Clara's Descent

Chapter 11

The next morning, I woke without knowing if I'd really slept.

My body was tense, nerves on edge, but my mind floated somewhere above me.

A dull migraine throbbed at my temples, and my mouth tasted like metal and rotten sugar.

It was just past six.

Jeremy was still sleeping -- I could hear his heavy breathing upstairs.

The house was wrapped in that gray morning silence, the kind that usually makes me want to vanish into a pillow.

But not today.

Today, I had a mission.

A calling.

I got up, legs unsteady, threw on a sweater over my naked body, and went straight to the bathroom.

I pulled the metal box from its secret drawer and, with mechanical hands, prepared the pipe.

The rock.

The flame.

The smoke.

The moment I inhaled, my whole body exhaled.

Like it had found its rhythm again, its anchor, its pulse.

I leaned back against the cold tile, eyes half-closed.

And there it was --

The warmth.

The shiver.

That supernatural clarity.

It wasn't even seven, and I was already high.

I made coffee, dropped a splash of vodka in it -- more out of habit than need.

Lately, I'd noticed I no longer drank to loosen up, but to smooth the spikes.

Alcohol had become the buffer, the glue between the lines and the flames.

A lubricant for the crash.

I sat in the kitchen, nude under my sweater, stirring my cup like a metronome.

I wasn't hungry.

Wasn't sleepy.

Didn't have any clear thoughts.

But I felt good.

Too good, maybe.

Around eight, Jeremy came down.

I poured his coffee.

He barely looked at me.

Didn't ask anything.

I was smiling, bright, almost too polite.

A little too made-up, too.

But he didn't notice.

-- What are you up to today?

-- Not much, I said. Just going to enjoy the quiet house.

He nodded.

He didn't see a thing.

Not who I'd become.

The second he left, the tension dropped --

A relief so intense it felt sexual.

I closed the door gently. Locked it.

Then went straight back to the bathroom.

Two lines of coke.

Another hit of meth.

I was becoming a product clock.

Everything had become dosage.

Precision.

Dosage again.

Too early for this.

Not high enough for that.

A small drink to come down.

A line to go back up.

A constant equation of artificial happiness.

And the worst part?

I was getting good at it.

I was efficient.

As if my life had finally found its logic.

Around nine, I tried not to touch the meth.

Just to see. Just to test.

But by nine-forty, I was already back on it.

I told myself it was just for today.

That I'd take a break tomorrow.

But I knew I was lying.

And I didn't care.

I wasn't even waiting for Alex anymore.

It was worse.

I didn't need him.

He'd left me with his gift,

and I had become my own supplier,

my own executioner,

my own goddess.

I lay on the couch, legs tucked under me, the pipe still warm in my hand.

And I thought:

I've never felt more alive.

Or more fucked.

Chapter 12

It was past ten.

I was taking another hit of meth, sitting in my bathrobe in the kitchen, eyes already shining, chest heaving, when I heard a knock at the door.

Alex.

-- Good morning, baby. You're late, I said with a smile, my voice a little too high.

With all the meth I'd had since dawn, I was buzzing -- overheated, overexcited. I threw myself at him, ravenous.

He fucked me right there on the hallway floor, hard, deliciously, and I came again, loud, laughing like a madwoman.

I was in another state -- exactly the one I wanted.

The one I never wanted to leave.

After the orgasm, lying on his chest, he said:

-- Get dressed. We're going to see some friends.

-- Huh? Where?

-- A buddy's place, near Vauvert. Fifteen kilometers from here, tops. You'll see, they're cool. There's vodka, meth, and even... a little more.

He pulled out a plastic bag and handed me some clothes --

A tiny black skirt, a pale pink tank top that showed my belly, no bra.

I changed in the bathroom.

Looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked like a whore.

But it didn't shock me -- it turned me on.

There was something raw, filthy, abandoned in that outfit.

And I felt beautiful.

Dangerously beautiful.

I put my pipe in my purse, grabbed a small bag of coke, downed a big glass of vodka in one gulp, and we left.

Barely seated in the car, Alex opened the glove box and handed me a bag full of stuff --

Meth, coke, and a small pouch of beige powder. Something different.

Two brand new pipes.

Sterile syringes, still in their blister packs.

I froze.

-- What... is this?

-- Heroin, baby.

-- But... I can't. I already take meth all the time. I'm addicted, I can feel it...

He looked at me with tenderness. Almost lovingly.

-- Don't worry, princess. I'm here. I won't let you fall. Trust me.

He kissed me on the forehead.

I should've refused. Screamed. Jumped out of the car.

But Alex had that power over me.

That gentle, unbreakable authority.

I couldn't say no.

I didn't want to.

-- Take a hit, baby girl. It'll calm you down.

I didn't even hesitate.

I pulled a rock from my bag, heated the pipe between my fingers -- quick, precise.

I was getting good at it, and I was proud.

Like a little queen of ruin.

We hadn't even left Nîmes yet and the smoke had already lifted me off the ground.

My mind floated.

My body softened.

I was good.

So good.

Then the excitement came back.

Mechanical. Irresistible.

Without realizing it, I had slid a hand between my thighs.

I moaned softly, eyes half-closed.

Alex smiled.

-- Today I fucked you, and I'm going to have you fucked, my little slut. Isn't that what you wanted? To be obedient? Offered up? You'll see -- I'll introduce you to Elodie. She's sweet. She'll offer you some heroin, and you'll accept. It's normal -- she uses all the time too.

-- Are... are you sure, baby?

-- I'm here, sweetheart. I've got you. You just have to be pretty and obedient.

He brushed his finger across my face.

And I melted.

He was right.

He was always right.

I told myself:

I have nothing left to decide. I'm his. I'm his slut. And that's fine by me.