Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp V: Diagnosis)

PJ’s divorce was being finalized during the time that we were staying in our super secret hideout, so he had to constantly leave to go to court and deal with the finalization of the movie he was working on. It kind of sucked being at the house by myself, but it gave me time to reflect on the shitty situation I just left and come up with a plan as to how in the hell I was going to leave that situation.

I ended up going back to my apartment to grab a few things while the husband was away at work. However, when I went there it looked like he had left in a hurry. There was food on the table and a half full bottle of liquor which confused the hell out of me. I figured he was running away from the cops, so I didn’t know how long it was going to be until he got back. I grabbed my things and got the hell out of there.
When PJ got home from doing his thing, he was always distraught and I tried to help him feel better but it was hard for him to come out of the funk he was in. Dealing with the divorce and the long drive while I was at home alone really toiled on his mind. I reminded him all the time that the Marines in my unit were always looking out for me and even when you can’t see them, they are always there. “We are camouflage, you know,” I’d say. That made him feel a little better but these people that he was concerned about really affected his mood.

“Are you sure your wife doesn’t know about this place?” I asked.
“I did everything I could to hide it, but you can never be sure.”
“This is true. Are there any financial transactions that she would be able to find?”
“SHE wouldn’t be able to find them, but I’m sure THEY would be able to do some –”
“Some fucked up shit with the bank and the government?”
“Yup. They have control over the money they deposit in our bank accounts.”
“So, you’d have to –”
“Yup, I’d have to make some INVESTmentsssssss!”
“HAHA! Oh man, that transfers the capital over to the private individual.”
“Yes it does, sweetpea.”
“You’re a genius my love.”
“Manipulating theeeee marketttttt!! Ha! haha.”

I started looking around, wondering what the investments were. You can’t just keep something like that away from an economics nerd.

“Don’t worry sweetpea, I have my portfolio right here.” He slapped it on the table.
“Ooooooo!!! Profit margins…….”
“Are you sure you don’t care about money?” he smirked.
“Shut up, asshole. I care about market –”
“Yes, I know, you care about market manipulation. Economics doesn’t have anything to do with money.”
“You’re gonna get it.”
“We have to go through this portfolio first!” he let out a naughty evil laugh, “Here, you look at it. I know you know what you’re looking at, I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t even hear what he said because I was too busy looking at the portfolio and getting the blunt ready to go over it with him. I got pissed at the graphs and shit, “Just show me the numbers!” I said. I found the numbers and went through them, but I still needed him to explain to me what the companies were all about. My phone was dead, and I wasn’t about to charge it either. So, I sat back, and finished the whole blunt. Now I’m wondering where my man went. I went to the bedroom and tried to walk in, but it was locked.

“Baby, are you alright?”
“Yes. Just…. hold on a second!”
“Why is the door locked?”
“I’ll be out in a minute!”

I jiggled the door knob again.

“Sweetpea, just. fucking. Go look at the portfolio!”
“I already did! The companies are in abbreviations so I wanted to know what they are!”
“Look them up!”
“I can’t my phone is dead.”
“Just…. Go smoke another blunt! I’ll be out in a minute!” he growled.

Alright, something weird is going on, I thought, I’m gonna fucking find out what it is. So, when he emerged from the den I just acted like nothing was wrong. He sat down next to me and I started asking him what they were. He got frustrated and embarrassed because he couldn’t remember what they were. “I always fucking remember. This is MY fucking portfolio!” He threw it up against the wall, and I went to go pick up the papers.

“Don’t fucking do that, baby girl. I got it.” He went to pick it up.
“Baby, what the fuck is going ON with you!?”
“I’m — I can’t — Hold on….” he sighed.

He got frustrated because they were all messed up and out of order, so he shoved the papers into the folder, threw it in the closet, and slammed the closet door. Now I’m pissed.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! Have some fucking PRIDE! THAT IS YOUR SHIT! YOU…” I calmed down ’cause he looked like a hurt Devil Dog, “Baby… You fucking beat the system, and you’re going to treat your accomplishments like they don’t MEAN anything to you?!”
“I just don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything….” he looked off into the distance, “I’m sorry for freaking out. I feel like a dick.”
“Baby…” I’m trying not to get frustrated with him, “What the fuck is going on? What in the fuck were you doing in the bedroom? You were fine, and then you went and locked yourself in there, and then you emerged as an asshole.”

He sat there, trying to figure out how to tell me, and I already had an idea of what he was going to say.

“Ok,” I started, “Let’s go fix your accomplishments, and you can figure out how to tell me while we sort the papers out.”
“Baby girl, I’m fixing it. I fucked it up. I’m fixing it.”
“Alright, well, you can feel that way, but I want to help you.”

His frustration was building up again.

“Plus, I’m fucking the shit at organizing paperwork. I only did it for four years….” I smiled, “In the Marine Corps.”

He started laughing, and I felt like I got my man back.

“But there’s a certain way that it has to be organized with certain pages facing certain ways…”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“Well, I’m not a very good teacher, sweetpea.”
“Ok, then, I’ll smooth them out and put them in a pile, and you can put them where they belong. TEAMWORK!”

He always liked it whenever I got all moto with my language. He was an undercover motard, a Marine Corps boyfriend. Hehe.

“ALRIGHT!” he said, “Let’s do this!”

We stomped over to the closet, and took the shit out of there. He started looking at the paperwork and getting fucking pissed.

“Alright…… Let’s just put that back in the closet.”

He stopped and fucking stared at the papers like they were his worst enemy. So, I took them out of his hands, threw them in the closet, and slammed it shut. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack, so I hugged him tight and that calmed him down a lot. I was becoming very distraught because I just wanted him to be ok, so I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

“Baby,” I sniffled, “What –”
He sighed, “Baby girl, I didn’t want you to see me like this…. I have an addiction.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Well, yes but no…. That’s not it. Well, it is, but — I’m having a hard time telling you.”
“Can you show me?”

He put his head down, grabbed my hand real tight, and brought me into the bedroom. He showed me the box with his supplies. Now, I might be well versed in psychedelics and weed, but I knew pretty much nothing about narcotics. I stayed away from the junkies in the punk rock scene and beat the shit out of them at the shows. Most of what I knew is what I read from Charles Bukowski and William S. Burroughs. They always wrote about the junkies in the streets and the dens, not in Hollywood. I stared in disbelief, trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s heroin baby girl…” he started to get upset.

Now I’m about to have a panic attack. I let it all out.

“No…. I don’t.”

I went to punch another hole in the wall, but he stopped me and held me tight. We both started crying.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them baby,” I muttered.
“You just are just my littlest fiestiest little Marine,” he smiled.
“I am… I am and it’s only a matter of time before they find this place… and I’ll be ready. I’ll be ready to defend our home. They fucked with the wrong Marine’s man. They fucking did… I’ll fucking –”
“Baby girl, you sound like a crazy person.”
“Well! I am! Look at the hole I punched in the wall!” I laughed.
“Hooooly shiiiiiitttt…. That’s a big fucking hole for such a little hand! Is it broken?” he grabbed my hand to inspect it.
“Um…. No. I use the strongest point in my fist when I punch, with a lot of follow-through to back it up.”
“That’s my girl! Let’s go smoke some weed sweetpea.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

We smoked some weed, ate dinner, and sat around doing our usual antics. Then he got a text message and flipped his shit.

“What did they say to you baby?”
“I have a fucking drug test tomorrow.”
“Why are they administering a drug test if they want you to– oohhhhhh…..”
“Yeah. It’s to make sure we ARE doing them,” he gaffed, “you are such a Marine.”
“I gathered that….” I took another hit of the blunt, trying to figure out how to beat the system, “Do they tell you that you have a drug test?”
“In a really fucking creepy way.”
“Let me see it.”
“I can’t — I don’t want you to see–”
“I know about the other fucking text messages and I don’t give a shit. I know what you have to do. Just let me see it. I’m trying to figure out–”
“Ok, ok,” he sighed, “here.”

I took in a deep breath as he handed me the phone. The texts read:

Time to take ur medicine
I know u haven’t
Take 2 😉

I wanted to throw the phone across the room. He took it away from me.

“What do they do to you if you don’t do it?”
“Well, they either beat the shit out of you or they shoot you. Both have happened to me before.”
“FUCK!” I sat there and pondered the code, “Let me see the other texts.”
“Baby girl, they’re rrrreeeeeally going to piss you off.”
“Baby, I want to help you. I can handle it. THIS IS WAR!”
He laughed, “Just promise you won’t destroy the phone, please.”
“I promise.”
“Pinky swear?”
I held it up, “Pinky swear.”

We smiled at eachother, locked pinkies, and he went into the other room to get his shit. I took in another deep breath as I went to check the texts. There were a multitude of sexts and dirty talk text messages that really pissed me off. Most of the responses he gave were one word and the least amount of words possible. They were trying to get him to send them sexts that he didn’t want to send with threats from them of every kind. I wanted to put the phone down, then I heard my First Sergeant on my shoulder, “KEEP ON SEARCHING KERKMAN! YOU’RE A FUCKING MARINE! THEY ARE FUCKING SCUM! FIGURE IT OUT! YOU’RE IN THE FOG! THIS IS WAR! BE OBJECTIVE!” That motivated the shit out of me, so I sat there and started going through every text message objectively. He came out of the room.

“Baby girl….”
“Damn you’re deep into that shit.”
“I know that this is kind of fucked up but–”
He started laughing, “Oh, you are Hunter S. Thompson.”

I smiled and got back to business. He was doing his thing, and I was figuring out the code.

“They are really fucking grimey….”
“Yes they are….”

Just as I said that, I found their slip up.


I showed him a conversation between this one person where he pissed them off, so they didn’t use code. They were talking about a shipment which was coming in “next week,” and said he was required to be there, “or else [he knows] what happens.”

“Fuck… I don’t even remember that conversation,” he mumbled.
“Well now you have it naughty. I would say it’s blackmail but they probably would just pay off the police. At least it’s something to cover your own– BABY ARE YOU OK?!”

He slumped over and was barely breathing. I laid him down on the couch and and began field resuscitation. I gave him three quick breaths, two chest pumps and continued to do so until he opened up his eyes and sat up.

“What just happened?”
I was in distress, “You just fucking OD’d baby!”

Now his adrenaline was rushing, it was keeping him alive. Then he started to fall back into it.

“Stay pissed off baby, it’s keeping you alive right now. GET PISSED OFF! THEY JUST TRIED TO FUCKING KILL YOU!”

He fucking got up and destroyed everything in his sight. I yelled words at motivation at him and told him to keep on punching shit til he could see bones through his knuckles. Then I got up and started destroying shit with him.


We kept on going til there wasn’t really anything left to destroy. He was wiped out.

“Can we go lay down baby girl?”

I sat there and thought about it, then I heard my First Sergeant on my shoulder again, “He’s good! Good fucking job Marine!”

“Thanks First Sergeant,” I said.
“I’m not a First Sergeant.”
“I know, I was talking to First Sergeant. Let’s go lay down baby.”

We walked in the bedroom and laid down. We weren’t doing too good.

“Go get that blunt baby girl. You need it.”
“So do you!”

As I was getting up, he started to freak out.

“Baby girl don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me! I love you!”
“Baby, I’m not leaving you, I’m just going to get the blunt real quick and I’ll be right back.”
“You promise you’re not going to leave me?”
“I promise.”

I ran into the other room, grabbed the blunt, lit it up, and went back into the bedroom.

“You’re back! You were gone for so long….”
“Yes I am, but you probably shouldn’t smoke this. It would relax you too much.”
“You’re right,” he sighed, “You fucking need that anyway.”

I sat down next to him on the bed while he held me tight, then he started to go into epileptic shock. The husband had more than a few siezures due to his drug usage, so I knew what to do to calm him down. It wasn’t a grand mal seizure so I knew everything was gonna be ok. I put my hand on his face and looked into his eyes and assured him that I was right there and everything was going to be ok. I kept on telling him I loved him and that I would always be there for him. Then he stopped, looked at me, and told me I was the woman of his dreams. I held him tight on the bed and ran my finger through his hair until he fell asleep. I wasn’t fucking falling asleep, my pupils were the size of fucking basketballs and there was no way that adrenaline was going away any time soon. I went out to the couch, picked up a few things, rolled another blunt, and lit it up.

I need a plan, I thought, there must be some way that we can beat this system so this shit doesn’t happen again… Hm… What do we use to find and subdue the enemy?…. Fucking maps. What is a map?….. A diagram of the land where our position is and where the intel tells us where the enemy is. We have the intel. What is our position? What is our map?

As I was coming to the conclusion as to what we needed to do, I heard an ear-piercing screech coming from the bedroom. He was having a grand mal seizure. I’m pretty sure I fucking flew in there; his muscles were contracting and he was foaming at the mouth. I told him everything was gonna be ok and that I loved him as I was keeping him on the bed and making sure he didn’t choke. I went to call 911, but I couldn’t find his phone and mine was dead. As soon as I found his phone, he came out of it and went into post-epileptic confusion.

“Who are you?” he said
“Are you an angel?”
“I’m your angel baby,” tears started to roll from my eyes.
“Am I dead?”
“No, but you almost died.”

He started to cry.

“You’re my baby girl.”
“Yes I am, naughty.”

He urinated while having the seizure, so I grabbed new shirt and underwear, a towel to put underneath him and a new blanket from the closet. He was mumbling in his confusion as I took his soiled clothes off of him, and put the new clothes on him, picked him up to put the towel underneath him, and laid the new blanket over him. I got into bed, held him, ran my fingers through his hair and lulled him out of his confusion.

“Baby girl…. Will you marry me?”
I smiled, “Some day. But I have to get divorced first.”
“So do I…. In a few different ways.”

We both started laughing as I sang him to sleep. I didn’t sleep that night, but I did have a lot of time to formulate a plan.

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