Yeah, okay, so this is part of my life. I'm not quite sure why I'm posting it here. Maybe just because I can. Maybe I just want people to know where I'm coming from before they start asking me shit. I don't know. But here it is, and it ain't pretty.
I was lying on the floor, the cold, hard floor, staring up at the ceiling in a drug-induced haze. The plaster on the ceiling was stained and crumbling, water damaged. The floor was also stained, with Lord knows how many different substances. It was a hardwood floor, and it didn’t smell nice, due to those aforementioned substances seeping into the cracks and staying there. Was that what acid and semen smelled like when they’d been sitting for weeks? I didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t know quite where I was. I was in that room, with the dirty, dented aluminum blinds covering the equally dirt window, a towel pulled half-assedly across it to block that damned sun. The mostly bare and also-stained mattress was there, but I wasn’t lying on it. Damn, this place was dirty, I thought to myself. I think. Maybe I’m just throwing that in now. Anyway...
I was pretty sure I’d had sex with Ramona at some recent point. I was naked, anyway. I remember looking over to that probably infested mattress and seeing two, maybe three bodies. One was Ramona, I figured. I didn’t know if she was even there. I just kind of assumed, it was like she had anyplace to go. She worked from home. Heh.
Those bodies sort of hinted that there was more sex than just Ramona that last...whatever time of day it had been. I kind of wanted to turn those bodies over, at least figure out what sex they were...but I really didn’t have it in me to move. I tried to put a hand to my face, I was starting to get an awful headache...I think I managed to get my palm about an inch or so off of the floor before it gave up on me. Fuck. I just kind of hoped I’d be able to roll onto my side if I had to puke. Didn’t want to end up like Jimi Hendrix, after all. Maybe I’d just roll over in case. It would probably take awhile anyway...
Gods, moving the slightest bit made my head spin. Pausing every so often, after maybe fifteen minutes I managed to get onto my side...
...only to promptly puke, realizing somewhere in the process that I seemed to have already done so before. I guess that’s what that smell was.
Well, now I was covered in my own vomit, and Lord knows what else...I didn’t exactly want to check myself out at the moment. There was a bathroom, somewhere...I let my eyes do the looking for me, spotting the dingy bathroom over in the corner. I figured getting up would result in my toppling over and killing myself by blunt force trauma to the head on some random article of furniture, so crawling it was. Of course that managed to spread that oh so lovely scented pool of vomit I’d been lying in, but gods, I wanted to get some water on me.
Next thing I knew I was in the shower, still unable to get up, but I had warm water washing over me. Reaching a hand up to my face, my fingers came away black...which freaked me out for a minute before I realized it was eyeliner. Like I said, I was fucked up that day. Or night. Or...whatever.
As I bowed my head, feeling horribly displaced again, barely feeling the warmth of the water anymore, I could hear a voice from the next room. It sounded like Ramona. It sounded like she was on the phone...but I couldn’t hear the words. I sure did start seeing words though, floating around the shower in bright colours. Yeah, I was fucked up. And it was a day like any other.
"Yeh, ‘e’s ‘ere, ‘e’ll be ‘ere all day. Yeh, I c’n be sure o’ tha’. I wan’ $25,000. No less. Or I don’ tell you shit."
Ramona was pacing in what she’d staked out as her private room, the only one with a phone. After months of searching, she’d found the right people to talk to. Those government geeks. Yeah, soon as she’d found out about "Walloff" she’d known she wanted to track them down. She’d managed to get him dependent on her for drugs, she was good at that, and she’d mixed up a special something just for him. She figured she’d give him some more, a more concentrated dosage, soon as she got off the fucking phone.
"Fine, y’don’ ‘aveta tell me when. But don’ expec’ me t’be ‘ere. Leave the money on the coun’er, ‘e’ll be in th’back. I’ll tape a key t’the door. I’ll get ‘im fucked as I can, but bring some extra guys. Just in case. Eh? Goodbye."
She dropped the phone onto the receiver, dusting off her hands and grabbing a large syringe from a side table before striding back to that back room.
I could hear Ramona walk in. My front side was cold, I was lying facedown on the bathroom floor. I was still wet, but I was shivering from something other than the cold. I think she said something to get the other ‘guests’ moving...all I could really hear was colour. Yeah, I was hearing colours. I told you, I was fucked. I heard the front door slam, and then the one to the room...I had the impression that Ramona was standing above me. I felt her hands half-hoist me up and drag me out to that disgusting mattress. I probably would have resisted if I wasn’t watching the sound of her voice wrap itself around those fish...
A tiny prick in my arm, I felt that, watched her say something else and chuck a needle aside. I had a really bad feeling as I felt her walk away, saw the click of the lock in the door. And that bad feeling was more than just the usual wave of unreality as I passed out again.
Somewhere in-between my dreamworld and the ‘real’ world, I was floating. There were a bunch of men around me, not attractive men like there usually was, a bunch of tough guys and geeks. Only two geeks, but four…four big guys. Hands around my limbs, they were picking me up but I was already weightless. This didn’t seem right, so I thrashed around a bit. I could hear "Heroes" playing somewhere, all scratchy with horrible balance, had to be a cassette in the shitty tape deck Ramona’d dragged off a curb somewhere. The thought that I was wet, naked, being wrapped in a scratchy blanket. "Reeks in here," I think I saw someone say, I heard coughing. More words. I was outside, in the back of a van. Motion. Motion...sickness. I puked on somebody, heard their sound of revulsion as I was passing out again.
And that’s how the Outside chapter started. Didn’t figure out for a long time that it was Ramona what turned me in. And yet, I don’t hate her for it. Dammit, I’m too understanding, too forgiving. Fuck her and her fucked up drugs.