I rolled up my sleeve and braced myself for the pain that I knew would come along with the injection into my vein. I watched as he filled the syringe with the drug and winced as he put the needle into my arm. As Matt pressed on the plunger of the syringe, I asked, "What's this stuff called?"
"Heroin"
***
During the weeks that followed, I became more and more dependent on the feelings that the drug brought. First it was want, then need, that drove me to buy heroin from Matt, but as time went on, he no longer was willing to sell it to me because of my constant need for more and more. He did, however, point me in the right direction, so that I could buy more from some people he knew.
"What had I gotten myself into?" I thought to myself as my reverie was broken by a nearby gunshot. Suddenly the man halted and turned around to face me, "Wait here, I'll go get the person you're looking for," he said and disappeared into a nearby house.
Great.
Not only am I buying drugs in the middle of the night, in a part of town I've never been in before, now I'm alone.
I didn't have to stand long, though, before a different man came out of the building. He was tall and lanky with greasy black hair that fell over the left side of his face. His hands were heavily scarred from what I assumed to be knives and fist fights, while his arms were covered in puncture marks that were hauntingly similar to my own. He was like me.
"Do you have the money?" he asked with a crooked grin. I handed it to him and he gave me a small bag of yellowish-brown powder. I realized then, that I had spent the last of the money I had saved up from bagging groceries.
"I need a job. Is there anyone down here that would hire me?" I asked him nervously, expecting at any moment to have a knife pulled on me for asking too many questions.
But this wasn't a movie. He just smiled and said sweetly, "Come back on Tuesday, " before disappearing back into the house that he had come out of.
**