A.N./ I used a kind of stream of consciousness. That's what the italics are-flashbacks in non-chronological order.
Alone, I was to stay in the interrogation room as they set a trap for Martin. I didn't want to. I needed a hit, bad. It was getting worse with every passing minute. Sweat dripped from my forehead, but I was freezing, even though the fire was blazing.
"Honey, you need more meat on your frame," Mom said tenderly as she curled up next to Dad on the couch.
"I'm okay," I said, my teeth chattering. I didn't protest, however, when they stretched their arms and opened a space between them. Running into their warm embraces, I felt safe and content, and not at all cold. It was seeping into my bones. I wasn't a criminal, so why was I still being held?
I thought of asking someone if I could leave, but I couldn't work up the energy to move. My head was killing me. I needed more. Forget the vow I had made. I was too weak to keep any promises. This was no different. My clammy hands trembled and shook in shock. I couldn't believe it. It must have been a joke. Dad? Getting a job that paid real money? Impossible! As I slowly processed his words, however, it sank in. We'd have a real income! A real house. We might be able to sit down as a family and have grand meals. We wouldn't have to go to bed with six blankets because we couldn't afford the heat, even with Mom working her librarian job and Dad spreading himself thin at the hospital.
My excitement sent tremors started in my fingers and moved, cold, up my arms, through my shoulders, and down to my legs. I was downright shaking. I hallucinated, too. My father seemed to be standing in the corner. His eyes, exactly the same soft hazel shade as mine, stared deep into my soul.
"You have to understand, Enzo," his lips said. I heard nothing but the empty promise that fluttered under his honeyed words.
"You said we'd be a family," I raged at him, all my anger and insecurities pouring out in a flood. "You promised we'd stay together now that we have more time!"
The glass I had been clenching in my fists shattered, a shard slipping into my palm with a quiet whisper. I took little notice of the crimson drips trailing down my arm.
"I know, Enzo," he said wearily. "I just can't say no. I could lose my job."
"So lose your job! Family is more important, Dad," I said, fighting tears.
"Enzo," he said sharply. His voice lost its understanding edge. I quailed. "If I lose my job, we'll be back to where we were before, which is nowhere. Do you really want that?"
Did I?
My insides turned into butterflies. I could swear I could hear my father laughing at what he found deep in my heart. A scared, whimpering little whelp, in need of nourishment. More nourishment than just food, but that would be a good start. My hands held my head tight against the shame as my father's laugh reverberated in my mind and became a raucous noise that only served to remind me I was less than the ideal son. Why else would they have bid me to stay out of sight? Was I not good enough for the diamond-draped guests that carpeted the first floor like flies on a week-old carcass?
'Making connections.' That's what Dad had called it. Well it was time that he started being interested in making connections with his only son. Mother, too. I heard the soft, fake tinkling of my mother's voice downstairs as she joined the image of my father in the corner, helping him mock me. My dead-end life.
"Stop, stop, please," I muttered. Their laughs continued, growing in volume. It hurt my ears. I screamed. "Leave me alone!" But their laughs only grew louder, their sneers wider, and I began to doubt if I had spoken at all. I was worthless, a lying piece of shit! Waste of time. Idiot.
"What are we going to do with him?" "No time…"
Please help me.
"There's only one thing that matters." "I'd get fired." "Family is important."
Save me.
Tears. Crying. Another hit. Bliss. "This has got to stop!" But nobody wants to help. Neglect. Gone again.
If you had only stayed.
Fat, ugly, idiot.
Stupid.
Another hit. Strength—a façade. Not eating.
Feel something, goddammit. Anything.
Worthlessness. Hopeless.
A commotion outside jerked me back. My father vanished, the world stopped spinning, and my torture eased. I spotted Martin staring at me with utmost loathing, and then I dropped my head back on the table, all of my will gone. My body was screaming at me for heroin, and an ache was creeping through my bones. It started in my right elbow—my favorite injection arm—and crept up until it encircled my heart. People could die from a broken heart, right?
Cold, in pain, and, as usual, hungry, I could only sit at the table, trying to stop the world from spinning. The empty bottle of whisky lay beside my place. Jack laughed at me from across the table.
"Weakling," he jeered.
I couldn't deny it. I was a weakling. But I couldn't let him get away with that. I stood up and smashed the bottle against the kitchen cabinets. The last drops of my first bottle of alcohol sprayed across the pristine white paint. It was a mess. Broken glass lay everywhere. I looked down at the scar that crossed my left palm. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Three o'clock in the morning was for forgetting and being strong. Not for cleaning up kitchens.
A shorter Asian man suddenly entered the room, breaking the chains of my mind. The psych. A shrink. His swift gaze seemed to look right into me and see all the secrets I kept hidden behind my mask of drugs. It made me feel almost human. Almost. When I lifted my head, the pain made me grimace. It jerked me back into reality completely. Human? I wasn't quite there yet. Not until I could set the wrong of AJ's death right.
"I'm Dr. Huang," the man said. "How are you doing?"
I glared at him. "What does it look like?" I snarled as best I could through the fog filling my brain.
"You're in withdrawal," Dr. Huang said calmly. I shivered, pulling the blanket tight. I arranged my face into a pleading expression.
"You've got to get me something," I whined, throwing my arms wide.
"The only thing I can do is take you to the hospital," Dr. Huang said unflappably. I tensed.
"No!" I almost shouted. "Where's Martin?" He always took away my pain before.
Dr. Huang displayed surprise through a slight raise in his right eyebrow. "Is Gold supplying you?" he asked carefully.
I stood up, not really noticing the coolness of the room as the blanket slid off my back. The chair made a scratching sound, and I almost passed out as the blood drained from my head. Spots danced before my eyes. Clutching my arm, I did my best to glare defiantly at the doctor. "Can't you see I'm sick? You're a doctor, so help me!" I yelled.
"I can get you into rehab after we go to the hospital," Dr. Huang returned, cool and calculating. Cool and calculating…"If you face your fears, we can overcome anything," he added. Martin! What a lie he had turned out to be. I shook my head, suddenly angry.
"You don't give a damn about me!" I cried, my voice breaking. "No one does. Not my parents. Not those cops, only Martin." My voice went an octave higher. "Where's Martin?" My voice grew louder still, echoing in the small room.
Still, Dr. Huang did not react. "You're not going back to ASP," he said.
My voice had grown to a high-pitched shout, and I hadn't even noticed that I was standing right next to the doctor. I would have towered over him if I hadn't been doubled over with a pain that licked at my bones with a tongue of fire. I needed to vomit. I felt the bile rise in my throat. Barely noticed the sweat. Everything was swirling, and I couldn't focus.
"Look please, just tonight," I pleaded, clutching at my arms. I hated how weak my voice sounded. I hated how low I had fallen. But I continued keening. "I promise I'll do whatever you want." I looked at him, seeing double, but trying to concentrate. "Please." I lowered my voice. "I hurt bad. You've got to help me." Please.
"It's okay, Enzo. We're going to do the best thing for you. We're going to stop Martin Gold," Dr. Huang said.
I didn't answer. Did he even hear me? I rubbed my arms, trying to push some warmth into them. I keeled into the doctor and almost lost consciousness. He must have been repulsed. Everyone was always repulsed by me. Even I couldn't stand myself. Why else would I inject wings into my veins so I could fly higher every time? Why else would I drown myself in sin? What was the point of living a life nobody could love?
