“I can’t believe you called me by your ex’s name, Joe. That really fucking hurt.”
“I’m sorry. It was the situation. I was freaked out. The hospital. Waiting. Sick people… blood… the smell. It just took me back there for a moment…”
Veronica glared at him.
“Yeah, well this wasn’t my fault. Your ex wound up in the ER all of those times because she was a fucking junkie whore. This isn’t my fault!”
She began to sob again. Joe looked at the wall; mute, wishing he could punch a hole straight through it, just to experience a more manageable kind of pain for a change.
“You should smoke some of this.” Joe said eventually, handing her the blackened, crumpled piece of aluminum foil, “It’ll do you more good than that fucking codeine the hospital gave you.”
Veronica reluctantly smoked a little. She chased the little melting ball of brown goo across the metallic surface. It didn’t make her sick this time. Joe was right. Within minutes, it helped her in ways that the codeine never could.
They sat and smoked in silence, Dalston, 8:00pm. The crib that Joe had stupidly bought from the old Egyptian who had helped them move in here a month ago sat off in the corner, sucking all of the conversation out of the room.