She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. She'd had the nightmare again. It's been three fucking years, she said to herself. Get over it already. It's done. She glanced at the bright red letters on the digital clock next to her bed - 12:49, it read. Quietly, she stood up and walked to her wooden desk, not wanting to wake her roommate. Her leather jacket lay on the chair. Though it was warm outside, she picked it up, slipped it on, and slowly opened the window and climbed out to the fire escape.
I won't do it, she said to herself as she sat on the black metal step. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, and after a bit more digging, a cheap lighter. No. I won't. Not today. It was hard to resist, knowing it was there, in her pocket. It would be easy to give in, and then she would feel better, and forget the dream. "I can't," she said out loud as she lit a cigarette. "If I do, everyone will know tomorrow - today," she corrected herself. "Then I won't be able to graduate, and I'll have to stay here another fucking year, or worse, have to change schools again. I don't want that." She knew she was trying to be her own voice of reason, but she wasn't being very successful - even as she spoke, her hand slipped back into her pocket, closing around the small bag. Oh, but it would be so easy to let go and just do it, said the voice in her head. "Fuck. Since when do I talk to myself? I must have really snapped the tether."
"But who really cares if I do it? Maybe I won't even go tomorrow. Maybe I'll leave. No one will care."
Alone on her fire escape, she gave in, and with the heroin let herself forget.
She did leave. Early the next morning, while it was still dark, before her roommate woke up. She took a few essential things in a small bag, but left mostly everything - as if she'd just disappeared. No one would ever know what happened to her. She threw her bag on the passenger seat and climbed into her old Chevrolet, not looking back once.
The past three years had been such a whirlwind. Ever since that day - the day she refused to speak of, and tried not to think about - her life had fallen apart, piece by piece. A different boarding school every year. Her head was spinning as she drove farther and farther away from the campus - she wasn't sure if it was the heroin from the night before or something else. She barely knew where she was going, until she nearly missed an exit for the interstate, and swerved hard to get on the ramp. "Home," she said out loud. Not even knowing where she meant, she answered the question she was thinking. "Home to New York."
She drove nearly all day to get into New York. Unwillingly, she felt her eyes fill up with tears as she got to the other side of the Lincoln Tunnel. It had been so long since she'd been there. It dawned on her that she hadn't driven a car when she lived in the city, so she drove around for a half hour, looking for the cheapest place to park. She wasn't entirely sure she knew where she was going. There was her sister, but she didn't want to see her parents. The one person she wanted to see she was sure wouldn't be there. There was only one thing to do. Start over. For now, it was already eight at night. What she wanted to do was sleep, but there was nowhere to do that.
She settled on walking around for several hours. There was nothing better to do - she would go see her old hometown, but she knew that if she went then, there would be a possibility of bumping into her sister or one of her parents, all of whom she didn't want to deal with now. And walking around alone in the city has it's conveniences, she thought. It had been less than 24 hours, but she was craving her drug again. She turned down an alley and leaned against a brick wall, digging in the pocket of her jeans for money. Her hand emerged with two very crumpled ten dollar bills. "Shit," she muttered. I could have sworn I had more than this. She hoped - prayed, even - it would be enough for something to hold her off 'till she could find a way to get more money.
It wasn't long before she found herself crouched in an alley, a needle in her hand. She had no money left, but she had her fix, which was all that mattered. Until she realized where she was. "Fuck," she said softly, looking up at the windows on the building. Blinking, she pulled herself away. She needed this more than ever. She wondered for a moment if he still lived there, if his father still lived there. Afte a moment, she shook her head, stopping herself from getting farther into memories by pressing the needle hard into the scarred skin of her arm.