Furtively, she removed her illicit supply from her secret cupboard store. It was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. Months of work, of one-to-one therapy and attending MA sessions, would be undone in a few moments of weakness.
Every addict has his or her own method; she mainlined. Lubricating some toast with butter, she unscrewed the jar lid. It was now or never. Almost against her will, her hand applied some black heroin.
Closing her eyes, she allowed her mouth to ingest the irresistible preparation.
Marmite.
And so it began again.