Diary of a Drug Fiend

The Grinding of the Brakes 187 Peter was asleep, but he turned like a startled snake just as I made for the door. ‘“‘ Where are you going, Lou? ” His voice was both piteous and harsh. I had not thought of inventing a pretext ; but a lie slipped ready- made from my tongue. ‘‘T am going to Basil, to see if he can’t give me something to help us out.” I knew he didn’t believe me, and I knew he didn’t care where I went or what I did. He was not shocked at my lying to him—the first time I had ever done so. I took a taxi round to the studio. My he was half truth. I was going to ask him to help in the cure; but my real object was to induce him, no matter how, to give me at least one dose. I didn’t care how I got it. I would try pretending illness. I would appeal to our old relations, and I would look about slyly to see if I couldn’t find some and steal it. And I didn’t mean to let Peter know. On the top of everything else was the torture of shame. I had always been proud of my pride. A subtle serenity made my brain swim when I got into the street. It delighted me to be alone—to have got rid of Peter. I felt him as a restraining influence, and I had shaken him off. I despised myself for having loved him. I wanted to go to the devil my own way. I found Basil in, and alone. What luck! That hateful tall thin girl was out of the way. Basil received me with his usual greeting. It stung me to the quick like an insult. What right had he to reproach me? And why should “Do what thou wilt ’’ sound like a reproach? As a rule he added something to the phrase. He slid into ordinary conversation with a kind of sinuous grace. There was always something feline about him. He reminded me of a beautiful, terrible tiger winding his way through thick jungle. But to-day, he stopped short with dour decision. It was as if he had fired a shot, and was waiting to see