warnings: heroin withdrawals, references to vomiting and diarrhea, mentions of drug use, referenced underage prostitution

Chapter 18: Will & Riley

In which Will is miserable but Riley makes him less so

Will was sixteen when his dad caught him shooting up in the basement for the third time and gave him a choice: get clean or get out.

And Will had gotten out, gone to Diego's, talked Diego's mom into letting him stay.

There was a time when Will thought that rock bottom was sleeping on Diego's couch and skipping school to get high.

But at some point he'd started leaving needles and bottle caps everywhere and Diego's mom had sat him down and said she was worried about him, he needed help, he needed to call his dad. And Will hadn't wanted help. Hadn't wanted to call his fucking dad.

So he'd left.

There was a time when Will thought that rock bottom was eating out of trash cans, shooting up in alleyways, sleeping on the ground.

Then he'd decided that no, rock bottom was the first time he stole a bike and sold it to a chop shop for cash.

The first time he sold his mouth for cash.

The time he let a guy fuck him against a wall and leave him doubled over in pain with nothing to show for his trouble but a crumpled ten-dollar bill.

But Will knows better now. Rock bottom is none of those things: Rock bottom is detoxing from heroin. Rock bottom is being so dopesick he can't think straight, dopesick enough to let a couple of girls bring him back to their squat, a big abandoned church, then curling up in their blankets and barely even wondering who they are or what they're really after.

Rock bottom is shitting into the garbage bag they gave him to puke in, not caring who sees or hears. Will is beyond caring, beyond everything except enduring the pain wracking his body and the cravings wracking his mind.

It's not that Will's never tried to quit before. He has, of course he has. But he's never lasted forty-eight hours, never truly experienced the puking and the diarrhea and the feeling that every atom in his body is being ripped apart. He doesn't sleep, can't sleep, just lies there in the darkness listening to the others breathe.

Sometimes one of them comes and makes him drink Gatorade or take medicine. He does what they say. The Gatorade makes him throw up. Everything makes him throw up.

Someone tells him to sleep, and maybe this time he does, because suddenly it's light outside and there's a girl crouched beside him. She's stroking his hair.

He groans.

"Good morning," she says quietly, retracting her hand. "How are you?"

He's freezing and covered in sweat, everything hurts, and his head is pounding. "Bad," he mutters. "Where's— Kala? Sun—"

"The others are working, but I'm here to take care of you, alright?" says the girl. "Do you remember me from last night? My name is Riley."

Will tries to nod but he's not sure he manages it. He shivers against the cold.

"You need another blanket?" the girl asks. "We have an extra; here—"

Will wants to tell her no, he'll probably just puke on it, but she's already draping it over his back. "How's that?" she murmurs, touching his shoulder. Her hand is warm.

"Good."

"I'm glad." She trails her fingers down his arm. "Will?" she says softly.

"What?"

"It's hard to stay clean, you know."

Will opens his eyes.

"I never used heroin," she goes on, "but I, um— I used other stuff, for a while. And I still think about it, how easy it would be to go find some, to get high and just— you know. Feel happy." She pauses. "I just— anyway, it's not over once you quit."

Will shakes his head. "I'm done," he mumbles. "I promised. I fucking— promised."

"Promised?" Riley prompts gently.

"Sara," croaks Will.

"Sara?"

And Will wants to tell her that Sara was his friend, if there's such thing as friends on the streets. That she was beautiful and clever and funny, that she loved cats and believed in ghosts and was scared of thunder. That he might be the only one who even misses her. That she was just a kid, too young to be turning tricks to survive and shooting dope to forget.

Too young to die.

But he doesn't tell her any of that, because for some reason the words come out as tears instead, and then he's crying, and Riley is saying everything's okay, shh, she's right here, just listen to her voice.

So he listens, and she talks about her favorite songs, and her mom and dad, and how she'd love to travel to England one day, or go back to Iceland, which she visited once as a little girl.

Will falls asleep to her description of the Northern Lights.