Note: This chapter contains use of drugs, but mostly marijuana.
Chapter 8 – Chronic Pains
The next year went by slowly, yet quickly. Hiro had to go through more medical tests and psychological tests and he had gone through a plethora of different medications, until they finally settled for a good dosage which didn't fuck with his brain too much. Schoolwork didn't get any easier, and he was slowly falling behind bit by bit. Still, it was March of the next school year, and he was 14, and he thought he was independent enough to do his own things.
He still hung out with Ivan, who dropped out of high school after being released from Juvie. They'd meet up on certain days after school, and they'd chat about whatever Ivan's been up to, mostly.
"Oi, light me a cig, will ya?" Hiro asked as he squatted down in the corner of the alley.
Ivan rolled his eyes as he took a puff of his own cigarette, "Get your own."
"You know I can't. My Dad'll fillet me alive."
"Hide them better."
"Come on, I'll pay you. Just give me a cig."
Ivan sighed, sticking his cigarette between his teeth as he pulled out his pack and took one out, tossing it at Hiro. Hiro caught it, and then quickly caught the lighter along with it. He stuck the filter between his teeth and cupped his hand around the end and lit it. He took a deep breath, then tipped his head back, blowing out the smoke. He then threw the lighter back at Ivan.
"Man, this is the good stuff."
"Yeah."
They were quiet for a while, then Ivan asked, "You should probably listen to your Dad more."
"Why?" Hiro scoffed, "I mean, all he does is coddle me. I'm 14."
"You're still a child."
"You're only 19, stop acting as if you know everything," he laughed.
"I know what it's like to have a Dad that cared and a Mum that didn't."
Hiro fell silent, taking another draw of his cigarette. Ivan had never spoken about his life or his family before. The only thing he knew was that he had a kid brother two years older than himself, who was dyslexic and needed a lot of help, a lot like Hiro. Apparently that was why he helped him, because he couldn't stand the idea of his own brother being bullied.
Ivan sighed, stubbing out his cigarette against the brick wall behind him. "My Dad died," he stated plainly, in such a matter of fact tone that Hiro felt awkward listening. "Two months ago. It's just been me and my brother, and I can barely keep us afloat, you know?"
"I'm sorry," Hiro said, turning his head down and blowing out smoke, "I don't know what I'd do without my Dad. I don't have a big brother like you to look out for me."
"That's why I want you to listen to your Dad," Ivan said, sighing, "I miss my Dad, you know. A fuck ton. The thing is, I thought I'd convince you to join my crew, you know, hang with us, cut school, and all that bullshit. Then when my Dad died, I couldn't imagine what a fucking horrible guy I must be if I wanted to take you away from yours."
Hiro didn't reply. He took another breath of his cigarette and stood up, leaning against the wall behind him. Ivan reached over and smacked the cigarette right out of his hand, causing him to splutter, smoke blowing out of his mouth as he did so. "Hey, man, uncool!"
"It starts with the cigarettes, Hero. You're gonna drop 'em."
"What?" he asked, "No way. My Dad doesn't know."
"But what if he finds out. He's gonna know you smell like cigs sooner or later."
"Why do you care so much about my Dad?"
"Because I lost mine," he stated slowly and carefully, "I lost mine and I will not have you lose yours, you understand me?"
He sighed, "Why don't you and your brother come live with us for a bit? My Dad won't mind."
He shook his head, "We're fine, Hero. Just stay out of trouble, alright?"
Hiro sighed, "Fine, fine. You're a total joykiller."
"I want you to have a Dad."
"I'm not gonna lose him."
There was a long drawn silence, then Ivan spoke up again, "You know Old Juvie Hall closed down, right?"
"It did?" he asked, "Why?"
"Cause of you."
"What did I do?"
"It was all over the news," Ivan explained, "I mean, I guess you were out cold then. Turns out they were being criticised for ethically wrong treatment of inmates, and the fact you went through so much mental stress and stuff, they decided to close down Old Juvie Hall and open the new one."
"Oh," he shrugged, "I didn't know it was on the news."
"The fact you flung yourself off your roof."
"I don't remember doing that," he sighed, "I don't."
"Why not?"
"Bipolar episode, I guess," he shrugged, "I don't remember them well. It just happens, and then it's like waking up from a nightmare."
"Stick with yo' Dad," he said, "He's the only one you got."
"This is ironic advice coming from you, the drug dealer."
"I do what I have to do to keep my brother and I alive, Hero."
Hiro shrugged, "Would you ever sell any of that stuff to me?"
"No fucking way," he scoffed, "If I catch you smokin' anything more than a cig, I swear to God I will beat the fuck out of you."
Hiro laughed, "Good way to get someone to stay off drugs, you know, just beat 'em up."
"You're stubborn."
"I get it from my Mum."
"I've gotta bail, Hero," Ivan said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "See ya around."
"Yeah," Hiro sighed, "See ya." Then, he headed off back home, hands stuffed in his pockets as he thought about what Ivan had been saying to him. He didn't understand why he should listen to him, but he felt as if he should listen to him. Ivan knew what was up, and what was down, whereas he sometimes felt that he couldn't even distinguish left from right. Ivan was a leader, and he, Hiro, was nothing but a follower. He'd listen to Ivan, it was what he'd like him to do, so he had to do it.
"How was school, Hiro?" asked his Dad as he entered the house. Hiro shrugged and began walking up the stairs without replying. "Who'd you hang out with?"
"Ivan Evans," he replied, "You know, I always hang out with him."
"Didn't he graduate?"
"No."
"He's so much older than you, he must have graduated by now."
Hiro sighed and stopped hallway up the stairs, turning around and seeing his Dad at the bottom of the staircase, hands on his hips. "He didn't graduate, Dad. He dropped out."
"Oh, a highschool dropout," he said, frowning, "I don't want you talking to him. He's a bad influence."
"Dad!" he exclaimed, "He's my friend."
"You can find friends your own age, Hiro."
"No, I can't!" he stated, furrowing his eyebrows and throwing his arms up in the air. "Nobody wants to talk to me or hang out with me because I'm crazy, Dad! I'm a psycho!"
"You're not a psycho," Tadashi stated firmly, "You're just—"
"Sick," he finished, "That's what I am to you. Chronically ill. Dad. I love you, I really do, but I'm not sick. I'm a lunatic."
"You are not."
"Dad, please, I don't want to talk about this right now!"
Tadashi shook his head and marched up the stairs, taking his son by the arm. He took a deep breath and he immediately smelt the remnants of cigarette smoke on his person. "You were smoking again. Hiro, I thought you learnt your lesson."
"Dad! It was just one cigarette, I won't do it again!"
"Who was it, huh? Ivan Evans? He's a horrible influence, you need to stop hanging out with him."
"He's my friend!"
"I don't care, he's doing nothing but screwing up your life."
"Dad!" he shouted, trying to pull his arm out of his Dad's grasp, "I smoked, okay, yes. He gave me the cigarette, and I smoked. Then he hit it out of my hand and he told me not to smoke anymore, okay?"
"What? You expect me to believe that?"
"His Dad died," he said, "His Dad died and he told me I had to listen to you and stop smoking. His Dad died."
Tadashi's grip on his son's arm loosened, and the boy – now almost a teen – pulled away and walked up the stairs. Before he entered his room, Hiro turned back, then said, "I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, Hiro."
Hiro, after trying out for the sports teams again, was allowed to return to the track and field team, and was offered a place in the school's basketball team and baseball team too. He was a crowd favourite, what with his speed and his strange skill at anything that had to do with aim and throwing. He was a natural sportsman.
Still, his grades suffered. He could barely keep up anymore, and he was only in 7th grade. He felt like he was drowning in work, and he knew people could see it on his face that he was struggling a lot.
After school, he was headed home. Usually his Dad picked him up, but he told his Dad he could find his own way back that afternoon. He was whistling quite happily when his arm was grabbed and he was pulled into some dinky, discreet corner. He spun around and raised his arms, ready to hit whoever grabbed him, but he ended up having to crane his neck back to look at the tall, dark figure in a large trenchcoat totally unnecessary for their nice weather.
"The fuck are you?" Hiro asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A friend," was the gruff reply, "Word on the street is that you're looking for cigs."
"No, I'm putting that behind me."
The guy pulled out a pack and held it right in front of Hiro's eyes, and suddenly his entire attention was focussed on that one box. The dealer moved it from side to side, and Hiro's eyes followed. "Put that behind you, yeah," the dealer laughed, "You definitely want it." He stuck the cigarettes back into his pocket, "I'd sell 'em to ya, but I want you to buy something else too."
"I don't have any money," he mumbled. He stuck his hands into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled dollars and a few dimes, "Sorry, man."
"I got something you could try."
"What? I just want the cigs."
He took out the pack of cigarettes again, and held it in front of Hiro's nose. "Take a whiff, these aren't cigs."
Hiro took a deep breath and coughed. "Shit," he spluttered, "That's weed."
"It's good stuff. You got 5 bucks and I'll give it to ya, you can pay me back later."
"I don't wanna get into that stuff."
"Come on, you know you do."
"I know I don't!" Hiro stated with a huff. He spun on his heel and made to leave, but the guy grabbed his arm. "Let go of me, I'm leaving."
"I'll give this pack to you for free."
"No, I'm not taking it."
The dealer laughed and pulled Hiro's arm, stuffing the pack right into Hiro's hand and closing it around the box. "Give it a try. Come on, I'll light it for you."
Hiro glanced to either side of him, then pulled his arm away from the guy. He opened the pack and pulled out one of the messily made joints, holding it out to the dealer, who lit it for him. "Just one," he said as he took a drag from the joint. He swore from the corner of his eye he could see the guy smirk.
It was the strangest sensation Hiro had ever felt. It was like a wave of calm had hit him, and not in a bad way. He hated the calmness of his medication, but this one made his mind feel like a feather and everything became inherently more interesting. He took a few more drags and before long, the joint was finished. He coughed, blowing out the smoke and leaning against the brick wall behind him as he enjoyed the effects of the marijuana.
"Thanks for that, man," Hiro said, his words slow and slurred. The guy gave him two pats on the back and shoved him away. Hiro stumbled, laughing as he found his footing again, stuffing the pack of joints into his hoodie.
"See ya next time."
Hiro walked slowly back home, feeling strange as his mind seemed to drift off into the strangest fantasies and ideas. He felt like he was in paradise, or drifting through a giant, idyllic ocean. Everything was calm.
When he got home, the effects had mostly run out, but he was feeling pretty exhausted. He rubbed at his eyes, which were bloodshot to hell and back. As he stumbled into the house, his Dad turned to look at him and was immediately suspicious.
"You smell," Tadashi said, taking his son's arm and leading him to the sofa to sit down. Hiro was still completely out of it and could barely focus or think straight. "You smell like marijuana."
"How would you know what that smells like, Dad?" he asked, giggling to himself."
"I'm not an idiot. I've walked past potheads before," he stated, taking another sniff, "Hiro, you were smoking."
"No!" he replied, then laughed, "Not cigarettes."
Tadashi began searching Hiro's pockets, then felt something protruding from Hiro's hoodie and pulled it out. He opened the pack of cigarettes and out came the crudely rolled joints. "Who gave this to you? Ivan Evans?"
"No, Ivan doesn't like drugs, Daddy," he laughed, his words stringing together into something almost incoherent.
"Then who?"
"Some guy told me to take it and smoke one," he said, "I'unno who he is."
Tadashi frowned, taking the pack of joints with him outside and disposing of them in the trash outside before marching back in. When he returned, Hiro was still on the couch but had begun sliding down it, and was lying down on the couch with his legs sticking out. He seemed strangely calm, and it was freaking Tadashi out.
"Promise me you won't do these again."
"Mmm," he hummed, "Okay, Dad. I won't."
"From now on, I'm picking you up directly from school."
"What if I wanna hang out with friends?"
"You invite them to our house, but I will be picking you up from school, directly after lessons, or directly after sports practice, okay?"
Hiro giggled, "Okay, Daddy. Sounds okay."
Tadashi sighed, picking up Hiro and carrying him up the stairs to his room on his back. He helped Hiro undress and put him into bed, tucking him in like a child, as if he were still the young 7 year old when in reality he was the budding 14 year old who was slowly approaching puberty. He closed the door quietly and headed down to the kitchen. How was he supposed to tell Hiro the truth when Hiro could barely take care of himself? Tadashi coughed, then coughed again, and his coughed slowly became more painful. He took out his handkerchief to cover his mouth, then eventually the coughing fit stopped. When he pulled the handkerchief away, there were splatters of blood on the white cloth and he could taste the coppery, bloody mucus at the back of his throat. No, he couldn't tell Hiro, not when Hiro was going through such a hard part of his life. He had to be there to support his son, no matter what.
