The Truth Behind Tori

The only love she has ever known is that of a drug, of a lifestyle. An eight-year relationship like any other, defined by strong emotion, compromise and excitement. To it, she gave her mind, her innocence and her body. In return, it gave her power, direction and purpose. Sure, the drugs beat her, and introduced her to men who did the same, but she accepted this as part of its love. Every relationship requires sacrifice and she was a worthwhile sacrifice to hold the hand of the drugs.

Presently, there is a boy, innocent but strong, passionate for her and for life. She met him before, but in a different time and place. The two of them were sober, secluded from life and its grim truth. They talked of music, of sex, of her past and their future. She liked him then, and even grew to love him. But the world took that from her upon her return to reality.

This boy keeps pushing, driving her farther in his attempts to bring her close. He loves her, annoys her, frightens her and makes her feel what she has only felt from drugs. She has been raped, beaten, molested and used by every boy she has ever been with. If not physically, it was emotionally, this to her is what a relationship is. His passion and understanding is a nuisance, she distrusts his honesty and care. She tells him to take his affection elsewhere, but on her it remains.

She struggles to break old routines and change her life to what he tells her it can be. You can be happy, he says. I will take care of you; I want to take care of you. But she does not know this. The only caregiver she has known is drugs; they are comforting, they are normal. This world surrounding her now is foreign, like some strange planet on which she is an alien.

The world she desires is fast, dangerous and full of pain. It is the pain that makes her feel alive. The pain of a needle, or a fist to the face, or her body aching while she craves the taste of chemicals. No, this world that surrounds her now is not alive, these people sleep, their routines a sickness.

Drugs, she thinks, is love, this is her companion. Drugs make her money, give her power, fill her with control. She is above the fiends who call her for a fix; she is smarter than them, a step ahead. She is a master of this lifestyle and in love with what it has to offer.

The boy who calls her, who touched her skin and her smile like no other, he is not a companion. He too is foreign, with thoughts and ways of communicating unlike anything she is used to. She knows he can take care of her, but he is only a boy, unknowing of her world and how to keep her happy.

She lives with her mother, and bastard son in an apartment next to a shopping mall. Her mother is a piece of her past, the two of them shared nights high on Meth, separated by the walls of their house and their betrayal of one another. Her mother wants to help her, but hasn’t the key, her attempts create distance. There is too much history, too much confusion between them for any gains to be made.

In moments of dreaming, she wishes for the boy to take her away, to make her happy, and make her feel his love. She can feel him beneath closed eyes; she remembers how he made her smile. His length once pleased her wetness like no other, she remembers this too. She knows he has the power to give her what any girl “should” want, and in moments of peace, she allows herself to be one of these girls.

But her sadness squashes this dream, tells her she’s not worthy and that he’s better off with someone else. She becomes apathetic, frustrated by confusion, reality steals these ideas. The thought of drugs, her old boyfriend, creeps into her mind. Just once, she thinks. Just one shot of dope and it’ll all go away. The idea sounds so good she text-messages an old friend, just to say hi, but moving one-step closer. At an “NA” meeting she seeks a user, and finds the Mexican named Sisqo. She goes with him, sees the dope, it almost makes her wet. But she resists.

While it tempts her, she knows she cannot do it, for “one more” time would be her death. She has no more chances with her family and knows the challenge of remaining sober. If she uses again she will die. She may survive a few months, perhaps a year, running, scared, but feeling secure.

She will be surrounded by old friends. Boys that hit, girls that hurt, people who rot. But she is above them, smarter, prettier, an artist of life. The drugs do not affect her like they affect the others; she makes love to the needle then puts it down. True, she becomes a victim of the elements like everyone else, but she is detached, a weird sort of meditation state. Besides, it is a relationship, one she knows well and is okay with the sacrifices it requires her to make.

He calls her everyday, more than once, asking how she’s doing. She used to like to talk to him, tell him she’s alright, inspired by his words. But no longer. She has lost touch with him and what he wants to give her. Separated by distance, she thinks he has no idea of what is going on, that he couldn’t understand or help her in any way. But she is wrong.

He is in love with her, but that word now scares him, as it did before he told her. He begins to wonder if he is addicted to her as she is to the drugs, as he is to the drugs. Her absence from his day feels like withdrawal, a hurting of his body, a crying within. Everywhere he goes he thinks about her, craves her presence, her affection. One shot of her love would make him right, until his next fix from her heart.

He can think of no better way to describe his feelings than an addiction, but a healthy one. Everyone needs an addiction, he thinks, something to love that will love them back. He loves her and wants her to love him back, just as she loves the drugs and wants them to love her back.

To her, facing each day is impossible. Her behavior and decisions have created consequences which to her are unfair. She has no car, no money and no fun. She wakes with her son, who is unruly because of her absence over the last year. Her mother bickers, picks and annoys her, driving her to anger before breakfast. Her body is changing, stomach rounding, weight gathers on unwelcoming parts.

Her only social outlet is “NA” where fellow addicts wallow in pity, each day another absent because they gave in to the addiction. She has a job but is embarrassed by the place. A half-rate diner where she would not eat, let alone accept a paycheck from. She wants a break, a taste of her old life, but knows the consequences would kill her.

He is aware of all this and it hurts him to watch her suffer. He knows his presence is not wanted, but what he offers is needed. He no longer asks himself why she treats him this way, and why she refuses to let him in. All he can do is pray, and make sure she knows he wants to replace her love of the past. To let her know, that to him, she is the sunshine, the rain, the moon and the stars. That she makes up all he can feel in a day, and that without her, his days are empty.

Her strength amazes him, her perseverance through a life that would have killed him. He thinks of her stories, where she has been, and can’t believe how a beautiful, intelligent girl tells them as her own. He knows those experiences would have raped him, stripped him of everything he has to give.

But she will not give in, for love of herself, and for love of her son. She knows her son needs her, and that she needs her. Number one and number two, as she describes it, require that she change her life so that she can go on. And they both know it is that simple: if she does not change, she will not go on. Number one is doomed and number two will overdose. He helped her discover this truth, and for that reason, he too remains in her thoughts.

This scares him, but her not so much. He is not in control of her, or what she does, and control is something he seeks. His words do not change her feeling; his touch no longer turns her on. His money cannot buy her happiness; his wisdom cannot guide her through. No, she is alone on a raft, a broken paddle in hand. Storm clouds boom above while she creeps up stream. She wants no navigator or him onboard. Her son is cold, whining at her feet. Her mother like the waves, crash on her face, making the journey difficult. But she continues forward.

There is one thing that he knows is true, that his care for her is stronger than anything he has ever felt. Stronger than the waves, than the clouds, stronger than anything that tempts her off the raft. His love is the sunlight between the storms, the warmth protecting her from the waves, and the breeze that moves her forward when her strength is no more. He is the peace that awaits her upstream.

He knows she knows this, but isn’t sure she wants it. He offers it forever no matter what happens on her raft. He prays that God will guide her when he cannot, that she accepts God’s help while denying his. He prays she knows he loves her, and that she’ll taste his addiction because if she does, she’ll never need another drug.