Pseudology

FOUR: Granules.

“You know he’s still out there, don’t you, Adrian?”

The tiles were cold on his back as Ade pressed himself against the back of the shower, sharp eyes fixed on the figure.

“You know, and I know. You won’t catch him if you don’t try. You've given up. Remember the size nine feet?”

His throat seized up: muscles flexed. Desperate, full of fear, Ade crushed the lids of his eyes shut, crouched down, and started to count: one, two, three, four. He’d go away soon; one, two, threefourfive; he was sure of it, six, seven, eight, nine. One, two, three, four, five-

“Ade?” It was Morton’s voice that cut through the mist and noise of the shower throwing out water. “Ade, I can hear you counting… are you alright?”

II

Morton knew something wasn’t right. Slowly, he opened the bathroom door (he was glad he’d taken the lock off) and waved the hot mist away from his face: his brother was cowering on the floor, hands over his ears and hair over his eyes, rocking gently and rhythmically to the sound of his own groaning drum. Stark naked, his frail eyes peered at Morton dartingly, weakened through the pure fear; face pale and hands starting to shake, he averted his eyes downwards to the tiled floor. He shielded his weakness. He couldn't look at Morton.

“Ade, let me help you up.” he whispered, outstretching his hand. "Please."

As though helping an injured animal, Morton wrapped his arms around Ade and lifted him up, water dripping from his skin, cold. Angry arms hit Morton's side and stomach but caring... Caring wasn't an option as Morton dragged his brother through into the living room and chucked him a towel. Caring would have made him scream at him, and would have made him cry from misunderstanding. He couldn't understand- why did he do that? What was wrong?

Young enough to have a new start- young enough for re-birth, renewal. But was he willing? Determined enough, no? No. No, he was not, not yet. But when? When would Ade be ready to shed the drugs and the old life? His illness. What about that? Shouldn't it just leave along with the drugs? Wasn't it brought on by them? That was what he'd been told. Ade would be all better if the drugs walked away. He wouldn't walk from them- they'd have to stop working, and then leave. Walk. They'd have to do it themselves- Ade wasn't strong enough to release them, because they had such a hold on his mind that he'd crack. How was cold turkey? Maybe it'd work, Morton had thought. Cold turkey would be good for him, but it'd hurt. He'd have to try...

It was decided: Morton would make him go cold turkey.

III

“Cold fucking turkey? That’s cruel, Morton.”

Ade was asleep in one of the two bedrooms, thick curtains closed and eyes fluttering amidst the gentleness of ragged, jarred sleep. At least he was asleep was all Morton could think of.

“Seriously, though?” Morton’s friend, Josh, was sitting opposite him on the living room sofa, hands cupping a steaming mug of freshly made tea. His faded band t-shirt was snug over his muscled arms and torso, and his jeans were edged with a reddish mud from walking to the new flat. “Taking it all away-”

“He’ll just stay hooked otherwise.” There was a coldness in Morton’s voice that reminded Josh of the brother’s father’s voice: he’d been a dominating man, sharp suit and slick hair. Angry voice. “He’ll just keep taking it and be just as reliant on it as he is now.”

“I didn’t know it had gotten this bad.”

“It’s bad.”

“How bad, though? Like, really bad?”

Morton rolled his eyes. Josh relaxed a moment and sat back on one of the lifeless cushions, caressing the cup as though it was someone’s perky breast. He’d always been a man-whore; Morton wondered idly whether he had some whore tucked away in his flat. He also briefly then wondered what Ade had done to get money, but pushed the vulgar thought from his mind as quickly as he could.

“It’s quite bad, Josh. Maybe he’d be feeling better if I could get him back to the doctors. But I can’t. I don’t have the will to drag him there; he won’t go otherwise.”

“I could take him?” offered Josh, fitting forward a little. Morton shook his head.

"He wouldn't go."

Josh flexed an arm muscle and they both laughed, a shrill, sharp sound that cut through the bleak miserableness that clung to the flat. It didn't feel right.

"Fair enough." Josh replied, "but you know that I'll do as much as I can, right?" Morton nodded. "I'm here for you. It's...it's gotta be tough."

"I don't think tough is the word." Morton huffed, his eyes moving towards the bedroom door where Ade was sleeping.

"What, then?"

"Painfully difficult; arsewhole-ish; hellish..."

"Haha, alright. I get it, boffin. Talking of brains, what is he doing about education?"

"He's been to university, remember?"

Josh's face was blank.

"Oxford. Three years. No? Don't remember?"

"Hell, was he old enough?"

"Not really." Morton smiled, and it felt strange on his lips. "He should've gone to King's or something."

"London? Mate, hell no!" Josh's face was full of shock, his eyes wide. "He'd have been on speed within a week and on drugs waaaay quicker! Anyway, I can imagine that he liked Oxford. You didnt: I could tell you were a UCL man when I met you!"

"My masters degree was a huge mistake." Morton laughed. "I met you and waisted all of my money."

"Got you a good job, though," Josh clasped his hands over his knee. "Good old financial economics, eh?"

"Says the guy with a MA in International Relations. You should have my job." Morton ran his fingers through his hair. "I might have to quit anyway."

"You can't!" Josh was indignant. "Who would finance all this? His recovery? The food? You need a stable job."

Morton rested his head in his hands, sighing, repeating something like 'I know, I know" before falling silent. The bedroom door had creaked.

Ade was standing in the doorway wearing baggy, ill fitting pyjamas. His eyes, wide open and shining a murky green-grey, illuminated his sunken cheeks and waxy skin. He looked so ill, Morton thought, that he shouldn't be standing. Or awake. Or breathing.

He came and sat down next to Morton and slowly placed his hand down on the sofa, palm pointing towards the ceiling. Then, very slowly, he reached across to where Morton was sitting and clasped his hand over Morton’s wrist and left it there for a moment, breaths deep but uneven.  

“Ade.” Morton avoided his brother’s eyes. “How… how are you?”

“I don’t think I’m well, Morton.”

Morton’s eyes shifted to Josh for a brief moment, and he swallowed stiffly. Ade’s legs were shaking and his hands were too warm, like fire burning Morton’s wrists.

“I’m… I think I’m ready for help.” He took a deep breath, his eyes intensely fixed on Morton. “Please. Please?”