Junkie Love by Phil Shoenfelt

where there were few people. She was standing alone, looking dejected and bored, watching the distant band without enthusiasm or apparent enjoyment. The long, black velvet cloak she wore reached almost to the ground, and she was holding herself with folded arms, shivering as if cold. She looked especiallyvulnerable, and as I came up from behind I put my arms around her, hoping to give her a surprise.
    “Oh, hi babe, what’re you doin’ here so early?”
    “What, aren’t you glad to see me? We arranged to meet, don’t you remember?”
    “Of course I am, silly — but I thought you were coming later, this evening.”
    “Yeah, that was the original plan, but then we decided to meet earlier — you must remember, surely.”
    “Oh yeah, that’s right, I forgot. Sorry babe, I’m miles away today. Jesus, it’s freezing.” Cissy was suddenly seized by a spasm of uncontrollable shivering. She seemed detached and distant, not herself at all.
    “What, are you ill or something? It’s not that cold. Come here, let me warm you up.” I tried to pull her into my arms, but she resisted, finally pushing me away.
    “Oh, don’t get all sloppy on me, I’m not in the mood. Sorry, I’m just not feelin’ very well today, that’s all. It’s nothin’ personal, so don’t go all moody on me.”
    I looked into her face, but she avoided my eyes. Suddenly, after being seized by another bout of shivering, she threw up, right there at my feet, on the grass. I felt angry and stupid, and I confronted her right then and there.
    “You’ve been using again, haven’t you? C’mon, admit it, you have haven’t you?”
    “Yeah, well, so what if I have? It’s my fuckin’ life isn’t it, an’ I’ll do what I want, alright?”
    “Oh, that’s just great! What about your plans for the club, an’ everything else? I thought we were both gonna stay clean from now on.”
    “Oh, get off my back, will you, you’re like my fuckin’ mother! An’ anyway, it’s only a little chippy I’ve got, I haven’t been mainlining, just skin-poppin’ a bit, that’s all. It’s nothin’ serious, so don’t get your knickers in a twist!”
    This last rejoinder was said in such a sarcastic, bitchy tone of voice that I felt like punching her. All my warm feelings towards her suddenly turned to icy hatred and we both stood there sulking, me staring off into the distance, she holding herself with both arms across her stomach and doubling over each time she was seized with a spasm. I felt like an idiot for not having noticed she was getting high again; but she had been clever and cunning, probably scoring during the day while I was at work, then skin-popping in her arse so that I wouldn’t see any track-marks on her arms. By the time I met her in the evening, the effects of the drug would mostly have worn off, and anyway she had brown eyes, so it was very difficult to see from the size of her pupils whether she was high or not. I didn’t know how regularly, or how much, Cissy had been using, but once you have had a habit in your life each subsequent one creeps up on you that much easier. Although you might think you are being careful, before you know it you are back into the gear once again, and I presumed that this was what had happened to Cissy. I started to ask myself, “But why?”, before realising it was a stupid question. I, out of all people, should know the answer to that one, aware as I was of the empty, aching void at the heart of me that only the spreading warm light of heroin could ever truly alleviate.
    “C’mon, let’s get out of here — the bands are shit, it’s raining, an’ I’m cold an’ miserable. C’mon, let’s split.”
    “But I’ve only just got here!”
    “Well, stay if you want, but I’m goin’ home. I’m not havin’ any fun here, so why should I stay?”
    Again, I felt like decking her. I wanted to stay and watch the bands, and Cissy’s bitchiness and fucked-up attitude were pissing me off; but I also knew