More Than Even Heroin
(Heroin Romance)
(A Short Story by Jim Slimedog
The club’s shut down and he’s long been paid, behaved himself at least to get through the sets without seeming too depraved. Of course, that’s some of the ticket, some of the show, why people come to see him. But unfortunately, for him, they still want to hear the songs.
“Whatta they know, I’ve heard them enough, the crowds and the songs. Just a bunch-a-assholes. They can’t appreciate a true artiste like me,” he laughs about his rag tag mix of punk and fifties rock’n’roll.
The bass player gave him and his girlfriend a ride back to their apartment in the Chinese part of town that borders on the red light district. She carries his guitar and lets him slump against her shoulder up the stairs.
“You know I love you, babe, I love you, more than anything, more than the music, more than the drugs, more than even heroin,” he says leaning against the back of the bed, the cigarettes between his fingers, his lids hanging heavy off his eyes, but of course, it’s not true. Even if he might believe it, a second here or there, heroin’s taking all his love, all his interest. Anything else is just second on the list. Heroin takes it all. All your problems, all your desires and puts it all in one little package, and that package is all your problems, all your desires rolled into one. Heroin- for people who want to commit suicide without the commitment. Death without leaving home.
His long hair hangs in bangs in his eyes, his skinny torso is bare but his black slacks and boots are still on. The bare bulb shines above the room at three a.m. and someone beats his woman down the hall.
“You know, this new band, Jimmy really beats the skins, I think this could be my big break. I promise, I’m gonna get myself straight and then things are gonna happen.”
But his heart is somewhere else, his veins beat with something else. The ashtray overflows, the wine bottle’s half full and the empty beer bottles are next to the bed. Her head lies in his lap and her eyes look big and sad, bored and frightened at the same time.
“We’re hittin’ the big time, Becky Lou,” he says in a fake cowboy accent,” I’m gonna set you up fine, honey chile’, all your chickens are comin’ home to roost. I’m getting’ us out of this two bit town.”
The neon light of the diner across the street blink on and off against the shades, his eyes grow heavy and heavier and she just finished off the bottle of wine. She knows she cares about him and it’s for his own good that he doesn’t know where her secret stash is hid. She pulls his zipper down and goes to work on him with her mouth, but it’s a losing battle. He’s still awake but the desire’s long been drained.
“C’mon, honey, just for me?” she says quietly as she continues with her task. He can barely feel her.
He leans back and says, “You know I love you, baby, more than the mountains, more than the skies, more than…..just about, you sure you ain’t got anything, else, darlin’?”
