Firefly went out yesterday evening to get Suboxone. She returned later than expected with three, but it was evident right away she returned with other drugs. She stayed up late hiding in the bathroom complaining about stomach issues, but I wasn't buying it.
"You've been in there for an hour and a half, don't try telling me you aren't smoking crack," I text her.
"I'm on the toilet," she replies.
"Yes, smoking crack. I told you not to go out. That would have solved all your problems."
I went to bed. There was no use arguing with her in the middle of the night. When I woke at 4:30 in the morning, she was not next to me. She was downstairs.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I'm sitting downstairs. I want to take a bath. They say baths help with digestion issues."
I went over to the spare bathroom and looked into her robe pockets while she was downstairs. The cigarette lighter in one pocket yesterday was missing, and the green cord she uses to tie off had returned.
I ask her, "the green cord is back; does that mean you are shooting up too?" There was no doubt she was smoking crack.
"Don't worry about it. I'll leave after I take a bath and hopefully go to the bathroom."
While I was exercising on my bike in the basement, she packed her things. Firefly descended the basement stairs wearing jeans, a black cami that exposed her midriff, and a beige thigh-length sweater. I was playing a game on my phone while pedaling. Her sudden presence startled me. She had done her make-up. She looked good but a little thin. Though, I know the long sleeves of her sweater were covering bruised arms and fresh needle marks.
Firefly asked me to help her load her belongings into her car, and I did. We said a quick good through the car window. "I hope you find what you need," told her.
She pulled out of the garage. I motioned for her to hand me the garage door opener on her visor. Firefly rolled down the window and handed me the small plastic opener. I squeezed her hand a few moments, then she was gone.
Later, strolling through the house, cleaning counters, and taking inventory of what she left behind, I found myself feeling as if I had failed too. The house feels quiet and empty now. It is just my perception of the surroundings, but it is a reflection of how I feel inside.