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It was an accident but she knew that no one else would see it this way. They would blame him for her death, pointing accusing fingers in his direction until his own demise. She had already forgiven him for he had only done what she wanted him to. She had left her parent’s home with exactly one thing on her mind: to get wasted beyond this existence, to somehow feel anything but the ugliness and shame that seemed soul deep.

He had picked her up around 8 that evening expecting to win her heart, not to cause it to stop beating. He had loved her ever since they were small children playing in the sandbox at her house, his parent’s didn’t have enough money to even have a yard. He thought she was beautiful and couldn’t understand why she didn’t see it. He had all intentions in making this woman as happy as he possibly could, he was willing to do whatever it took.

She was all grins in her black sweater dress and sky-blue knee high boots when she saw him waiting in his car curbside. She almost danced a jig walking to him, and pecked him on the cheek as she got inside the passenger seat. She didn’t love him or anyone for that matter. People had only dissapointed her in this world and she was positive that they would continue to do so if allowed. She did find him attractive, kind and a genuinely good person, as far as that goes in this universe, she snickered to herself, knowing that the community had already pegged addicts as anything but “good”.

She did love that he was her ticket to get out of this lame universe, her rollercoaster of highs and lows. She loved how all she had to do was ask him for a pill, or sometimes just look at him and bat her eyelashes. He was putty in her hands, but all she wanted in her hands were chemicals that could stop the pain and ache of constant consciousness.

He handed her the xanax when they turned the corner on their way to a local bar. She gobbled them up in one sip of the stale Coke in his console. He asked her if she should have taken all of them at once, she replied with a giggle, stating she had taken more than that on a good day. He had seen her take methadone and drink all day, see her shoot up heroin and snort a clonopin, why should he have worried about the 50 mg of xanax and whatever else may be in her system - this girl was a boss.

It was later that night, a couple drinks at the bar, she couldn’t necessarily remember anything that happened, just that she needed to lay down, she was so tired. She was so tired of this life, of having to take a pill in order to feel like a normal person, even though it made her the exact opposite. She was just plain tired of it all and the world knew it. Everyone should have known it, if they had known her. She didn’t feel at home and as she fell into a sleep that her body wouldn’t wake from she begged whomever was listening to take her home.