Free My Angels Have Demons (Users #1) by Stacy, Jennifer Buck Page B

said.
    I knew that was coming. Her family had all been alcoholics and drug addicts like myself, and she had spent a lifetime sober, having never touched even a drop of alcohol.
    "You've never done it, so you don't miss it," I said.
    "You think just because I have never tried it that I couldn't use a release every now and then?" she asked. "Because trust me I could."
    She had me there. There's something about being an addict where we all think our situation is so special, but in truth we're all the same. The same behaviors, the same story replaying itself time and time again. It's all bullshit. I'm not special and I know it, but that doesn't stop me from complaining about it.
    "It's not the same." I told her.
    "How?" she asked, "how is it not the same?"
    "You've never experienced the sweet relief that washes over you when you sink in that needle, or the warm tingling sensation that runs up your spine when the drugs start to kick in," I said.
    "Maybe not," she conceded.
    I looked up at her, surprised by her relinquishing of the upper hand she had on the conversation. Therapy was like war at times. A battle of wills, and I was fighting a constantly losing battle. I fought for my side, but my perspective was all fucked up. It didn't deserve to win the war, and somewhere deep down I knew it. I was an animal that needed a leash.
    My angels have demons.
    "It's not something you can ever forget," I said. "That feeling stays with you, and haunts your days forever. This is a case where ignorance really is bliss, but Pandora cannot be put back in the box. It's been opened, and my sins laid bare for all to see."
    Otherwise known as chasing the dragon. That first high, that first blissful sensation that you can never quite get back, no matter how hard you try. It's what causes so many over doses. It's a monkey on your back that needs to be fed, and boy is he hungry. His little stomach seems like a bottomless pit that can never be filled.
    "Rather poetic, don't you think?" she asked.
    "Most poetry is derived from pain."
    There it was. I was showing my other half. Everyone has two sides, and mine were ripping me apart.
    "So where did you go next?" she asked.
    "After I left Fox's place?"
    "Yes."
    "I went to the shelter, like I told her I would," I said.
    "Then what happened?"
    "Then I met a boy."
    #
    Chapter 7
     
     
    The cross above the door was illuminated with orange neon lights. Having left Fox behind, Darnell turning on him, and fearing going back to his apartment, Carter was left with only two options, sleep on the streets or go to the shelter. He chose the shelter. The drenched streets of Seattle were no place for any person to sleep, and though he had at his worst times being too strung out to care, he was apt to think otherwise with a clean mind and his distaste for discomfort. The rain and bitter cold could strike at any moment, leaving you soaking wet and freezing.
    He passed beneath the arched doorway and into a world of the unfortunate and the misunderstood. Rows of cots were laid out in an old run down gymnasium. The markings on the floor, the outlines of a basketball court, had long faded away. The nets on the two hoops hung in tatters, having seen far too many games.
    The pastor approached, wearing jeans and a button up t-shirt, but the black collar with the white center gave him away.
    "Looking for a place to stay tonight?" he asked politely.
    There was not even a hint of judgment in his tone; he had seen it all before.
    "My place...it is under construction," Carter said.
    "No matter. All are welcome here, regardless of the reason." The pastor spread his arms wide, inviting him in.
    "Thank you father." Carter's eyes darted about the room, looking from cot to cot.
    "Pick any open spot," he said noticing Carter's gaze.
    "Thank you," Carter said again.
    He walked between a row that was mostly empty, wanting as much privacy as could be afforded in a place like this. He picked his cot the same way a lone person picked a movie