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Daytime Sleepwalker

"Breakfast would be nice."
"It would."
"Bu-"
"Here's a bowl. I'll get some raisin bran. Sorry it's not Total."
As a cadaver, lifeless and lonely in a refrigerated morgue, she sits on their bed, her new solitary confinement division. Tim arrives with the cereal.
"Take it, Carmen. I said I was sorry."
"I know, it's OK," she said faintly. "Tim, I'm actually not that hungry. Here." She returns his thoughtful, but lacking bowl of raisin bran. Instead she moves to the couch and glosses over the room with her deep brown eyes. She picks up the syringe.

Tim, being highly involved in a search and rescue mission for some unspoiled whole milk in the kitchen, didn't notice. Carmen handles the black tar. It was supposed to be good; the product apparently came from opium poppies in South America. Twenty dollars for it, double the usual street price.
Tim's addictive behavior had influenced her over the years, as well as his insurmountable depression. He tried heroin only once, but that one time opened Carmen's eyes much wider than his: she loved it. Heroin changed her world. It spurred feelings of rapture, elation, and delight that she hadn't known in her two year relationship with Tim. She started out chasing the dragon, inhaling the smoke produced from heating the drug on tin foil. Soon she began snorting China White, the purest powder form heroin. After snorting for so long, Carmen realized that the only way to get her money's worth was to shoot it. The affects begin in seconds rather than minutes and the euphoria is most intense.
Carmen sets down the U-100 needle and picks up the rounded bottom of a can of Diet Coke: a spoon. She methodically sterilizes it with an alcohol swab she picked up at Safeway. The smell was intoxicating.
Tim returns with the slightly spoiled milk. "Oh, so that's it," he said. "That's what you're having for breakfast. If sleepwalking in the morning makes you happy -"
"It's lunch really. Take a look at the clock, it's 2."
Tim ignores the scent of rubbing alcohol as he casually passes by. He then flips on the t.v. and lolls onto the couch. His glacial attitude was the warmest thing she ever felt in their present affiliation.
Two doses of black tar, each the size of a Tic-Tac are taken out of their balloon-like bag and plastic wrapping there's a slight scent of vinegar in the air - she places them into the spoon and makes her way to the kitchen.
"Hey Tim, where's the Brita filter?"
"I put it in the sink to be washed. You need to

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