Last Trip Home.

        There is pain when she wakes up, and her stomach is burning with desperation. The dark sheets under her frail body are moist and pungent with her hunger; her skin hangs with a lifeless pallor at the forefront of her struggle.
         Under her dark hair she seeks shelter, unwilling to be aware of herself. Everything around her is pulsing with hatred: a morbid mockery of a useless life. She has forgotten time and purpose, and there she stays, suspended in idle purgatory.
         There is blood on her pillow and there is more on the cusp of her lip. Her waifish arms move to clean the abuse of a forgotten cause. Raped by addiction and bound to her demons, she can’t remember what she’s waiting for.
         All desire is dead.
         As is the apartment, dank and cold where stark angles in the walls are becoming painfully apparent. All the windows are drawn closed and the sun has become a stranger; only a studio lamp in the corner is turned on, but it casts dark shadows on the dresser. Only silhouettes of phantoms dance on the walls above a floor that is soaked with pity.
         The wretched girl sits up and grabs her shoulders, wiping her forearm against her face. The blood under her nose is unforgiving, but she ignores the truth as it rubs off on her sleeves. She can feel herself seep into her clothes.
         
She waits…
         
There’s a bottle on the floor half-filled with cheap vodka and several cigarette butts. She reaches down and pours herself a drink in the glass by her feet. She raises the glass to her lips, but she can’t feel the scalding liquor passing down her throat. Its bland taste suits her apathy, and she sparks a cigarette to hold her over…for the next sixty seconds.
         Exhaling and staring at her bag in the corner, her eyes have lost their mind. Dark circles of exhaustion are carved beneath them, and all else is void inside. All the soul that existed within has decayed and been replaced with starvation; a longing for inebriated veins that neither seven cigarettes nor three drinks can cure.
         
But she must wait.
         
She looks back to the bag in the corner…
         No.
         It’s whispering her name…
         No.
         It’s hard to turn herself away, but she must wait and so she stays alone and in pain, downing pills mixed with liquor and smoke.

         2 hours later, she for gets the call she’s been waiting for at 1:30 A.M.
         She’s been staring at the walls as the shrill sound of her ringing phone cries through the silence.
         With glossy eyes she waits for the answering machine to pick up.
         
          “Tessa? Tessa you there? It’s Ben. Pick up the fucking phone!”
         His tone is urgent but she approaches the phone warily, out of touch, and hoping to wake up somewhere else.
         Tessa picks up the phone:

         “Hello?”
         “Tess?”
         “Yeah…”
         “What are you doing?”
         “Hanging out,” she replies.
         “Get a bag together, you’ve got to leave.”
         Tessa begins to whisper, “Where am I going?”
         “You have to meet me at the train station.”
         “I will when Jonah gets home.”
         After she says it, Ben stops speaking on the other line, but she swears his breathing has quickened. She can almost feel it on her face, near her mouth; she can taste the bitter truth.
         “Ben?”
         His voice is quaking, “Where’s the dream?”
         “On the dresser,” Tessa murmurs looking straight at it, encased in a large plastic jar, covered with aluminum, “is something wrong?”
         “Fuck it. Just get your shit together and meet me at the station in fifteen minutes.”
         “I have to wait for Jonah.”
         Ben is silent again.
         “Ben? Isn’t he with you?”
         “He was, Tess.”
         Moments like this, Tessa can never handle and though she understands with absolution, she keeps repeating Ben’s name over and over. Losing her grip on sanity her eyes turn to the left, where the pouch on her bag is beginning to draw all her attention with each delicate second.
         “Ben?” it is the fifth time she said his name.
         The seventh time Ben chokes, “Tess…promise me you’ll meet me here in fifteen minutes?”
         Tessa makes no promises with him.
         “For fuck’s sake, Tessa! Promise me!”
         “Is Jonah dead?”
         The answer this time isn’t a deal-breaker but a test of mortality.
         Ben is trapped and surrenders with reluctance, “Keller shot him, Tess…”
         “Oh…”
         Stevie Keller. One Bullet. Straight through Jonah’s stomach. Owed money. Blood everywhere. A complete disaster…
         Unfortunately, the bullet fired from that gun has intentions of double assassination.
         And she knows it…
         And she feels it.  She feels it hard. She feels it right in the middle of her gut, and she is aching for reprieve. The need to lose control is excruciating and with the phone under her ear she approaches the solution. Her fix is waiting in her bag…sealed with malice and in all its white glory, it calls to her from a small plastic baggy.
         She unzips her bag and picks it up in her hand, eying it longingly yet tragically, “Did you know we were going to get clean?”
         “What?” Ben asks.
         “Jonah and me—we were gonna get clean and maybe go somewhere quiet. Start over, you know?”
         “Tess, your boyfriend was a freeloading gutter junkie, there was no way Keller was gonna let him get away. Or you. The stash in your apartment, Jonah stole all of it. That’s three pounds of dream that belongs to Keller, and you know how this cartel works. You know what they will do if…”
         Tess cuts him off and speaks innocently, “Ben…how long do I have?”
         “No more than an hour.”
         “I understand,” her tone is despondant.
         “Meet me at the station?” Ben is pleading.
         “No, Ben…”
         He tries screaming, “They’re gonna rape you, Tess, and they’ll get rid of you after that!”
         “Probably…but I’ll be gone before then,” she walks toward the window where a mirror sits on the sill; there is a razor blade on top of it.
         “Tess don’t…”
         The cocaine slides across the mirror.
         “Ben, do you remember when the three of us stayed up at the cabin a year ago? The one on the lake…”
         His response is broken, and he is crying, “Of course I remember it.”
         “Do me a favor, Ben?”
         “Anything Tess…”
         “Try to remember me that way. Like I was that summer at the lake.”
         “Please don’t talk like this…”
         “You have to remember, Ben, because I have no recollection of that girl anymore…”
         The truth haunts her, and all she can see is the monster looking back in the mirror below, eyes vacant of life and a lack of expression, and the two beautiful lines that are running across her reflection, “I have to go.”
         “Why?” Ben’s voice seemed so distant.
         “Because…I’m tired and everything hurts a little too much.”
         “Tess!” Ben is shrieking.
         She is rolling up the twenty-dollar bill, emblazoned with her name:
         “You know you’re the last person who I will talk to, Ben, and still, I have nothing more to say.”

         A dial-tone returns and five seconds is all she needs…
         
         In one fatal motion, she inhales the drug up her nostrils and past the quarter-sized hole in her nose.
         It burns. She is burning, but soon it fades to white, and she experiences the rush, coursing through her body like rapid fire. Her blood becomes inundated with it, and as her brain begins to swell, she knows for certain that she is at the end of everything.
         But as the euphoria begins to build, everything becomes clear.
         There is an eloquent clarity ascending within, incredibly lucid in streaming contradiction with her pounding heart.
         She closes her eyes and lets the beauty of the high swallow her entirely, surrendering to the infinite images that invade her mind simultaneously.
         And there, she sees faces.
         And she sees places once visited.
         She sees dreams once held dear and the loss of those dreams.
         She sees herself making choices…so many binding choices.
         She sees her moment of collapse; the anticlimax.
         She sees booze, and acid, and 40-bar pills
         Tripping on dust and rolling on love…
         Dirty cigarettes laced with cocaine…
         Crisscrossing, speedballing…
         Soaring high on Paradise white…
         And crashing just the same.
         But not tonight…
         Tonight she flies

         Tessa pours herself another drink. This time she goes for some whiskey that has been sitting in the armoire. She grabs the bottle and slowly sinks to the ground, not bothering with her glass, but chugging it breathlessly. The burn is a little more intense, and she can feel the combination of liquor and cocaine tearing her body apart.
         She leans against the wall, trying to get back on her feet, but her mind is suspended in a filter of reality where control has lost all sense of meaning. But she likes it that way; control defines a grasp of the world and Tessa already let go of her world long ago.
         Now standing, she shuffles toward the window and removes the blinds. For the first time in thirty-six hours she is looking outside. It is calm and the city is comforted by the blanket of night and flickering streetlights. Tessa runs her hand along the glass and is smiling. The trees are glowing, and they look beautiful. The world appears so peaceful from inside, unscathed and unchanged by the demonic vices that are killing her, and if she looks hard enough she can see Jonah walking near the park. He looks small, but his energy is captivating her. His hair hangs over his face perfectly, and he his standing taller than she has ever seen him.
         He stops in the distance. Freeze-framed in Tessa’s fragmented mind, hailing like a beacon and faces her. His bright green eyes are sparkling in a sea of darkness and shadow. They blind her, crossing the space between them and beckoning her forth, calling her home.
         She waves childishly in his direction, and Jonah seems to notice. He waves shyly, the way he did when she met him at the docks months before.
         Tessa holds up her finger and speaks to herself and to Jonah, “Wait for me…”
         
         I’ll wait for you…          

         Tessa backs away from the window sluggishly, still smiling, and turns to the dresser. It is smooth and metallic, forsaken by everything except a few scattered pills, a hammer and nails, and a large jar. She looks to the floor, and makes her decision.
         There is a trail of moonlight that she follows to the dresser beset with liquor bottles.
         It is a beautiful white trail of absolution, and though it is only a few feet from the window, it is the path of final judgment.
         She looks at the clock as she approaches the dresser. It is 2:05, and she doesn’t have a lot of time, but time is irrelevant.
         Her hands graze the surface, and she stares blankly into the dresser mirror. There are shadows on her face and they become her tragedy. Eyes shift from her distorted reflection and down to the jar to the right. She places her fingers against the aluminum that is wrapped around it, touching it with one last fleeting moment of affection. For the last seven months it had become her lifeline, her devotion, and the remains of her broken heart, but that is about to change.
         Once more, shift in her eyes—back to the left where the hammer lies.
         She touches it gently from its head to its handle and grasps it tightly. It feels like a feather, and with the moonlight pouring in from the window, it is a glowing saber of salvation.
         Tessa brings it up to her right shoulder, holding it like a baseball bat. She looks at herself in the mirror, holding the hammer tautly, and she has never looked more beautiful. She makes amends with her reflection, and realizes such beauty can only be perceived at the end.
         This is her end.
         She turns back toward the jar, hammer by her ear, and eyes ablaze. Redemption feels so close, and she is starving for it. The wings that have guided her on Earth have withered past recall. They had been traded for chains of addiction, but tonight, at 2:08 A.M, her bindings will be unlocked.
         In a silent rage she releases the trigger, and swings the hammer with forgotten passion.
         It strikes the side of the jar, shattering the glass, and unleashing three pounds of cocaine onto the dresser and the floor.           
         Tessa stares with hatred and with desire and plunges head first into the white waterfall below.
         She takes a desperate handful, shoving it toward her face. Inhaling and rubbing until both hands are clean. Her cuticles are white and caked with cocaine; her face ashen and covered with all her wasted dreams and money. The heaviness of her foreign body is unbearable at the end.
         Collapse is inevitable.
         Blood vessels constrict.
         Cells are impaired.
         There is bleeding around the brain.
         Remains of her shredded nose are trickling down her lips.
         Tessa’s heart begins to fail…
         She falls back, face first against the ground. There is a mixture of saliva, tears and blood below her gasping lips, but she ignores it. Reaching out she crawls across the floor. A trail of cocaine follows her as she drags her unsteady body forward. It is stuck to her clothes, and her hair and her skin, but she doesn’t care. Silently, she is raging, and her over-dilated, blood-shot eyes are determined to reach the window; to what is waiting beyond that window. Salvation is waiting there, and she is making her way in centimeters that feel like miles.
         Her teeth are grinding with agitation. For a minute, she swears someone is grabbing a hold of her feet. Tessa kicks and screams, trying to shake off the demon’s hands on her ankles, but it is relentless.
         The sill looks so high from the ground which is swallowing her. Tessa can hardly move, but her arms find the strength. She quickly grabs the sill with both hands and pulls herself up free from her delusions. She screams again and yanks on the shades, holding her body against the wall. She’s in no condition to stand. She’s in no condition to live. Her body trembles, and soon the trembling will escalate. Convulsion and death feel so close, but she wants to look outside. Jonah is waiting for her outside.
         Struggling against the weight of her body, she tries to climb the window drapes. Her legs are moving, but only in erratic and idle direction. The overdose has torn her inside out, and all that has rotten beneath her skin can be seen across her face. She is crying somewhere inside. Somewhere she is weeping for herself.
         And as she lifts off the floor, gripping the shades in her hands, the overwhelming, pain  releases momentarily.
         She hears something crack.
         The shades are breaking off the frame, and throw her momentum forward.
         Her hands let go, and she is falling towards the glass. Her body is aflight, and in that moment the world is perfect.
         Eyes growing wide, she looks outside where everything is lined with silver. Such clarity fills her with relief and with joy. It is so wonderful and everything is so beautiful! The moment is filled with so much life!
         Tessa is falling forward, but she is falling gently. The world around is guiding her home, casting her gently into light, and she can almost feel its warmth.
         There she goes…
         There is Jonah in the distance…
         He is waiting for her…
         She is coming…
         She is falling forward…
         The inertia is unstoppable, and her shins fall against the sill, and in that second she experiences the life she has sacrificed. A life of quality. And in the moment there is no pain, just simplicity; just a beautiful, streamlined experience casting her towards infinity. There is nothing to stop her and there is nothing that can break her fall except the glass that separates her from her dream. And as she crosses that threshold, and frees herself of life, the window shatters, releasing her from hell. Five stories high and looking towards the sky, Tessa summons a smile and a glittering shower of glass follows her to the pavement.
         Her body is no longer hurting…she is free. She has been redeemed, and it finally feels alright to forgive herself of everything. Oh, such forgiveness feels so good!          
         She closes her eyes and lets the beauty of the end swallow her entirely, surrendering to the thousand images invading her mind simultaneously.
         And there, she sees faces.
         And she sees places once visited.
         She sees dreams once held dear and the loss of those dreams.
         She sees herself making choices…so many binding choices.
         She sees her moment of collapse; the anticlimax.
         She sees booze, and acid, and 40-bar pills
         Tripping on dust and rolling on love…
         Dirty cigarettes laced with cocaine…
         Crisscrossing, speedballing…
         Soaring high on Paradise white…
         And crashing just the same.
         But not tonight…
         Tonight she flies!