Withdrawal Weather
1267 Words
Daniel slept nearly fourteen hours after Evelyn left his apartment.
Not real sleep.
Withdrawal sleep.
The kind filled with fever dreams, twitching muscles, and flashes of panic strong enough to wake him gasping. Every blanket in the apartment ended up tangled around his legs by morning. Sweat dampened the mattress beneath him.
When he finally opened his eyes, gray daylight leaked weakly through cracked blinds.
His body still hurt.
But less.
Barely less.
The soup Evelyn brought sat untouched on the kitchen counter beside bottled water and crackers. Such small normal things. Yet seeing them there made the apartment feel unfamiliar somehow. Softer.
Like another person had existed inside it.
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face slowly before reaching for cigarettes automatically.
Empty pack.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
His voice sounded rough from vomiting.
For several minutes he remained sitting motionless at the edge of the mattress staring at nothing. The apartment buzzed quietly around him. Pipes knocking somewhere in the walls. Cars passing outside. A dog barking faintly downstairs.
Ordinary life continuing.
Meanwhile his entire existence revolved around whether or not he would use heroin today.
That realization exhausted him suddenly.
Not emotionally.
Deeply.
Bone deep.
He stood carefully and shuffled toward the kitchen. His back screamed instantly. Sharp nerve pain shot down his left leg hard enough to make him grab the counter for balance.
People always assumed addicts stopped feeling pain because of drugs.
Most actually lived in pain constantly.
Physical.
Mental.
Emotional.
Heroin simply paused it briefly.
Daniel opened one of the water bottles Evelyn left and drank slowly.
Then noticed a folded note beneath it.
His stomach tightened unexpectedly.
The handwriting was neat.
Eat something today. Please.
That single word sat heavier than it should have.
Please.
Not demanding.
Not controlling.
Worried.
Daniel stared at the note for a long time before crumpling it slightly in his fist.
Dangerous.
This was becoming dangerous.
By evening he forced himself to work despite lingering withdrawal symptoms.
Marino’s Diner smelled overwhelmingly strong tonight. Grease and coffee turned his stomach immediately while he scrubbed dishes beneath steaming water.
“You look worse than usual,” Sal muttered while passing through the kitchen.
“Thanks.”
“You sick?”
Daniel shrugged.
Sal stopped walking.
“You using less?”
The question caught him off guard.
“What?”
“I ain’t stupid,” Sal said bluntly. “You look dopesick.”
Daniel focused harder on the dishes.
“Mind your business.”
Sal sighed heavily.
“My younger brother died from heroin.”
Daniel froze slightly.
Sal rarely talked about personal things.
Ever.
“He was thirty-four,” Sal continued quietly. “Good mechanic. Funny guy. Then one day he bought bad dope and stopped breathing in some motel bathroom.”
Daniel stared downward silently.
“I ain’t trying to lecture you,” Sal muttered. “Just saying I know what this looks like.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Sal added:
“That woman who comes here worries about you too much.”
Daniel looked up immediately.
“Evelyn?”
“Yeah.” Sal frowned slightly. “She looks at you like she’s waiting for bad news every second.”
The statement unsettled him deeply because it felt true.
Evelyn watched him constantly now.
His mood.
His eyes.
His hands.
Whether he looked high or sick or exhausted.
The same way addicts watched dealers.
Or paramedics watched unstable patients.
Always alert for collapse.
“You should be careful with that,” Sal muttered before walking away.
Daniel didn’t ask what he meant because he already knew.
Booth seven remained empty until almost ten.
Daniel told himself he didn’t care.
Then immediately noticed the exact second Evelyn walked through the door.
Dark sweater tonight instead of her usual coat.
Hair down.
No makeup.
She looked tired.
Really tired.
Their eyes met briefly across the diner before she sat down.
Daniel tried focusing on work.
Failed.
Ten minutes later he carried coffee toward her automatically.
“You look awful,” Evelyn said softly.
Daniel almost laughed.
“You said that yesterday.”
“You somehow look worse today.”
“Encouraging.”
She smiled faintly.
But concern lingered heavily beneath it.
“You eat anything?”
“Some crackers.”
“That isn’t food.”
“It’s technically food.”
Evelyn shook her head slightly.
Then her expression changed.
“You’re shaking.”
Daniel glanced down.
His hands trembled around the coffee pot slightly.
Withdrawal still lingering.
He set the pot down before she noticed more.
“Long day.”
Evelyn stared at him quietly for a moment.
Then asked:
“Did you use?”
The honesty of the question surprised him.
Daniel considered lying.
Instead—
“No.”
Evelyn blinked.
“Really?”
“For once.”
Something vulnerable crossed her face then.
Relief.
Actual relief.
And Daniel suddenly understood something terrifying.
His sobriety affected her emotionally now.
Directly.
He could see it.
The way her shoulders loosened slightly.
The way she breathed easier.
Like his answer physically calmed her nervous system.
That wasn’t normal.
Neither of them mentioned it aloud.
After closing, rain started again.
Soft this time.
Daniel stood beneath the awning smoking while exhaustion settled heavily into his bones. Withdrawal always left him emotionally raw afterward. Everything felt sharper.
Colder.
Lonelier.
The diner door opened behind him.
Evelyn stepped outside carrying two coffees.
“One’s yours,” she said.
Daniel accepted it carefully.
Their fingers brushed briefly.
Warm.
“Thanks.”
They stood quietly beside each other while rain whispered against the streets nearby.
Then Evelyn finally spoke.
“I didn’t sleep much.”
Daniel glanced toward her.
“Why?”
She laughed softly without humor.
“I kept wondering if you were okay.”
His chest tightened painfully.
“You can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Worry about me like that.”
Evelyn looked confused.
“Why not?”
Because you’ll drown with me.
Daniel swallowed the words instead.
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
“No,” he muttered quietly. “You know the version of me that exists in diners and alleyways.”
Evelyn studied him carefully.
“And the rest?”
Daniel stared out toward the rain.
“The rest isn’t good.”
Silence stretched.
Then Evelyn stepped closer beneath the awning.
“So show me anyway.”
The sentence hit harder than heroin ever had.
Because addicts survived through hiding pieces of themselves.
And Evelyn kept asking him not to hide.
That frightened him more than anything lately.
Later that night, Daniel relapsed.
Not dramatically.
Not after some huge emotional breakdown.
Quietly.
Alone.
He bought heroin from Vic near the train tracks around one in the morning and injected in his bathroom thirty minutes later while sitting on the closed toilet lid.
Relief spread instantly.
Warmth.
Stillness.
The world softening around sharp edges.
Daniel closed his eyes hard.
Then immediately thought about Evelyn.
Her face when he said he hadn’t used.
The relief in her eyes.
The hope.
Guilt crashed through him so violently it nearly ruined the high entirely.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself.
Because now heroin wasn’t just hurting him anymore.
Now there was someone else emotionally attached to whether he survived the night.
Someone checking her phone.
Someone worrying.
Someone beginning to need his recovery the same way he needed the drug itself.
And deep down, in the darkest part of himself, Daniel realized something awful.
Part of him liked being needed.
Even by someone destroying herself to do it.
- Writer
