I bought my own drugs. Logan brought me to his dealer and I bought a vape, weed, Xanax, morphine, cocaine, ecstacy, and Oxycodone. All illegal for me to possess. But for the past few days, they've also been the only thing motivating me to live. Father came back for only two days before leaving again. I spent those two days high and avoiding him.
Now that he was gone for another week, I was hosting another party. Another opportunity to get shitfaced and forget how miserable I am. Right now I'm resisting taking Oxycodone before the party starts. The more I do the drugs, the worse I feel without them. I need a constant flow to feel ok. I settle for vaping. It isn't as effective anymore, not when I know how much better other thing are. But it at least keeps me from taking the pills and risking overdose when the party starts.
When people start arriving, I down a couple pills of Oxycodone. It doesn't take long for the happiness to kick in. My entire body feels completely numb. It's a euphoric experience, making me drowsy. I combine it with alcohol and weed. The mix is deadly. No more problems. Life is perfect.
Eventually, me and a similarly drunk and high Logan go up to my room. We're just messing around and spewing drunk nonsense. Until, he opens the drawer we don't open. The drawer that has the chess board.
"What's this?" He asks, not completely sober but enough to have basic sense. I'm shutting the drawer within five seconds.
"We don't open that drawer," I say. His eyes narrow.
"That was a chess board, right? Don't worry, I'm not one of the people who think chess is nerdy. It's cool." That wasn't the problem though.
"I know. I don't play anymore," I urge, sounding more desperate than I'd hoped.
"C'mon. Play a game. The board looked cool." He tries opening the drawer, but I don't move my hand. Instead, I let out a confession only Maya had ever heard.
"It's my mother's," I whisper quietly. "Was my mother's. She taught me. I was a prodigy, everyone said. Wanted to be a grandmaster. I haven't played since I was six though."
Each word is a weight lifted off my shoulders. But it comes with a wave of emotion and sadness. So I grab my box of Oxycodone and take the rest of the pills in it, not bothering to count how many were in there.
Logan looks at me with concern. I ignore it though. Instead I go to the balcony and hit my pen and drink half a bottle of alcohol. But it isn't long before I start feeling sick. Really sick. My mind is spinning and pounding. I feel a hammer slamming into my head a million times. A crowd has gathered around me. The words aren't very clear.
"Overdose-"
"Ambulance-"
"Help-"
The jumbled letters ring in my head as I collapse. Overdose. I'd taken too much. Why wasn't I too sad about it? Why was I not scared of dying? And how was it so easy to overdose?
My breathing is slow. People try shaking me and shouting at me, but I'm completely unable to respond. "We need to call an ambulance!" I hear James shout.
"Are you crazy? This is a party full of drugs and alcohol!" Logan exclaims. "No cops... just let me figure it out."
By figure it out, he chooses to frantically look around before dumping cold water on my head. Next I have Cameron driving a knee into my stomach. My body shoots up and I throw up half the alcohol I'd drank. Within a minute Logan is forcing me to down water. I'm alive. I overdosed, but survived.
I nearly died.
Twenty minutes later, everyone but Logan is gone. The sound of silence after a loud party is strange. The smell of alcohol lingers in the air, permeating throughout the mess of a house.
"How are you feeling?" Logan hesitantly asks.
"My head's pounding, my heart's burning, I'm pretty sure I nearly died. But other than that, I'm just great!" I say sarcastically. Did I just make a joke about nearly dying? About being on so many substances that I couldn't breathe? It was so so easy to overdose. So so easy to die at any second with the game I'm playing.
Then why didn't I mind it? Why did I still want to continue, to keep abusing the drugs knowing the risk? Why has it only increased my want for them?
"Ok... an overdose like that is a big deal though. Maybe you should hit the brakes on it. Don't take anything today, and try not to take too much tomorrow. We don't want anything to happen to you," Logan tells me. His brows are furrowed in concern. But I'm fine. I'm alive. And that's a good thing. Being alive is a good thing.
I'm not disappointed that I didn't die.
"Its fine Logan. Go." He reluctantly leaves. And now I'm alone. Alone after a near death experience. Alone as usual. Of course, father is gone. Gone when I need him most. As usual. I only see him when he wants to yell at me. He would never be there for me for anything. His job is more important than me. I've even began to suspect the only reason he still keeps me is so that I can help him retire.
I take a hit from my pen. I don't care what Logan says. I needed that rush in my head to sleep. I hadn't slept a single time without drugs in the past few days. It's too hard. All I see is Maya and my mother and the friends who left me. It's just one hit. I then jump onto my bed and instantly pass out.