Chapter 13
451 Words
Chapter 13
WHAT’S NEXT?
I’m done with cold turkey, but I have nowhere to go. I have no plan, no money. All I have are the filthy clothes hanging off me. I know it’s too soon to get in touch with my family or any of my old friends. I burnt those bridges long ago and none of them want anything to do with me; they know I’m a junkie and have stolen from them all before. In the past, I’d asked them for help and then shat all over them from a great height. Stealing, f*****g up, shooting h****n in their home, you name it—it causes me physical pain just thinking about it now. I know they won’t want to see me, because they won’t believe I’m getting clean; they’ve heard it all before and will think it’s just another junkie story. I’m on my own for now.
So, for one last time, I go back to what I know, because I have no other choice. I find an expensive house on a quiet suburban street, then case the place beforehand and wait patiently until the old couple go out for the evening. I use my lock-picking skills picked up from my law enforcement training and sneak my way into the house. I’m much more focused and aware than I’ve been in the past when breaking and entering, when I was often jittery and hanging out for a hit. But the problem is, this time I feel guilt, remorse, and fear; emotions foreign to me when doing this before, when all I could ever focus on was the high that was coming afterwards.
This time I’m much more careful than in the past. I’m wearing thin rubber gloves, take extra care not to break anything and am hyper-alert listening for anyone that might come home. I take only what I need and no more. I focus on cash, jewellery, small electronic items and two delicate display pieces, carefully avoiding items that look like they might have sentimental value. I’m in and out as quickly as I can, leaving the place looking tidy, pretty much untouched, and lock the door behind me.
I make my way straight to a late-night pawn shop and hock the jewels and other items, making three grand for the lot, at way under market value. Adding this to the thousand in cash that I had scored from the old couple’s emergency stash in the zip-lock bag in the freezer (first place I looked), I have enough to keep me going for two months in a cheap motel, with some cash left over for food.
I swear this is the last time I will ever steal from anyone—it kills the soul.
- Writer
