Page 38 of Dark Room Junkie

“You’ve gotten so big,” she said with a sad smile.

“Stop it, Mom. You’re acting like it happened overnight.”

“But it feels that way to me. I ... I’ve been thinking. They have a new program. I thought I could sign up.”

“You’re already in a program,” I said monotonously while eating the yogurt. “They give you methadone, and we both know what you do with it.”

“It might not be the right one,” she said, stubbing out the joint. “But the new program could definitely help me. They’ve helped a lot of people.”

I rolled my eyes and opened the second yogurt.

“You don’t take me seriously at all.”

“Why should I? For years, you’ve talked about quitting. Hasn’t worked out yet, has it?”

“Don’t be so passive-aggressive. That’s not fair.”

I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. The smell of weed wasn’t making it any easier to calm down. “Fine. Are you signing up?”

“Of course. Do you think I want to keep living like this forever? I promised you that one day we’d move into a nice apartment. I want to work again. Maybe I’ll find a job in a hotel.”

The words were like daggers piercing my heart, yet I forced a smile. For her. I wanted to believe and trust her this one time. And even though I knew better, that hopeful feeling still flared up inside me that everything would be okay. After all these years.

In moments like these, it was hard for me to keep myself in check. The feeling of loss, all those lost years, spread like a black hole inside me, and my vision gradually blurred behind rising tears. Mom reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t. Her touch seared into my skin, yet it was oddly comforting. I turned my head away, pressed my lips together, and pulled away from her. Such moments were toxic.

I went to my room, sorted out the dirty laundry from my backpack, and replaced it with clean clothes. When the doorbell rang, I perked up. I heard voices. They were moving through the hallway and into the living room. Then there was a knock on my door.

“Noé?”

I paused for a moment, clutching my fingers into the clean clothes, holding my breath. The doorbell had never brought anything good; I’d learned that years ago. I’d always preferred it when the police forced the door open because that meant the worst was over for the moment. But the ringing dragged me back into my childhood, where I was helpless and couldn’t escape.

“Noé?” Mom opened the door and smiled. “What are you doing?”

I just stared at her. Laughter emanated from the living room, and beer cans were being opened.

“Jörg and Lydia are here.”

That told me everything I needed to know. “What about your plans? The program?” My voice was almost a whisper.

Mom frowned in surprise and looked at me as if I were the biggest idiot on Earth. “I never said I was starting it today,” she snapped. “Can you lend me fifty bucks?”

I stood up, looking at her with bated breath. “I don’t have any money.”

“You’re lying. I know you have some.”

Every word she said intensified the anger within me. “But I don’t have any for you!”

“Don’t yell at me!”

It wasn’t getting any better, and I needed to get out of here. When I turned back to her, she rummaged through the pockets of my leather jacket.

“Are you serious?” I snatched it out of her hand and shoved her out of the way.

“Ow!” she screamed, dramatically falling against the door.

As I stepped into the hallway, Jörg was already coming toward me. “What ... Dana! Are you okay? What’s your problem, Noé?”

I slipped into my leather jacket, and he grabbed my arm. Automatically, I pushed him away, pushed him back against the wall, and pressed my forearm against his throat. “Don’t touch me again, you damn junkie! Or I’ll break your nose.”

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