Page 53 of Pushed

Grunting, my fingers curled into my palms as I clenched my teeth. “Don't fucking touch me.” Kicking him off, he flopped onto his back like a limp piece of spaghetti.  Clamping my foot down on his throat, I pinned him in place. “Megan—where is she?”

“You a cop?” His arms popped up, hands fanning open like I was about to trap him with a pair of cuffs. “I. . . I don't know anyone named Megan. And this shit ain't mine, I don't know how it got here.”

Looking down on his scab-covered skin and open wounds from picking off his own flesh when his stash was dry, I pressed down a little harder on his neck. “I'm not playing games with you, where is she?”

As my weight cut off his air supply and his eyes snapped open on reflex, he nodded towards the stairs. “She's up there,” he said with the last of the oxygen he had inside his lungs.

Kicking an empty bottle out of my way, I stormed up the stairs and started throwing open the doors one by one.

She was here, I just to had to find her.

This place had taken her one too many times. Today it stopped, today she wasn't saying no anymore. I was done watching her waste her life and disintegrate in front of my eyes.

I had already lost my father, my mother was barely living as it was; I was not about to lose my sister too.

Megan needed a fucking wake up call, and I was going to give it to her.

Our mother couldn't do it, she couldn't handle her anymore than she could handle her own depression. I was done wondering if the phone ringing was the cops calling to say she had been arrested or the coroner calling for someone to come identify her body.

No more, it ends now.

Reaching for the handle, I twisted it hard and tossed the door open. The metal slammed against the drywall, leaving a giant hole where it had punctured clear through.

More people were laying on the ground, the bed, against the wall sitting up, but not one of them was actually functioning like a normal human being. They were all high as shit, clinging to the rush that consumed their entire world.

That was the hardest part about dealing with an addict. You had to take it day by day because the pull was just too strong. They would do and say anything just to get one more hit, one more line to blow, one more bump off a knuckle.

Scanning the room, my heart stood still inside my chest.I knew it! I fucking knew it!

Drawing my hand over my jaw, I scratched the back of my head. Standing by her side, she was so fucking toasted, she didn't even know I was there.

Megan was on the bed with her arms hanging by her sides, track lines running raw and still bleeding from the needle she had taken.

Shaking her shoulder, I tapped the side of her face. “Megan, Megan, let's go, wake up, we're leaving.”

“Mm, grrrr, noooo, Machi.” Mumbling, her head rolled around on her neck like there were no muscles left to control it. “I'm, noo, I'm not—” Trailing off, her eyes kept closing and partially opening.

But she wasn't focusing on me, she couldn't see me or even look up to acknowledge that she was actually registering what I was saying.

Looking around, I grabbed an empty burger wrapper from the off the floor and plucked the needle from her arm, placing it on the nightstand. It made me hurt so much to her see like that, to know that she had just shoved God knows how much junk into her arm.

And for what? To feel like she was flying?

It was fucking bullshit, that's what it was. That shit turned you into a living fucking zombie. You can't function, you're no longer human; you're just a hungry scavenger, destroying everything you touch.

She doesn't even realize how much I love her.That part, that was the hardest to deal with.

“Come on, time to go home.”

Wrapping a hand under her back and one under her legs, I lifted her up and carried her away. Away from the hell that had its grip around her, away from the assholes who convinced her that one more hit wouldn't hurt, away from the place that threatened to take her forever.

The car idled quietly in the parking lot of the coffee house, Megan was still asleep, going on three hours of pure unconsciousness.

I watched her for a few moments, remembering the sweet young girl that used to be my little sister. The way she used to get on my nerves when we were growing up, the way she used to flash her sad eyes at our father and get whatever the hell she wanted.

I wish we could go back in time.

Poking her arm, I nudged her hard. “Wake up, I got coffee.” Shoving her again, her head bounced against the window, finally rattling her enough to get a response.

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