I think the clichéd version of how it happened probably included me speeding down the road to my apartment, eyes wet with tears. In reality, by the time I got home, I was itchy and nervous. My mouth was watering and I knew what was going to happen, or at least I thought I did. It took me back to college, driving around with an eighth of weed in my purse. There was a familiar feeling of paranoia, one of the things I definitely didn't miss about doing drugs. These crazy scenarios kept running through my head: being caught with drugs, losing my license, going to jail. I stopped at every yellow light, stayed five miles below the speed limit, and signaled at every turn. I had the meth in a baggie, hidden beneath the spare tire in the trunk. A police car passed me on the road right by the hospital and my whole body tensed up. I tried to look casual, to drive casually, I had this horrible ache in my neck and shoulders.

I drove by a head shop pretty much every day on my way to work. At least I hoped it was a head shop. It could have been a record store or a coffee shop. It had all the ambience of a head shop: hippy sounding name, guy outside playing the guitar, ATM right outside. I walked in and was immediately assaulted by that burnt vegetation and vanilla smell, it was almost putrid, of incense. Normally I like the smell but when there are so many different types together, it turns my stomach. It was even worse on that particular day, because I was starting to feel the effects of the antiviral medications. There were compact disks in cardboard boxes, beer in the coolers, the florescent lighting made everything look dingy and grayish. A younger looking guy with a full, messy, ginger colored beard was leaning on a glass counter. He almost looked asleep. There was a purple piece of poster board hanging in front of the counter, it read: 'Discount Cigarette Depot, Buy One Get One Free, Pall Malls.'

I could see hookahs and bongs behind the counter, so I hoped I was in the right place. I needed a screen. I had two boxes in my closet, both of them were taped shut. One box had wedding photos and various scraps from my marriage and the other had things left over from college. Inside the latter was a black box from Ikea the held a glass pipe, scraped clean of resin. All I needed was a screen. Mike, he was wearing a name tag, seemed slightly shocked and annoyed to have to wait on a customer.

"Do you have screens here? I'm looking for, you know, the screens you put in the bottom of a pipe," I was bleeding nervousness, my voice sounded crackly and unnatural.

"Uh, yeah, one is seventy five cents and a package is two fifty. I have three sizes, about how big? A pipe would probably be either a small or a medium," he pulled a couple screens out of box on the shelf behind him.

I bought one medium screen. It would have been more economical to buy a whole package, but this was going to be a one time thing, and I didn't want to invite a second time by having extra paraphernalia at hand.

"I guess I'll just get one of those cases of Rolling Rock too, and a pack of Basic Light One Hundreds," his eyes were tinged pink and he was moving at a glacial pace but eventually I got my stuff and got out of there.

I was practically running back to my car. I just wanted to get home and get away from people. Cigarettes were still about two dollars, the last time I bought a pack and I was shocked at the five dollar price tag. Everything was more expensive on the East Coast. I had been healthy, good, and pure for years.

It was dark and I could hear the buzz of the street lights and the hiss of a neon sign beside the head shop, it advertised a nail/tanning salon. I breathed in the unnaturally crisp air, I felt oddly alive and I was worried that in a few weeks, I might not ever feel that way again. I didn't believe Kalvin, he wasn't why I was doing this. Maybe he was, maybe he was just an excuse, it occurred to me that sometimes I used people in the most insidious ways. Maybe that was why I was always alone. I cocked my head to the side as I made my way toward my car, I always remembered the stories about rapists hiding underneath your car and pulling you down underneath as you tried to unlock your doors. I had a little can of pepper spray on my key chain. Holding the case of beer and the paper bag in one hand, I felt off balance.

My serpentine belt was loose and I jumped when the car whined to life. If I could find my ratchet and socket set, I could probably fix it myself. I found the perfect parking space, only a couple feet from the door of my building but I would have had to parallel park. I nixed that idea and parked one street up. I felt tired but on edge when I finally made it to the entrance of my building, the little baggie of meth was tucked away in my coat pocket.

A streetlight had burned out in front of my apartment building and the path was shrouded in an inky, murky darkness. The insistent hum of the cicadas in the bushes seemed almost deafening, for a moment I thought my ears were ringing. It was the only sound I could make out. My feet felt waterlogged with sweat and I wished I hadn't put my pantyhose back on when I changed out of my scrubs. I could feel little beads of sweat, itchy on my forehead, and I could swipe at them because my hands were full. I grasped my can of pepper spray and made my way forward, into my building.

I fumbled with the locks on my door. I had an extra deadbolt installed. When I was finally in my apartment, safe and away from everything and everyone, I almost cried tears of relief. Stepping out of my heels almost felt orgasmic. I wished I had someone to rub my feet, I wished I wasn't so short. I had to wear heels or risk looking like a twelve year old but sometimes I would get these intense cramping pains in my toes. Other times, every step I took would feel like I was driving a tack into my heel. I don't think House would care if I came to work in tennis shoes and jeans, but I don't have his reputation and I would undoubtedly lose credibility with patients and my colleagues.

I put the beer in the refrigerator, normally I take the bottles out but this time I just threw the whole box in. I didn't use the air conditioner, so the air seemed stale and humid even with two plug in air fresheners running. Normally I would take a long shower or bath and freshen up but that night, all I could think about was wiping that day from my mind, all I could think about was that I had opportunity to not be myself for awhile. I stripped off my work clothes and threw them in the hamper. They smelled like stale sweat. My underarms felt slick and slippery even after I had reapplied deodorant/antiperspirant at the hospital. I felt like I was melting. It was actually fortuitous that I had washed all of my makeup off earlier in the day, it definitely wouldn't have survived this heat. I realized I was almost gasping for air and my hands were shaking. I hated that this was affecting me. I hated being this weak. Chase was right. My chances of having contracted HIV were next to nothing. There was still chance however, and my mind was concocting the worst, most vividly horrible scenario imaginable. I needed to take a shower, just a short one.

I was normally very meticulous in the shower, I used moisturizers and scrubbed under my nails with a shop brush. On this particular night, I could hardly bring myself to move and I just let the warm water beat down on my shoulders. My non-slip bathmat felt rough and itchy on my bare feet. There was a bit of soap scum on the glass enclosure and I made mental note to clean my bathroom over the weekend.

My apartment was neat and clean for the most part, but you always miss things. I noticed the soap scum, there were some small grease stains on my range top (I had no idea what they were from, I couldn't even remember the last thing I had actually cooked,) and there was a light coat of dust on the moldings in my living room. I had a loose belt in my car, there were several cleaning jobs that needed to be done in my apartment, and I knew that there was nothing in the refrigerator save for yogurt, a big bag of oranges, and a case of beer.

I dried off and brushed my teeth. I broke down and turned on the air conditioning before going into my closet and pulling out the box I needed. I had everything fairly well organized, so I found the pipe rather quickly. I checked my filing cabinet, placed my pocket book in my safe, and generally made sure everything was neat and organized while I was still lucid. My day planner showed that I had no pressing appointments for a couple of days, I added in the date of the looming aids test and placed my anti-viral medications in the medicine cabinet. I would count them out into a plastic daily pill dispenser later, I couldn't bring myself to even think about it at that particular time. Finally, I set down on the couch with an old library card, one of my Grandmother's old plastic placemats (It was of those Thanksgiving/Christmas ones, where you could flip it over depending on the Holiday,) my pipe, my newly acquired screen, my cigarettes, and Kalvin's meth.