The Need For "C"

The early morning sun shined brightly through the window on Cosgrove’s face. He opened his eyes, then quickly squinted, bringing an open hand to shield him from the glare. He glanced at his clock. It was only 6:30 in the morning, much earlier than he planned to awaken. Cosgrove rolled over on his side. He knew that between the brightness of the sun and the chirping of the birds his day had begun.

His palms were already sweaty and his hands were starting to shake. His chest felt tight and all his muscles ached. Cosgrove knew the symptoms well. He also knew his condition was worsening. However, there was little to be done, his will was much too weak. At least the migraines had stopped, for now.

This wasn’t the first time he tried to kick the habit, cold turkey. He knew in his heart this time would be no different. A whole week without “C” was a feat he’d never managed before. It must be the chemicals they kept adding that just made it more difficult to stop. “C” was highly addictive as Cosgrove knew only too well. His body was craving it again, and he knew before long he wouldn’t be able to function without it.

Cosgrove knew the more people got hooked the higher the prices would get. He went to Addictions Anonymous. He stood up in front of the crowd and made his declaration. He was an addict. They all applauded to support him. They said they would do anything they could to help him. He just had to help himself first. That was last week. This morning was different. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed some “C”.
He reached over and grabbed his phone from his night table. He dialled a number and waited.

“Hi, it’s me, Cosgrove,” he said. “Listen, I’m desperate. I need some “C”.”

“You haven’t paid me for the last batch yet,” said the voice in the receiver.

“You know I’m good for it.”

“You’ll get no credit until you pay me what you owe me. That’s how it works. You knew that when you started.”

“But, I need some ‘C’,” Cosgrove begged.

“No money, no ‘C’.” The phone went dead.

“Cold hearted bastard,” Cosgrove said, to no one in particular. He threw the phone against the wall. Then, he sat up and opened the drawer in his night table. It was empty. No “C”.
He got out of bed and opened the top drawer of his dresser. With his right hand he felt underneath his socks and underwear. There was no “C”. He continued with the other drawers, tossing clothes on the floor as he went. Next he checked the closet. No “C”.

Sweat starting running down his forehead. He wiped his eyes to keep them from stinging. Cosgrove looked around the room. He was getting frantic now. There had to be some in the house. Cosgrove knew how fast the cravings could take over. Soon he would no longer have any self control. His need for “C” would completely take over, consuming him until the craving was satisfied. He heard how some people would even kill for it. He needed some “C” and he needed it now.

Cosgrove rushed from his bedroom to the kitchen. He emptied every shelf and pulled out every drawer. He opened the fridge and with one swoop of his arm knocked the contents of an entire shelf to the floor. Next he tossed his living room, throwing the cushions across the room. There was no “C” in his house. He was getting desperate. He felt his throat lumping and his heart was pounding, racing, faster and faster.

He ran outside, staggering on the front step. His face was flushed. He was getting weaker. He needed some “C”. Cosgrove fell off his step to the grass. He began to crawl toward the street. He tried to stand but didn’t have the energy. He crawled onto the street, scraping the skin off his hands and knees. The need for “C” had taken over now. There was no strength remaining in his arms. He collapsed. His face was flat into the wet decaying pile of leaves by the curb.

His only thoughts were on “C”. Then a voice called out to him.

“Heh, mister,” the voice called. “Are you okay?”

Cosgrove looked up, straining his neck to see who was there.

“Heh, mister,” it called again. “You wanna buy a chocolate bar?”

Minutes later, Cosgrove sat in his kitchen. A pile of chocolate bars were strewn about table. His face covered was covered with chocolate stains, and he licked the same off his fingers. Empty wrappers littered the floor. His need for “C” was fulfilled again, for now.