Before

She didn’t mean to stay out all night. The time got away from her. It always did when she got too high. The drugs took over, and she no longer knew where she was, who she was, or when it was. Before she knew it, the sun was up, and the drugs were gone, consumed greedily like an alcoholic slamming booze.

She hated this part: the coming down. Crashing was the worst part, the craving for more drugs, almost more than she could bear, and she would do just about anything for more. But there was no more. And it was time to call it a night and go home. Time to face the music.

Gracie stumbled on the gravel at the side of the road and almost fell. Sweat poured from her brow. The withdrawal had her shaking and grinding her teeth. She knew she was still way too high but no longer felt the euphoria she got with that first hit. After the first hit, she was wasting money, chasing the devil, trying to get the thrill back. But it never came.

Now she was dead broke, and facing her friends was almost as bad as the withdrawal.

The friends she stayed with would be there waiting for her when she returned. Her cell phone had been blowing up all night long. Gracie finally shut the damn thing off. It was ruining her high.

Gracie made it back to the small camper she rented from them. Heaving a sigh of relief that she made it home, she opened the camper door and grabbed a beer from the fridge. She popped a Xanax and a Lortab in her mouth and left the camper, settling into a lawn chair beneath the canopy.

She washed the pills down with the beer and sat back in her chair. She felt her little helpers slide down her throat and started to relax with just the thought of them. It was the only thing that helped get her through the withdrawal.

Feeling something in her pocket, she shifted in the chair and shoved her hand into the side pocket of her jeans. Oh no. She rolled her eyes and pulled out the crack stem. What the hell? She walked all the way home with this thing in her pocket? Was she out of her mind?  She answered her own question. Yes, at the time, she was entirely out of her mind.

Suddenly, she heard voices coming from the house and threw the stem down on the grass at her feet. There was no time to hide it. She sipped nervously at her beer and waited for the sparks to fly.

And fly they did.

“Where were you?” Lara glared at Gracie, her hands on her hips, her face red with anger.

Gracie felt the lead weight press on her at the first question. Once again, the resentment grew in her. Who did Lara think she was, anyway? She had no right to treat her this way. She needed to point the finger at herself for once.

Lara was an overweight functioning alcoholic and Xanax addict, a breast cancer survivor. She drank herself to bed every night. She was approaching her five-year remission and had no business drinking with the threat of cancer returning. The five years didn’t mean she was cured.

“Gracie, I told you when you first came here that I would do everything in my power to help you,” Lara continued her outburst, “but the first time you bring drugs onto my property, you were out of here.”

This inquisition was not her first, but Gracie stayed silent. The beer and pills were starting to take effect as she watched Lara’s lips move, forming the bitter words that Gracie knew so well.  She didn’t notice Lara glance down at the ground until her gasp resounded in her ears.

“I knew it!” Lara bent down and grabbed the glass tube at Gracie’s feet. “What the hell is this?”

“Ah, shit,” Gracie blurted.

“I’m done with you,” Lara shouted, tossing the glass tube onto the patio table. Gracie was surprised it didn’t break. Lara turned in a huff and stomped off toward the house.

Quickly, Gracie grabbed the glass tube and shoved it into the mouth of the empty beer can, stuffing the mess into the trash.

Lara was back in seconds.

Gracie knew she was in trouble now.

“Give it to me,” Lara’s voice shook as she held out her hand.

Without thinking, Gracie reached into the trash, pulled out the beer can, and shook the stem from it, handing it to her. If she wouldn’t have still been high and now trashed out on pills and beer, she would have done no such thing and would have lied her way out of it.

“I called the police,” Lara said.

Gracie’s heart skipped a beat. “You what?”

“I said, I called the police. They’ll need to see this.” She shook the glass stem at Gracie. “I don’t care what happens to you anymore.”

Gracie’s heart hit the ground. The police? Did she really? Gracie couldn’t afford to be arrested again. She was still on probation from six months ago for a DUI. This might finish her.

“And I took your car keys,” Lara continued. “You don’t have a driver’s license, and I’m not letting you get into your car. You’re still fucked up, and you might kill somebody this time. Pack your shit and get out.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” Gracie stammered, the confusion overtaking her. “I need my car.”

“I don’t care where you go, Gracie. But you’re not driving there. Now get out. I’m sick of looking at you.”

Gracie flopped down in the chair, indignation running through her. They took her keys. They took her car. They threw her out. Where was she supposed to go, and how was she supposed to get there?

She was still trying to make sense of it when she saw Lara beckoning to her. “Grace, the police are here. They want to talk to you.”

She rose from the lawn chair and followed Lara to the front of the house.

“This yours?” The cop asked Gracie, shaking the stem at her.

There was no use in lying. At least it was only a stem. Gracie burned the filter to a char last night and had thrown it out. But the residue on the glass told the cop what she'd been smoking.

She only nodded her head.

“This lady here,” he nodded at Lara, “is worried about you. She’s been kind to you, and you pay her back with this?”

Gracie remained quiet, waiting for the cuffs.

He surprised her by handing her back the stem with a stern warning to “Stop this kind of behavior” and, returning to his car, drove off.

No comment about her being on probation, no arrest, no handcuffs. Gracie just stood there staring after the patrol car until Lara’s voice jarred her.

“Whatever,” she hissed. “Get your shit and get out.”

Gracie’s thoughts whirled. She couldn’t think straight. What was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go? She couldn’t seem to retain a thought. What was she doing?

Oh, that’s right. The plan was to take a shower. After a long night of partying, she felt dirty. A shower would help her think better.

She returned to the camper and shed her clothes. The shower was no bigger than a closet, but the hot water felt good on her skin even though it didn’t last long.

She turned off the water when it started turning cool, wrapped her hair in a fluffy towel, and dried herself. She slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and a tank top. Then she remembered. She was supposed to leave.

The shower hadn’t solved anything. She still had nowhere to go—no one to turn to.

Without knowing why she picked up the freshly refilled prescription bottles of Xanax and Lortab from the kitchen sink. She emptied the pills into the palm of her hand and popped them all in her mouth. She washed them down with a fresh beer, then went back outside, sat down in her chair, and waited for the world to disappear.

Where did it all begin?

How had she fallen so far?

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