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In the light of the apartment Arnold noticed the pallor under the makeup and her gauntness. Having been to bed with Marion many times over a period of a couple of years Arnold was aware of the difference in her body and attitude, but more noticeable, after he was accustomed to the dim light, were the needle marks on her arms. Marion had naturally enough worn a long sleeved dress to hide her arms, but it was impossible to do so forever. Arnold almost asked her about them but suddenly changed his mind and tried to pretend that they did not exist. He rolled over on his side and started kissing her and Marion responded as warmly as she could, continually reminding herself, Its the same. Its the same. She had been in bed with Arnold before. It was all the same. There was no difference. She went through the motions, making what she hoped were the proper movements and sounds as she tried desperately to remember what they were, but somehow everything seemed foreign and incongruous and then she tried thinking of Harry but that quickly started to destroy everything and she froze for a second until his image was out of her mind and she grabbed Arnold even harder and just flailed around hoping she was acting the same way she had all the other times she was with Arnold but no matter how much she reminded herself that it had been many times she still felt dirty and over and over she told herself It was the same. It was the same. It was the same. But she couldnt convince herself and all she could do was try to convince Arnold and so she chanted her mantra it was the same and though it did not make her feel clean it allowed her to do what had to be done and she just reminded herself, from time to time, that Harry needed the money and she was really doing it for him and not for the money and it was the same, it was the same, it was the same…
Marion took her clothes into the bathroom with her. After she bathed she got dressed, fixed her hair and makeup then went back in the bedroom. The light was on but she felt safe. Arnold was sitting on the side of the bed smoking. She smiled at him hoping it was the smile he was accustomed to, but more concerned about getting back to her place than anything else right now. Does the money have anything to do with the marks on your arms? What? Those marks. Needle marks. Is that why you needed the money? Are you??? he shrugged— What are you talking about? her eyes flared. Arnold smiled professionally, Dont get upset. If youre in trouble maybe I can help you. Her eyes relaxed, Im not in any trouble Arnold. Everything is just fine. He looked at her for a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. May I have the money Arnold? I really have to go home. Its late. He con tinued to look at her for a moment, I really would like an answer. I mean are you—what are those marks on your arm? O for Gods sake Arnold, do you always have to beat around the bush? Cant you simply ask me if Im using drugs? Isnt that what you want to say? Isnt it? He nodded. Yes. Well, if it will make you feel any better, I am. He looked hurt and shook his head slightly, But how could you be? Its impossible. Nothings impossible Arnold. Remember? But youre so young and bright and talented. I mean, youre not like those… those people who roam the streets mugging old ladies for enough money to get dope. Youre cultured and delicate and have been under therapy—and the therapist—they looked at each other for a few moments, Arnold becoming more and more confused and pained. But why? Why? Marion stared at him for a moment, then sighed loud and long, her body responding as if it had been squeezed tighter, Because it makes me feel whole… satisfied. The pain and confusion in Arnolds eyes started to glint with anger. May I please have the money Arnold? I really do have to go. He got up stiffly and went into another room and came back with the money and handed it to her, I guess I may just as well give it to you— I/ll repay you in a couple of days. No, thats alright. After all, youve earned it. He walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Marion stared at the door for a moment, then left the apartment. She walked down the stairs, anger and disgust building and fighting, her eyes starting to tear, and when she thrust herself out into the street, and was hit with a shock of cold air, she suddenly stopped, dizzy, and leaned against the building and vomited, and vomited…
Harrys guts were squirming. The first half hour or so after Marion left he just sort of sat back and hung loose with the dope and watched the tube. He kept telling himself that she would be back in a couple a hours and that everything would be cool, but as the minutes accumulated slowly something seemed to tighten and grow in his gut then swelled and rolled up to his chest and tugged at the back of his throat so that he was resisting a vague feeling of nausea. In a way he didnt mind the physical discomfort because he could dwell on it and avoid the things that were going on in his head, the things that were progressively growing and developing into images as well as words, images and words he didnt want to see or hear. After an hour he was really getting fidgety. He looked at his watch several times in less than five minutes, each time amazed at the time, feeling certain that more time than that had passed, then directing his eyes back to the tube, then thinking again about the time, not believing that he had looked at his watch correctly and so he would look at it again and be a