Abscess and Abuse

I felt dirty with Nick in my house. To think I once loved the man but he became a shade of his former self. “You have to go, Nick. I can’t live in the umber of doom you bring in my door.”

He didn’t answer. It provoked more anger and I wanted so badly to lash-out but feelings of indifference prevailed. I went upstairs and changed into street clothes, putting his car keys in my pocket. As I came back down to the foyer he was standing in front of the door, blocking my exit. He towers over me and weighs at least a hundred pound more than I, but he wasn’t going to intimidate me: not today anyway. “Get out of my way, Nick.”

“No.”

Taking off my shoe, it was only a canvas deck-shoe; I whacked him across the face… once… he didn’t move… twice…. he flinched… the third time, he came at me. I backed off, “What are you going to do?”

I suddenly realized how stupid it was to attack him with a little shoe. He was so doped up I could have hit him with a poker and he wouldn’t have felt it. He wrapped his arms around me in the straight-jacket of his embrace.

“Stay here Adriane, call Billy. I need to talk with him.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, I’m broke, I need to see if he'll give me credit… or maybe you, my beloved, can do that for me?” he let me go, “You know, for old time’s sake?”

“No… I won’t do it. You are already into me for more than twenty grand, you bastard.”

I came to… I didn’t know what hit me or how long I lay there. I looked in the mirror. Half my face was black and blue. The keys to his car were no longer on me… shit, what should I do now? I can’t go anywhere with my face like this. Should I call the cops? What good would that do? He has too much pull with them. Call Billy? Make sure he doesn’t score? Oh, God, if only Gotson were here…

Confusion… a doped and confused state of mind… that is what heroin does to me. I count the benefits… I can paint when I am stoned. Getting on methadone would be a good idea. I did that once and was okay with it but I hate it if they start cutting back on my dose. They do that to gradually wean you off it but that doesn’t work for most addicts unless I truly want to quit enough to suffer that... and I never really do. All that process does for me is… well, I call Billy for something better and sometimes I end up waking with tubes and crap in the ICU.

I stood there and I felt my hip where I usually hit up. A bruise had been there for a few days... maybe a week and it is getting worse. I’ve heard about all the bugs… a flesh-eating virus had been going around town. Damned tar .That bruise on my but was full of puss now. My face black and blue… my jaw hurts… It hurts to open my mouth… I need to get to a doctor for some antibiotics and check on this jaw. Forget Nick. Forget the house. I called Mickey to see if he could come over. Maybe he can give me a ride to the E.R.?

It was at least an hour before Mickey showed up on his motorcycle, “What the hell happened to you?” he said as I let him in.

“Thank God you are here, Mickey… I need help.” I fell into his arms and, as I let him hold me, I was safe.

“Was it Nick?”

“No… it isn’t what you think… it was my fault. I hit him first. I started it… ouch,” each word sent searing pain through my jaw, “It hurts when I try to talk.”

“I didn’t bring an extra helmet… we’ll have to take your car.”

“You might have to take care of the dogs a few days too.”

“What? They don’t keep you overnight even if your jaw is broken…”

“I have an abscess…”

“An abscess, what, I thought you were clean?”

I could see by his expression pity… deep hurt…, “Oh, Mickey, I can’t paint or do anything when I drink. I need to keep this house clean so I smoke some meth and heroin settles my nerves…”

“No problem, we’ll get you to the hospital…”