Funeral of Hearts

Funeral of

Hearts

It was the worst mistake he had ever made. As he sat there, on the window sill, looking out of the window at the cold autumn rain, he could remember her smile, her beautiful brown eyes and the way she made him feel every time she was around.

Why had he given up everything that she had ever meant to him, all the feelings she stirred inside him? He closed his eyes as the pain overtook him, the need for more, his whole body aching, his muscles weak from the lack of drugs. He walked wearily to the bedside table, took a syringe and a white packet from the drawer and repeated the ritual which had become so ordinary to him. The drug didn't have as much potency as before, or better said, it wasn't enough now. His body was slowly adapting to the amount and soon, he would need more. He smiled at the thought. There will be no more drugs from now on.

He lay on the floor, the syringe in his arm, his blood-shot eyes staring at the ceiling. He could hear her laugh once more, he could smell her silky hair and all seemed right in the world. And then...darkness overtook him, there was a roaring noise in his ears and he needed to breathe.

All this drug nonsense had started out of pride and curiosity, at a party. She was there, the only innocent looking girl in the room. He had been struck by her beauty, her grace and the way she refused to drink more than was enough, or smoke. She wasn't a nerd, though. She was smart, funny, sweet, but she knew when to stop. They danced together all night and he discovered how much he had in common with her. They went home together, since she lived two streets away from his block. As a final "thank you", she gave him her phone number and he called her the very next day, offering to walk her to college.

She was about 23, in her final year at the Medical University. He was 24, studying Math for a special degree that would earn him a better job abroad. Drugs had never tempted him before, but at the party, he had met him, a drug dealer, a rat, his guide in the wretched world of dealers and addicts. But she was always there, the light at the end of the tunnel, the rope he hung onto, the breath of fresh air he needed after every meeting with the dealer. She didn't know what they talked about, she never asked why he sometimes borrowed money from her over an indefinite period of time, but she suspected that he was up to no good.

And then, one faithful October morning, he didn't meet her at the corner of the street to take her to college. He decided that the dealer was more important than her. They had been together for almost six months, and this was a real blow for her. She skipped school that day and walked in the park all alone. Leaves were falling at her feet and she felt lost and scared.

He didn't call, he didn't meet her and she decided to drop out of school. Her mother was shocked, her friends couldn't believe their ears. She stopped seeing them, going to college, studying....she would lie awake at night, thinking about him, about them, about her miserable past and dark future. Nothing made sense anymore. It was all her fault, wasn't it? Oh, how wrong she was....

Meanwhile, he was going downhill fast. The vicious world of drugs was taking hold of him. He had started easy, smoking marijuana and opium, but he soon tired of them. He turned to the dealer again, asking for a stronger dose. He suggested cocaine or heroine. He didn't have to inhale it, like the others did, he could inject it. At first, the idea didn't appeal to him, but the need for more pushed him over the edge and he accepted. The circle pressed closer in on him and he sank deeper. Now, there was no light, but a long dark tunnel, no rope, but the sense of falling into darkness, to his death, and no fresh air, but the smell of dirty drug addicts. Yet he liked it. He didn't fight it, he simply put up with it. He wanted to escape, but there was no reason to, no purpose. His Math degree was lost, his years spent....

Until, one day, he saw her again. She was sitting on a bench in the park, her face covered by her hands. He was awake, one of those rare moments when drugs didn't take over his mind, when he was calm and lucid. Nowadays, these moments were fewer and fewer. He approached her cautiously, aware of the fact that he hadn't spoken to her in weeks. She raised her head suddenly and stared at him for a moment. He wasn't the boy she had once known: he was thinner and he had dark circles under his eyes. For a moment, she hoped it wasn't him, but his grey eyes gave him away.

"Is that you?" she asked in a whisper, her voice trembling.

He nodded. There was no use lying to her now, she had put two and two together. But she didn't seem disgusted by him. She looked destroyed, hopeless, like the world had ended.

"They were right. All along, they were right. I thought you could change, if not for me, at least for yourself. But you are too weak, obviously. You never cared about me, all you wanted was my money. You are such a bastard!"

She stood up and walked past him. He didn't move, too shocked by the truth in her words and the hatred she poured in her little speech. Her hair brushed against his face and he inhaled her sweet scent again. He had lost everything: his college degree, his friends, most of his money and now, her. She meant the world to him and suddenly the future was dark and chaotic. He needed to escape from this web of deceit, this cage of doom, this horrible alternate universe in which he had sunk. It was obvious: he had bitten of more than he could ever chew.

So he decided to go into rehab. He wasn't doing it for himself, it was too late to save whatever was left of his soul, he was giving up drugs for her sake. He knew that one day he would stop thinking of her, when drugs would claim his mind, but there was a small chance he could recover. And the ordeal began....

He hated the smell of hospitals, medicines, the constant hustle and bustle and the doctors who kept telling him that he had come to the right place. The rehab section was full of addicts, some in terminal phases, others struggling to escape. He began talking to some of them. He was shocked to discover that they had started on drugs when they were 16 or 17, only to realise that their youth had been wasted, their friends gone, their lives utterly spent. A psychiatrist helped him find a way to freedom, to redemption. He knew that he owed her his live, but the biggest test yet was to face her.

So, after six weeks of rehab, he left the hospital a new man, bent on ignoring stimulants of all shapes and sizes. He stopped drinking coke, aware of the fact that one sip might trigger the addiction buried in the darker corners of his mind. The psychiatrist had warned him about it: it he took drugs again, there would be no coming back.

He threw away the dealers' phone numbers, he burnt the addresses of various addicts and stopped buying syringes, pills or medicines of every shape and size. He felt redeemed and he hoped she would see him like a new man.

He waited for her in front of the Medical University one night. She finished classes late that day and he knew that she hated walking home all by herself, but she had been repeating this for the past eight weeks. And then, his worst nightmare came true: the dealer found him.

"Hey, I haven't heard from you in a long time."

He declined his offer, hoping that she wouldn't see him with the dealer. Although he tried to convince him that drugs were a thing of the past, when the filthy rat showed him a marijuana cigarette, he couldn't refuse. She saw him smoking and recognised the dealer. Her eyes slowly filled with tears and she ran down the stairs of the University, eager to get home as fast as she could.

He watched her leave, his heart broken. The doctors were right: when it comes to drugs, there is no way back. The torment started all over again. Cocaine, nightmares, dealers, addicts, street-fights....the chasm was deep and dark; he fell face forward in the emptiness; he looked up and saw his beloved girl standing on the edge, staring at him with her brown eyes, tears running down her cheeks.

Some six months later he read in a local teenage paper that she had won a scholarship to Great Britain. His grey eyes became clouded, his vision was blurred....until he took more. The loneliness surrounded him and at length he understood that when she had left he had lost the very last ray of light.

He kept on taking drugs. When he didn't have enough money, he stole from his friends or pick-pocketed people on the streets. He was a con artist, hidden under a pale pointed face, with cold steel-grey eyes. His mask was useless, there were no more people to cheat. It had to end.

He reached for the gun. There was no point in prolonging the torment. His sufferings would soon end. He thought of her again. The lucid moments wore off pretty quick nowadays and he would soon need another dose. It had to end while he was awake. Great Britain...scholarship...a pair of brown eyes....a tear-stained face...the laughter of the dealer...the pleading voices of the addicts.....the white powder...

"Get out of my head!" he tried to yell, but it came out as a whisper. "Because of you I lost the only girl I ever loved!"

A tear rolled down his cheek. Sometimes, salvation comes through death. He put the barrel of the gun to his head, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.