He hates it when I revert to my older ways. A fairly simple man, he is most content with a computer, a game and a pack of 20 Benson & Hedges. He doesn't like me to distract him while he immerses himself in his games, and it reflects his need to be unbothered throughout his life.
There have been occasions, since he fell in love with me, when he has held my hair back as I vomit. He's always been patient and understanding. In the darkness on the first night that we had sex, I crawled out of bed and smoked heroin as he lay waiting for me to return. At this point he was silently unhappy, as he felt he had no cause or right to be openly angry at me. He was merely appreciative to have a female body to hold, whether she was here or in a different realm of reality.
He hasn't spoken to me since yesterday, when he found me lying on the bathroom floor at lunch time, looking like an idiot, most likely with saliva drooling from the corner of my mouth and my eyes half-closed in a gormless fashion.
"For fuck's sake," he barked, shaking his head and storming out.
"You knew what I was when you got together with me!" I screamed out after him, pitifully, perhaps feeling remorse but being unable to retract my movements.
Because when I'm unhappy, I am a fool. I am so set on destroying my life that I simply do not care.
But this is what I do. I recover, I live, and then I slip back again.
But when I feel normal again, I will resolve to let that be the last time, at least for now, for a few weeks - just so that I can have Jack's friendship again.
