Forgiving Paris: A Novel(5)

“I’ll do more, too. We can find the high together.” Benji kissed her cheek and aimed the needle. And just like that he was feeling the same euphoria she was feeling. She knew because she could see it on his face.

In a rush the second hit overtook her, warming her and offering a peace she only knew after a hit. Her headache faded and she fell against Benji’s chest.

“You okay, baby?” He ran his hand over her matted hair. “You okay?”

Suddenly a sense of panic came over her. Because she couldn’t make her mouth work, couldn’t find the words. And something else. She couldn’t draw a breath. “Ben… Ben…”

He was up on his knees now, taking her by the shoulders. “I told you… not to, Alice!” His voice was loud, frightened. “This stuff is peppered. It’s too strong.”

Alice could feel herself losing consciousness, her breathing deep and labored. Why couldn’t she fill her lungs? What was happening? Then she remembered. This had occurred before when one of the heroin batches was laced. When it was peppered. That time one of the tent people had shot her up with Narcan and she’d lived.

It was her last hope. “Narc… Narcan.”

“I don’t have it, baby. It’s all gone.” Benji shook her again. “Stay with me, Alice. Stay with me.”

Alice was in a whirlpool. A deadly, dark horrific tunnel, and she was falling down… down… into the thickest, dankest liquid. And she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t take another breath.

She remembered how she really loved Benji and how the man had turned to illegal pain meds when he tore his meniscus playing football with a few friends, and how he’d gotten caught stealing from the hospital where he was doing his residency and how they’d fired him. He would never work in the medical field again, Benji had told her. And in a thick fog of shame and addiction, Benji had left home and never looked back.

His family still didn’t know where he was.

I love you, Benji. I’m sorry. M’man, if you’d only opened the door. She was out of oxygen, and she felt herself fall to the cold tent-covered ground.

“Baby, stay with me!” Benji shouted at her and shook her again and again. But his words began to fade until eventually her heartbeat stopped. And then there was nothing but eternal darkness and one final thought before death had its way with her. The thought she couldn’t bear to admit to Benji or even herself.

Alice was pregnant.



* * *



THE BEEPING SOUNDS must’ve been some part of hell. That’s all Alice could imagine. Because she had died. She had felt her heart stop beating.

But like the wings of a butterfly spreading on the first warm day of spring, Alice finally blinked her eyes open and looked around. She was in a hospital, hooked up to machines. Her hand instinctively grabbed at her throat. If she’d survived, she was surely on life support. But her neck was soft and whole.

No tubes in her mouth or esophagus.

I’m alive. How could I be alive?

Then she remembered the baby, and her hand moved to her abdomen. Surely the tiny life inside her had died in this ordeal. All because Alice wouldn’t listen to Benji. Her eyes scanned the monitors and machines around her until she saw the nurses’ button. She pressed it and called out at the same time. “Help me! Someone, please!”

An older uniformed woman rushed into the room. “You’re awake!”

Panic welled up in Alice’s heart and limbs. “I… I don’t feel well.” Of course she didn’t feel well. How long had it been since she’d had a fix? “I need… I need more.”

“Shhh.” The woman stood at her bedside. “I’m taking care of you.” She put her hand on Alice’s shoulder. “You nearly died. Do you know that?”

“Y-y-yes. What… happened?”

The nurse hesitated. “I believe it was a miracle.” She sat in the chair next to Alice’s bed. “What’s your name?”

Why should she tell the woman? She needed to get back to her tent, back to Benji. She had survived the heavy stuff, lived through the pepper. She wouldn’t push it so hard next time. She started to sit up, but a wave of pain hit her head and slammed her back to the pillow. “I need more…”

“You need to rest.” The nurse looked straight at her. “My name is Fran. And you’re at a rehab facility just outside Paris.” She was kind and soft-spoken. “We can’t get far without your name.”

Alice squeezed her eyes shut. The pain in her head was getting worse. Her arms and legs throbbed. She didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask to be rescued. “Take me back.” She had no memory of life before heroin. There was no returning to who she used to be.

“You’re not going back.” The woman stayed in the chair. “Just your first name. Then I’ll tell you how you got here.”

Her head was spinning now. What would it hurt to tell the woman? “Alice.” She pressed her thumb and fingers into her temples. “My name is Alice.”

“One more question.” The nurse took a chart from the bedside table. “How old are you, Alice?”

She didn’t want to say, didn’t want the horrified, pitiful look from Fran. But what did it matter? “I’m… eighteen.”