But I did it

I wanted it. I needed it. I had to have that high. I climbed like a cat, stealthily and silently, up the red brick wall of my Grandma's house. I hated having to do that. Steal from the one person who had stood by me through everything. But I needed that high. I jimmied open the window and climbed inside. I stepped down onto the familiar blue carpet. How many times had I played Barbie dolls on that floor with my old fat Grandma down on the floor beside me?

But I had to get what I wanted. I sneaked carefully past my Grandma's room. I dreaded waking her up, I dreaded seeing the hurt in her eyes, I dreaded the questions that would come. I paused a moment to consider who I was hurting. But I needed what I would get. I began to push anything I could into the bag I had with me. My greatest ally that, that little black bag.

I pushed my Grandma's jewellery, clocks and ornaments into the bag. I hesitated over the solid gold frame that my Granddad's picture was in. I could leave her this couldn't I? After all she had done for me? I was taking her life with me, to buy me things she would hate. Each knick-knack or ornament had its own special story. I remember when she would touch each one lovingly and tell me the story of its life.

"I found this when I was traveling in Europe," she would say or "Your Granddad Sam gave me that".

I could leave her that one picture. But I needed the money, and that frame would give me more that anything I had stolen before. I pulled open the back. I could take the frame and leave the picture couldn't I? That was what I did. I took the frame and left the photo. I had to get out now. I'd got what I came for. I froze as Grandma snorted in her sleep. My heart jumped into my mouth. I did not want to be caught. Grandma kept sleeping like a log. I breathed out slowly. I continued on my way out. I slipped out the window and stuck it back in its place. I jumped down the wall and turned towards The Street.

..."This all you could get?" I nodded, twisting my hands nervously behind my back. If Joe didn't take the stuff I'd burgled from Grandma's house, I'd be on my own again. I didn't know what I would do if that happened. I wasn't sure I wouldn't do something stupid, or smart, by ending the cravings once and for all. But Joe finished pawing through the bag and sighed. "It's a goo' thin' ya'ra sae cu', an' I like ya. Bu' don' be thinkin' I'll be givin' ya any specia' consideration, min'." I nodded. I knew he liked me. Well, he didn't like me exactly, but I was young and didn't haggle about his prices. I paid it straight and got what I wanted. I got my high.

Joe usually had a pretty good price, which was why I dealt with him. To do him justice, though I don't know why I should, he always had what I wanted, when I wanted it, and he was fair. He only slightly overcharged, and he never went above my limit. Though he wouldn't would he? If he ranged above my limit, I couldn't buy from him.

Joe cut into my musings. "Well, wha' ya got'll have ta do. Here" Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out a small amount of what I craved. I reached for it eagerly. He snatched it back out of my reach.

"Hey!" I yelled indignantly.

"Ah ah. Not 'til you tell me what I wanna hear." I stared up at him, puzzled. "There's bee' a few of ma mates picked up lately, information from the inside apparently. Ah just wan' to make sure you aren' some undercover bastard." I fixed my eyes on my prize.

"Come on Joe, you don't really think I'm about to dob you in do you? No one would give me what I want then." Joe laughed sardonically

"Ha. Very goo'. Alrigh' 'ere ya go" I snatched the small package out of his hand and imprisoned it in my own.

"See you then Joe". I always wanted to get out of The Street as fast as I could once I had what I wanted. Joe thought that was quaint. I wanted the stuff, but I didn't want to get it. I hurried away to my place.

A small shelter far away from civilization. I had all sorts of things there. I had everything I needed for a fix. I settled down on the floor and assembled the kit. Oh rapture. I felt good. I was good. Nothing mattered. I felt as though I couldn't move. All my veins and arteries were blocked with the rapturous substance I had just inhaled.

I felt leaden, and I could feel the substance coursing through my body, polluting the mind within. I knew my eyes were red and puffy and had rings all around them. I really hated doing this to myself, but now I had started, I had to keep going. I had been doing it for so long, or so it seemed. I could barely even remember why I had started.

It was Luke, I think. He had told me that to be his girlfriend, and to meet his friends, I had to prove that I didn't look down on them for what they couldn't help. I didn't think it wise to tell him they could just have said 'no' in the first place. And then I had done the same thing as them.

I had hated his friends when I had met them, the first time. I hadn't liked their filthy hands pawing me up and down and feeling me up. I had looked to Luke to save me. Huh, he was either standing in the corner laughing at me, encouraging all the men to do what they liked with me, as long as they didn't hurt me, or he was joining in himself. I didn't take any notice of Luke's behavior then, I knew men acted different around their mates.

So I had taken my first dose of the rapture I was experiencing then, and from then on started my downhill battle against life. I had very little self- respect by then, and I have no more now. The only bit of respect I have left comes from the fact that I pay billions out for contraband items, but that's where it stops. I don't smoke and I am not a prostitute. I have gained respect; I suppose you could call it, on the Street for that. The men used to try at first, until they grew tired of my unfailing conviction to stay a partially self-respecting person. Or at least that was what I told everyone. It was more like I didn't want a baby to look after. The men never used the stuff they were supposed to.

I sighed as my high wore off. I had a raging headache. I lay down and tried to sleep, but I felt mucked up. I was too heavy. I couldn't breathe. My head was spinning. My stomach was reacting violently, and nausea was coming in waves. I crawled over to the opening and threw up. I caught sight of the sky. It was black and ominous. I crawled back inside the hutch. There was no way I could stand to walk. I couldn't even get up. I heard the rain start. First as a slow spattering, then a faster trickle, then the downfall. I heard the rain pummel down onto the roof. Each drip echoing in my head like a yell over Niagara Falls. I lay down again and put my hood over my head. Funny I thought it was forecasted for a warm, dry night.

"Get up." Someone was shaking me. "Get up. Come on. You've got to get up" A grating voice cut through my un-restful sleep. "You've got to get up". The voice spotted the fix. "Shit. Chelsea!" There were hurried footsteps.

"Shit! Mark, what do we do?" Harried breathing to the side of me.

"Get her up. I think we've got to get her up. Help me!" I was lifted up. Oh, put me down. I can't do this. I thought I'm going to throw up. I think I will. Yes, I will. Right over my fix. NO! I tried to yell, but I couldn't. I retched again. Splat! Ugh. I hate my own sick. As I continued to empty my stomach, my head began to clear. I could almost see...Yes, there it was. A face swam into view. Fuzzy as yet, but still a face. A male face. With glasses. White. I could see white. Oh, no, it was just blond hair.

My vision cleared further and I could see a young girl, about 17, a year older than me. The guy with the glasses was still supporting me. Mark, I thought. That girl had called him Mark. And he had called her ...Chelsea, yeah, that was it. Mark and Chelsea. Chelsea and Mark. To my fevered ears it sounded like a movie. I tried to laugh, but I ended up crying.

How had I ended up like this? I used to be the cool one. I got good grades, I dressed right. People looked up to me. So what had gone wrong? I asked. I didn't know myself. I had met Luke, and that was about all. I saw Chelsea and Mark exchange a glance. What did they do with me? I made an effort to stop crying. I wasn't crying properly anyway. I was just letting the tears roll down my face. I tried to smile, but to me it seemed more like a grimace. Mark seemed to decide that introductions were in order.

"Hi, I'm Mark, and this is Chelsea."

"I know. Why aren't you wet? " I rasped.

"Because it's not raining." I passed out around about then.

I was getting wet. It was raining on me. I struggled to get up to get out of the rain, but a firm hand pushed me down.

"Stay where you are." I blinked.

"Who are you? Where am I? What did I do? Why won't you let me get out of the rain?" There was silence. I guessed that whoever was keeping me down was puzzled.

"But it's not raining." I blinked again. There was no fat raindrops pummeling down on the roof, or sliding down the window pane.

"Oh, sorry." I said "My mistake." The person who was sponging down my face with a damp cloth smiled kindly. I didn't know who the person was. I was in a bed, in a house. A house I didn't know. And a bed I didn't know. I struggled to sit up again.

"No, you've got to stay in bed." I was puzzled.

"Why? What happened? Where am I?" I succeeded in rising myself up onto my elbows. My head swam dangerously. "Whoa." I said.

"I know, I know. Lie down." The kind person was speaking soothingly into my ear. I thought I should warn her.

"I'm going to throw up." I emptied the contents of my stomach and lay back on the pillow, panting. I looked up and the face of my nurse swam into view. She had brown hair, and she looked kind of old. Well, about 30 anyway. "Hello," I said. The brown haired lady smiled.

"Hello. I'm Sara. You are-?" I found I couldn't remember my name. That was disturbing. Then it came to me. But I decided not to tell the nice lady who I was. I wanted to keep her as a friend. She seemed nice, and I was afraid that if I told her who I was and what I had done, she might not want to be my friend.

"Kimara." I said confidently. Sara wrote it down on a piece of paper.

"Do you have a last name?" She asked me. I didn't want to lie to her. But I had to.

"Walsh." I said.

"Kimara Walsh." she repeated. "Mark, Chelsea. You can come in now." the door behind me opened and in came my saviors.

"Mark, Chelsea." I said feebly. I felt embarrassed that they had seen me on the withdrawal of a high. Mark and Chelsea looked relieved to see I was awake. Mark sat down on the table beside me. Chelsea sat down on the end of the bed.

There was an awkward silence while we all tried not to look at each other. Then I thanked them for saving me from the shack, though I didn't tell them that the moment I left here I would be back there again, seeing how much I could salvage. They both said to think nothing of it, but I could see they wished they hadn't had to see that. They stayed a few minutes longer before they said they should let me get some rest.

Then Sara came back in and I asked her what had happened. She said that after Mark and Chelsea had found me, they had taken me to the only place they could think of. Sara's house. Sara was a nurse, and knew what to do. I asked her how long I had been here.

"2 Days," she said. I gasped. I had lost 2 days out of my life. Not that I would have done anything worthwhile with it anyway, but still, they were gone. I was 2 days older and I hadn't even been conscious for them.

A week later I left. I had grown quite close to Sara, and very close to Mark. Chelsea remained a bit of a mystery and very aloof. I said a quick goodbye to Chelsea, a heartfelt farewell to Sara and a tearful one to Mark.

Then I shouldered my bag and set off in the opposite direction to The Street, in case they were watching me. I found myself walking down the street to my Grandma's house. I hadn't seen her since the night I broke in. I wondered if she'd been worried. Probably not. Sometimes I disappeared for weeks at a time, and I always said I'd been with my friends. I hesitated for a moment before knocking.

"Come in," my Grandma said. I opened the door and near to gasped. The room looked so empty without all of the stuff in it. All of the stuff I'd burgled. My Grandma was sitting in a large rocking chair in the middle of the front room, bent over something she held in her lap. As I drew closer I could see it was the picture I had left behind. I knelt down beside my Grandmother. I saw her face light up as she saw me. I hated lying to her. But I did.

The Street loomed ever closer and I began to feel afraid. I was about to do what I-

"Joe!" I called. Joe turned around and recognized me. I felt my gut squeeze as I knew what I had to do.

"Wher' ya bee'? Wha' ya wan'?" He craned around me to look for my black bag. It was a fairly rare sight for me to be in The Street without it. I lifted my chin.

"I'm dealing with something different this time." Joe looked at me sideways.

"Ya wan'?" I took a breath and nodded.

"Yes."

Joe looked amused.

"Ya mus' be despera'."

"I am," I admitted.

"Allrigh' com' wi' me." I followed Joe down the path I had watched so many young girls go, and felt proud it would never be me. Joe took me into a salon. It was buzzing with ladies and men, young and old.

"Chase," Joe grabbed a passing man and instructed him to make me decent. All the men in the place turned to look at me. I was new. I was-

"It's her. She's doing it. It's her!" The whispers rustled through the room. Chase stared at me until Joe coughed.

"Oh, yeah, of course." And he grabbed my arm and pulled me into another room. A room of clothes. Sexy clothes, skimpy clothes. Clothes designed to entice dealers to use the wares. Chase fitted me into a white dress that did more to show me off than to hide me. It was near to transparent, and I hated having to wear it, but I did.

The men jeered at me. They ran their hands down my body as I stood, strategically placed in the front of the salon. I pushed the repulsion that was squirming in stomach down and forced myself to smile and laugh enticingly at the putrid men that entered. One man picked me up and carried me to a room, throwing a handful of money at the front receptionist. She caught it and grinned. He was obviously pretty new. You didn't pay the receptionist, you paid the wares.

I wasn't sure how to be carried over someone's shoulder and still be sexy, so I moved a bit, pushing my rear end into his face. He seemed to like that so I did it a bit more. Then we reached the room and he threw me down onto a purple bed with silk sheets. I wasn't sure what to do. Should I strip of my clothes? I had no reason to worry. The man threw himself down on top of me. I hated to do that, but I did.

I stumbled out of the salon with the money I needed for what I wanted. It was late, but Joe would most likely still be on his rounds. I waited outside the salon until I heard footfalls. I turned, expecting to see Joe, and instead coming face to face with Mark. He didn't look surprised to see me, only bitterly disappointed.

"So. This is what you get up to when you're not inches away from death." He said sarcastically. I smiled sarcastically back and pushed past him. He walked backwards and stopped me. I wriggled and tried to get away, but he held me tighter. I rolled my eyes. People could be insistent when they wanted.

I relaxed and motioned to him to follow me. I led him to a deserted house in a deserted street. I checked inside the house. Many people used it as a Hit House. There was no one there for the time being, so we were pretty safe. I sat down on the resident mattress and attempted to rearrange the ruffled transparent dress and my hair, and I tried to get rid of my makeup. Mark watched me emotionlessly as I struggled with redeeming myself. I finished what I could and looked defiantly up at him.

"So," I said.

"So." he said.

"What do you want?" Mark looked incredulous.

"What do you want? What do I want? I want to know what you think you are doing!"

"What I want to do."

"What you want to do? I can't believe you would really want this." He had struck to close to home for my comfort.

"No. I don't want it, but it's happening anyway. " Mark seized my arms.

"Then do something about it."

"I can't."

"Why not? You had a chance to clean yourself up, and you didn't."

"I didn't ask you to save me!" Mark opened his eyes wide.

"You didn't ask me to save you. Well."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Mark looked indignant.

"I save your bloody life and you ask me what I'm doing here! I came to make sure you didn't do what you are doing!"

"I didn't ask you to do that either!"

"I know you didn't. I know you didn't. But I found you, looked after you, and damn well fell in love with you. I couldn't very well just leave you to go back to the highs and time in between. I had to come and save you again. You probably think I'm crazy. Chelsea does, but I can't help it. But because you didn't ask me, you're not going to except my help. Well, okay." I stopped listening. He was going to try and save me again. I huddled in a corner and began to cry.

"You don't care for me. No one cares for me. And I don't want you to save me." Mark looked as though he was trying to avoid crying himself.

"All right. Fine. Okay Kimara. I'll see you around some time then. Or probably not". He said bitterly. I had forgotten he didn't know my name.

"My name," I said "my name isn't Kimara. It's Kasey. Kasey Mathews." Mark stopped.

"I thought you said your name was Kimara Walsh."

"I did. I said that so you wouldn't know who I was." I said bitterly, "So that you would all like me. And so I could have proper friends. But it didn't work. I thought that with a new name, I could become a new person. But here I am. Still the same fucked up Kasey Mathews that I was when you found me in the shed. So now you hate me. I've been telling you and Sara lies, when all you've done is be endlessly nice to me. I am such a bitch. I don't like lying. I really hate it. But I've been doing it since I was 15." I cried heavily as I finished my monologue, and my words were broken by emotion. Mark stood in the doorway look down at me.

"Do you want help?" He asked softly. I was touched by his tone. He really seemed to care what happened to me. I thought about his question. To have help. To become something. I hated what I had to do, even if the high was amazing. But there was all that pain... But what was that compared to the pain I was feeling? The pain I saw when I looked into Mark's eyes and saw how much he wished to help me. Compared to the pain I would bring to the people who I knew.

"Yeah." I said.

That was 6 months ago. Now I have a job. I'm a social worker. I go around and talk to people about how bad hits are, and how they can fuck up your life forever. I don't know whether people ever listen to me, but I think I have saved a few. I have the rings around my eyes, and the ugliness that highs bring. I tell people how lucky I am. I was one of the lucky ones, not everyone has someone to care. Most people are allergic to the hits. I was one of the lucky ones.

I had Mark to love me. I had Grandma to live for, and Sara to work with. I still see Joe sometimes. I smile and wave and pretend he never existed once I am past. I often have cravings for the hits, but I can restrain them now. I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't like having to live for the next hit, never knowing if I'd live to see tomorrow. But I did it. I hated the rehabilitation time, the white, sterile rooms, but I had to get myself right again. I hated it all, I hated more than half of my life.

But I did it anyway.