Madison's Ribbon

Trigger warning: drug abuse

“Hi, my name is Madison, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Madison,” The group said back.

Madison didn't pay much attention to them. They were just nameless faces, with no stories to speak of. They didn't matter to her. The only reason she was here was because she needed to be, and the only reason she was playing along was because she had to. If she didn't, she’d have to participate in these stupid meetings until she did.

“Would you like to share exactly what you’re addicted to?” The group leader prodded.

She was an older woman, a bit on the pudgier side. Her blonde hair tied back in a bun, and her smile felt like that of a shark’s. Madison saw her as one. Baring her teeth and pretending to be friendly, when really she was just looking for ways to disarm and exploit her prey. All these poor, stupid fish had no idea what was really going on. Madison did, though. She wasn't a fish. She was a killer whale. She ate sharks for breakfast.

Watch out, Shark Lady. Shamu is here, now.

“Drugs,” Madison said, giving Shark Lady a look that asked what the hell else she’d be addicted to.

“Any specific drug?”

Madison sighed, waiting for Shark Lady to realize that she wasn't going to answer. After a moment of very awkward silence, Shark Lady set her sticker-covered clipboard down in her lap and looked at Madison. It was a look not dissimilar to the look kindergarten teachers use on their children when they won't stop talking. A look that said she could wait all day.

Well, so could Madison.

“Alright, fine. Why don't you tell us about yourself?”

“Nothing to tell.”

“There must be something you feel like sharing?”

“Honestly, not much. Dad left me when I was about five, Mom’s had a revolving door of father figures ever since. For some reason, she’s convinced I need them. All it really does is give me a new set of daddy issues every couple of months though-”

“Okay! Well, that is… Right. How about somebody else shares?” Shark Lady said, flashing a grin so panicked Madison could see each tooth grinding with anxiety.

Madison smirked. Shamu one, Shark Lady zero.

“So, sweetie, how was your first day of group?” Her mother asked that evening as they sat at the dinner table.

“It was awful, how do you think?”

“Hey, don't talk to your mother that way.”

“Shut up, boyfriend number forty-two. Focus on preserving your own failing relationship before you go butting into mine.”

Madison wasn't sure if boyfriend number forty-two was actually number forty-two, but that didn't really matter. All that mattered was the look on his face and the fact that he did indeed shut up.

“Maddie, sweetheart, your group leader called me-”

“Jesus Christ.”

“She said you were rather uncooperative and somewhat rude all things considered-”

“Oh, really? Golly gee, I wonder why that is?”

“Madison.”

She looked at her mother. Years of stress and worry manifested as wrinkles on her face, just barely masked by the gratuitous amounts of makeup she wore. Her dark hair was messy and ragged, and her blue eyes looked tired. So tired. Madison hated that look. She didn't need her mother to stare at her with such sadness. As if she didn't already know it was all her fault.

“I’m going to my room,” Madison said, leaving the table as quickly as possible.

“Madison, honey, come back!”

“Let her go,” Boyfriend number forty-two said. “She’s not going to change just because you look at her with puppy eyes, cute as they are.”

Their conversation faded as Madison traveled up the stairs and shut the door to her room behind her. She leaned back against the hard wood, her eyes darting around, doing their best to see in the dim light of the evening. The setting sun leaked in through a gap in her curtains, as if the world was setting the tone for her next decision.

Madison walked toward her dresser, pushing it aside as quietly as she could. She knelt down and reached into a vent grate, feeling the cold metal, searching for… She removed the small baggie and opened it, carefully removing its contents. She pulled the metal spoon she’d stolen from dinner out of her pocket, and poured a small packet of white powder onto it. 

Now she needed water. She noticed a half-full bottle on her nightstand, and grabbed it, adding a few drops to the spoon. She watched the powder dissolve for a second, knowing on some level that she shouldn’t be doing this. She decided she didn't give a damn, however, as she sparked a lighter and hovered the spoon over the flame, watching the mixture bubble and darken. It wasn't long before the powder had completely dissolved.

Madison took a needle and watched as it sucked up the liquid, like a butterfly sipping nectar from a flower. She held the needle aloft, the glistening metal tip reflecting the sun’s light, now nearly set. This next part would be the hardest. She’d done it so many times, she should be a pro. But stabbing yourself is never easy. Even less so when half of your veins have collapsed.

Madison wasn't a fan of the whole, tie a string around your bicep strategy. It made her feel like even more of an addict than she already was. She sat there on the floor, her back against the bright blue wall, poking and prodding at her arm until she found a suitable point of entry. She always got antsy if it took too long. Thankfully, it didn't. She’d managed to find a vein that was still working, and pressed down on the needle, watching it change color beneath her skin as the liquid entered her bloodstream.

Madison had been asked why in the past. Why did she do this? What was so great about it? She’d never bothered to try and make people understand for one simple reason: They couldn't possibly get it. Sure, it looks like she’s injecting herself with poison mixed with a few dollops of tar, and maybe she was. The euphoria that followed was worth it though.

Plenty of doctors and therapists had tried to discern a reason behind Madison’s addiction. She thought they were idiots, looking for answers where there are none. Even if there were, Madison didn't want or care to know. It wouldn't matter. The feeling she got from this tiny little ribbon of opiates was more important to her than understanding her own. It was more important than a lot of things.

Her vision grew blurry as the sun finally set beyond the horizon, and once the last few rays of light had left the room, the euphoria kicked in, and so was her door. Didn't she lock it? She couldn't remember. The world around her began to melt and swirl, shapes and colors dancing as her consciousness faded. She thought she heard her mother’s voice, but she couldn't be sure as she fell into a deep, blissful sleep.

The next week passed by as most of her weeks do. A trip to the hospital on Monday. They knew her by name. Chores around the house on Tuesday. Her mom barely said a word to her. Her favorite reality show on Wednesday. A pint of rocky road to keep her company. Thursday and Friday saw her waitressing at the diner downtown. She never got very good tips. Saturday brought a very heartfelt, very ineffective conversation with her mother. Madison hugged her mother and promised she’d try to get better. A promise she’d made countless times before.

Sunday. The morning was boring. Ten minutes were spent swearing up and down to her mother that the bus fare she’d been given would be used for just that. Thirty minutes to wait for said bus. Fifteen minutes to get to the church. Five minutes to get from the bus stop to the church’s basement. Ten more minutes spent trying to think of a way out of this, only to come to the conclusion that there was none. Shark Lady greeted her as she stepped into the room. That predatory grin fading into an even more contemptible expression. 

Pity.

Madison ignored her, swiping a cookie from the snack table on her way to her seat. She made it a point to pretend to listen to the person next to her talk, humming in vague affirmation every so often to keep the illusion alive until Shark Lady decided to start the meeting. After what felt like an eternity, Shark Lady took her seat, grin returned to her face, and clipboard clasped tightly in her hands.

“Welcome back to group everybody,” She said. “It’s good to see some returning faces, as well as some new ones. Let’s ease in the new members by having a returning one share first. Madison? Why don't you start?”

Madison looked at Shark Lady and took a deep breath. She wanted to scream. To flip her chair over, rip Shark Lady’s clipboard from its place upon her fat thighs and whack her across the face with it. She imagined it, the thought almost striking the same note as the ribbon in her veins had one week prior. Madison smiled. It was the kind of smile that made everybody who saw wonder what had caused it. Madison wouldn't say though, even if they asked. She just said what she knew she had to, in the only way she knew how.

“Hi, my name is Madison, and I’m an addict.”