Narelle’s heart skipped as she negotiated her trolley over the gutter into Spring Street. There was the green door. Not just any green door, but THE green door. Behind this door lay her future; her future and her salvation. As her pulse thumped, she smelt the sweat seep from her pores and puddle around the follicles. There surged within her a desperate need; a need she had repressed during these six long months of treatment. The sting of the needle’s grey sludge carousing through her veins had instantly become a need, not a want.
She gulped air. She slammed her palm flat against the flaking paint on the adjacent wall. She shook her thudding head. The shudder from her knees reverberated up her spine. She froze as her confidence plumetted. From the corner of her eye, she caught the movement as the lace curtain fluttered back.
The green door opened.