Page 100 of Anxious Hearts
Finn’s leg shook violently. What had he done? This was a disaster. He’d ruined his life. The old devil was closing in on him again, no longer kept at bay by his white powder defences. He hadn’t felt this kind of oppressive anxiety for weeks. It gripped him so fiercely that his breathing was laboured and his senses were overwhelmed. He hadn’t been eating properly and now his body seemed to be mocking him, as though it was seeking vengeance for all those stimulants. All those downers. The cocktail of chemicals that numbed and muted its natural desires.
Now, he felt weak. Starving, yet unable to eat for the mounting pressure on his stomach. Plagued by thoughts of doom, yet unable to clear his head for the fog of confusion that had settled over his mind. Fuck, he needed cocaine. And he needed it now.
They’d been in the air for an hour. Kelly had been mostly quiet, lost in her own thoughts, but she turned to him now, perhaps noticing his uncontrollable leg spasms.
‘Are you all right?’ she said.
Finn gave a sharp series of nods. ‘Yep, yep. Just a nervous flyer.’
Kelly narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ve never been a nervous flyer.’
‘Late bloomer.’ Finn tried to smile but he could feel the tension in the muscles of his jaw. Even his lips. He must have looked like a condemned man grimacing as the noose was wrapped around his neck.
Kelly studied him closely. She leaned across the oversized business class armrests so she could speak quietly and still be heard against the din of the plane’s engines. ‘When was your last hit?’
Finn didn’t even consider lying. He was at that desperate stage of anxiety where truth and confession combine in a kind of salve against the fantasies of the mind. ‘Three o’clock.’
‘Withdrawal symptoms?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just freaking the fuck out.’
‘Coke withdrawal doesn’t hit you physically. It usually manifests as anxiety, fatigue, even paranoia. It’s okay, Finn. I’m here.’
‘What if they stop me at the airport and do a drug test or something? Could I go to prison?’
Kelly held his hand. ‘Finn, you can’t go to prison for having drugs in your system. And they don’t do drug tests at the airport.’ Her eyes widened and she lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. ‘You don’t have anything on you, do you?’
Finn shook his head.
‘Thank God for that.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘We can do this. You get me through my exam and I’ll get you through withdrawals.’
Finn nodded and forced a smile. There was no way he was getting through the next twenty-four hours in withdrawal. He knew what he needed to do.
***
Finn had graduated from buying his coke from Cam the sound guy to sourcing it through social media apps. It was as simple as ordering takeaway pizza once he was hooked into the right groups. So, on arrival at their hotel room in Newcastle, it took only a little extra effort to find a local dealer.
Fifteen minutes after placing his order, Finn waited in a side street beside the hotel where guests entered the car park. He kept his eyes open for the courier, who may or may not be the dealer himself. It was all code names and anonymity, so he never knew, or particularly cared, who was who in the hierarchy, as long as they delivered on time. A dark car approached the car park entrance, driving slowly. The front window began to wind down and Finn walked to the driver’s side.
But it was an old man at the wheel. ‘Is this the Palisades car park?’ he asked, as though Finn was the valet.
‘Yeah, in there,’ Finn said with a jerk of his head before backing quickly away so he wouldn’t be recognised or remembered, as unlikely as that would be with this guy.
When he stepped back onto the footpath, there was a teenage girl on a BMX perched beside the car park wall. She sat on the bike with the lazy recline and outstretched arms necessitated by its compact design. Her hair was dark and straight, though messed up from the wind and hanging loosely over her shoulders. She had a surfer look: deeply tanned skin, clear eyes, high cheekbones. An attractive kid brought low by the chewing gum that forced her jaws up and down like a witless donkey.
‘You place an order?’ she said brusquely.
Finn was confused – he’d assumed she was a food delivery rider. But then his mind worked a little clearer. Food riders used proper bikes or even electric bikes. Not BMXs. And they didn’t ride without helmets. She didn’t even have a backpack, so where was the produce?
The girl spun the pedals backwards so that her right knee was raised. She draped a laconic arm over it, leaned forwards, and raised an eyebrow at Finn. ‘Well?’
‘Cricket99?’ he said, citing his pseudonym.
She smiled. ‘Come and give me a hug, Cricket.’
‘What?’
She stretched her arms out. ‘Come on.’
