I wake up only to roll over and find her gone. What a shock. The side of the bed is still warm which means she didn’t take off too long ago. I sigh and get up out of bed yawning. Her stuff is gone which means she’s not coming back. Sometimes I wish I could snap myself out of the trance I get into when she’s around. I know she isn’t right for me and I know she’s so screwed up that nothing at this point could probably bring her back down to reality but something about Meg keeps me coming back.

Trace comes in the apartment and takes one look at me before sighing, “Met up with the temptress huh?”

I run my hands over my newly shaved head, “We were just fooling around.”

“You’re always fooling around, that’s the problem. You can’t go a week without hooking up with that girl. What happened last time when you got involved with her brother? You said that was it and the next week you’re banging her again.”

“I’ve tried to stay away from her, it just doesn’t work.”

“She’s not a fucking drug man. I can’t send you to a detox place to cure you of her, you have to do it yourself.”

I roll my eyes, “No kidding. Thanks for the news update.”

“I’m just saying maybe you should start dating again.”

“I tried that, it didn’t work.”

Trace hands me a cup of coffee, “Here, try and get some of your sanity back.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the cup from him, “I guess you can just tell by my face when I’ve been with Meg huh?”

“No, she was just sitting on the stoop outside on the street.”

I look up at him to see if he’s kidding and when I see his face, start to pull on my clothes as fast as I can.

________________________________________________________________________

My hands shake as I smoke my cigarette. It used to be enough, this little piece of nicotine. That’s why I started in the first place. Oh sure I had seen after school specials that told you by smoking you cut your life short and it wasn’t cool. They were full of shit. They also used to tell us if you masturbated your hands would become saunas and you would grow up to become a pervert. Well, most at least.

I was fifteen and jaded. I had about all I could handle and picked up one of these things to feel like I could control something. Anything. I felt so out of control that holding something in my hand and deciding when to blow smoke out of my mouth or inhale the addicting substance, it sounded like something for me. However, over the years it has become less soothing and more like it was taking me over than vice versa.

Don’t get me wrong, cigarettes and I share a relationship that cannot be broken, I just find myself needing something stronger, something that can keep reality at an arms length. A man comes strolling up to me and smiles, “You Mega?”

I nod, “That’s me.”

“Your friend said you would be here.”

“That’s why I called him,” I respond sarcastically, standing up and dusting myself off.

“It’s kind of early to be doing this,” he comments, reaching into his pocket.

“I need a fix.”

He laughs, “I understand. Once a junkie always a junkie.”

“I’m not a junkie.”

“Sure you’re not doll, and I’m Eric Clapton.”

“I’m not, I just need something to take my mind off my life.”

“Honey, it’s nine in the morning.”

I sigh, “It’s my first time doing this alright? I just need enough so I don’t slit my wrists tonight alright?”

He looks up startled, “Maybe you need to get help instead of standing here with me.”

“Don’t try and save me alright? No one can do that.”

“Do you need someone to talk to?” he asks, turning his head to the side, sizing me up.

“I can’t talk to anyone.”

“That’s too bad,” he murmurs.

“Look, are you going to give me the shit or what?” I snap.

“Do you have the cash?”

I pull out a wad of bills, “I assume cash is acceptable?”

“Always.”

I extract some bills and shove it into his palm, “Can I have my stuff now?”

The man holds up a couple of needles, “This work for you?”

I nod, “That’ll work.”

“You might want to be careful, for a first timer it’s pretty strong shit.”

“I’m fine,” I say grabbing the bag and turning to walk down the street. Suddenly I feel the man grab my arm and I scream, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Megan Curry, you are under arrest for the purchasing of illegal narcotics with the intent to use such narcotics. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will used against you in a court of law.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek as a cop car comes around the corner and pulls up to the sidewalk. Handcuffs are put on my wrists and the cold metal clinks together. I look up sullenly to see Justin staring at me as he stands in the doorway shocked. He takes a step out and calls out, “What are you doing to her?”

The cop looks up, “You know her?”

He nods dumbly, “Yeah.”

“She’s going to be brought down to the precinct. They’ll decide what her bail will be.”

“Just call my parents,” I hiss at him as the officer in the driver’s seat get out and opens the door for me as the other officer puts his hand on top of my head as they help me get into the back of the car.

I lay my head back against the back of the seat and hope to God this is all just a bad dream.

________________________________________________________________________

One month later….

I sit in the courtroom watching Meg sit there with her parents. I haven’t really spoken to her since that fateful day of her arrest. Unfortunately, she’s the Paris Hilton of New York. For a first time offense they have her jumping through hoops. She sits there stiffly like everything around her is annoying her. On her right her mother sits with her, pearls proudly displayed over her cleavage. On her left her father sits uncomfortably, looking ashamed that he even has to be here. Apparently a friend of the family, Myles Callaghan defends her.

Now we just have to wait here for the judge to deliver her verdict. Trace didn’t want me to come today, saying I should just make a clean break from her but you know how I listen. Meg looks around and her eyes meet mine for a moment. She pauses and I smile weakly at her as she turns back around. The girl looks so lost it’s not even funny.

A guard comes out from a room by the side of the room, “Please stand.”

We all come to our feet as the judge comes in and sits down in her seat. She’s younger that I would have thought but she certainly doesn’t look like a push over. I watch as Megan rings her hands together and I wish I was standing next to her.

“So Megan Curry, after looking over your file I have decided that jail time will not come into play this time young lady.”

I can see Meg’s shoulders relax a little. The judge looks down at her, “But that doesn’t mean you are getting off completely. I have decided that you will have to have four months of probation and after looking over the comments you made to the officer, I have decided you should see a physiatrist for six months.”

Megan’s mother shifts her glance subtly to her daughter. It’s so cold she could probably freeze hell over. The judge puts her glasses on, “Is there anything you wish to say Megan?”

“Thank you judge,” her weak voice echoes through the court room.

“I hope never to see you here again Megan. Take care of yourself,” she says, hitting the gavel as the bang rings through the room and she exits. Myles smiles at her and hugs her. Meg squirms a little as her father and Myles shake hands.

A guard opens the gate and they walk down the center isle. Meg looks back at me and I wink at her, walking behind her as we all exit the courtroom. Her parents talk to someone and I grab her arm, pulling her to the side, “Hey.”

There are dark circles under her eyes, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

She shrugs, “I’m alright.”

“So that wasn’t so bad.”

Meg tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, “I don’t want to go to see a psychiatrist.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad Meg. Do you know who you have to see?”

She sighs and reaches into her purse, pulling out a piece of paper, “A Dr. Philips.”

My blood runs cold, “What?”

She hands me the paper and I shiver as I read the name over and over. She looks at my face, “You know her?”

“She’s who I go to,” I say, my voice coming out raspy.

“Well don’t worry, I won’t reveal the extent to which we fuck.”

I try to laugh but inside I’m dying, “She’s like a half hour out of the way. Wouldn’t you rather go to someone closer?”

Meg takes the piece of paper back from me, “That’s who the judge recommended for me so that’s who I’m going to go to. I just have to get through the next few months and it’s all over.”

“So how are you doing really?” I ask, trying to take my mind off of the thoughts swirling in my head.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Well if you need someone else to talk to other than Dr. Philips, give me a call.”

She nods, “Okay.”

“Or anything else you need,” I add.

I see a familiar grin spread across her face, “That much I knew.”

“See you Meg.”

________________________________________________________________________

My parents grab me and pull me out the door and into the limo as quickly as possible, “Well that went well I think,” Myles says, buttoning his jacket.

“Yeah, wonderful,” my mother moans, leaning her head against the window.

“It could have been worse,” my father comments, pulling out a cigar and lighting it.

“I’m right here,” I yell.

“We know Meg,” Myles says, putting his hand on my knee as I pull it away sharply.

“Megan, Myles is just trying to make you feel better!” my mother shrieks.

“You embarrassed this whole family young lady,” dad says, puffing away.

I reach for the silver handle and as the car comes to a stop at the red light, I pull the lever and jump out of the car, running down the street without looking back as people screaming my name gets fainter the harder I run.

I stop after a few blocks and cut across some people’s back yard until I get to the gallery. I run inside and collapse near my paintings, heaving from lack of air. Heels hitting the floor cause me to spin around and see a woman standing before me, “You must be Megan.”

“Who are you?” I ask, standing up.

“Dr. Philips.”

“Who let you in here?”

“The judge said I needed to survey your life before our session on Monday. I was told this was open to the public.”

I ignore her, “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

She smiles softly, “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” she says, moving over to my paintings, “There are some very interesting depictions here.”

“I still don’t want to talk to you.”

Dr. Philips nods, a little too much like an adult pretending that the child throwing a fit will stop if you ignore them, “I’ll see you Monday Megan.”

I watch her walk out and feel my control slipping away from me. I reach for my cigarettes and light up, taking a puff. I can’t take this anymore.