Kit Marsden surged into the single seater public bathroom and spun on wobbly, achy legs to close the door. Her hands were shaking so badly it took a few tries to get the door locked. She startled when she turned around and caught a glimpse of the woman in the mirror, not immediately recognizing herself. She sank to the floor, relief flooding her, when she realized she was alone.
She wiped her face, ridding herself of the sweat and snot that had been collecting there, and pulled a small bag from her pocket. It had taken her so long to procure her next shot of heroin she was now in withdrawal, but this tiny Ziploc contained the cure.
Moving as quickly as she could, Kit pulled out her works and began setting up for her shot. Someone else would need this bathroom eventually, but if she rushed things, she would bleed all over the place and that would be hard to explain. She carefully laid out the water bottle, cotton swab, lighter, sterile syringe, and spoon. She’d managed to find a ladle from a kid’s play kitchen a few months ago to use as her cooker. It was the perfect shape and depth and had a handle that made cooking easy. She was especially grateful today with her hands so shaky. The last thing she wanted was to slosh half her hit across the floor.
Once everything was ready, she opened the bag and stuck the tiny test strip in, coating it with the powdered heroin. She hated the extra step, but fentanyl had changed the game. Now, instead of a nice steady march to oblivion, she had to add the extra step of a test strip or a test shot to make sure her stuff wasn’t laced with poison. Her life might have gone to shit, but that didn’t mean she wanted to end up dead.
Fuck. The strip turned purple.
The sweet salvation contained in her little Ziploc would probably kill her. Although if she was being honest, all the heroin these days had fentanyl in it. She’d been playing roulette with her life for months. Today was just the day she decided to test her hit and let the proof stare right back at her like a fully loaded assault rifle. She debated whether she cared. She already felt like death. Withdrawal played her central nervous system like a coked-out symphony conductor. And she was still early. It was only going to get worse without relief.
As if on cue, a wave of nausea hit and Kit lurched to the toilet, barely making it before vomiting. When she was fairly certain she was done, at least for the moment, she sank back against the door and looked at the bag of heroin she still clutched. She considered her life, such as it was, and what she risked losing if she injected these drugs.
“God damn it,” she said.
She tried to remember the chant or prayer that some of her sober friends found so much comfort in. “God, grant me…A balloon, world peace, three wishes? He’s God, not a genie. Salvation? A lollipop? Fuck it.”
She stood up, feeling barely strong enough to hold herself upright, and stumbled back to the toilet.
She looked at the ceiling. “How about a sign at least, Genie, God, person? Is this rock bottom?”
There was only the faint buzzing of the overhead lights.
“Fine. Thanks for nothing.”
Before she lost her nerve, she dumped the contents of the baggie she had worked so hard to procure and flushed it. She scooped up her works, turned, unlocked the door, and somehow, made it out of the bathroom without falling over or bouncing off walls. At least she thought she did. She definitely didn’t hit the floor. She wasn’t sure she would get back up.
The public library was busy at this time of day, and right now, that was both a blessing and a huge fucking annoyance. Maybe she could blend into the crowd and no one would bother her, but navigating the crowd was a challenge in her current state.
She stumbled through the library and tried to ignore the looks from the other patrons. She’d seen what stared back at her in the mirror. She looked like what she was, a strung-out heroin user. Their stares were justified. But right now, she didn’t have time to care what anyone thought of her, she only cared about getting out the door before someone called the cops. She hadn’t technically done anything wrong, if you discounted bringing heroin into the library in the first place, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t haul her in and make her current living hell even worse.
When Kit burst through the front doors and into the fresh morning air, she thought she might cry with relief. She still felt like shit, but at least the fresh air cooled her sweaty skin and felt like a magic potion flowing into her lungs. She felt rather than heard someone exit behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw a library employee eyeing her. He was looking at her intently, but not unkindly. It unnerved her all the same.
The shaking was worse than it had been. The steps felt like they were playing tricks on her and moving under her feet, but staying put wasn’t an option. Especially not with library dude staring at her. She started to feel light-headed halfway down. Three-quarters of the way down, her vision dimmed and she felt the heaviness in her limbs as she passed out.
Kit came to as she was rolled onto her back. She opened her eyes and immediately slammed them shut against the sun overhead. She was aware of people all around and yelling. Lots of yelling.
One voice stood out, a man shouting over the crowd. “Get Thea out here. Now. I think we have an overdose.”
“I’m here.”
Kit liked the sound of the woman’s voice. She wanted to open her eyes and see what she looked like, but the sun was being a jerk, and she wasn’t feeling all that well. Maybe she’d just lie here a minute more. She shifted a little to get more comfortable. Something jabbed her right in the ass. She was pretty sure it was a rock.
Despite the circumstance, Kit started laughing. Rock bottom. One hell of a sign.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
There was that nice voice again. Kit opened her eyes this time. The sun was blocked by the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. She wasn’t in such bad shape she couldn’t notice that. That had to count for something. Her curly, shoulder length brown hair was framing her face as she leaned over, and her chestnut brown eyes were soft with concern. Kit looked hard for judgment, revulsion, or reproach but didn’t find any.
Kit saw a naloxone kit in the woman’s hand, poised for deployment. Good thing she got a rock to the ass. The last thing she needed was a snoot full of naloxone. Her withdrawal problems were bad enough already.
“You don’t need that.” Kit tried to push the naloxone away. “I’m not overdosing.”
“Are you sure? When was the last time you used?”
“Given the shape I’m in right now, too long ago. I’m withdrawing, not overdosing. Save that for someone who really needs it.” She felt better when the woman lowered the dose, apparently satisfied.
“Okay. I’ll sit with you for a few minutes all the same.”
“Suit yourself,” Kit said.
She dragged herself up on the step and into a more or less upright position. The crowd had dispersed, probably after they realized she wasn’t dead and there wouldn’t be any lifesaving heroics taking place. The library employee who had followed her out earlier was loitering nearby. She looked more closely at the woman sitting next to her. She was a library employee too. What is a library employee doing running around with naloxone?
“My name’s Thea. I’m happy to provide you with computer time, reading material, food, any resources you may need, but I need something from you in return.”
“What’s that?”
Kit couldn’t remember a time in her life where she felt so sick and yet she also wanted to stick around just to sit next to this woman. She was calm and steady, and very pretty.
“You can’t use drugs in my library.
“Your library?” Kit said. “I thought it was a public library.”
That’s really the direction you’re going here? Idiot.
Thea smiled slightly. Kit couldn’t be sure because her brain was slowly becoming consumed with the physical symptoms of withdrawal that were taking over and getting more demanding by the minute, but it looked like Thea might have been amused.
“No drugs in my library.”
“For what it’s worth, and I realize it’s not much, I planned on using drugs in your library, but I flushed them instead.” She was shaking badly now, and despite the relatively cool temperature, sweat was pouring down her face and pooling at her waist. “God, how did I get here?”
Kit didn’t mean to ask the last part aloud. It was despair and sickness escaping in one outlet of breath and in front of a complete stranger, no less. To add to Kit’s mortification, Thea answered her.
“If you mean how you physically ended up here, I’d be happy to get you directions home. But you sounded a bit more philosophical just then. If you are looking to make changes to your current life circumstances, I’m also happy to provide you with any resources you require to get you started on your journey. The library is a wonderful resource.”
Again, Kit looked for judgment or reproach but didn’t find any as she searched Thea’s face. She wondered how often Thea provided those wonderful resources to lost souls like her.
Don’t feel special, she carries naloxone in her pocket. She must see sad sacks like you all the time.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think a library is what I need right now,” Kit said. “The hospital’s around the corner. I’m going to head to the emergency room while I can still walk. I think it’s time to make some changes in my life.”