I Forgot to Die by Khalil Rafati

I Forgot to Die by Khalil Rafati

Author:Khalil Rafati [Rafati, Khalil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781619613751
Publisher: Lioncrest Publishing
Published: 2015-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I threw what little I still had from rehab—some clothes, headphones, a toothbrush—into my backpack and ran out of the hotel. I was sure that somebody was waiting to kill me around every corner. I walked carefully, scanning my periphery, to another cheap hotel in Inglewood where a couple of prostitutes were hanging out front.

“Can you guys get me some heroin?” I asked them. They looked at me and laughed like I was stupid.

“How much?” one of them said.

They could only get me coke. Who was I to argue?

Obviously I had learned nothing from my most recent brush with death because when I went to pay her, I pulled out a big wad of cash and peeled off a hundred dollar bill. She brought me the coke and I went back to my room and started shooting up. It was all I had left—the heroin and the crack were long gone. I heard a bunch of voices in the hallway outside my room and immediately pulled the mattress off the bed frame and shoved it in front of the door, followed by the dresser.

They must have heard me. They started pounding on the door. I heard muffled voices and laughter. When you’re high on coke, you gain an acute hearing ability and I could make out the voice of a woman: “No, he’s got money. He’s got a bunch of money. I saw it, I saw it!”

I sat there in the dark, shooting up again and again. I had multiple seizures. My whole left arm went cold and numb and I felt an incredible pain and pressure on my chest. And then I saw it: the shadowy, demonic figure from my nightmares as a child, except this time there wasn’t just one. The room was full of them. They were racing around the walls, clawing and attacking me. The darkness those creatures embodied wanted nothing less than my soul for all eternity. I raced to the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain bar down and started swinging at them. Meanwhile, the pounding on the door got louder and more violent.

At some point in the midst of all this, I passed out.

I woke up the next afternoon on the bathroom floor. Someone was knocking on the door.

I staggered over to it and stood to the side in case they fired. “Who is it?”

“The manager. You were supposed to check out two hours ago.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m just getting my stuff together. I’ll be down in five minutes.” I was filthy. I got in the shower and when the water hit my back, the pain was incredible. I couldn’t figure out why it hurt so badly—this wasn’t withdrawal, something was wrong. Had I gotten more cuts from the porcelain toilet lid at the last hotel? But how would they be on my back?

I stood on a towel in front of the mirror and turned around to get a better look. My back was covered in claw marks. I flashed back to the previous night.


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