treat your selfBarbara knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help herself. It had been a week--seven whole days--since the last time she took her mother's pills. She felt as if she had been walking through tar that entire week, she could barely move, felt as though she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, got sick as often as someone would when they had the stomach flu, was constantly worry about nothing in particular, and basically was going through pure torment for those (seemingly long) seven days. The blonde felt as though she deserved a reward.
She told herself that it wasn't that wrong, because she wasn't addicted. Because it simply provided her a break. Because it couldn't hurt her. Because it wouldn't interfere with any other aspect of her life. Boy, was she wrong. Barbara's grades had begun to drop after the first pill. She couldn't take her mind off of the feeling, she wanted to constantly feel that way. The school counselor even spoke to her (as requested by her homeroom teacher), but she kept to herself about the issue.
It had started months before, when she mistook the orange bottle prescribed for her mother for her own Adderall--she was awfully drowsy that day, and didn't take the time to notice the color difference. Adderall slowed her down, it made her tired and she never felt hungry. Her mother's Oxycodone, on the other hand, it gave her an irreplaceable, indescribable buzz, one that calmed yet invigorated her nerves. They seemed to erase all of her problems, and every stressful event that haunted her to that day was completely forgotten. As soon as the pills started to kick in that first time, Barbara had realized her mistake. Did she fix her mistake by going to the bathroom, and forcefully removing them from her system? No, instead, she lied down, entering a dream-like haze that one would enter at four AM when unable to sleep.
She crept into the bathroom, tiptoeing down the hall, successfully continuing to leave her mother oblivious to what was happening. Although Barbara knew her mom was a heavy sleeper, she took note of the commonly used phrase, better safe than sorry. It didn't help that her mother wasn't the brightest woman around, which really only gave the high schooler yet another benefit to the substance abuse.
It was always such a bother to have to slowly open the medicine cabinet, in order to keep it from loudly creaking--loud enough to wake the neighbor, an elderly man, let alone someone in the house. Every time Barbara would get so desperate for a break from reality, which was far too often, the time needed to simply open the cabinet would make her itch with anticipation. Once the cabinet door was sufficiently open, the blonde's hand gracefully thrust forward in the direction of where the pill bottle resided.
As if she had just won the lottery, Barbara's heart fluttered when her fingertips made contact with the transparent bottle. The tangerine color seemed to call her name, it cooed and called and beckoned until she managed to screw the top off. Although she'd gone through this routine many times, she still had difficulty taking that barrier between her and bliss away from the equation.
Once the cap was off, she could have sworn that the calling simply grew louder. Her mind was fuzzy, all she wanted was the sweet escape. Barbara lightly shook the pill bottle, just to hear the cherished sound of the pills crashing against that tangerine plastic, it meant that all of her worries would soon be put to rest. It felt as if she held the key to the universe in her hand, those three, dove white pills seemed to have so much power within them.
The unbearable time that it took to take the cap off was too much for her, it turned her mind to mush, and all she could think of that how she felt the last time she entered her cloud of Oxycodone. Without a second thought, she poured nearly all of the contents of the bottle into her hand, a few of the capsules hitting the ground with a skittering sound. The feeling alone was enough to satisfy her want, but at the same time, she absolutely needed more.
Slamming the bottle (which only had a few remaining pills within it) down onto the marble counter, with no regard for anything else anymore, Barbara raised her cupped hand to her mouth, dry swallowing the majority of them. The few that wouldn't go down her throat, instead, fell past her cheeks and hit the ground, joining the medication that had fallen prior. Another thing she didn't bother with was closing the cabinet door--she was already too charged on the mere idea of her key to paradise.
Paradise was a place where everything was numbed; her thoughts, her body, the product of the two. Paradise was a place where all things had its own music to it, everything would hum a unique tune. Paradise was a place where screeching cabinet doors were forbidden. Paradise was a place where all was at rest. What the gates to this so-called paradise didn't inform you of, was the mere fact that paradise would seize your well-being, and demolish everything else you cared for.
Although she was dreadfully anticipating getting to her room, she still reminded herself to creep down the hallway to her room, rather than rushing as if she were being chased.Her feet barely hit the ground, just as a ballerina's would. Grace was the key word here. As soon as she made it into her room, a burst of euphoria hit her like a truck.
Lying down on her bed, Barbara allowed her eyes to fall shut, and prepared to enter the beloved state of ecstasy. She expected the trip to be the best one yet, given the amount of pills she consumed, and she trusted them to deliver.