It's warm.
The air is stale, and the stench of sweat dangles relentlessly throughout the home. Crisp, jet black hair dangles beneath my shoulders, and I feel truly sorry for the handmaids that are forced to wear a veil in this heat. It would make things that much more unbearable.
Upon occasional eye contact, the first thing I pick up on is their immediate judgement. Slim, petite, and helpless. That is what I know they think of me. The only thing that they think of me.
But it doesn't bother me.
It's only a thought.
I cook, I clean, I speak, I think. That is all I do. Temptations don't exist anymore. Not like they used to. The old, pleasent memory of lasting euphoria and sweet needles is slowly fading, probably for the better.
But that doesn't mean I don't miss it.
I constantly reminesce of times when I would seal myself away in alleyways, beneath docks, and when I would travel hundreds of miles out into country, in a car, with just a syringe and a small, light bag of heaven.
Happiness.
Pure, simple happiness.
