The Toxic Wastebound: Part III - A Toxic Seduction

Claire again traded cunt for drugs, husband becomes suspicious and family starts to fall apart. Claire woke at 9:33 a.m. in the double bed, sheets twisted and damp around her calves. The pillowcase on Gary’s side was still indented but cold; he had left for work without a word. The room smelled of stale sweat and something sourer, the chemical reek that now lived in her pores. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, coated in a film that tasted like burnt foil. A low throb sat behind her eyes and wouldn’t leave. She had no memory of the morning: no packing lunches, no brushing Emma’s hair, no kissing Liam’s forehead at the door. Those moments had simply disappeared.

Every joint felt swollen and grinding. Her stomach rolled in tight, nauseous contractions that sent sour spit into her throat. The worst was the itch, deep under the skin, especially at the crook of her elbow where she had scratched until the skin split and wept clear fluid that dried into yellow crusts. She rolled onto her side, opened the nightstand drawer she kept locked in her mind, and pulled out the pipe and the tiny black remnant of last night’s shard, a tiny speck, really, not even enough to pretend it was relief.

Her hands shook so badly the lighter flame danced away twice before she caught it. She inhaled the weak smoke. It scorched her throat and did almost nothing. Heart stuttered once, jaw clenched, then settled back into the same sick emptiness. She stayed on the edge of the bed, staring at the sock in her lap, until the craving sharpened into something that hurt more than the headache.

By late morning her thoughts were breaking apart. She saw Emma’s gap-toothed smile from last week’s school photo, Liam asleep with his rocket nightlight glowing blue across his cheek, then both images collapsed under the weight of one screaming want. She dialled Mark. Voicemail twice. On the third ring he answered, voice thick and annoyed. "What?""

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