Page 118 of Fake Love

Everything is not only spinning but moving.

Maybe the black hole that I’ve been wishing for has finally come to swallow me whole and this is what it looks like.

Or maybe it's the amount of alcohol currently calling my body home that is making everything seem like a carnival ride.

At this point it might be both.

Even as fucked up as I am, I’m a little surprised that I chose alcohol as my vice tonight and not the little white substance that was calling my name.

I thought about it though. I thought about forgoing the alcohol and going for something stronger. Something more numbing.

I really did.

The thoughts came creeping in and I thought about it for a few hours. I even went as far as reaching out to my old dealer and thought about buying an ounce or two from him.

Was I going to do anything with it? Was I going to use it?

That I don’t know.

I want to say that I wasn’t going to, that I was just going to buy it and flush it down the toilet the first chance I could, but I don’t even I don’t believe my own intentions.

Every single inch of me is telling me that I would have bought it and used every single speck of it.

The only thing that was stopping me from doing just that wasn’t my mind trying to talk me out of it. It wasn’t everything in me telling me that knew better.

Yeah, I knew better but I still called the dealer by my own accord.

No, what stopped me was the fact that my old dealer now works for one of the most powerful men in the city of Chicago.

The man that helped me get into rehab.

Dante Rossetti.

I guess he told every dealer that he had on payroll to contact him if I ever called.

And well, I called.

His men found me on a bench on the river drinking two bottles of vodka, bottles I bought when my dealer wouldn’t answer the phone and took me to their boss.

When we arrived at his mega mansion, because it was a Saturday and the man has a life out of his strip club, I was drunk out of my mind.

I'm still out of my mind two hours later, and if I had gotten those ounces of coke, I would have been more than just out of mind.

High, numb are words that come to mind.

Now I sit in what looks like Dante’s office, waiting for the man himself to give me the time of day and let me leave.

My phone sits in his wooden desk as it starts to vibrate. The phone is face down but I don’t have to look to see who it is.

Jen.

She’s been calling nonstop since I left the hospital. She’s also been texting me every chance she gets.

I should respond and tell her that I’m okay, that I will make it home when I feel slightly less drunk, but I leave it be.

She has to be worried about me right now but at the moment, I’m not in the right capacity to talk to her.

I don’t think I’m in the right capacity to do anything except drink more of Dante’s liquor while he does whatever he does.

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