#candy 2006

Another scorching day in Australia, just like many other of its kind, when the sight ahead deformed into wavy slices and spirals of the horizon. The world was burning to a crisp, roasting like a marshmallow above a campfire, and thus far, all a man could do was accept with content its fate.

You reached out for the syringe. It was early, too early for it, before 6 p.m. in the pyre of a Saturday, but the cravings cared not for time or place. They never did. Skin crawling, thoughts fumbling, the most agonising impatience that struck like a form of paranoia, overcoming even the most rational of men. You stared at the needle, and it almost stared back, calling for you. You shut your eyes sharply and covered your face with your arm.

"You are a bad influence," came the murmur of a man, Casper. He was watching you through his glasses as he stopped for a moment from his task. "You are tempting me."

"You left them on the table."

"Remind me again why I allowed you to live here…?" The question was not new. Not ill-intended; it just served as a justification for reliving the event.

Casper was sitting on his middle couch, with a pile of papers on his coffee table, and one particular paper in his hand. His glasses were on, but slightly lowered on his nose as he looked across to the left couch.

There, lying in absolute boredom, was you, tapping your foot against the air, one arm hanging over the edge. You had a cigarette between your middle and index fingers. You sighed, opened your eyes lazily and lifted your head enough to look back at him, pushing yourself up. Your head propped up against the arm of the couch.

"Dan," you replied. "Sorry, Daniel… He told you to house me for a bunch of days. While the two use my apartment for uh. God knows what shady stuff they're up to."

You dropped the bud in the ashtray and leaned to take another cigarette. It was the last one, so your brows furrowed. You'd have to go to the non-stop shop later. "You should remind me why I let those two use my place."

Casper rolled his eyes and readjusted his glasses on his nose, picking up his red pen and marking the paper in his hand, moving onto the next, adding the marked one to a pile by his side on the couch. He saw the empty cigarette package and sighed, reaching over to his suit jacket that hung over the couch's back, taking a wallet out of a pocket and pulling out a bill.

"Get two when you're heading out."

"Tsk… can't you do it?"

You flashed him a little look; you knew he would start a scolding session, but you found it pretty endearing how worked up he would get.

"It's so hot out there… What if I melt into a puddle outside! You don't like me. You wouldn't even come to collect me!" You put the last cigarette between your lips, fetching a lighter as you closed your eyes, containing a smile.

Casper let out a deep exhale as he put his pen down aggressively on the coffee table, taking off his glasses right after and hanging them in his breast pocket. He was always a bit of a moody man around exam time; checking papers was not his favourite hobby, nor did he enjoy seeing right in his face how careless his students were.

"You, miss, are not only living here rent-free, but now you expect to order me around, too? Don't you have a bit of respect for your,"

You had gotten up, after taking a drag from the cigarette and walked over to the back of his couch. You puffed the smoke out and moved the cigarette from your lips to his.

"Shut it already." It sounded like playful advice rather than a mean command. "I'm going out. Need anything else?"

You snatched the cash. "Winfield? Dunhill? Marlboro?" You chuckled, leaning over the back of the couch. "Just kidding, Blue Winfield… I know already. So, anything else?"

Casper softened up, just slightly, as he realised he was a bit worked up over nothing. His eyes closed, and his hand wiped his forehead as he took a moment for a breather.

"…3 syringes, and some crackers if you're at it. Jorge is coming by tonight."

You raised a brow.

"Uh… right. Get three metamizole vials. And if they get suspicious of the syringes. It's for three injectable doses for chronic lower back pain. They won't ask for a prescription."

"And if they do?" You knew already that nobody would care enough to ask any question beyond that. Even if there were suspicions, you wouldn't be the first or last to use. Everyone knew deep down most of those syringes ended up used for other purposes; after all, the drug problem was worsening in Australia.

"You are a smart girl, you'll figure it out." The pile of papers was still quite big, and to some extent, you felt bad for him. It was scorching hot at this time of the year, and he was supposed to grade all that pile. "Ah, and… sorry for earlier."

"Don't." You checked yourself out. You already wore shorts and a loose top, so you just put on some shoes and a jacket. The days were hot, but the nights could get rather chilly, and you weren't sure how long you'd be out. It was evening, and nobody really cared about looks at this time anyway. "You, Jorge and me?"

"Me, Jorge and whoever wants to ruin their life alongside us." It was a not-so-subtle remark that you had heard before, especially since staying at his. You didn't reply. "Make sure to come after 9 p.m… He comes then, too."

"And he's leaving at… ?"

"He's staying the night."

"Ah."

You didn't mind Casper's peculiar interest. In fact, you kinda figured where his allegiances lay. However, it bothered you when Jorge stayed the night. And not just him, any of his hookups. Casper was too kind sometimes, and it was dangerous, but he was overlooking the danger in favour of playing saviour.

"I don't like it when you allow sleepovers."

Casper turned to look at you, but you could read from the way his brow scrunched that he did not like what you said.

"You are no different. I could kick you out, too."

"I'll be back by 9 p.m." You took the bill. You shoved it in your pocket, then left.

For the most part, you understood Casper. A brilliant man, tremendous potential, but he could never form a real connection. All these men who came and left, they just temporarily scratched this itch he had. You understood him. Really. You did not even want to imagine how he must feel, knowing all of them were using him, drugs or housing.

You shook that thought off, looking back. Through the window, you could see Casper, alone, hunched over his coffee table.

The sight hurt you, so you left to handle the errands.

By 8:55 p.m., you were back. The lights were on, and there was chattering from within. You put your head down and walked in, finding the piles of papers on the table behind. The coffee table had a few glasses, the ashtray and the vial on it.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're back. Oh, just on time! Say hi to Jorge!"

You looked at the empty glasses, then back at Casper. That fuzzy attitude? It was all because of the alcohol, but it wasn't always like that. Sometimes he could be happy even without it. "Buenas noches, Jorge."

"Buenas noches… ¿Trajiste las jeringas?"

You looked over to Casper, who was cuddling into Jorge. You knew better than to try to pull him out of his mirage, so you opened the bag, took out a cigarette packet, and then threw the bag onto the couch next to them.

Casper glanced up at you from his spot next to Jorge, a puppy look on his face, much too different from how he looked when he sent you on your way. Jorge shuffled into the bag and pulled out the syringes, throwing them on the table excitedly. "Llénalos, viejo."

Casper did not understand, but he knew instinctively. He put his glasses on his nose, and as he always would, prepared two of the shots and left them against his discarded pen for a moment, while closing the vial and putting it aside.

You were hurt again. Of course. The two didn't include you. Jorge had clearly arrived before you, about an hour early, to your estimation.

The deed was done.

It made sense.

Nonetheless, you let them get high without you. It did not matter how many times you tried to get involved; it never worked, so this time you did not even try. You went outside, letting them be since you were an outsider to them anyway.

After about an hour spent outside in Casper's yard, you heard a commotion. You raised your eyes from where you had been staring absent-mindedly, waiting for Casper's company to go to sleep.

The commotion startled you.

It was not uncommon for Casper to have the good stuff, so he always got himself in a tough spot when he had someone over. They'd come for the Yellow Jesus, everyone did. They all leeched off poor Casper, but he remained the same. He wanted to take care of everyone. Casper wanted to make everyone happy, so in the end, he would be at risk.

You looked through the window. Jorge was arguing with Casper, and by the looks of it, it was a heated argument. You recalled being warned before by Dan and Casper not to get involved, that things can go to shit real quick.

But you cared about Casper.

You slammed the door open and closed it behind you loud enough to dilute the anger, if even temporarily. By the time you made your way into the living room, Jorge was holding a bottle threateningly, about to throw it. At the sight of you, he lowered his arm.

Casper, on the other hand, grunted, "Get the fuck out of here, Y/N. Told you not to get involved."

"Are you being stupid? He's-"

Jorge's surprise ceased enough for the bottle to end up thrown in Casper's direction, but you managed to shove him out of the way just in time. The decoration shattered into the wall and fell to pieces on you.

Jorge used the chance to snatch the vial of Yellow Jesus from the table and make an escape, leaving most of his clothes in Casper's house, running off in just his shorts.

"Shit,"

You got off Casper, looking at your hand. The glass bottle had shattered in the worst way, and quite a few shards got your arm and hand, but at least you spared Casper the pain of it. By the time you were off him, you started to experience the stinging of the glass that had pierced your skin. Casper was still coming to realise what had happened, the shock slowly fading.

As he murmured a small "Christ" under his breath, you pushed yourself up, trying to avoid getting even more of that damned glass in your arm. Casper quickly noticed the way you clutched yourself, and as if suddenly reminded of what actually took place. He helped himself up and looked to his side, where the bottle shattered. You got yourself to your feet, but Casper didn't let you wander off.

"Wait, it got you good."

He whispered, taking your arm and looking at it. Lucky for you, Casper got himself in trouble enough to know a thing or two about how to clean up something like this, so he guided you to his bathroom.

"Sit down. No complaining."

This time, you listened; the stinging was bad enough already.

"I am upset with you, honestly. I told you not to get involved. This stuff can be dangerous. You never listen to anyone, do you?"

"Scolding me? Thanks, first you never include me in anything, then you complain when I save your head from being split open. Honestly, if you don't want me here, better tell me. It's getting ridiculous." You couldn't believe it, still, you were somehow the problem?

Casper exhaled, grabbing his aid kit, giving you a mean look that turned soft as soon as it landed on you. Why didn't you understand? He only wanted to spare you the kind of life he had, the kind Dan and the others wanted to get out of and couldn't. But you were a stubborn one and never left his side.

"I'm not scolding." Casper looked up at you, then avoided your eyes as he patched up your arm, cleaning up your small, painful wounds.

"It sounds like it."

"I suppose it does."

There was silence between the two of you. The adrenaline slowly faded, and you started to feel bad. You were glad Casper did not get hurt, but you were beginning to understand his point. He too was regretting his brashness. So neither of you wanted to apologise out of embarrassment, you sat there, quietly, as he mended your wounds.

"I don't want you falling into the habit. It's a shithole, trust me."

"I know."

There was another pause.

"You should stop doing it if you don't want me to try doing it too."

"I wish it were that easy."

"Do you want to stop?"

Casper stopped in his tracks, his large hands wrapping a bandage around your arm.

"What does it matter?"

"It matters to me." You grabbed his hand, ignoring the pain in your limb and forced him to look at you. "Promise me you'll try to stop. I was dead worried tonight, I am worried each fucking time, and now I'm here, but I can't fucking live thinking you might get yourself dead when I'm not around. You have to stop."

"Breathe, keep breathing. Don't lose your nerve"

"No, don't even. I know it's tough, okay. I don't sit here thinking it's an easy deal, alright? But please, give it a fucking shot."

"…Y/N. You know how it is..."

You knew you won't get through with him. It was not that Casper did not want to stop; you knew that he did, but it would take more than this. Too many people depended on him, and that pressure made him crack, but you would wait and insist. Maybe one day, you will get him to come clean.