Asphalt and Heroin

Kyler lay crumpled on the linoleum, willing its coolness to beat out the excessive heat of the alcohol that was pushing its way out of her pores. Her heart beat heavily against her sternum, making the world move in and out of focus. Her physical insides were a complete wreck; every nerve she had was howling to get out, while her entire skin was screaming against the touch of the very air and her stomach tried to crawl through her throat. Lying on the floor, she stared along the length of her arm stretched out in front of her, watching the wild shaking in her hand and listening to the roar of emotions inside her head. Her emotional state was more demolished than her physical self. Filled with hopelessness and despair, she could only vaguely recognize the vicious cycle she was in, as, on one hand, she desperately needed another drink, but on the other, she loathed it; hated it with her very soul. God, get me through this, please, her mind whispered. Just get me through this and I swear I’ll never drink again. Slowly, a minute at a time—sometimes it seemed like a second at a time—her heart eventually calmed its wild beating and the heat on her body began to cool down. Kyler lay there another few minutes and then carefully got to her hands and knees, then stayed like that while she took several deep breaths to loosen up her stomach. Finally she was able to reach up and grab the counter, and hauled herself to her feet, swaying. Like so many alcoholics, she immediately forgot her promise to God, and cautiously took another swallow of beer, greatly relieved when it reluctantly stayed down. And, Jesus, did it feel good as it worked its way through her body. When she felt steady enough, she stumbled wearily down the short hallway and collapsed on her bed, still shaking, and still with every muscle and nerve screaming and ready to explode.