Chapter Two

1.

"What is that?"

Alex sat herself next to Jay and me on the musty sofa in my living room and fingered the plastic bag in her hands. She stared at me, her head cocked to one side. Her incredulous kohl-rimmed eyes full of skepticism, she made the same confused face she put on that one time I played my Death Cab for Cutie CD for her.

She slapped the little baggie down onto the oak coffee table between us. "Skag," she said snidely.

What the hell is skag? I was even more perplexed. "W-what?"

"Skag. Dope, smack, blow, crank, junk, stuff." Jay told me. "Call it whatever you want, it's still the same shit."

I picked up the dime bag and curiously fondled the weight of the delicate, soft white powder through the plastic. It could have easily been baby powder or baking soda. But as soon as Jay had elaborated on the street names, I knew it wasn't a common household product.

"Heroin," I said faintly, still fondling the bag. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Of course not."

Heroin! Alex and Jay brought me heroin! And they were being as casual as they possibly could. It was my turn to stare in disbelief.

"Okay, Alex, when you told me you were going to bring me a present today to cheer me up," I said. "I expected like a CD or a plate of brownies or something–never drugs!"

Alex snorted and rolled her eyes. "I don't see what your problem is. I've done it a few times before; it's not that big of a deal if you do it in a group."

I was enraged and my mouth suddenly lost all correlation with my brain. "Not that big of a deal? It's an addictive drug, Alex! Do you think I would ever stoop as low as you? Just because I'm going through some rough times you think I'm gonna do drugs? Well, you're clearly mistaken!"

"Got a hand mirror?" Jay asked. He was clearly avoiding my point.

"For what!"

He gave me a look and quickly searched through his coat pockets. "Well, it's not like I have any syringes on me–"

I shot up from my seat. Plop! The heroin bag dropped to the floor. "Forget it. This is insane."

Angrily, I handed Jay his Etnies and Alex her tattered jacket. I didn't need this, not from two good friends. I had my cutting and notebook. And as far as I was concerned, that was all I needed in life. I didn't need my fucking co-op or my parents or my pussy excuse for a boyfriend or anything. And I most certainly didn't need to snort smack with a juvenile delinquent and his bitch.

"What, so you're kicking us out?" Alex yelled.

I swung the door open forcefully, displaying a sort of power I had never felt before. "Yeah." I said. "I am."

As Jay slinked past us to get into his car, Alex glared at me. I was so sure she was going to take a swing at me. But she didn't.

"I didn't want to get you pissed off, Ellie. I was just trying to help you out," she said disappointedly. Alex slipped on her coat. "But again, you managed to fuck things up. It must be a goddamn hobby of yours."

Before what she had said had time to sink it, the door slammed violently and I soon heard Jay's SUV pull out of driveway. I peeked through the blinds. When I saw them accelerate onto the main road, my eyes began to tear. I lost my balance and sank down to the floor in a frustrated heap. Her words replayed in my head again and again:

But again, you managed to fuck things up.

Again? What was she referring to? What had I done in the past that was so screwed up? She had to have meant the cutting. Other than that she had nothing on me; we hadn't been friends for more than a few months. And she was right. My self-injuring habits might have soothed my pain momentarily, but looking at the big picture, it didn't do anything beneficial. It only provided me with more suffering and agony to hide.

I inched my way over to the couch and kneeled down to the ground and retrieved the abandoned dime bag. Contentedly, I relished in its light and feathery consistency between my thumb and index finger.

Without even realizing it, I had opened the bag. Careful. Gentle. I cautiously put it up to my nose. It was odorless. Should I taste it? I decided not to, fearing it would take affect. Dipping a finger in, I stroked the powder like a small animal; it was much softer and finer than I had anticipated, almost comforting.

Almost inviting.

2.

Ashley pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from her messenger bag, ripped it down the middle and held out one of the halves to me.

"Want some?"

I took it, smiled graciously and sat next to her on Degrassi's front steps. I was very glad to have had a friend like Ashley; I forgot to pack a lunch in all of the mayhem. I sat quietly for a moment, gazing at a small posse of grade eight boys sitting at one of the picnic tables. Each had a skateboard and a Lunchable. The irony briefly amused me.

"Ellie, is something wrong?" Ashley asked gently. Her face showed genuine concern.

Should I tell her that I relapsed? Should I tell her my drunkard of a mom wants me back? Should I tell her I felt as if I did nothing for Sean? Should I tell her I hadn't heard from my father in weeks? Should I tell her one of my good friends tried to get me to take heroin?

"Ash?"

"Mmhmm?"

I dropped a bomb: "Have you ever taken drugs?"

Duh! I already knew the answer to that question. What was I thinking? Ashley was Little Miss Good Girl: a virgin, a writer, an honor roll student. She couldn't have—

"Once," was her coy response.

I was surprised at her. "You did. Really?"

Ashley bit into her half of the PB&J, chewed, swallowed and sighed. "It's not that I'm proud of it. It was nearly three years ago."

"Oh," I said. "Well, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly happened?"

"I had this party at my house a few summers ago and JT Yorke brought an ecstasy pill. Well, Sean found him and Toby upstairs with it so he brought it down to me and told me to put it down the kitchen sink—"

"But you didn't."

She shook her head, remembering. "No. I didn't. I took it."

I was fascinated. Ashley and ecstasy didn't belong in a sentence together. "Was it what you expected?"

She spoke blissfully. "I felt pretty amazing. Like everyone loved me and I could taste the music and touch light. It was absolute euphoria, but…it was awful."

"Why?"

"I more or less called Paige a wench." Ashley admitted. "She made my life a living hell from then on. Then I cut off all of my hair and distanced myself from everyone."

"Wow."

Ashley nudged me with her shoulder. "Is there any particular reason you asked? You aren't a junkie, are you, Nash?" she asked playfully.

A tall shadow hung over us. When I looked up, I was face-to-face with the one person I didn't want to face at that moment.

"Well, I'd certainly like to hope my daughter isn't on drugs," said my mom pleasantly.

"M-mom?"

Grace Nash had been abducted by aliens and swapped with a modern-day June Cleaver: ironed clothes, lipstick, tousled hair. She had a smile on her face and a brown paper bag in her hand. I wasn't in the least bit impressed. "I thought I'd stop by and bring you lunch, baby. California rolls and extra wasabi–your favorite."

I gave her a grim face and held up my pathetic sandwich fragment. "I'm covered thanks."

Ashley tried to make up for my rude behavior. She said, "Nice to see you, Mrs. Nash. You look really nice."

"Why, thank you, Ashley. My friend Elaine's a hairdresser." My mom fluffed her newly-waved locks. "It's called a body wave."

"Well, it looks great on you." Ashley smiled and sat up. "I'll see you later. I should go before I'm late for history. It was great to see you again."

As soon as Ashley left, all hell broke lose.

"Why are you really here, Mom?"

She didn't put on the happy mask this time. "I was on the Gibson web site today. And I went to the bank—"

I wasn't satisfied. She was still playing the game. I stood up and looked her in the eyes. She was going to listen to me this time.

"I am not coming home, Mom." I said firmly. "I'm not coming home and you have to deal with that. Dad only has six more months, let him be your backbone, not me. Because I'm not doing it anymore. I'm not your slave; I am your daughter."

I knew she hadn't been drinking when I saw the tears in the corners of her eyes. Passively Drunk Grace Nash was spiteful. June Cleaver Grace Nash was happy-go-lucky. When she didn't dispute any further, I knew she was my mother again. But that was not enough for me. Nothing was ever enough for Ellie Nash.

"Please go home and stop putting this on me. I don't need you anymore," I sobbed. I knew she would probably stop by the liquor store on her way home after this. I tried my hardest not to care.

She nodded solemnly and walked out into the parking lot, still clutching my bag of sushi.

3.

Do anything but cut. Do anything but cut.

I didn't care anymore.

With a violent heave, I thrust the oak coffee table into the wall, leaving a heavy dent in the cheap wood-paneling. I tossed the dishes in the air as if they were Frisbees and watched in satiation as they sailed through the air and smashed against the linoleum flooring, breaking into millions of little shards. I yelled and screamed and thrashed and cried until my lungs felt raw.

Do anything but cut. Anything, anything.

The dime bag.

It caught my eye, sitting invitingly on the kitchen table, pure and simple. Untouched. It could free me. More of Alex's words resounded in my head:

You know you don't have to put up with the bullshit in your life. Do something about it.

I could easily boil it, dig up a needle from somewhere—no, no that wasn't about to happen. Why on Earth would I have a syringe anyway? Damn.

I found a hand mirror in the junk drawer and poured some of the white powder out into neat little lines on its surface. I couldn't do this alone, I needed someone.

My heart rate sped and my palms sweat as I picked up the phone and shakingly dialed Alex. After ten unanswered rings (she was probably avoiding me) her monotonous voice played:

"It's Alex. Hopefully you know what to do."

Beeeeep.

I breathed in and let it all out in slowly.

"Alex. It's Ellie," I said into the machine. I stared at my reflection in the heroin-scattered mirror. The girl staring back at me had a ruddy face and sad eyes. I didn't know her from Adam. "When you get in, come over. I need your help."

Do something about it.

This time I was.

Ah, the plot thickens. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Next chapter: Ellie takes a nosedive into the world of drugs. Thanks for reading! I love hearing from all of you.