‘Not really,’ said Eve, shaking her head, tears now streaming down her face. ‘This genetic problem he had, and his mother, was it really what made him mad?’
Summers thought back to her days at medical school.
‘Well, yes, in a way,’ she responded. ‘Sometimes certain genetic weaknesses will be passed down generations, just like tall parents will likely have tall children; the same principle applies to other things such as the mind. Not always, but it’s certainly possible, yes. But don’t worry, it isn’t contagious.’
Eve looked deep into the eyes of Summers.
‘Oh, I know it’s not contagious,’ she said, ‘but I’m pregnant.’
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‘Get Clean’ by Jams N. Roses: A plot-driven, crime/thriller novel.
Sample Chapters
1 — FRIENDS
So there I was, Jimmy Walker, on my last night out with the boys, marking the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.
I sat at the same table, at the same pub, surrounded by the same friends, drinking the same drinks and talking the same drunken nonsense we’d been talking for as long as I can remember.
Habits, we’re creatures of habit, us humans, some more than others.
It wasn’t long before Scott offered me a line of Cocaine, or ‘Trumpet,’ as he preferred to call it. Although I was feeling a little tipsy, I’d made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be doing any more of those little white lines, so I declined. Sure, it had been one of many promises I’d made concerning that moreish Colombian export, but at some point you’ve got to just say no, like those kids from Grange Hill (although I have heard a few of them were a little self-indulgent, at times).
‘Come on, Jimbo,’ said Tommy, sliding a small, round tablet along the table and tucking it away behind my drink, ‘this’ll get you in the mood. It’s your last night with the boys, mate, get involved.’
‘Bastards,’ I thought.
Why is it that some people always find themselves spending time, even wasting time, with people that really aren’t pulling in the same direction?
I took a gulp of lager, washing down a dose of ecstasy as I did so. I felt the familiar lump of synthetic enjoyment bump its way to the back of my mouth, down my throat and into the pit of my stomach, only to feel it work its way into my bloodstream, up from my feet, through my leg and body and down my arms before pulling my cheeks apart and forcing a smile on my face within minutes.
‘So how long d’you reckon you’ll stay in Spain then, mate?’ asked Lee.
‘He’ll be back in three weeks, tail between his legs, begging for a couch to sleep on!’ interjected Dave, always the loudest of the group. He managed to get a laugh on this occasion as well.
Little did they know that there was a part of me that did worry about failing completely on my new adventure at the first obstacle, and having to come back and swallow the abuse that these guys would thoroughly enjoy dishing out to me.
I tilted my head back against the wall, and gave Scott a nudge with my elbow.
‘I wouldn’t mind that upper now, mate.’
I followed Scott into the men’s room.
We walked past one of the old alcoholics who was pissing into a urinal, or at least had been at some point, and had near-enough fallen asleep whilst standing with his head pressed against the cold wall tiles. We stepped into the same toilet cubicle, locking the door behind us. If the old boy had noticed us was debatable, but sadly irrelevant too.
Between us, and all the others who took drugs on a regular basis like us, thousands and thousands of lines of Coke must’ve been ‘racked up’ on the toilets in this pub. Fat lines, thin lines, long lines and those ridiculously short lines you get given when whoever’s got the Charlie isn’t feeling overly generous; an end of the night at the end of the month kind of situation.
No more cash, no more Coke, may as well go home then.
But it wasn’t one of them nights, far from it, in fact. Scott had taken to buying ‘eighths’ at a time nowadays, three and a half grams, with the purpose of it lasting longer, and his money going further. But it never worked out like that.
One problem with Cocaine, as many a user can testify, is that when you start, stopping is a really difficult thing to do. In fact, after your first line, then your sixth and seventh line, stopping isn’t really an option anymore. It almost seems like a bad idea.
In my opinion, this isn’t the ‘long term addiction’ that’ll get you robbing your neighbours or even your family so as you can afford to buy your next hit, it’s just that while you have the drug flowing through your blood, you are constantly chasing the high it gave you during those first minutes.
With Cocaine, the high really doesn’t last that long, not for the price, certainly. Thankfully, after a good night’s sleep and a good feed, this ‘short term addiction’ wears off and you become yourself again, forgetting that line sniffing, snot dribbling, Coke monster until the next time you decide to, or can afford to, get high again.
As Scott tipped out enough Trumpet for a ‘proper’ line each, almost perfectly measured by eye, like an old-school cocktail barman who refuses to use the optical measures out of professional pride, I took out the first note I came across from my pocket and began to roll it into a straw-like object, until I noticed that the fiver was old and a bit flimsy, so I changed it for a newer twenty-pound note that was crisp more practical for the job in hand.
‘So, you’re really going through with this?’ Scott asked.
‘Yeah, man,’ I replied, ‘I just need to get away, you know.’
‘And you’re sure this ain’t ’coz Colleen got with that mug from Watford? It won’t last, mate.’
He took the makeshift straw and sniffed up his line up Coke in one, short, powerful sniff, then handed it back to me.
‘Listen, Scott, you know it got me down. But she left me before he came along. She left me because I drink too much and I’m half a Coke-head who’s going nowhere in life. And we both know the misery she’s been through because of me.’
I rubbed my left nostril and snorted, clearing any obstacles my nose might’ve had concealed that could potentially block my line of happiness from reaching its destination. Then I leant forward and cleared the tiled surface of Powder.
‘I don’t blame her for leaving me, and she’s not the reason I’m leaving here,’ I continued.
And what I told him was true, pretty much.
The thought of running into the love of my life with her new man, was definitely something I was keen to avoid. It had only been a couple of months since the last time I’d broken down in tears over the whole episode. But more than that, I’m a junkie. Maybe not a heroin addict, or a meth-head, but most of my money goes on drink and drugs, and smoking of course, which isn’t getting any cheaper. Then there’s the hangovers as well, I swear they get worse week by week. Seriously, I only feel fully recovered from a weekend by the Thursday, and then there’s only one day of normality before I’m handing over more money to the barman, drug dealer or tobacconist.
To say my work had suffered was an understatement. I really couldn’t stand being there anymore, and they didn’t want me either, so when I handed in my notice it was a happy day for everyone.