Drabble Thirty-Eight : Lullaby

To get me clean, Lip has all but held a gun to my head while dragging my ass to a rehab center. Thing is, I've only been on drugs for a couple months. August just started up. So going on three months, give or take. Especially considering Lip had gotten me 'clean' for a solid week last month. So that shaved off some time. But I didn't last when left to my own devices and Sandra; and not because the withdrawal was too strong. Like I said. Three months. And that ain't enough to get me clawing at my skin no more than five days when detoxing. I wish Lip would just give up. Because well. Truth is, I just like it. I don't want to stop.

Think of your best orgasm. Now multiply that by everything and even still you can't understand.

I have never used the word love. But if I was going to, I'd say I love the feeling heroin gives me.

Not so much the other drugs, though.

I just pop uppers so I'm not totally useless, like Sandra. By itself, heroin will knock my ass out for hours. When coupled with coke or uppers, I'm basically lucid. More or less.

None of that matters right now, because apparently Lip has figured it all out. How he's going to save me from myself.

Half in a daze, sitting on my sofa, I stare practically through Lip, who is sitting on my floor. He tells me exactly how this is going to go down. First I'm going to go puke my brains out. "Then," he says, "I'm bringing you home with me."

Now he has my attention. I cock a brown, shake myself, and go, "The fuck did you just say?" And obviously I heard him.

"I'll lock you up in Frank's room," Lip says. "He won't give a shit. He's at Sheila's anyway," he says. "You just have to cut yourself off from everything else. Especially from Sandra and this house," he tells me. "And eventually you won't want it," he finishes, sitting back, confident. "And maybe you can go to a fight or two," he adds as an afterthought, "get out the rest of your aggression once the withdrawal is over. So you can come home, eventually. The aggression," he says, nonchalant, waving a hand about, "you know, toward whatever made you pick that shit up in the first place."

Amused, I thumb the crook of my mouth and knit my brow at Lip. One foot bouncing over my knee to keep me centered, I tell him the truth. I say, I don't want to quit. And anyway, "I picked up the habit out of curiosity," I tell him. "There is no aggression," I say. It's a bold faced lie. I can see that Lip smells it.

"Right," he drags, sighing. Rubs his hair. Pats his knees. "So you're happy being a drug addicted louse, then?" his voice drifts, pissed off.

I'd respond if I was awake.

NOTE: Super excited that about the first episode of season 3, guys. I had to watch it Monday morning because of not having cable. . .again. And I refuse to stream it via bad quality. But whatever.

Anyway, I can't wait for next Sunday. I especially can't wait for episode 3, where shit is said to hit the fan. And can't wait to see our boy Milkovich grow a heart. Whenever that will be.

Also, hope you guys enjoy these updates. I'm still hauled up on my sofa with a stress fracture in my lower leg. Since I can't do much else but sit around and be in pain, I plan on churning out a few more tonight. This leg thing is pissing me off. Sorry to rant, but. . .I love running since recently picking it back up, and not being able to kind of sucks a lot. Not to mention I'm having to STILL work like this, and I'm pretty sure it's slowing down the healing process horribly. Oh well. Such is my life.