Okay peeps, I gotta tell you right now that I only wrote . . . oh . . . about a fourth of this chapter. The majority has been written by a good pal of mine. Dr. Crazy Homeschooler, YOU ROCK DUDE! :-)
I own nothing. The Almighty Larson owns it all.
"Collins, are you still asleep at," Mark looked at his watch before continuing, "three in the afternoon?" Collins opened his door slowly.
"It's three o' clock?" he asked, scratching his arm.
"Yeah. You were in your room from last night til now. What've you been doing?"
"Readin'." Collins continued to scratch his arm as he came out of his room and sat on the couch.
"Welcome to the life outside your room, Collins," Roger said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Collins laughed and continued to scratch as Maureen entered the loft, uninvited.
"HEY EVERYBODY!" she said loudly.
"Maureen, we can see you without you having to shout every time you enter a room," Roger pointed out. Maureen stuck her tongue out at him and sat next to Collins.
"You're glad I'm here, right?" she said.
"Yeah Mo," Collins said, scratching his arm harder.
"Why are you scratching?"
"I'm just . . . itchy," Collins replied, starting to scratch his arm even harder. Mimi then entered the loft.
"Hola friends!" She shouted, jumping onto Roger's lap. Collins kept itching, scratching, burning.
"Collins, are you sick?" Mimi's eyebrows knit together.
"NO! HE'S ITCHY!" Maureen screamed. Mark clapped his hands over his ears and meekly said, "Yes."
"Lemme see!" Mimi got up, grabbed Collins' arm, and slightly lifted his sleeve. Her eyes widened when she realized what she saw. "Chico? Will you come with me into your room?"
"Sure. Why?" Collins pulled his arm back, put his sleeve down, and continued scratching. Mimi's only reply was to purse her lips together. They walked into Collins' "natural territory" and he sat down on his bed, still scratching.
Mimi lifted his sleeve all the way up, pulled his arm out, and examined it closely. "Collins, this had better not be what I think it is . . . " she looked as though she was about to cry. Collins jumped. No. She couldn't know.
"That depends on what you think it is," Collins said.
Mimi stared at his arm for a moment. "Heroin?" she whispered. She knew the signs. Collins hesitated then nodded. "YOU IDIOT!" Mimi screamed, slapping Collins across the face.
"OW! What was that for? I didn't do nothin'!" Collins tried to protest, knowing full well that he was lying.
"YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!?" Mimi's voice suddenly dropped. "You didn't do anything?! What do you suppose? A loaded needle floated to you and got you addicted? Really?"
"I just … wanted to feel good."
"You wanted to feel good? After watching me and Rog go through withdrawal? You're heartless." Mimi looked dangerous, like a cat about to jump and feast on its prey.
"Well, Roger is still alive!" Collins shouted.
"I'm telling Mark and Rog, they'd better know." Mimi glowered. Collins didn't answer right away, he was too busy in his "happy place." When he realized what Mimi had said, he reached out a hand to grab her. But she was already gone.
"DAMN!" He punched his pillow. Mark and Roger were going to kill him. He needed to feel happy. Free. Good. Collins grabbed his needle and stuck it into his arm, right where it burned the worse. He began to feel the smack flood his system, making him feel warm and content. Just like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, but magnified a hundred times.
A few moments later, an angry Mark and a depressed Roger walked in.
"Mimi had better be lying!" Mark warned. His face was red. Even his eyebrows seemed to have a reddish tint. Everything was red except his nose, which remained white as ever.
He looks like a panda! Collins thought. Then he started to laugh.
"Okay, apparently someone did get high." Roger muttered.
"Collins? Can you hear me? Earth to Collins!" Mark waved his hand in front of Collins' face.
"Yes Marky-panda?" Collins chuckled. Mark clutched his forehead.
"You are going to quit. Tomorrow. End of story," he firmly stated.
"But what if I don't wanna? I love feelin' goooooood," Collins sang.
"Collins, get some sleep before you give me an aneurysm." Roger sighed.
"Yes Mommy!" Collins fell back onto his bed, giggling. Mark and Roger exchanged a look before walking out of the room.
Collins floated in and out of consciousness all night, and by five o'clock in the morning he finally fell into a deep sleep.
Mark and Roger stayed true to their word. When Collins woke up, he couldn't find his stash anywhere. He couldn't leave the loft without someone with him. He was forced to quit his job because he was sick all the time, and he found no enjoyment in reading anymore.
The first three days were the roughest. The first day was horrible, but to add to his misery the toilet in the loft was backed up so he had to use Mimi's. Not fun. The second day was the worst, even though he had a functioning toilet. He was hot, then he was cold, then he was hot on the inside and cold on the outside. He was suffocating, but when he stuck his head out the window it didn't feel any better. The third day was much like the second, though Collins could finally stomach a little soup down.
The next six months passed in a blur. Nights were the worst and he slept most of the day. Each day was melded into the next.
"Collins? Are you ready for a journey into the real world?" Mark asked.
"Do I have to?" Collins whined. He liked his couch. It was … form fitting.
"Yes."
"But I don't wanna."
"It would be good for you. I'll call Maureen and see if she'll come, okay?" Mark stood up and walked over to the phone.
"I don't wanna," Collins repeated. He was sick of life. Sick of everything.
Mark dialed Maureen's number. Soon she was at the loft door, smiling. She hadn't seen Collins in weeks and was already hyper.
"HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII COLLINS!" she screamed, throwing herself at him.
"Hey Mo," Collins replied as he patted her curls.
"WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO TODAY!?" She jumped up and down, still hugging him.
"Whatever Mark wants us to do," Collins muttered, pushing the diva away from him. She pouted.
"I was thinking you guys could go to the Life Café and then maybe you'd go to a bookstore?" Mark smiled meekly.
"Sure." Maureen seemed to pick up Collins' dreary mood. So the drama queen and the anarchist walked out of the loft, down the street, and they headed toward the Life. Maureen kept up a constant chatter the whole way, and while they were waiting for their food Collins excused himself from the table, walking out of the door.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, thinking about her. His Angel. He didn't notice his feet carry him into an alleyway, and he jumped when he heard a voice.
"I thought I'd see you eventually," The Man sneered. "It's been six months. What happened?"
"I figured out there was more to life than heroin," Collins spoke to the uneven bricks under his feet.
"Really? Did you figure it out all on your own, or did your friends figure it out for you?" The Man raised an eyebrow.
"Um . . . " Collins trailed off.
"Just what I thought. Here." He thrust a packet into Collins' hand.
"But-" Collins protested.
"Come back when you want." He heard The Man say. "I'll be waiting."
Collins rushed through the door of the café and quickly found his table.
"Hey! Where'd you go?" Maureen had already started eating.
"Er . . . to the bathroom." He grabbed his tofu dog and took a bite. Maureen continued to fill the rest of the day with chatter, needing only the slightest nudges from Collins to keep her going.
Collins didn't have his needle anymore, so he decided to just sleep with the baggie under his pillow for the night. As he fell asleep he wasn't sure if he even wanted it anymore.
Collins knew he was dreaming. For one thing, New York City parks were never so clean. And they definitely smelled way worse. For another, there were no people here. But there was a bench. Collins shrugged his shoulders and walked over. It was his dream after all, so he could sit wherever he wanted to.
He sat twiddling his thumbs and waiting. For what, he didn't know. Soon a figure appeared. The person was slight, and was wearing a creamy colored dress. And leather boots. Collins finally got a good few of the person's face. His heart stopped. He was about to say something, but a finger shushed him.
"What the hell were you thinking!?" Angel screeched, shaking Collins hard.
"What?"
"What the hell were you thinking, taking drugs?" Angel pinched Collins' ear. "That's right, you weren't thinking!"
"Ang . . ." Collins breathed.
"I'm very angry with you. Don't 'Ang' me!" Angel glared at him.
"I'm sorry!" he yelped.
"You'd better be," she growled.
"Angel, I've missed you." a few lonely tears dripped down Collins' face. He had missed her.
"Oh. Honey, I've missed you like something awful." Angel kissed his forehead. Her kiss felt good and solid, just like they used to.
"How long will I be able to see you?"
"Until you wake up."
Collins' heart sank. "Do I hafta wake up?" he sniffed.
"Yes, darling, you do. You've got a life to live." Angel sat down next to him on the bench.
"But I don't wanna live it without you." Collins tried not to sound like a whiney five-year-old, but he failed dismally.
"I know. I don't want you to be sad." Angel moved her arms to wrap them around Collins.
"Why do I hafta wake up?"
"Because you have lots of work to do, mister!" She smiled.
"Angel? Can I tell you somethin'?"
"Sure."
"I love you. More than you know. To the moon and back again. I miss you." He started sobbing.
"Don't cry. You'll see me again soon, I promise." Angel held him for the first time in almost a year.
"I will?" Collins suddenly felt hopeful.
"Yes, but I'll only come if you live life to the fullest. NYU needs a teacher. Your friends miss you." Angel gently stroked the side of Collins' face. Collins was about to agree when the dream started swirling, all the colors melting like oil paints on a canvas.
When Collins woke up, the first thing he did was flush the little baggie down the drain. He didn't need it to feel alive anymore.
Next he dialed NYU's number. And he swore he smelled something sweet and angelic when he said, "Hello? NYU? Yes. My name is Thomas B. Collins, and I'm a professor of computer age philosophy . . ."
YAY FOR TEAMWORK! Okay, so I only did a little of the work, but still YAY FOR TEAMWORK! :-D