Chapter 1
Today’s bad again.
I’m popping Xanax, and god knows what else, like tic-tacs, but they don’t do anything to soothe my anxiety, shush the voices in my head. They only numb it slightly, make me care less, but I feel just as much. The only thing they do is leave a nasty taste in my mouth and make me feel too tired to care about anything anymore.
Everyone and their mother knows you’re not supposed to mix prescribed medication with alcohol—especially tranquilizers. I do so anyway and gaze at the bottle of cheap, sour wine that I finished last night. It wasn’t even good. It was bad, and the buzz was nothing but mediocre.
I do what’s supposed to be dangerous and still live to see another day. Hurray. I’d say bottom’s up, but I don’t have any wine left.
I curl up in bed and bury my head into my pillow. It smells like stale cigarette smoke and the coffee I spilled a few days ago. I should probably put fresh sheets on the bed. I should have done that a while back, but I just don’t have the energy.
The sun is out. It’s winter time, but the yellow rays still warm up my face as I turn over on my back. It’s too bright out to sleep now. I’m fucked, my head hazy from the lack of sleep, and it seems like there’s a veil over my eyes. I blink repeatedly, but it doesn’t help.
I look around, head cloudy, facing up as I stare at the bland, eggshell paint color that has a yellow nicotine film on top, my back sinking into the mattress I found at a garage sale. It’s hard, and dips in some places, but the thing was stain-free and only cost me about thirty dollars. I don’t sleep much anyway, so I don’t need the top-dollar, luxurious beds that would cost me a fortune. I spot new cracks in the ceiling, a gift from the parade of heavy traffic passing through my street at night.
The place is a mess, but I don’t have the fucking vivacity to get up and do anything about it. Instead, I stare, eyes burning before they go numb, and I finally blink.
My phone rings. It rings twice more before it stops, the ringtone echoing in my fuzzy brain. I just want to be left alone. The caller probably won’t leave me a message, either. They wouldn’t bother if they knew me, since I never listen to my voicemail and I’m notorious for never calling back.
Reaching for the neon-orange wire that runs under my bed, I tug it to unplug my phone from its charger before I stuff the device under the mattress. The battery will die within twenty-four hours, and they will get the message. I don’t want to talk. I’m fine. Totally fine.
I giggle, then frown when I remember last night. I browsed the web, buzzed on antidepressants, and bought cheap wine at the 24/7 shop around the corner. Billy already knows me, knows my order, and offers me nothing but a faded, sympathetic smile before taking my money out of my hands. After all, people don’t give two shits about anything as long as you give them money.
They look away. They do whatever—anything—you want if you give them their money.
I try to focus. What the fuck did I do again last night? A ding pulls me out of my head.
New email. The restaurant’s wifi must’ve kicked in again.
I sit up straight, joints aching from lying down for too long, and I reach for the laptop on the windowsill. It’s cold out and a little too warm inside, condensation dripping from the window. As soon as the screen powers on, I bite my lip anxiously before the results of last night stare me in the face.
Miss,
We kindly thank you for your payment. You will be billed timely and discreetly under the name “GTH4U”.
Attached to this email, you’ll find the form. Please pay attention to detail, for the tiniest details may be of great importance.
We’ll take care of the issue at hand.
This email will vanish in twenty-four hours.
Kind regards,
GTH
Fuck, I remember. I remember now.
Last night.
The dark web: never-ending scrolling through shit I should never look at, looking at things I’d rather not know about.
My eyes ache, burning from staring at the screen for too long. The money.
Their fucking money.
I reach for the pill bottle on the nightstand. Fresh fix. I drift into darkness when it kicks in, tumbling through cheap cotton sheets, hoping to forget.
