1.
It was one year ago today that I fell down the rabbit hole. Instead of a waistcoat and timepiece, my White Rabbit had an attitude and a bag of smack. I recognised Hunter instantly. Neither of us had changed since high school. I was depressed. A dark cloud hovered over me, threatening to burst into a suicidal thunderstorm. Hunter offered a way out — I needed directions — and down the rabbit hole I went. He took me back to his place. A shit box of a unit, the size of a sardine can. The only furniture was an old TV set and a couple of mattresses on the floor. That’s when I saw Annie. She was sitting cross-legged, staring at the TV. She turned, looked at me and smiled. Like the Cheshire Cat. In that moment, I knew Annie would become everything.
My name is Alice but I’m not the Alice I used to be.
2.
I’m sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring at the stain. We used to joke about how it looked like Australia. That bodily fluid could paint a seedy picture of our wide brown land. I wipe the snot that’s dribbling from my nose and reach for another blanket.
“I’m cold Annie.”
She cocks one eyebrow. The faint scar above her eyelid winks at me. I want to tease her about it. We were high — dancing and laughing so much that she fell over and cracked her head on the corner of the TV. But I don’t.
“Alice baby. You just need another hit.”
It’s been 12 hours and I’m starting to feel bad — real bad. The shakes are setting in, and I want to tear my skin off. Annie is watching TV again. Some shitty game show. Every time the contestant gets a question right she fist pumps. It’s making the mattress bounce, and me angry. I glare at her, hoping she’ll get the message. She doesn’t. Her Alice in Wonderland tattoo wriggles as she flexes her bicep in another pump. She got that tattoo for me. A fan of the Disney version, she thought it was fate that we met. Her two favourite Alices she would say. When was the last time she said that?
In a huff I pull my hood over my head, hiding my dirty, brown hair.
“What’s wrong baby Alice?”
I hate it when she calls me that, and she knows damn well.
“I feel like I’m dying.”
“Like I said ALICE! You just need another HIT!”
My body stiffens. Annie shuffles over and puts her arm around me.
“We both need one darl — to take the edge off. Hunter will be back soon, bearing gifts of love.”
I shake free of her embrace, curl up on the mattress and pull the blanket over my head. Foetal position.
“Annie,” I whisper.
“What? I can’t hear you under that thing.”
I yank the blanket off my head, uncurl my aching body and pull myself up so that I am facing her. I’m nervous.
“I thought m, m, maybe we could stop doing it.”
“Do what?” she asks, half listening to me, half watching the TV.
“H.”
“What? You’re talking nonsense Alice. It’s the shit— you know it and I know it. We’ve got a handle on it so stop worrying all the time and stop being a drama queen.”
“This isn’t working anymore,” I blurt out, conscious of my voice cracking. “We don’t make love. We don’t talk. We don’t do anything. How can this be ok? How can it?”
She grabs me, pulls me close and softly touches my lips with hers. I remember now — what it felt like — the first time we made love. Flesh entwined. Heart rates accelerated. Explosive. Addicted. And then I remember we were high. Even that memory is tainted.
I start to cry. The tears running down my face taste like the beach. Annie chases them with her lips and whispers, “I love you Alice.”
3.
The front door bangs against the wall as Hunter waltzes in, a shit-eating grin splayed across his face.
“Merry Christmas. Shabbat shalom!” he cries, waving the bag of smack in the air. “Your saviour has returned ladies.”
I turn to Annie with a look of desperation. She takes my hand, pulls me up off the mattress and spins me around. I am a puppet on a string, dancing to her tune.
“One last time baby. I promise. Then we’ll do it your way — the boring way — but it’ll be your way.”
4.
I pull back the curtain of fogginess and scan the room. Annie is lying next to me, the used syringe still sticking out of her arm. I gently pull it out and toss it into the nearby bin. She looks peaceful. Her curly, blonde hair partly covering her freckly face. I can’t wait for her to wake up — for us to begin a new life. I prod her.
“Annie. Wake up.”
It’s not working. My fingers reach around her tiny waist, to that spot I know she can’t resist. My tickling becomes rougher. She’s still not moving. I’m shaking her now. Her limp body — right — off — the — mattress.
“Annie! Annie, wake up!”
I’m pacing the room now. This can’t be it. It just can’t be. My hands run through my matted hair. She’ll wake up. She has to. I pull back the curl of hair that’s resting over her eye and gently kiss her lips. They’re still soft.
“Annie sweetheart. It’s time to wake up.”
She doesn't. I can't. I can't be straight without her.
5.
I watch the brown chunk dissolve as the flame heats the bottom of the rusted spoon. Looks like cola pop rocks. Taste the explosion. I drop a rolled up piece of cotton, the size of a tic-tac into the liquid and watch it puff up like a sponge. Flashes of pink cotton candy dance across my eyes. I take the syringe out of my pocket and pull the lid off with my teeth. As I spit it out, I notice how dirty the floor is. The worn linoleum ripped in too many places. I insert the syringe into the cotton and watch the liquid disappear. Like chocolate milk sucked up through a straw. My fingertips tingle. I tighten the belt around my forearm, find a vein and gently slip the needle in. Bright red drops of blood flood into the syringe. A modern day lava lamp. That’s when the hands of god are at the base of my neck, moving upwards till they massage my brain. I wrap my body around hers like a protective shield, pull the blanket over our heads and shut my eyes.