Overdose - Chapter 6
-Alex-
"Hey, Alex! We're in here," My dad's voice rings from the kitchen as soon as I walk through the door. I groan internally. I'm not really in the mood to meet "the girlfriend", I just wanna go to my room and forget today ever happened.
With a defeated sigh, I slowly make my way into the kitchen. I am greeted by a feast on the table, a wide smile on my dad's face, and a woman with honey brown hair seated next to him. "Hello," I offer a slight smile. "Alex, this is Laura," My dad says with a smile that could brighten the night sky. I honestly don't care who she is. I'd rather eat dinner with my father and go to bed.
"Hi Alex, your dad has told me a lot about you!" She cheers before extending her hand out for me to shake. I stare at her hand for a moment before reaching out and giving it a firm shake. "Has he?" I ask jokingly. They both laugh as I take a seat across from her.
She's pretty but my mom is prettier. She has blue eyes, a small nose, and a mole on her right cheek. Her hair is perfectly curled and pinned behind her ears. She could just be trying to impress us. Her clothes are clean, and they fit her perfectly. I wonder how old she is. I wonder if she has any children of her own.
"So, your dad tells me you're good at drawing?" She asks, breaking the silence. Of course, he did. I bet he painted a perfect picture of a perfect son. "Mmh...I guess yeah, I kind of stopped a while ago," I press my lips together and look towards my dad. He knows that I haven't drawn anything in almost over a year, but I guess it was either telling her that I'm an artist or an addict. I get why he chose to tell her that I'm good at drawing.
He offers me an apologetic smile before placing a spoonful of mashed potatoes on my plate. "Would you ever want to go back to school...not a regular school but like an art school?" She asks calmly, bringing her fork up to her mouth. I would rather walk into traffic. "School isn't really my thing..." I answer dryly.
She smiles, "Well that's alright, there are plenty of great artists who didn't go to school."
She seems nice. That might be a complete facade. The way my dad stares at her reminds me how much I miss my mom. She wasn't affectionate but I liked having her around sometimes. She made my dad happy, and it's been a while since I saw him look like this. Maybe because his son is draining the life out of him.
"So, what do you do with all your free time, then? Since you're not in school," She asks, nodding to my dad after he hands her the gravy. I get high enough to make time feel insignificant. I also drink my liver to shit. "I have a job at the town center," I answer dryly. My dad suddenly finds the steak to be the most interesting thing in the room. I wouldn't want to look at me either.
They begin talking amongst themselves but all I can think about is the cocaine in my bag. I put a forkful of mashed potatoes in my mouth hoping to distract myself, but it fails. Today wasn't great. Why did I even agree to go anywhere with Nico? He's probably thinking that I'm insane. Would he be wrong?
Fuck. I use the back of my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead. I begin absently tapping on the table which doesn't go unnoticed by Laura and my dad. Shit. "You okay, bud?" He asks, staring at my hand. Chill out, Alex. Just get through dinner.
I nod and attempt to give a reassuring smile. "You look pale sweetheart...are you sure-"
"I'm fine, Laura. I need to use the bathroom," I stand up quickly which causes the chair to make a loud scraping noise against the tile. I hear them mumble something to themselves as I grab my bag from the couch and head to the bathroom.
My dad probably knows exactly what's wrong with me, but will he tell her? Will he tell her that his son is an addict who can't go a day without being on something? Or will he lie to her?
I lock the door, then I pull out the little plastic bag and pour some of its contents onto the counter. I stare at the fine powder for a moment, I could swipe it into the trash and walk away. I could go back to the dining room and eat dinner normally. Except, I can't. My heart is racing, there's a throbbing pain in my head, and my skin feels like it's on fire. I can't walk away. I need this.
I look into the mirror which is not the best idea ever. I do look pale. Sickly even. I need this. I can't go through dinner without it. "Alex? You okay?" My dad knocks on the door softly. Fuck. "Yeah, I'm fine. Give me a sec," I run my hands down my face before turning on the water. I can do this. I can make it through dinner. I can. I just need to rinse my face and I'll be okay. I don't need this to make it through dinner.
I walk back to the dining room where my dad and Laura are now sharing hospital stories. My dad offers me a smile but there's worry behind it. I give him a reassuring nod as I take a seat. "Everything alright?" Laura asks. Just peachy.
"I tried peppermint hot chocolate at this restaurant downtown, but it wasn't the best." This makes both of them laugh but guilt rips through me painfully. "That's what you get for buying hot chocolate instead of letting me make it for you," my dad jokes.
I chuckle distantly, "yeah, dad. You make the best hot chocolate." They start talking about their recipes and tricks they use. Laura's laughter is probably the most annoying, grating fucking sound on earth. She sounds like an old creaky door, a stuttering engine, an injured hyena.
"Right, Alex?" My dad's voice pulls me back and I snap my head up to look at him. I heard none of what they just said. Shit."Isn't my hot chocolate the best you've had?" He asks. I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, "sure is." I wouldn't have been able to make it through dinner without it. I needed it. My dad stares at me for a moment too long and that confirms; he knows what I did.
We ate dinner and they talked about random topics. She doesn't have kids because she can't. She's only been married once and she's allergic to shellfish. She gave us her entire life story and I tried my best not to zone out. She asked me questions that I didn't have the answers to, and I thank my dad for changing the subject when he realized that I couldn't answer them.
I excused myself before dessert and headed to my room. Once there, I freed myself of my clothes and hopped in the shower. Somehow, the thought of Nico snaked its way through the chaos that is my mind and began to occupy all my thoughts.
He seems nice but niceness is easy to fake. He seemed hurt by the way that I acted but if he knew the depth of my actions, I'm sure he'd understand. So, tell him. Why? He's a stranger that I met at a NA meeting. It's best if he doesn't know anything about me.
Speaking of the meetings, I have to find a way to tell my dad that I'm not going back. To be frank, it's a waste of my time. I'm not "on a journey to wellness", I'm fine with the way I am currently. I wonder how many times you'll need to lie to yourself for that to be true.
After showering, I slipped into some pajama pants and a plain white shirt all while avoiding the mirror in fear of scaring myself because I know I don't look great. When we first started dating, Jackson used to compliment me every day. He'd tell me how beautiful I look and how lucky he felt to have me. He made sure to tell me everything I needed to hear to let myself fall without restraint.
"Alex?" My dad's voice interrupts my thoughts and I look at the door before scanning my room. He's not going to be thrilled with the current state of it after he took his time to clean it for me. Fuck me.
"Come in," I say slightly above a whisper. I sit up on the headboard as the door opens slowly. He looks at me and then at the floor. "Laura wanted me to say goodnight to you," He clears his throat before stepping inside my room.
"Oh. Thanks, she seems nice," I offer a honeyed smile. I look down at my dad's right hand and notice that he's not wearing the promise ring that my mom got him when they were eighteen. Even after the divorce, he kept it on because he still missed her. Did he take it off because of Laura or did he stop missing her?
"What happened here?" He motions to my closet. Some of the hangers are broken and the pile of clothes that I threw on the ground is still there. My desk has a mountain of water bottles that didn't contain water and there are rolled-up pieces of paper scattered around.
"I couldn't find anything to wear," I answer dryly. I watch as he places his hands on his hips and begins walking toward my desk.Please leave.
"Where'd you go today?" He asks, turning to me. I stare into his eyes for a moment before responding, "I was hanging out with someone I met at the NA meeting..."
"Who?" He picks up one of the water bottles. Stop. I glare at him as he brings it up to his nose. It's not too late to run. "Does it matter?" I ask with a shrug, getting up and walking to the door.
"Why do I even try, Alex?" His voice comes out eerily calm. Then stop trying. Let me be. "Dad, I'm not really in the mood to argue with you-"
"Alex, enough! Every day you tell me you'll stop and that you have it under control. For Christ's sake, you're hiding vodka in water bottles! Do you take me for an idiot?! You don't think I know why you went to the bathroom earlier?" He shouts, then, knocking the bottles off my desk. I jump back and stare into his very angry eyes. Would he care if I said that I'm trying?
"I'm trying-"
"No, you're not! You're telling me what I need to hear just so you can go on and continue doing the same stupid things!" He takes a step toward me, and I flinch subconsciously. How does he go from laughing merrily at dinner to yelling at me?
"If something is going on that I'm not aware of please tell me, I'm here to help Alex! Please!"
The very thin strand of patience that I had left in my body breaks as the words leave his mouth. I'm never going to be left alone and he's constantly going to be berating me.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR FUCKING HELP! Can you understand that? Can you get it through your brilliant mind that I don't need your help...or anyone else's for that matter? The only way to "help" me is to leave me alone. I don't need to be constantly scolded...FUCK! I-...get out of my room..." I snap, not even recognizing my voice. My heart pounds against my chest, my hands shake as unshed tears begin to burn my eyes mercilessly.
He stares at me with shock. I untwist the doorknob and open the door. Just leave. "Get out of my house." The words leave his mouth as if he's practiced them a million times before. Like he has anticipated this very moment countless times.
"What?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. He presses his lips together, nodding slowly, "I've been trying to understand, I've gone to therapy to see what I'm doing wrong, and I've devoted countless hours to research what I can do to help but I see now that my efforts were futile. Laura was right, I shouldn't baby you anymore...you're an adult. Figure it out," He explains, walking past me.
My heart sinks inside of my chest and the air feels too thick to breathe. My mind begins running at a million miles per hour trying to process his words. "I don't understand...you're kicking me out?" I ask, turning to him. He stops at the end of the hallway, "Be gone by tomorrow afternoon," he says without bothering to look at me.
Are you surprised? You should have expected this to happen with the way you've been acting lately. I stare at the empty hallway for I'm not sure how long. After much thought, I conclude that I broke him. I finally tore through his last shred of empathy for me, and it serves me right. I've been relentlessly an asshole, so this is Karma. It also dawns on me that he was coached by Laura. She told him to stop babying me which I can only translate as, "Kick him out of the house." He and Laura can both get fucked.
As shock and anger course through my body, I rid myself of my pajamas, put on jeans and a jacket before grabbing my old school backpack. I shove a few shirts and pants in it before grabbing the Ziplock bag that Chester gave me and carefully placing it on top of the clothes. I then grab my toothbrush and toothpaste before storming out of my room.
If he doesn't want me here that's fine. I can find somewhere else to stay.
When I reach the door, I hesitate before pulling it open. I've never been without my dad. He's always been there and knowing that after I walk out it'll all be different...that scares me. He's the only one I trust but he's made it clear that he wants me gone.
I look back towards the hallway in hopes that he'll come out and stop me, but he doesn't. I swallow the lump in my throat before opening the door and walking out into the cold night air.
Where will you go? You have no friends.
The wind rummages through the leaves on the ground, sending them in all different directions. The air smells of pine mixed with chimney fumes from the surrounding houses. I look down at my feet before taking a step towards the street. I wonder how he'll tell my mom that he's kicked me out. I wonder if he'll tell her about all the things I put him through.
I'm sure she'll be upset but given the circumstances, she might agree with him. I remember being little and getting in trouble. She was always the one to come up with the punishments. She'd ground me or take away the things she knew I cared about. This time, it's my dad, and knowing her, she probably would have done the same thing.
As I walk toward the bus stop, I can't help but think about Jackson. How did his life turn out? Better than yours. He moved away the summer after his senior year. I know for a fact he still had my number; I waited for him to text me or call me for three months before I realized he never would.
I'm not sure what I wanted from him but, an explanation would have been nice. I was left without answers, it hurt to see him every day after that night. I came back to school thinking he'd talk to me and explain exactly what happened, but he just ignored my existence. He would purposely go the other way when he saw me, and he changed out of the one class that we had together.
I wanted nothing more than to talk to him, to get closure, but what he told me when we first started seeing each other burrowed itself into my brain. He warned me to never approach him in public or tell anyone about us because he couldn't have people know that he was gay. He warned that his cousins would hurt me if I ever said anything. Now I know that much of that was just a way to scare me to keep us private. I was his little secret.
Maybe if I started hating him after it happened, my life could have turned out better. Unfortunately, I only started hating him recently. After everything, I still wanted to be with him. I came up with excuses as to why it all happened so that made me forgive him. In all honesty, I wanted to trick my brain into forgetting that a person I loved could ever do something so wrong to me.
I doubt that it kept him up at night. I doubt that he cared enough to type out an explanation to me but never send it. He had the body of a God, the mind of a selfish prince, and a heart so cold that it could prevent global warming. Why did my eyes see him as an angel who couldn't hurt a fly? The devil was once an angel.
Flashback
A folded piece of notebook paper falls out of my locker and lands on my shoes. I pick it up and look around in case whoever left it is still in the hallway but I'm alone. I'm late for Chemistry but I don't care. The teacher is boring and the less time I spend in that room, the better.
I unfold the paper; a smile creeps its way to my lips seeing the familiar handwriting. It's messy but distinctive in that I've kept all the notes he's left in my locker since the day he asked me to meet him in what has now become our usual spot.
Let's ditch. Student parking lot. ;)
I've ditched three times this week and the secretary called my dad about my absences yesterday. I promised him I'd try to do better. My grades are not looking too hot so staying for the whole day would be beneficial. Then again, it's Friday. Who learns on a Friday? People with half a brain.
Deciding that it's better to ditch with my boyfriend, I close my locker and make my way out to the courtyard. The student parking lot unfortunately faces the principal's office and the administration office. If Ms. Morales sees me leaving, she's going to call my dad again. The long way it is.
I throw my hood over my head and begin walking towards the side of the building. From there, I'll be way too far for anyone in the office to see me. Jackson usually parks his car towards the back of the parking lot so that's a plus. Summer break is in three weeks, he'll be traveling with his parents and so anytime I get to spend with him now is greatly cherished.
When I reach his car, I take a moment to steady my breathing before opening the door. "What took so long?" He asks, sounding annoyed. I frown. He's not the most even-tempered person but sometimes I wonder if he has patience for anything other than Football. "I had to go the long way. Ms. Morales called my dad..."
He nods as he starts the car. "Where are we going?" I ask, sliding my seatbelt on. "Park."
I press my lips together and stare out of the window. I've learned to stay quiet whenever he's in a bad mood. I understand that being interrogated or questioned is not the best way to calm anyone down. So, I grant him silence, which is what I would want someone to do for me.
As he drives, I silently admire how the wind is tickling his hair, how his jaw flexes every so often, and how his lips are so inviting. His skin is perfectly tan which compliments his icy blue eyes. I could get lost in those forever and I would never search for my way back. My eyes travel to the hand that's gripping the steering wheel. His knuckles are still bruised from punching the wall that was unfortunately behind my head during our last argument. I frown at this. Guilt climbs its way to my throat, and I try to swallow it, but it doesn't budge.
"Is your hand okay?" My voice falters.
He's silent for a moment, "does it look okay?"
It doesn't. He could have broken his hand and he wouldn't be able to play because of me. "I'm sorry. I really am. It was stupid to bring it up again." Jackson has made it clear on numerous occasions that we can't be seen together the way we are when we're alone, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask him to go to Carly Forkner's party with me. It did hurt.
"My dad can take a look at it-"
"Stop talking, Alex. You have to catch up, I've had three beers already," He reaches behind his seat and hands me a can. I smile to myself as I open the can. "Love me still?" I ask, bringing the can to my lips.
"Ask me again when we get to the park."
END Flashback
"Hey kid, we're at your stop," The bus driver calls out from the front of the bus. I lift my head from the cold window and look around. There's one other person on the bus which is far less than how many there were when I got on.
I collect myself before stepping off and looking around. From here, it's a long walk to my destination because buses don't run on that side of town. I close my eyes and sigh tiredly.
That day, I had finished two beers by the time we got to the park. He pulled into the usual spot which was shielded by tall bushes and surrounded by dense trees. We did three lines of coke and kept drinking until long after the sun had set. I remember telling him that I needed to go home. I remember him saying he'd take me home after we were done. I remember being reluctant to move to the back seat with him. Then, I remember waking up the day after with a bruise the size of an apple on my leg. Jackson told me I fell when I was getting out of his truck. I believed him for a moment...a short moment before realizing he'd left the bruise there while pleasing himself with my body.
Today has been excruciatingly long and I hope it's over soon.
>>>
"Alex?... What are you doing here?" Chester asks after opening the door. He's wearing pajama pants and he doesn't have a shirt on. His hair looks damp which I'm hoping is because he just showered.
"I'm sorry to show up unannounced but my dad-... I just need a place to sleep," I say quickly with hopes that he doesn't ask more questions.
He stares at me with worry before moving to the side. "Of course, you can stay here dude, for a moment I thought it was the cops," he says nonchalantly, walking away from the door. I stare at him blankly and close the door behind me.
"Why would it be the cops?" I ask curiously. Chester may seem like a normal rich stoner with no life but he's much more than that. He's a drug dealer who does business with a lot of shady people. I would be surprised if the cops weren't looking for him.
"Long story. You can sleep on my bed, and I'll take the couch," he says as he types in the code on the door that leads to the basement. The thought of sleeping in the same room with a man sends worry down my spine. You have no choice. That or sleep at the bus stop.
"Thank you," I mumble quickly. He nods before going over to his couch. He grabs a controller from the coffee table and leans back.
I scan his room, noticing that it's much tidier than it was the last time I was here. I wonder briefly if he cleaned or if this is the work of the housekeepers. Given that there's a keypad lock on his door, I settle with the thought that he cleaned. I set my bag next to his pool table. "So, pops kicked you out?" He asks bluntly without taking his eyes off the tv screen. Isn't it obvious? Why else would I be here at this hour?
"Yes," I mumble before walking over to the couch and taking a seat at the edge. He nods, "He cares about you, that's why he did it," he says calmly. I stare at him in confusion. He cares about me, so he kicks me out. How can that make sense? "Is that what you think?" I ask as I pick at the skin around my thumb. Chester presses a button on the controller and the tv turns off. He turns to me with serious eyes, "It's what I know. I've been dealing for long enough to know when parents are bluffing. They'll kick you out to teach you a lesson but eventually...most of the time, they take you back. Your dad is trying to teach you a lesson," he says in a reassuring tone. If he is, then I deserve it.
"Drugs are only fun for those who take it just to try it. I'm not blind or an idiot, I know an addict when I see one, " he says, staring into my eyes like I'm someone familiar. I blink back tears and look away from him, "So you don't care that you're the person feeding it?... You keep my addiction alive," As the words leave my mouth, the tears that I had been fighting back finally break.
"If I cut you off, you'll find another person to feed it. That person will take advantage of you, and you'd already be dead," he says bluntly.
I let out a scoff and stare at him with disbelief, "Who are you to play my savior? You keep giving me drugs because I'm the only person who's okay with your stupid pain fetish. Say that instead of spewing some bullshit about me being taken advantage of. You don't know me..."
"There's a good number of people who would be okay with my stupid pain fetish, Alex. I'm not playing your savior; I don't need to do that. Just like every other drug dealer, I could sell you drugs and not give a fuck if you kick the bucket or not. I don't have to know you to figure out that you're addicted to drugs and alcohol. I don't need your biography to conclude that you have some serious mental issues. I'm not going to cut you off because the addiction is not the drug dealer's fault nor problem... figure it out. You're an adult."
"So, you care about me?" I ask, letting my head fall back. I hear shuffling, then he answers, "something like that." Chester may not be a good person, but he's been good to me. Do I believe that the only reason he keeps giving me drugs is that he cares about me? Absolutely not. Will I question him? One day.
I shove my hand in my pocket and pull out the rest of the coke. Chester watches me with a blank expression as I empty the bag onto the coffee table. Again, I shape the powder into a line. He could stop me. He could blow it away, but he won't. "Do you have a bill?" I look at him.
He looks between me and the coke on his coffee table. Without saying anything, he pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. He holds it out to me, "You're going to kill yourself and when you do, I won't give a shit."
I nod, "I'm going to kill myself, when I do, it'll be from your supply." I grab the money from him, roll it into a straw, and quickly, I snort the line. I let the money fall on his dark gray rug.
"You're not a good person, Chester. No matter what you tell yourself. You're a drug dealer who continues to feed the addictions of God knows how many people. Then there's me, the one you claim you care for so much. You make me hit you and then you give me drugs, that's fucking weird, Chester." I get up from the couch and walk to his bed. It's perfectly made and about three times the size of my full-size bed.
"I do care about you."
I ignore him and let my body skin into the softness of his sheets. I should be at home, in my bed. My dad took that away from me because a woman told him to stop loving me. Fuck them.