The Story of Junk by Linda Yablonsky

Kit stopped by my place again. She had another bindle of dope for me, if I wanted it. The name “Toilet” was rubber-stamped on the glassine bag. “This’ll take the edge off,” she said. I knew it would but I turned it down. She said she would save it. She stayed a few minutes more to talk about Betty, whom she didn’t think she could live with any longer. They’d had another fight.
    â€œYou could ask her to leave,” I said.
    â€œI know. But she makes herself so useful.”
    â€œMaybe there are too many people living in your apartment,” I said.
    â€œYeah,” Kit nodded. “I know, but that’s how I pay the rent. Usually, I sublet and move out. I’ve had that place for five years, but I’ve hardly lived there at all.”
    â€œYou’re making money now,” I pointed out. “You don’t need roommates.”
    â€œWell, these drugs get expensive,” she said, her voice quiet. “I wish I could quit. Maybe if Betty moved out, I could.”
    â€œMaybe,” I agreed.
    â€œShe’ll never move.”
    â€œI’ve never known her to stay anyplace long.”
    Kit stared into space, scratching her ear with a few strands of hair. “Was Betty always this fucked up?”
    â€œI hate to say it, but yes.”
    â€œYou know,” Kit told me, “she’s really a nice kid, but she left home too soon. Her parents were always fighting. She ran away. I’d feel pretty bad if I kicked her out now.”
    â€œAre you lovers?”
    She nodded slowly. “I think big women are really attractive,” she said. “Betty was sort of a groupie, you know? Always hanging out at our rehearsal studio. My apartment was sublet and I was living with two people from my first band. All we had was a shower in the kitchen and I wanted a bath. Betty said I could use her place. It was right across the street. While I was in the tub she shot me up. You know the feeling. The warm water and that rush? It was the best thing I ever felt. Ever. Then she told me it wasn’t her apartment we were in. She was just staying there. I told her she could come live at my place and we moved back in. What a mistake.” Kit looked truly miserable. “What a mistake.”
    â€œI don’t know what to tell you.”
    â€œShe’ll never move. I know she won’t.”
    â€œWell,” I said, before I thought it through, “if you want to stay over here some night, it’s all right with me.”
    â€œYou really wouldn’t mind?”
    â€œNot at all. I’ve been kind of lonesome lately, to tell you the truth.”
    â€œAll right if I stay tonight?”
    â€œI work till three,” I said.
    â€œI’ll pick you up at the restaurant,” she said. “Will you make me dinner?”
    â€œAnytime,” I laughed. There were worse things I could do than feed people.
    She woke me at seven the next morning. Her pupils were unnaturally large, her hands shook. Her skin was clammy, the color of the sky before a snow. Immediately she was on the phone to Betty, ordering a couple of bags of D. At seven-forty-five the girl was back from the street, putting a needle in Kit’s waiting arm. I felt sick, too, but for a different reason. The long red tracks on Kit’s arm, the degree of her sickness, the girl’s willing servitude—all of it turned me off.
    Betty had to go to her job in the photo lab. When she came into the kitchen, she looked so hurt and angry, I felt ashamed. “Nothing happened,” I told her. “Really.”
    Betty tossed her head toward the bedroom. “Then why is she here?”
    â€œI think she just wanted a break.”
    â€œYou know,” Betty started in, her whine rising to a full-moon pitch, “I was really glad that you and Kit were getting to be friends. I was really glad. I always thought you were one of the best people around. Now I’m not so