Bad Habits Part 49

Kim sucked in a deep breath, and it burned like lava going down. She wheezed.

It hurt to cry.

Gotta tell ya, you're doing great. Been six hours and you been good. I know you're in pain. If I could do anything to make it better, believe me I would.

No matter how many blankets he put on the bed, she couldn't stop shivering. And the spasms, the ones relegated to her hands, had now travelled through her arms and legs. She found her joints locking and releasing involuntarily, with jerky leg kicks. She closed her eyes again. She couldn't do it. He was wrong. She couldn't do it.

I could kill him for putting you on those pills. Do you know that? He took advantage of you. It's not your fault. But it's up to you to beat this. This is only the beginning. You have to be strong.

Kim wept. But Mathew didn't know the depths of her torment. How could he? She nearly laughed out loud in madness. He was talking and wiping her brow, trying to convince her against the burn to use, as if she'd choose this s.h.i.t over her life, her babies! As if she had a choice!

Madness.

It wasn't the burn to use. He had it wrong. Everyone that believes a junkie's issue is the need to use and abuse has it wrong! It's not the craving that makes an addict do whatever they can for the next dose. No. It was the pain. G.o.d help her, but there was so much bottomless, hopeless, pain. She was insane with it.

Madness.

She'd do anything to stop the pain. Just one pill, one hit or something to ease her back into sanity. She was dying.

It hurt all over.

Kim, sit back. No back. Stay under the blankets. Look at you. You're shivering. Here drink this. Open your mouth. You have to drink it, darlin', Good girl. It's okay... it's okay, I got you. I'm right here.

He placed the cool rag to her forehead once more. It made the rest of her body go up another degree. Her teeth began to chatter from the contrast. Her eyes rolled again, and consciousness slipped. Not long but long enough. Then her eyes shot open again, and she groaned.

"Shhh," he said to her whimpers. He pressed a kiss to her chapped lips. Her vision focused. Mathew's face hovered in. She could at least make him out. Everything else was a haze of shapes, dull sounds and pain. Now things sharpened. Slightly.

"I-I-I-I-can't," she managed to say. She shivered hard. "I need it. I need something. You have to help me. It's been hours, and it's not stopping, Mathew. I think something's wrong."

"It's okay. Your pressure is elevated."

"No, d.a.m.n it! You aren't listening!" Her eyes cut to the bathroom. Behind those doors were the tiny blue pills that could make it all go away. Vicodin. She could take a few, maybe four. Four would knock her on her a.s.s. Yes, she wanted to blackout, to go blank and to not feel so much, pain. "I need to go to the bathroom." She lifted.

"I got a pail here," he said, lifting for her to vomit. Before she could object, she turned her head and spewed. Weak, she fell over, teeth chattering, wet rag wiping her face and spittle. Her eyes rolled into her skull. Weak, she pushed at him.

"Fine, I'm fine. Go check on the boys. I'm okay," she said, trying to get rid of him.

"They're sleep," he said, tucking her in with another blanket. "It's okay. Your body is reacting to the loss of the drug. It takes time for it to stabilize. A week, darlin', and it's over. A week and you, you're yourself again."

"A week?"

"Kim."

"No, you don't understand. I just need something to take the edge off. Please, I feel like I'm dying. Please help me. I need to go to the bathroom." She effectively pushed him out of the way. Her mind focused on the cabinets and on the stash in the perfume box. But when she went in, he followed.

"Ge-get out," she said, bent over, reaching to close the door. He pushed the door open. "Mathew, get out!"

He lifted her into his arms. Weak, she fought the best she could, not sure of his intent, only aware of his determination to keep her from rescue. She was heaved up and back. "Put me down, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she said, hitting at him as he held her away with one hand and reached for the shower k.n.o.b with the other.

He turned on the cold water and put her under. Kim screamed at him. She screamed to the top of her lungs, then gurgled as her eyes, nose and mouth filled with water. She coughed. He held her under the spray until her body quit jerking and her cries lessened. He stepped in closer and held her until he stood there soaked and the last of her strength faded. She went weak in his arms. Suddenly her pain, the urges, her sadness, her desperation all collided, and she drifted in his arms. She felt herself being lifted up against him. Weightless. She felt him carrying her somewhere. Heard him whisper his love for her. He promised to make her better, to watch her babies and keep them safe. He said he'd do anything if she promised to fight back. She heard that and more before she went to sleep with a final sigh on her lips. "Thank you, Mathew. Thank you. I love you too."

Mathew stood at the door watching her sleep. It had only been ten minutes since he dried her and put her to bed. It was the first time she'd actually had a break from the withdrawal. He was so tempted to call in a prescription of methadone to ease her suffering. If she were in his care, he would prescribe it to her or any junkie suffering the shock to their system that she was. But without the proper blood work to uncover all her dirty little secrets, it was too risky. So therein lay a greater truth. He wasn't equipped for this. She should be in a facility with professionals. What the h.e.l.l was he thinking?

Sighing, he turned away. Wet, and exhausted from wiping her tears, sweat, cleaning vomit, and holding her through it all, he longed for a sofa to crash on. He wouldn't. He feared her waking and him not being there.

A check to his wrist.w.a.tch revealed the late hour. It was 2 in the morning. He stopped at the boys' room and eased the door open further. The night had been calm. Before the worst hit, he fed them, watched a DVD with them, and bribed them into bed with cups filled with grape juice.

Now both boys had kicked their covers off. One hung dangerously close to the edge of his toddler bed. Mathew smiled. He walked over and straightened the little one. They were beautiful boys. He saw Kim in both of them. And his desire to protect them was as strong as the one he had for their mother.

He always thought when he had sons he'd buy them those racecar beds he's seen in magazines and wallpaper the room with baseball trim. He wondered if Denny and Danny wanted something like that. His eyes swept the room. There were toys spilling out of a toy chest, books, a TV and clothes stuffed in drawers. Nothing out of a boy's dream. It was just a room where two little boys played and slept. There were no train-set bed sheets, or Spiderman posters. There was a need for more. Mathew dropped his hands in his pockets. Maybe she'd let him paint, do some things. Maybe.

Turning, he walked out.

No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his eyes always drifted to one of the pictures of Dennis that lined the walls in the halls or were stacked on every shelf. He looked away. He felt guilty but wasn't sure why. Or maybe he was. It was called role-play. He played at being a father, boyfriend, maybe someday a husband for Kim. He was trying to fit into the hole left in Dennis's family's life. Sure, she called him a friend, and, yes, she needed a friend, but Mathew had to be honest with him self. He wanted more. Much more.

She said she loved me.

Mathew knew it was the drugs. She said the words and his heart stopped. Nothing ever sounded so beautiful from Kim. What if she did feel his love for her? What if, after this was all over, she would give him the same? He was awful at being a rational, logical thinking man of science when it came to his heart, especially when he gave it to a woman.

Mathew flipped the light on in the kitchen. He eyed the dishes from the spaghetti dinner. He wasn't good at domestics, but he would try later when he wasn't so d.a.m.n sleepy. He went to the fridge and got a cold one instead. The phone rang. He froze. The second ring forced him to act. He couldn't risk her waking. Not after all she endured.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"h.e.l.lo, who's this?"

"Who's this?" he asked nervously.

"Simone."

"Oh, I'm Mathew, Kim's friend."

"Hi, Mathew, I'm Simone, Kim's sister."

He let go a breath of relief.

"She's told me about you. It's nice to talk to you," he said, leaning against the counter. The line grew quiet. He thought he heard her sniff. He definitely heard restraint in her voice when she spoke. "Can I speak to her please?"

Mathew chewed on his bottom lip. He rubbed his jaw, eyes darting from the beer to the dark s.p.a.ce that led out of the kitchen.

"h.e.l.lo?" there was an evident tremble in Kim's sister's voice.

"I have to be honest with you. I can't delay it. No, I won't delay it. Your sister, she's not well."

"What?" Simone gasped.

"She has a problem. That's why I'm here. I shouldn't be the one to tell you, but in this case I'm just not sure."

"Wait. Start over. What problem? Where's Anne?"

"Can you come to New York?" Mathew asked.

"What's wrong with Kim?" Simone demanded.

"It's okay. She's okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be the one to-"

"Tell me!" Simone shouted.

"She's been, she's become addicted to painkillers."

The line went silent.

"I just recently discovered it myself. She's been taking them for a while, and she's going through something. h.e.l.l. She's detoxing."

"Oh sweet Jesus, no." Simone broke into tears.

He grimaced at the sound of the soft cries from a woman he didn't know. d.a.m.n it. He could have said something else. He shouldn't have told her something like this over the phone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I thought you should know. Kim's been hiding it from everyone."

"My mother, she knew. She knew and I didn't listen to her. Oh, Jesus, what about the boys? Where are the boys?"

"They're here, with me. They're okay."

"Where is Kim now?" Simone sniffed.

"Sleep. She's going through a rough time right now," Mathew said.

"Are you sure the boys are okay?"

"Yes. She didn't want Anne to see her go through it. I'm taking care of them."

"I'm calling my mother, and I'm coming home. I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out of here, hopefully tomorrow. When my mother comes, you have to deal with her a certain way. She can be a handful, but she can help. She's been through this kind of stuff. Okay?"

"Sure, whatever you think is best."

"Thank you, Mathew. Thank you very much."

"I'll see you when you get here."

Kim turned over. The groan rising in her throat was more like a gurgle as she fought down bile. Severe cramping gripped her lower extremities. Falling out of bed, still half sleep, she rolled to her back, blinking, but not waking. Her body was working against her. It was in control. Her conscious mind was trapped somewhere between delirium and defeat.

Madness.

She crawled, then ran to the bathroom, but collapsed just inside the door. Still she went on. She felt so dizzy, so weak. She rolled over to her back on the cool tile, blinking awake. Disoriented, she didn't remember what led her to the state. Then the cramping started, like a hard smack of reality to the face. "Oh G.o.d," she moaned.

She woke fully.

She was alone.

She forced herself up. Wheezing, she reached for the cabinet, her fingers brushing but not connecting with the circular dial before she clasped it and drew it open.

"Kim?"

She looked up to find him there. Kim burst into tears. "Leave me alone, Mathew."

He reached for her against her protest and she was swept up into his arms and then carried back to bed. Kim moaned a sigh of defeat. She hated him so much in that moment that she clenched her fist. He was killing her.

Mathew's eyes cut over to the bathroom. He found her on the floor, again. She was trying to go for the cabinets, again. What the f.u.c.k was it about the bathroom that she kept searching for? He rose from the edge of the bed, staring at the bathroom door. She stirred. He looked back and she was asleep. Sleep only came from sheer exhaustion. He was glad it came at all. Weary himself, he went into the bathroom, turning on the light. He opened the cabinets and looked inside. Cans of hairspray, lotions, soaps, tampon boxes, and perfume boxes were all neatly lined up. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't even see a bottle of Tylenol.

Rising, he looked back into the bedroom and saw her turning over, moaning. He did another sweep of the bathroom, including the cabinet behind the mirror. He found nothing. Giving up, he returned to the bed, exhausted beyond belief. He couldn't fight her if he wanted to. He went to the other side of the bed shedding his wet shirt and pants, underwear. He lay down and stared at her.

She slept, but not peacefully. Her brows dented and relaxed as her eyes moved rapidly under her shut lids. Her breathing was shallow, her tiny nostrils flaring when she needed more air. He moved the wet strands stuck to her forehead away. He watched her sleep until his lids sagged, then closed.

Kim's eyes flipped open. She stared at him. He was killing her. That's all she could think of, his torture methods and his inability to understand how badly she needed to go easy, to transition. He was a doctor! He could give her more pills, but he refused. He didn't understand because he didn't want to. Careful of waking him, she moved out from under the covers and off the bed. Her legs threatened to give out when she stood. A wave of dizziness left her swaying from side to side. She turned, holding her side and made it back to the bathroom.

She just needed something to take the edge off. That's all. The pain had turned her inside out. All she wanted was a bit of emptiness to make the tightness and the muscle spasms ease. Relief. She didn't want to be high. She needed relief.

Kim dropped to her knees. She reached to the back of the cabinet and located the perfume box. She fished out the pill bottle and dropped five tablets in her hand. They weren't Oxy. She needed a strong dose she dropped some more. Without thought, she tossed them all back, chewing them down. The bitter bite left her gagging but she kept chewing until the last of it dissolved over her tongue. With the compulsion to throw it all up, she curled into a ball. It soon subsided. She then returned the pills to the box, and then put them back in the cabinet. Kim smiled.

Mmmm, Baby, your sweat smells so good.

Warm heat covered his semi-erect member, sending a delicious current of s.e.xual want that seized his b.a.l.l.s. Heat, wet and soft, closed on the head of his d.i.c.k and it sank inch by inch into the cavern of heaven. Warmth had him smiling in his sleep. The pressure and release of her jaws, the flattening of her tongue as it licked and then the suction of her mouth had him gasping awake.

She lifted. He blinked. His eyes opened, just as she rose on her hands. Her face came down and that same sweet tongue flicked at his partly open mouth. Mathew frowned, confused. He tasted the minty toothpaste layered tongue as it did devilish things in her mouth. He grabbed her arm to stop her, but she was stroking him awake.

"Kim, what the f.u.c.k... are you... doing?" he breathed against her mouth.

"I feel better, baby." She climbed on top of him. She sank on him and his breath caught. G.o.d, it felt good. He was buried in her warmth as she glided up and down, sheathing him with her tight p.u.s.s.y walls. How could she be so wet? It was as if her p.u.s.s.y had a fever. It was so hot and welcoming. Before he could complete the thought of refusal, his mind went blank. She moved her hips to and fro, her soft thighs holding him tightly.

"Kim...wait...stop."

His protests died against the soft press again from his lips. She arched her back fully with a hand pressed flat to his chest. Her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifted, beaded with sweat. She rode him hard and strong, and he hated himself for not controlling his desire for her. None of it made sense. She dropped her head forward. Her round a.s.s bounced up and down. He panted, gripping the sheet and finally was able to look up into her eyes. He saw a wild look flashing behind her red-rimmed eyes as she rode him, throwing her head back. And it hit him. Though it killed him to stop her from making love to him, he sat up and gripped her by the arms. "What did you do?"

She just stared at him. He lifted her off his lap and threw her over. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up his boxers and put them on. "What did you do?"

"I'm h.o.r.n.y," she said, reaching for him. He grabbed her face and forced her head up to search her eyes. "What did you take?"

"Go away! I don't need you!" she slurred, and turned her face from his grip. "Close the door on your way out."

"Answer me, d.a.m.n it!"

"Go away!" she moaned.