Magda’s Journal: 30 March
In the end, I gave in. Of course I did. I let Jimmy walk me to the dirty old sofa and lie me down. I let him tighten the strap on my arm, and I watched him cook up the sludge in a teaspoon.
I knew what it promised and was ready for it—even the horrific heaving I knew would come afterwards. I’d lost everything. I just wanted to stop hurting, to feel like I was kissing an angel one last time.
I watched as he tapped the needle and gently eased it into the vein. A wave of relaxation swept over me, washing away my hurt, making me feel like I could reach out and touch heaven. Nothing mattered except my bliss.
I didn’t even mind when Jimmy opened the door and lead three faceless men in.
I woke this morning, bloody and bruised. I must have thrown up thirty times; there’s nothing left to bring up and yet the heaves continue. I feel like I’ve been used, turned inside-out and thrown away in the corner like an old burger wrapper. I probably have.
Then I saw it. Another package on the table with a handwritten note from Jimmy: “Welcome back, darling. This one’s on the house.”