I am terrified. Vomiting. RJ has not answered his phone in days. I have been calling every ten minutes. Susan lies on the bed, twisting and turning in the duvet and cursing. I have taken to lying in the bathtub, fully clothed. Thank God our roommates are away for the weekend. It feels good to rest my head against the cool of the plastic tub and the tiles. At least for a moment. There is not enough money to risk going to Kings Cross to score. One rip-off and we would be fucked. “Why the fuck do we have to rely on RJ!” Susan screams, on the verge of tears again. “You couldn’t have found a fucking backup for emergencies?”
“Why the fuck is it always on me to do this shit?” I yell back, and that makes me cough and then the dry heaves start again.
“This is your fucking city! Your responsibility!”
“If you make me get out of this tub,” I warn her, “I’m gonna throw you out the fucking window, do you hear me, cunt? I’ll put you out of your fucking misery once and for ALL!”
She shuts up after that.