Page 3 of Dark Notes, Volume Two

One more hit until I fall

A tragic storm of my own making

My life is ripe, ready for the taking

Only death remains

You can’t save me

I can’t even ‌save myself

Inside the spiral

The tornado swirls violently

Back away

You’ll only be a casualty

Inside the spiral

Death is coming

For you, for me, for everyone and everything

For you, for me, for everything

2

Chapter Two

JETT

This is not the life I envisioned for myself. I didn’t plan to become a fucking junkie. It all started the day I killed my own mother. It’s a memory that haunts me, except when I’m high. It plays on repeat in my mind, refusing to let me be.

My step-dad is hitting my mom again. I’ve had a gun on me for the last three days, waiting for the moment to end his miserable fucking life. I swore to myself that the next time he laid a hand on either of us would be the end.

I pull the gun from the back of my pants and raise it. His blank stare finds mine.

“Put the gun down, maggot.”

I return his gaze, refusing to let go of the 45 in my hand. This is the end. For years we’ve been beaten black and blue. No more. It ends—now.

I hold the firearm up and aim it at his head, a mixture of power and fury filling my chest. Holding my finger on the trigger, I press it, steady and sure. Everything happens faster than my brain can process.

He moves my mother, so she’s shielding him as the bullet leaves the chamber.

He laughs loudly as my mother slumps to the kitchen floor, blood pooling around her head. I fire another shot, killing my intended target and fall to my knees.

I called Jagger, but he didn’t answer. My next call is the second biggest regret of my life. Mikey came and helped me dispose of the bodies. It wasn’t only the first time I killed two people. It was the first time I used a drug stronger than marijuana. I killed three people that night because my life is no longer my own. That night I became a slave to the addiction that has plagued my existence since.

The funny thing about heroin is that you only get one really good high. It’s all fucking downhill after that first hit. We spend our days hoping for that elusive first-time high. You only get it once, yet we continue to try. Then, when all hope is lost, we continue to use, to keep the sickness at bay. It’s a never-ending cycle.

The tremors, vomiting, and sweating. Intense body pain. The inability to stay still.

Before I even get out of bed, I inject poison into my veins. Every day is exactly the same.

My best friend, Jagger, has begged me to get clean.