I stretch and yawn loudly as I wake up from another wonderful night of sleep next to Sam. 6 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days we've been dating (not that I'm counting) and I've gotten to spend every Saturday night with her curled up in my arms as we drift off to sleep. Thank God my mom works the graveyard every Saturday night. 10 at night to 10 in the morning, and Sam is usually there for every second. All of a sudden, I notice Sam isn't in the bed where she usually is. I glance at the clock next to the bed. 7:30. Hm, she knows she doesn't have to hurry this early. I stand and throw on yesterday's pants, after retrieving them from the ceiling fan (have your pants be the only thing between you and a black-lace-teddy-wearing Samantha Puckett, see if you don't throw them like they've got the plague) and step out into the hallway. "Sam?" I yell into the hallway " Where you at?" I walk into the kitchen, expecting to see her there cooking breakfast (God, can she cook), but she isn't there. I walk all over the apartment, until eventually I check my mom's room. Before I close the door on the empty room, I notice the bathroom door is closed. Mom never closes doors. I don't know why, but I know she doesn't. I walk over and open the door, and could not be more surprised.

I wasn't an addict before. I used to do heroin on occasion, maybe once a month, smoke a little weed every coupla weeks, maybe drink a little, but I wasn't addicted to anything. Then, before I knew it, I was spending weed money on H. I wasn't just doing more heroin, it's all I was doing. I used to get by on 20 bucks a week, now I'm up to over a hundred a week for a paltry little buzz, and I'm on the floor of my boyfriend's bathroom melting the shit in one of his mom's good spoons. I hate this. I shouldn't want this shit. I don't have a shitty life. I've got a best friend who's closer than a sister, a boyfriend who can't be beat, and my mom has finally got a steady job that pays well, but here I am, on a bathroom floor with a lighter, a spoon, and a needle.

I think it was the needle that spawned it today. Freddie's mom is a nurse, and she happens to keep a supply of these things on hand for some reason, and they were just sitting on her dresser. I had walked into her room, admittedly out of pure curiosity. A person's room says a lot about them. Anyway, I had walked in, saw this stack of the little buggers, and the monkey on my back lost his damn mind. I feel so dirty, but once the monkey starts chattering, you gotta feed it, you know? I watch the white powder dissolve slowly, more slowly than usual, it seems, but that probably has to do with me being in a rush. It wouldn't do to have Fredward bust in on me at all. It finally does, and I use the syringe to suck up the murky liquid in the bottom of the spoon. I angle the hypo so it gets every bit of the junk. I love when you get a clean draw like that. It feels like you saved money somehow, as opposed to screwing around and leaving some behind.

I push the needle into the big vein on the inside of my ankle and push the plunger down. I never use the same vein twice in a row. Gives them time to recover, keeps them from flattening or collapsing. I sit back and let the rush hit me, and a big grin streaks it's way across my face. The world goes on mute a little bit, like the volume is down on the T.V. of my brain. Just as the rush hits it's peak, the door flies open, and I can't figure out why Freddie looks at me like that for a second, and then it hits me. Oh, shit. Freddie's standing there, looking confused, then his eyes get wide, and he's kneeling down beside me, the syringe in his hand. "Samantha, what is this?" he asks, shaking the needle under my nose. He only calls me Samantha when he's worried or mad. "It's..um...you see..." I stammer dumbly, but then he picks up the baggie, with it's awful little trace of white at the bottom, and his face hardens like stone. He turns to me angrily, his face reddening. "Is this some kind of drugs?" he asks, and I'm suddenly so sorry and scared and ashamed that I just burst into tears. He stands up and turns around, holding the bag in his left hand.

"I'm going to flush this," he says, holding up the small bag "and you're going to clean all this stuff up. Wash the spoon, get rid of the syringe. I don't care how, just do it. Then we need to talk." With that he leaves the room, and I sob even harder, because I know, I just know, that I've lost him. He's gonna hate me, and he'll leave me, he may even call the cops on me, but worst of all, he won't love me anymore. It takes me a minute to do what he said, clean up the bathroom and all that, and by now, I'm weeping quietly enough not to be too embarassed. I walk into the kitchen, replace the now-clean spoon in the drawer, and hide the syringe at the bottom of the trash, and then, feeling like I'm sure a prisoner feels on his way to the gallows, I walk towards Freddie's room. My name is Samantha Puckett. I am a Puckett girl, and I am supposed to be strong, but I'm also human, and I don't think I can live without him. I sigh heavily, and step into the doorway.

I'm sitting on my bed, staring out the window as I listen to Sam clean herself and the bathroom up. Sound travels well in this apartment, and I can hear her crying for what seems like a long time, and a few tears spill out onto my cheeks as well. I hear the sink run, and Sam opening drawers in the kitchen. I hear her stop just outside the room, then she opens the door and steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She stands there for a moment, not moving. I sigh deeply, preparing myself for what I have to do next. "What was it, Sam? What was it in the bag?" I ask, not turning around. " Heroin." she says hesitantly.

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much did I flush?"

"About 70 dollars worth."

"Are you mad?"

"What?"

I turn around, and she's standing just inside the room, looking at the carpet, tears running down her face. She can't meet my eyes. "Are you mad at me for flushing your heroin?" I ask again, deliberately emphasizing the name of the drug. She shakes her head. I sigh again, rubbing my forehead like I do when I'm upset. "Why, Sam? Why heroin?" She starts crying harder, and a part of me wants to walk over and just take her in my arms, but another part of me is in control just now, and he'll have answers first. She stammers out the explanation I expect. She started on weed, and then tried H, and then stayed hooked, and now it controls her life, and how she's so sorry, and she'll never do it again, and will I please forgive her and not hate her. I stand and cross the room to stand in front of her, reaching out to lift her face to meet my eyes. "Never again?" Another head shake, more tears. I smile, and wrap my arms around her, a couple more tears escaping me. "Good."

It's been three days since I quit heroin, and I'm losing my goddamned mind. I want to get high so bad, I'm eyeballing kitchen cleaners. Carly's agreed to let me stay at her place so she, Freddie, and Spencer can take turns watching me. They're keeping me on 24-hour watch unti I'm detoxed, which should take, according to Spencer, although I'm not sure about where he gets his info, anywhere from a week to two weeks. Well, if all two weeks are like the past three days, I'm gonna kill myself. I've been sweating through clothes while I'm freezing, my eyes and nose haven't stopped running. and the worst part is, I'm horny as hell, but there is no way I can do anything about that. It's hard enough having to let Freddie see me right now, much less touch me. Needless to say, I've been "taking care of myself" a lot.

Anyway, it's Spencer's shift right now, and we're playing cards, to try and distract me from the utter shittiness of my current situation. "I'll see that 5 and raise you 15." Spencer says, tossing chips casually into the pile in the center of the table. His eyebrow cocks up when he says it, I notice, and decide he's bluffing. "Spence, you might as well text me what you're doing. Call. Full House, Dead-man." I say, chucking down my Aces and Eights. Spencer's mouth twists itself into a frown as he sullenly lowers his cards to reveal a pair of Queens. "You didn't do too bad." I say reassuringly " That's a Siegfried and Roy, it's usually a pretty good hand. But you can't bluff for shit." Spencer just plops his elbows up on the table puts his hands under his chin. " I'm so bored with cards. Battleship?" I shake my head, smiling. "You're bored now that you owe me 40 bucks. And do you really wanna lose more?"

"At Battleship? You don't bet in Battleship."

"You don't. I'm infirm and suffering, therefore we play everything by 'Puckett Rules'."

"Puckett Rules?"

"Laugh all you want, you say 'Puckett Rules' in Vegas or some of the larger county jails and people quit playing."

"I'm sure they do." Spencer laughs, standing up. " I'm going downstairs, you want anything? Drink? Fruit Pop?" I think for a moment. "Has it been long enough for me to take another headache pill?" Spencer glances at his watch. "Yeah." " That and a bottled water." I say, remembering that I need to keep hydrated. God, I hate this shit. My head hurts, my body aches in the most unpleasant ways, and my nose and eyes are like faucets. Add that to the dizzy spells, and you've got a recipe for shit city. Ew. I just imagined a Shit City. Kinda like the Emerald City in Wizard of Oz, but so much more horrible.

I want to lay down, but until Spencer comes back, that's a no go. I barely have the strength to stand, much less walk all the way to the futon Spence and Carls had moved up to the third floor. Why they insisted on putting me in the damned studio I haven't figured out yet, but whatever. I'm just happy they're helping me. Hell, I'm happy they didn't just turn their backs on me the way Freddie's mom did. That sucked. She was just getting used to me and Freddie dating when that awkward incident in her bathroom happened and Freddie found out he was dating a junkie. Somehow, she overheard Freddie and Carly talking about it, and when she saw me next, she wouldn't even speak to me. I tried apologizing and all that, but no dice. The only reason Freddie and I are still together is cause when she went off on him about never seeing me again, he decided it was time for him to man up and tell her to stuff it. And boy, did he.

I laugh to myself remembering how Freddie informed her that he was 16, and he was gonna date whoever he wanted, and she could go ahead and try to stop him, but right now, if she didn't mind, the love of his life needed his help, and that was all there was to it. And to top it off, he called her Marissa. Now that was funny. Her jaw literally hit the floor. She just turned around and stomped off into her bedroom, like we weren't even there anymore. I could tell it hurt Freddie, but he just shrugged and went back to whatever he was doing. Since I started quitting, he's done so much research on the whole process that him and the doctor that we're in contact with can discuss the whole thing without me ever understanding a word. Like I care anyway.

Spencer walks in and hands me a water and a couple of pinkish pills. "Thanks." I say, downing the pills quickly with a swig of the water. "Hey, can you carry me over to the futon?" "Sure." Spencer says, getting an arm under my legs, and one behind my back, lifting me bridal-style and carrying me across the room. Great, I can no longer make it across the room by myself. New low, Puckett. Good job. Well, it's for a good cause. Oh God, I'm arguing with myself. Spencer's phone rings as he sets me down on the futon. He pulls it out and puts it to his ear. "Hello? No. I can't. I'm busy. Yes, it's very important. Well, I'm sorry, but this is more important than a broken refrigerator. Call the super, then. Fuck you too, ma'am." He closes the phone, sticking his tongue out at it. I look at him quizically. "I've been doing work as a handyman here in the apartment, and I was dumb enough to give people my actual number." Oh. Wait. "I'm more important than a broken fridge?"

"Very much so. I'm not gonna leave you to your own devices in this state for 16 bucks."

"16 bucks? That's what you were charging?"

"Mmhm. I was actually charging 8 bucks an hour, so it's not nearly as bad as it sounds."

"Why?"

"Cause that's a bunch of money."

"No, why am I more important than a broken fridge?"

Spencer tosses me a look that's incredulous, pitying, and a little amused. "You're Carly's best friend and Freddie's girlfriend. Whether you like it or not, Puckett, you're family. And that means that you take priority over all that silly shit." I smile and reach out to take Spencer's hand. "You're great, Spence."

"You're hand's sweaty."