Title: Cheating
Author: mao
Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine characters, likenesses, plotlines, etc. belong to Todd Haynes, Michael Stipe, etc. The lyrics at the beginning belong to the divine Velvet Underground and their song "Heroin." In other words, I am poor and am not trying to make any cash off this. Please don't sue me.
Author's Notes: This just popped out. It's not much and it's not really any good either, so...well, yeah. But it needed to be said.
Warnings: Reasonably graphic drug usage, language.
***
1973
I shouldn't be upset about this. Although it feels like he's cheating on me, I need to remember that he isn't. Not really, in the strict I'm For Him And He's For Me monogamous way. And I mean, it's with his wife, for Christ's sake.
I shouldn't be upset about this.
But I am.
Jesus Rollerskatin' Christ, I'm so fuckin' pissed about it. I can barely see straight, although that may be because of the drink in my hand and the fact that I can't remember if it's number six or seven.
He came to tell me he was going to Mandy's room, which is something he never bothers to tell me. Uusally, when he's borrowing a skirt or outfit or makeup or whatever, he just goes and returns with the new item in his hand. He never comes in, as he did, and looks at me with eyes like a puppy about to be kicked.
"I'm going to Mandy's room tonight," he told me softly, looking me in the eyes. Despite the soft voice and subservient manner, I knew he was hardly worried about what I might say, or how I might feel. He just didn't want me to be angry with him.
I just looked at him, and then he was gone, down the hall to the left, to a room done in pale pinks and ivory, with roses in every nook and cranny, spreading faint perfume that is probably, at this moment, being displaced with the muskier scent of her and the light vanilla breeze that is him.
I shouldn't be upset about this because she's his wife. I also shouldn't be upset because after he left, I went to my bag and pulled out my little baggie of gear. I haven't touched it in two months, since he spent the night with Mandy last.
He's gone back to his first love, and so I'm doing the same.
If he's cheating, I guess I am too. I pulled out the little bag and tipped a little china white into the spoon and cooked up a quick shot. My hands were shaking - with hurt, with rage - so hard I almost couldn't do it right.
But years of practice, if you could call it that, took over, and soon I was moving in long-practiced motions, filling the syringe and screwing the needle back on the end. Carefully removing my belt, wrapping it around my bicep, tapping the vein and squeezing a fist. The sudden, sharp pain of slipping the needle into my vein, drawing a little blood into the chamber, and the momentary ache that takes ages - tempting myself to drop the plunger. And then doing it, and the sudden feeling of relief, followed by the sensation of relaxation.
So now I'm Comfortably Numb, if you'll pardon the reference, and rather drunk, but I'm still pissed. I feel like such a fucking mug for thinking it wouldn't happen again or something - they are fucking married, after all.
But we're even now.
I know he'll come back tomorrow and neither of us will mention it. He'll assume I spent the night drunk - though not high - and went to bed alone. He wouldn't guess I went to sleep with Lady Heroin and how...mmm, she makes me feel good.
Better than he ever makes me feel, I sometimes think. He's been good to me, but we're growing farther and farther apart.
Not to mention that I'm cheating on him and he's cheating on me.
Fuck it. I don't need him and his bullshit drama anyway. Not now that I've made this most intelligent decision to get back on heroin. He's been drifting away into Maxwell Demon's fucking lair anyway. I don't need to be a part of it.