Suddenly, he was still.
For a brief moment I feared he might be dead. I couldn’t imagine what the police would think were they to see what we’d done. I’d most certainly be committed. I moved slowly toward his flaccid body and I did not exhale until I saw him breathing as well.
It is terribly difficult now for me to recall exactly what the substance in the needle looked like. Sometimes, when I think of it, it is a cloudy white with thin red threads swirling through it. Other times I imagine it is a brilliant pink, glittering and pulsating. Then there are moments when I remember it as a deep red, as thick as syrup, and nearly too hot to grasp. I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much. There are days, even now, that I don’t mind forgetting.
What I cannot forget is standing on the cold til
