Looking for a New High

Judy’s eyes were locked on the steel barrel as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands trembled as she clutched at the old stiped duvet that covered the bed she sat on. The bedframe creaked as she shifted her feet.          

     The gun’s steel barrel shook as Morgan’s knuckles turned white around its wooden grip. His finger trembled on the trigger. Sweat dripped from his face and hair onto the hotel room floor. His eyes were wide, darting around the room. He flinched at every tick of the clock that hung on the wall. Dark scars marred his forearms.

     “I can’t do this anymore!” Morgan said as he waved the pistol wildly around the room, clawing at the skin beneath his jaw with jagged fingernails.

     “So this is your new goddamn high?” she said. Her voice cracked as she stifled her sobbing.

     “Only goddamn high I got left,” he said. “Bastard Jerry cut me off.”

     “So a loaded gun is the answer?” she asked.

     “Yes a loaded gun is the goddamn answer!” he said. “They say that when it happens the adrenaline cocktail you get is better than any drug.” A deranged smile spread across his face.

     “Please Morgan!” she said. “We can get help. We can get you into rehab. You don’t have to do this.”

     “You can’t tell me what I don’t have to do!” he said. His voice rang in the claustrophobic room. “Rehab in ’68! Rehab in ’72! And here I am! Still goddamn strung out! Still dealin’ with goddamn withdrawals every few days! I got nothin’ but this to do!”

     “We can find a better place! We can go somewhere out of state. We can find better doctors,” she said. The bed creaked as she pushed herself up from her seat.

     “Sit the hell down!” he said, whirling around to point the barrel at her head.

     Judy sat back down, her body trembling. She couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. “Morgan please,” she said.

     Morgan darted towards Judy, leaning over her, his hands pressed into the mattress by her sides. “Please what?” he asked. “Please what Judy? Please go back to electroshock therapy? Or maybe this time I’ll be lucky enough that they’ll lobotomize me!” He pushed himself back to his feet and paced around the room with his hands on the sides of his head, digging out clumps of hair with his nails.

     “No Judy, I’m not going back,” he said.

     She cried as she watched the barrel. The halogen bulb above him buzzed and flickered, silhouetting him against the popcorn ceiling. Her knees shook as she stood up. Her eyes left the barrel of the gun and met his. She cupped his cheek in her trembling hand.

      “I told you to sit the hell down,” he said. His voice was quieter this time, and lacked the resolve it had just moments before.

      She held his face and said, “Maybe they can’t help you. But at least let me try to help.” Her voice was shaky but tender. Her tears flowed unrestrained down her mascara-stained cheeks.

     “Baby, you already have,” he said.

     The muzzle pressed against warm skin, hair brushing across the top. There was a deafening bang and the gun fell to the floor. A thin whisp of smoke rose from the gun’s steel barrel.