I check my watch again. 7:50. He’s already five minutes late. I take a step backwards so I am deeper under the shadow of the trees. Tom is always late. I still turn up on time every time.
“Excuse me?” Tom asks. The indignation in his voice is clear.
“We said 7:45,” I say. “It’s bloody quarter past eight. You’ve got to start turning up on time.”
“I have decided not to sell you any drugs,” Tom says. My heart sinks. I open my mouth to beg but Tom is already walking away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the dealer says. I got his address of a guy at work. He is sat on a dirty sofa wearing dirty clothes. “I don’t sell drugs. I have never even taken drugs.”
“I’m not a cop,” I say. “I need heroin. Please. Just a little. Just one hit.” My hand finds the knife in my pocket. When dealers start talking like this they’re not going to sell you drugs.
I watch the paramedics hurry towards me. Even though they are surely moving quickly their movement is slow and sluggish to me. The wound in my belly stings like fire.
“Please,” I say. “Give me something to stop the pain.”
The paramedic to my right reaches into his jacket and pulls out a needle. A wide smile appears on my face. Whatever’s in that needle is going to be great.
Every week I go to the pharmacy to get my prescription. Every week they give me drugs far stronger than anything you can find on the street. They give me almost thirty tablets at a time. I have to ration them to make them last the whole week.
“You’ve been on benefits for over a decade,” the person sat on the other side of the desk says. There is a strange look in her eyes: there is pity, sadness, maybe a touch of loathing. “Don’t you think it’s time you got a job?”
“I can’t work,” I say. “I’m injured. I’m disabled. I’m in pain all day every day.”
“You were claiming benefits before you got stabbed.”
“You can’t stop my benefits: I need money for food.”
The hatred in the woman’s eyes is now clear as day. She clicks her mouse a couple of times. I know they will keep giving me benefits. I have a doctor’s note that says I’m unable to work and a doctor’s note that says I need a constant supply of drugs.
Photography by: Anshu A on Unsplash
