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A quick transaction. Money from one hand to another and, in an instant, I'm getting a shot of Heroin.

I've missed the feeling. The heat throughout my body, the peace, my mind floating. I’m not broken when I’m with Her.

I can almost hear the blood flowing through my veins, intoxicated with that brownish liquid, from which I can obtain so much pleasure.

I don’t know how long I'm on the floor. This is the last one, I promise myself while I try to sit up. But I know it won't be the last, it never is. I can spend some time without Her, of course, but, in the end, I always come back.

My dealer (was her name Lilith?) watches me while I sit. She's already offering me a cigarette before I have the chance to ask for one. I light it with infinite fragility, something unusual on me. The feeling that my body no longer belongs to me will remain for an hour or two, maybe more.

I inhale the smoke with some difficulty, I can feel how every fiber of my trachea suffers. I'm going to quit smoking, I tell myself. I'm lying.

We don't talk; she just stares at me, as always (how do I look today? I’ve got my best leather pants on and my hair is clean, so I must look good enough). She’s waiting for me to faint or something worse. I suppose she doesn't want to lose a good customer.

But this time there’s something in her eyes, shining far too green. Wildness, rage, passion. I know she's high, not on heroin though; she never uses her own material. Cocaine, maybe, judging by the restlessness of her whole body. But it's not the cocaine that's in her eyes.

With a quick movement that I can barely register, she takes the cigarette from my lips, and a wry smile crosses her face.

This is the kind of relationship that we have. She sells me the Heroin, waits until it's flowing through my veins, and then spends a little time with me, exchanging glances and cigarettes.

I know my eyes are fixed on her, but I don't even bother to focus them to be able to see her. My body has better things to be focused on, such as the burning pleasure that travels through my muscles. Nothing hurts anymore.

Before I have time to figure out what's happening, she's already on top of me, she made me lie down on the floor and I didn’t even noticed. I can smell the smoke from the cigarette somewhere near the left side of my head.

And, again, it takes me a moment to realize that she's kissing me. I don't know how much time she's been doing it, but as soon as I feel his hot, wet tongue against my lips, I concentrate on kissing back.

This is new. Usually she only stares at me, a smile always on her mouth.

This is new.

This time I can feel, with all my senses on her, her hand on my hip, stroking the prominent bone (is she hot? I’m burning).

She's almost as consumed as I am, and, occasionally, I notice a mild twinge of pain when one of her bones hits one of mine, but I'm not complaining, I don't care, it feels good.

When she finally separates from my mouth, I don't say anything while she places the almost completely consumed cigarette to my lips.

“How are you feeling, Harley?” She asks.

But I don’t answer; I just nod my head slightly, still lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. She lies down beside me, with one hand on my sternum, noticing my slow breathing, and the other under her head.

(My name sounds weird on her mouth, it doesn't sound like poison, and it’s not said with hate, as I'm used to).

She doesn't tell me but I know I can sleep in there. It is not the first time. When I wake up, there's usually some food, which I never eat, and a new dose prepared, that I inject as soon as I open my eyes.

She is always there when I wake up, but I know she has been getting in and out of the house several times with other customers. I can hear them in my dreams. But for some reason, I'm the only one who can stay. I’m the only she cares for.

She never sees me sober for more than five minutes and neither do I.

We follow this routine several days until I run out of Heroin and have to go out to get more money. It's always the same.

When I see her the next time, I have several bruises on the arms, face and legs, but she doesn't ask questions. She knows how I get the money.

There's a dose prepared for me before I can pay for it.

“This one is different”, she says, “I want you to try it first.”

The first shot is free. She needs a guinea pig before selling it big. And she knows I never refuse to anything.

This one is different. It turns on all the nerves of my body as soon as it begins to flow through my veins. I cannot help but open my eyes on surprise. This one is better.

I know she has grabbed me because my skin is burning in the place where she rests her hands; I guess I'm shaking. But it's not a bad feeling, just the opposite.

She has put me on my side, just in case, but I don’t care. Nothing matters at times like this. A shiver runs through my body. It's cold in the house compared to the temperature of my body at that time.

A long time passes, that's for sure. The ashtray is full of cigarettes when I get to open my eyes. The pleasure has never stopped to explore my nerves at any time, in fact, I'm sure I've left out a few moans.

She is looking at me more relaxed than normal. She is not high.

One of her hands is in my shoulder and the other one is stroking my hair.

“I guess it's been good”, she’s whispering and smiling at me. I can only say two words before closing my eyes again. “The best.”

I can feel how she’s touching me, so soft against my skin. She is kissing my forehead every now and then.

What is she doing? Does she love me? I don’t think neither of us is capable of loving something else than drugs.

I need to get out of here. The thought can’t leave my head now. I have to get out of here. What is she doing? I can’t breathe. Stop touching me. I need to get out of here.

“I need to get out of here.” I say, as I get up hurriedly. I’m shaking. I can’t breath. She is looking at me so calmly. What is wrong with her?

“Give me the drugs. I need to leave.” I’m almost yelling at this point, while I throw some money at her.

She, always so very calm, goes to a cabinet and grabs a little bag. It’s got my name on it. This is more than I’m paying her for.

As I get out the door, I promise myself again that I’ll quit Heroin. I’m lying. It wont even be a week until I see Lilith again.

This time, when she opens the door, she is almost naked. She’s just wearing a towel hanging from her neck covering her breasts and black panties.

I marvel on her body for a second, and then close the distance between us. I want to kiss her. (Is this because of the cocaine I did earlier? I’m not doing cocaine ever again).

She is the one that kisses me first, again. This time I’m fully prepared. I want it too.

After a few minutes I stop kissing her and I look at her pleadingly. I remember why I came. My body makes me remember. Everything hurts, I’m nauseous and I can’t stop shaking.

She knows what I need and she starts preparing a dose quickly. I love her, she knows me so well. (Or do I love the Heroine?).

As soon as the wonderful liquid is flowing through me, she grabs me by the hand and throws me to a couch.

She talks to me all the way throughout my trip. Her voice is full of passion. I don’t know what she is talking about.

As soon as the effects of the drug start to dissipate, she lights me a cigarette. I might need another shot in a couple of hours. I will need more.

She cooks dinner and talks all the time. She doesn’t care that I’m not answering and I enjoy listening to her cocaine-infected speech.

“I want you to stay here, please,” she says. And before I can answer she is kissing me again.

She is doing more than just kissing me now. Her hands are everywhere.

Do I want to stay here? What’s happening? Will she give me more?

I need more.