Her head tilted up at an awkward angle, barely able to open her eyes to see me. She mumbled something unintelligible, her hands oddly suspended in the air, as if they were held up by puppet strings. Her cigarette smoldered down to one long cylinder of ash that told gravity to screwoff.
“Sheri?” My voice broke as I steppedcloser.
“I can’t, Dylan. I need to...think.” Her eyes were half-open then, and her speech slurred. She wasbaked.
“Think about what? What did youtake?”
“Nothing, babe, I swear. Hey, hey, hey, you have any money? Because,” she licked her lips and gave me a grim expression, “I need to buy…” She nudged her chin up and looked down her nose, turning her head in all weird directions. “That stuff forBen.”
The junkie next to hergiggled.
“Shut up,” I growled and knelt in front ofSheri.
I slid one arm under her legs and another under her arms, then lifted her off the chair. She weighed nothing. All hard edges of bone and no meat. I wanted toscream.
I carried her into the house, her head nodding into my chest. I wouldn’t be able to talk to her until she sobered up. I didn’t know how much she took or how long ago, but I’ve seen her nod for as long as twohours.
I was utterly fucked. I needed to find a sitter by tomorrow; there was no way I could take the day. I needed the damn job—but I needed to talk to her, reason withher.
Everything would just be fine if I could talk her throughit.
I gently laid her down on the bed in one of the guest bedrooms and stared at her, willing her to snap out ofit.
“Come on, Sheri. Wake up,” I begged, but she justmoaned.
I waited by pacing, every few minutes peeking out the window at the patio right below where Daphne was doing a nod of herown.
I can’t believe Claudine let her meet up with another junkie. How was I supposed to get her help if she was allowed to be near people who freely offered herdrugs?
Twenty minutes before ten o’clock, Sheri slowly blinked her eyes up toward theceiling.
“How do I bring you back to us?” My voice trembled and choked. I wanted to scream and yell and physically shake her. My fingers vibrated with rage, my hands and arms tensed with the restraint I was just about tolose.
Her eyes met mine, but her expression was void of any emotion. “What makes you think I’m not here?” Her voice was low andraspy.
The question was so absurd, I wanted to laugh in her face. “You’re a fucking heroin addict, Sheri.” I spat the words out like they were poison on my tongue. I didn’t want to fight – God, I didn’t – but it was hard to back down, not to tell her all she’d done, all she was doing tous.
She blinked her eyes at me, all deer-like and innocent. She nibbled on the bottom of her lip, playing her little games; the problem was, I was numb to it now.Numb.
"That's not going to work. You have a seriousissue."
“I know I have a problem, okay? I know it by the way I feel sober. I feel wrong. I feel like all I want, all I need is that high, and I don't care about living withoutit.”
“You…want it more than us?” Shock cracked at my vocalchords.
She didn’t answer right away. My heart exploded in my chest, and I died a thousand times, over andover.
“Do you?” I screamed the question into herface.
“Yes! Okay? Yes. I can’t think of anything else. I can’t focus. They have me on methadone, and I fucking hate you for it. You’re the one who makes me do this. Dealing with you, and pain, and those fuckingkids.”
“Did…did you just call themthose fucking kids?” I was stunned, my voiceraw.
“You know what? You're addicted. Dylan,youhave a problem,” she snapped, pointing a finger atme.
“Me? How is that?”Was she fuckingcrazy?
“You’re addicted to saving me. Changing me. And I fucking like the way I am.” She laid a hand on her chest, like she was swearing some oath to drugs orsomething.
