That night she came back to the apartment completely wasted, quite a feat considering she had found a bar in less than two hours in a city she had been in for less than a three.  She was more intoxicated than I had grown accustomed to over the time I had spent with her since she decided it would be acceptable for me to live with her.    There was a sinking suspicion in my heart that told me alcohol was not the only thing traveling her veins in her late night return from questionable locations.  Being as I am, I took her into the bathroom and put her in the shower to rid her of the foul stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and fear.

Dear little girl, so much hurt for such a young age.

Trapped inside a pretty little lie.

Your body’s betrayed.

For several hours she just lay there and stared at the ceiling, searching for answers the cracked tiles did not hold.  I sat next to her, afraid if I left her alone she’d drown in her own vomit, or tears, whichever came first.  During the month I had lived with her I observed several telltale traits of what had to have been a less than desirable childhood.  She had abandonment and trust issues, believing wholeheartedly that I was stalking her until I pointed out that I had been in London for months before she came and Tokyo at least two days previous to her arrival.  Then for some reason she concluded that if we would continue running into one another we might as well live together, and of course I was intrigued by her careless disposition as it reminded me of someone I was once and I agreed.  From then I began to recognize, in the few moments between her intoxicated false confidence and angry mask of sobriety, something I had seen too many times.  Confusion, pain, desperation, and self-loathing burned her irises.  I wished I could take that away, but this was her battle and her path to follow.

Don’t fix your eyes on a fix you rely on.

Fixed her eyes on a fix she relies upon.

My suspicions were confirmed by slight bruising on her inner arm and a miniscule puncture wound into the vein.  I had to fight the swell of anger in my chest at the revelation; by the way she had been acting I determined she was on heroine, the one drug I had refused to touch even in my non-sobriety pact days.  Seeing her like that brought back painful memories that I didn’t ever want to relive.  I was then inspired to bring her back from the precipice she teetered upon, needles were chains that held their users bound to their problems.  Later, I would fly into an enraged rant at her for her use, but in that moment she chose to speak.