Euphoria

Chapter Six: Broken Promises

Sean placed his keys on the hook beside the door, letting out a yawn and rubbing his eyes, his body feeling much more cumbersome than it should. "Chase? You still up, buddy? I brought home some Wonton. I know you love it."

The silence that followed was almost deafening, and his eyes widened, trying not to jump to conclusions. "Are you asleep? Chase, please answer me." Sean pulled off his coat, dropping it onto the couch before heading straight to Chase's area, softly knocking on the door.

After a few seconds with no answer, he pushed it open, looking into his room. Clothes were strewn about, the mirror above his bed covered with a black, thick blanket. A few bottles and containers of Chinese food adorned the floor and nightstand, random forks and spoons littering the ground.

Sean gagged at the rancid smell, his eyes watering and his nose hair burning as he covered the bottom half of his face with his shirt collar, cautiously walking inside. The entire time Chase had lived with him, he never thought of going into his room.

"Chase? You in the bathroom, buddy?" Sean called, walking over to his brother's dresser and looking at the crumpled up picture of Chase, his wife, and kids. They were all huddled together, Alicia, in front of the dad, Chase's hands on her shoulder. Trey, Chase's oldest, was standing beside him, one arm wrapped around his mother, his free hand making bunny ears above Chase's head. Stacy appeared to smile, and it almost seemed genuine, but her distress was all too apparent now.

The picture frame it once resided in was broken and laying on its side, beside a half-empty whiskey bottle and a lamp with a beige shade.

Sean picked up the photo, wondering if this was the only picture Chase had of his kids. It would explain why he hadn't burned his wife out of it already, but he knew Chase still had feelings for her.

After a few minutes of staring, he placed the photo back down where he'd found it, glancing around the room.

"Where is he...?"

-

Chase had been awake for a while now, leaning against his bed frame, his arms resting on his propped legs. He could only describe the room as a prison, but one for the mentally unstable. The people unfit to live in a society and function properly. The walls and floor were padded, a dingy yellow hue trimming the edges of each square of grimy white foam.

The entire cell was frigid, atmosphere, and temperature, morning light peeking through the thin curtains rippling timidly over the barred window. Chase was sure Sean had noticed that he was gone by now, probably worried sick or thinking he tried to do something stupid again.

He couldn't believe Henrik would do something so insensitive. Bolt him up in here with the people that actually deserved to be locked away. People who murdered their family or poisoned their dogs. Chase was nothing like that.

He only had a minor drinking problem and a small dependence on painkillers. It was nothing too serious. Nothing he couldn't handle.

"Fuck you, Henrik.." He muttered to himself, his head resting in hands. "If you would've just given me what I needed.."

"What you needed?" A calming voice, deep and buttery echoed from the shadows, the only place in his cell that wasn't lit up with morning flame.

Chase sat up, his heart racing out of his chest, the sound making his head pound even more than it already was. "Who the hell are you? I wasn't told I would have a roommate." He tried to sound confident, but he was frightened, scared even.

The man chuckled amused. "Who I am doesn't matter. It's who you want to be." He said. "Tell me, who are you?"

Chase fell silent, his mouth slightly ajar. He wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. Really, who was he? For now, and the only simple answer to this strange man's question was:

"Chase. Chase Brody."

"Well, then. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me who you want to be. You certainly don't like who you are, do you?"

Chase frowned, looking down at those same, moldy squares. "What do you mean? I just told you--"

"But you hesitated. And just that moment's worth of hesitation told me what I needed to know." The stranger paused. "Can you tell me that you like who you've become? Can you tell me, perhaps, that you're the exact role model people need?"

"No."

"Precisely. No one can. And if they can, they're lying."

Chase was getting impatient, growling under his breath. "What does this have to do with me?"

"It has everything to do with you. You want to get out of here, don't you? You're angry at your brother." The stranger sounded sure, his voice collected and smooth.

Chase stood up, brushing himself off and leaning against the cell door, his arm resting on the bars above his head. "Yes. I am. I shouldn't be here. Although I'm reasonably sure, I'm hallucinating some random dude."

"Trust me. You're not hallucinating, and I'm real. You've met me before. My name used to strike fear in the hearts of many."

"Doesn't ring any immediate bells, bro. Think you can get me out of here?"

The stranger hummed. "Maybe."

"I don't need a maybe; I need a yes. I'm going crazy in here..."

"Patience is a virtue. You'll get what you need, I promise."

Chase stared into the empty hallway of the institution, his eyes flickering with a pain long dampened by the drowning fires of whiskey, a substance he relied on more heavily than he cared to admit. The last time someone made a promise to him, his wife left him and took the kids with her. His life fell apart.

"Can I trust you?" He asked.

The stranger didn't speak for a while, seemingly contemplating his answer.

"No. You simply can't trust me."