Marks and Punctures [Fiction]

"Get away from me!" Vicky yelled, her neck veins visibly pulsing. Her eyes were red and watery as if she had been crying but she wasn't.

Thomas, aka, Tipper stared at her, anguish etched on his face. "I can't. You are ruining your life, Vicky and I'll never let you," he replied in frustration. He saw the way her hands twitched and shook as she attempted to lift a glass of water. She gave up and glared at him for watching. The syringe marks and punctures on her hand were a dead giveaway as to her condition.

Vicky brushed past him into her room. "Vicky, wait …" he said as he followed her. She shut the door in his face. He banged it angrily with a fist.

"Leave me alone," she groaned and he knew she'd started to cry.

Tipper dropped his head on the closed door and squeezed his eyes shut. How else could he convince Vicky that he loved her and would never let anything happen to her? The past did not have to determine her present or future. He'd been in a similar position before and with the help of his family, he stopped using and had been sober for seven years.

Vicky had no one except for him. If only she would have faith in their love for each other and trust him to help her.

"I can't leave you alone, Vicky. You need help…"

"Shut up, Tipper. It's you who needs help. In fact, why don't you see a therapist or something 'cause you are needy and always in my business all the time. I'm tired. Stay away from me!"

"Vicky please."

"I mean it, Tipper. Get out of my house."

Tipper waited for a long moment, believing she didn't mean it until he heard the heartrending sobs like she was torn apart from the inside out. It was when teardrops touched his lips that he realised he'd been crying as well.

He turned and left her apartment. Any attempt to try and get through to her now might worsen the situation.

Two days later….

Tipper's mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced around the office to ensure his boss was not watching. He bent a little using his pc as a cover and swiped the screen to answer the call.

"She won't stop screaming your name," a menacing voice growled, causing Tipper's heart to race. He knew exactly who the voice was referring to. "Now she threw up on my fine Persian rug and passed out…"

"W-who is this?" Tipper stuttered.

The voice chuckled as if he was amused. "C'mon Tipper. Long time no see, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten about you. It's been what, six years? Seven?"

Tipper paled and gripped his mobile phone tightly. "Don't hurt her. Please…"

"Boom! I knew she meant something to you since she keeps calling out your name. Shame on you, Tipperrrr. You know better than to date 'em."

"Look. Enough with this chitchat!" Tipper retorted with a hint of aggression. Sobriety hadn't robbed him of his fighting spirit. "Where is she and how much does she owe you? It's always about the money for you."

The voice cackled. "You're damn right about that. She owes me eight grand. But now it's ten since you are involved."

"I'll come for her now," Tipper said firmly, ending the call.

His hands shook as he stared at the phone. He called his friend at the bank, got the money and drove all the way downtown to rescue Vicky.

Hours later….

Vicky's vision blurred for a moment before it cleared and she saw Tipper seated beside her in a room that looked like a hospital. He appeared lost in thought.

"Hey you," she whispered. A broad smile spread across Tipper's face, reaching his eyes. Vicky smiled back for a moment and started to cry. "I'm so sorry, Tipper. I don't know what came over me. I owe Angus some money…."

"Shhh, it's taken care of," Tipper replied gently.

Vicky's eyes widened in surprise. "I owe him eight grand…"

"Vicky," Tipper sighed deeply. "I said it's taken care of."

All Vicky could do was look at Tipper in amazement and wonder what she'd done to deserve such a loyal friend. She was ready to make rehab work, if only for Tipper's sake.

Tipper froze in his seat, unknown to Vicky. He rushed to the window and saw a dark figure in a hoodie retreating into the shadows. Just then a volunteer dressed like a nurse came into the room. "I'm afraid but visiting hours are over," she said.

"No. I'm staying if you don't mind. I'll speak with your supervisor," Tipper said firmly.

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