Sorry this took so long. I was doing finals at my college (we're on a quarter system until the end of this year when we switch to semesters) and then I left for spring break, and couldn't take my laptop. I would like to give a shout out to Ariel Yann Remark. I got a message from her asking me to update, which is why I'm posting this today. Anyway, hope this is okay. Oh! By the way! Since I kept you waiting so long I posted two chapters at once, the next one should be up around the same time as this one. I would have made it one big chapter but the transition would've been messed up and it would have been disproportionally long.
Tick Tock
The clock in my room is digital, but even in its red numbered, electrical, silence, I could still hear it mocking me.
Tick Tock.
I was letting time pass at a normal pace. I watched the clock to make sure I didn't speed up. Time was painfully slow enough without me stretching it out. I wanted it to be dark out, I wanted it to be past the time where Dad had gone to get his fix and then come back. Of course, that was hours and hours away. I had only got home half an hour ago. I hadn't seen Dad when I stormed in. The papers detailing the evidence of his drugs were shoved into my backpack, torn in half, courtesy of Mom.
I was glad I hadn't run in to him. I wouldn't know what to do if I did. Mom had practically murdered me when she found out I'd been digging for information. She screamed a lot, and I did too. Of course, thanks to my super healing my throat wasn't nearly as sore as hers probably was, not that I felt all that sorry about that right now. She forbade me from telling dad that I knew. I'm going to humor her. What else can I do? She already knew, and she has no intention of changing her approach to the situation.
"We can help him!" She shouted.
"He needs a hospital!" I said angrily.
"It would ruin him! The police are really cracking down on the people involved in this stuff. He'll lose his job, go to rehab, and we'd go under, lose the house, the second car. We can help him at home just as well any hospital!"
"That's not true! They have doctors, medicine, people who actually know what the—" I paused so I wouldn't swear in front of my mom, "they're doing."
"Your father says he's been weaning himself off the stuff he's got it covered!"
The conversation had gone downhill from there but now that I thought about it, I wondered what she'd meant. If dad were really cutting down on his doses wouldn't he be going into withdraw? I frowned and sat up. I dug the papers out of my backpack. It took me a few minutes to find the scotch tape, flatten them out, and piece them back together, but I made them readable again. I scanned through the information, but I couldn't quite find what I was looking for. So, I pulled out my laptop and used the best weapon I had at my disposal; Google.
My cursor blinked in the search bar, waiting for instructions.
My hands moved across the keys.
Crack-Venom.
Results popped up.
"Yahoo! Answers. Hey! I heard there's this new drug out what is…"
". A Clinical Examination of Crack-Venom on its Users…"
"Gotham City Times, Crack-Venom, the Latest and Worst of Drug Cartel…"
I scrolled down a little and clicked the most promising looking option.
"Wikipedia: Crack-Venom"
"Definition" I Know that…
"Symptoms" That was in the report…
"Physical Characteristics" Huh, this looks promising. I thought as I scanned through the article.
"Crack-Venom is extremely similar in appearance to Cocaine."
My mind flashed to my mother, her face was red and she was yelling, "He thought it was Cocaine!"
"Yeah because that's so much better!" I had shouted sarcastically. "That crap can kill you with a single dose! Why would he do that? Does he want to die?"
That was around the time she had slapped me. I scowled and rubbed my cheek unconsciously as I continued reading.
My eyes moved down the page and I focused on a different sentence.
"There are many ways of administering this drug, one common method is injecting it…"
That explains the needle marks. I thought.
I scrolled down some more to read the paragraphs on withdraw. I took a deep breath and put my face in my hands. The drug would kill him if he kept taking it, but getting off it would be hard. The withdraw symptoms were pretty intense, thinking about them made me nauseous. What made me even more nauseous was that one thing had become very clear: If Dad were actually taking less of the drug then he would be showing these symptoms. He wasn't though. He was showing the symptoms of a hard-core user with no signs of withdraw. I knew what that meant…but what was I supposed to do about it?
I sat there for a long time. I spent over an hour trying to Google home remedies and other ways to help Dad, but it all came down to the same basic thing: he needed professional help.
There has to be another way, there just has to be!
I searched again, scouring sites looking for options, but again I came up dry.
Downstairs I heard Mom and Dad talking and laughing as if Dad wouldn't leave tonight to go and get drugs. I wondered vaguely if I should just turn him in.
But Mom said there's a chance, and she's known about this longer than I have.
Another part of the conversation with Mom came back to me.
"I wasn't there for him! When he told me what was going on I went to the bar and…I cheated. How could I do that? I should have helped him!"
I don't remember when or why she told me that but it did bring something up: is she keeping Dad here out of guilt? Is keeping him here really the best option?
I sighed and deleted the history off of my computer. I had no answers, and Google didn't either. Should I ask Uncle Barry? No. No, that's not my place. He's family, mom doesn't want to make Dad look bad in front of Aunt Iris, his sister, that wouldn't be fair…but if I can't ask Uncle Barry, who can I ask?
I sighed and pulled a disc off of my shelf and put it into the computer. I was too, as Robin would put it, whelmed to really dwell on that any more. My head was pounding and I felt like I was going to throw up, or cry, but I never cry, so probably just throw up. I dug couple Gatorades out of the stash in my bedside drawer, I didn't feel up to eating right that second, but I wasn't dumb enough to let myself crash again. I drank until I was up to eating, then I scarfed down some protein bars, and lost myself in video games.
I vaguely remember answering a couple of texts from Robin. Batman had rigged our phones so no one could trace one to the other, so it was safe to talk to him. Anyway, Robin was concerned about what had happened with my "friend." I lied, (Liar, Liar!) of course. I didn't even know what to do and despite all Robin's experience he won't either…Okay, so that's not true. I know Robin would know exactly what I should do. He'd tell me to get my dad into rehab. Still, it would be easy for him to say. It's not his dad (well, he has a guardian) that's having drug problems. If Batman were having a similar issue (highly unlikely because he's Batman) I'd bet half my comic books that Robin would be in the Batcave trying to exhaust every other possibility before even thinking spilling Bruce's secret.
I may not have a Batcave full of information, but I still felt a fragment of hope that there was something I was missing. A different solution, a better one…
So I lied to Robin, and when Mom brought me dinner I lied and said I was okay, an I was only pale because I'd crashed this morning and when Dad came to check on me and ask if I wanted to watch a movie I lied and said I had a homework assignment I'd forgotten about. When Uncle Barry called to check on me I lied to him and when Aunt Iris asked to talk to me I lied to her too. Why not, right? It's not like things can get any worse right? Just pour em' on. Just keep telling those lies.
Maybe I'll get even better at lying, maybe I'll get so good that I'll even be able to fool myself and I won't have to hear the voices in my head screaming Liar! Liar! Liar! And maybe I won't feel so sick and when I eat it won't feel like I'm shoveling sand into my mouth. Maybe I'll forget that Dad's on drugs and Mom's all beaten up and that she's in denial. And maybe I'll stop hyperventilating, maybe I'll stop sweating, maybe my head will stop pounding and my heart will stop racing.
Maybe I'll stop having a full on panic attack, sitting in my room, staring blankly at my computer, hearing the door slam as dad leaves to get his fix and maybe I won't have to cling to my chair to stop myself from running out to stop him because he'll get violently ill and possible die if he didn't get any Crack-Venom tonight.
Maybe I'll stop imagining Dad overdosing, maybe I'll stop shaking. Maybe I'll stop pacing around on my crutches, watching the clock.
Tick Tock. Tick Tock.
Maybe the silent little red numbers will stop mocking me as time slowly reaches and exceeds by almost an hour the normal time when Dad usually comes home. Maybe I won't fidget and worry until I can take it anymore and run downstairs to find Mom looking at the clock too. Maybe we both wouldn't get the horrible feeling that something had gone terribly wrong…
We were in the car. Driving through one of the worst parts of the city. I was riding in the front seat, my eyes darting around taking in the drug dealers and prostitutes.
Neither of us were talking. Mom knew where Dad got his drugs, it was near his work, that's how he ended up taking them, his "friends" talked him into it. Peer pressure doesn't stop in high school, unfortunately…
I looked anxiously out the window and I saw someone spray painting a car with crude messaged. The alarm went of when another guy smashed the windshield out. I twitched and mom laid a hand on my arm.
"You're Wally right now," she reminded me.
I sighed and nodded. I needed to find my dad, and if nothing else, I couldn't leave Mom alone in this neighborhood, especially at night.
We kept an eye out for him as we made our way through the slums. I could see more prostitutes, 'innocently' strolling up and down the pavement. They were clearly looking to make someone's day as they left one of the bars…for a price, of course.
Men in nice cars pulled up next to each other to discuss 'business.' People looked at us suspiciously. People like Batman and Robin often wrote Central City off as a bubbly happy little town, but some neighborhoods were much too reminiscent of Gotham for comfort.
"There!" I said out of the blue, pointing out Dad's car. Mom pulled up and moved to get out.
"No," I said firmly. "You stay in the car, lock the doors.
"No way, you're a sitting duck with that crutch!" she said angrily.
"I can walk without it long enough to scope out the area," I said as I slipped out of the car. My legs cried a little in protest, but they didn't hurt as bad as they did during the morning, which meant I was starting to really heal up. I adopted the relaxed, but guarded posture that most of the people on the street held, but I knew I stuck out like a sore thumb. I went up to the car and saw it was locked up. Someone had carved a key mark into the side, but other than that it was pretty normal looking. I scoped out the alleyway near the car and saw nothing. I walked back towards the car just in time to see my Dad stagger out of one of the seedier bars.
"Dad!" I called as loudly as I dared, but he didn't seem to hear me.
I hurried to intersect his path and I saw mom slipping out of the car. I cursed and hurried up to both of them.
Mom reached Dad before I did. She reached towards him but he swatted at her hands irritably. The motion made him lose his balance and he fell down onto the pavement.
Mom and I crouched down and rolled Dad over. He was mumbling unintelligible nonsense and his breath smelled of a liquor far stronger than the beer he kept at home. I looked around nervously and saw that we were attracting attention.
"Mom, we need to go," I whispered.
She looked around as well and saw a couple men looking at us as if contemplating something sinister.
"Okay, Rudy, let's go," she grunted as the two of us heaved him up so we could get him into the passenger seat of the car. It took a lot of effort and some drunks across the street started to jeer at our expense, calling out insults about our looks. I was used to insults, what with my line of work, but I wasn't used to people calling my mother—well I don't want to repeat it. Let's just say I would have gone straight up to them and punched them if I wasn't so worried about getting my parents out of there. Dad could get away with being here in his old jeans and baggy t-shirt, but Mom was wearing a nice dress and professional jacket that practically screamed: "Rob me!"
Once Dad was safely buckled in Mom pulled me aside.
"You can drive right? You've done it with the team before?"
"Yea…" I said cautiously.
She tossed me a pair of keys that she must've pulled from Dad's pocket.
"Take the other car home, I don't want to leave it here overnight," she said glancing around nervously. I knew she was remembering the car we'd seen on the way over here. I looked around and saw some people still staring at us. I didn't think about what I was agreeing to, I just nodded anxiously and motioned for her to get in the car with Dad. I didn't even bother to ask if she'd be okay alone with him, the man was clearly too drunk and high to say his own name, let alone pick a fight.
I thought nothing of driving Dad's car until I was following Mom down the road. I wasn't concerned about crashing, my reflexes were too fast for that, and cars were among the simplest of the technology I knew how to operate. I was worried about getting pulled over by the cops. Two cars traveling so close together at this time of night in this neighborhood was very suspicious. In the end I decided to just lag behind Mom as much as I could and hope for the best.
If I got caught driving without a license, I was in serious trouble. Visions of college scholarships and college acceptances flooding down the drain made me feel slightly ill. I had a miniature heart attack every time I passed a cop car.
Do I look too young to be driving? Can they even tell since it's after dark? Do They know and not care?
I finally made it out of the slums and drove carefully home, looking around nervously the whole way there. I let out a huge breath when I finally reached my driveway. Sweat trickled off my palms and down my arms.
I hastily took my hands off the steering wheel and wiped them off on my pants, grimacing at the wet hand-prints that were left behind. I felt a sting in my bottom lip and looked up. The mirror in my car showed me that I'd chewed it raw. I ignored the tang of blood in my mouth and got out so I could help Mom lug Dad inside.
We had to stop twice so he could throw up all over the front path and it took us a few tries to get him up the stairs and onto the porch. My mind flashed to all the alcohol safety videos they showed us in health class in school. I wondered how much he'd had, and if it had reacted with the Crack-Venom. Had he poisoned himself?
We dragged him to the couch and laid him on his side. When things were finally settled all the two of us could do was stare at him.
"I'll watch him tonight, make sure he makes it through the night okay," said Mom softly.
Translation, she's going to make sure he doesn't die of alcohol poisoning, the voice in my head said obnoxiously.
"I'll stay up too," I said.
"No, you need to meet your team tomorrow. It's already late, just go to bed," she said firmly.
I obeyed the tone more than the words as I walked towards the stairs.
"And, Wally?"
I turned around.
I saw her eyes observe in the handprints on my jeans and the blood on my lip.
"I'll make sure this doesn't happen again. I didn't want to ask you to drive, but I—I didn't know what else to do," she said helplessly.
"It's no big deal, Mom," I lied.
"It is, and you know it," she said. "I won't put you in that position again. No more driving unless you have a license, okay?"
I nodded shakily and headed up the stairs. I seriously needed to lay down.
When I arrived at the cave the next day I was sleep-deprived and mildly disgusted. The living room in my house smelled horrible. Dad had been sick all through the night and just generally reeked of drunk, sweaty, filthy, man. I was off my crutches now. My legs had finished healing overnight and though I was a teeny bit too sore to run I knew I'd be better this evening. Now if only my arm would heal as fast…
Dad was out cold when I Mom left to take me to the drop-off point. She said the worst over and she would get some sleep when she got home. All I could do was nod. Seriously, how are we supposed to do this every night? What if I'm on a mission and she's alone?
I shook my head. I had no idea what to do. My dad was a druggie, but also the glue that holds us together. Mom told me how screwed we'd be financially if he couldn't work, but it was more than that. Dad was the rock. Always dependable always there, or at least, he used to be. I guess that's my job now? I honestly had no clue anymore. All I knew is that Mom had me risk my future over Dad's habit last night by making me break the law. Police don't kid around about driving without a license in Central, I know from my classmates in school that they throw the book at you and then some, and I do not sprint around putting criminals in jail so I can go and join them during my time as a civilian.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.
"KF!" Robin came up to greet me.
Crap.
I could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to talk about yesterday. I tried blindly to remember what lies I'd told him and had a mini heart attack when I realized I'd forgotten just what I'd told him in person and via text yesterday. I was saved by the bell though, or more accurately the bat in the belfry.
The dark night swooped over.
"Kid Flash," he barked.
He knows, was my first instinctive thought.
"You're late," he said crankily.
Oh, well that's not what I thought was going to happen. I can totally deal with Batman, even if it seems like he hasn't had his coffee today.
He glanced me up and down. I knew for an awful moment that I was probably showing signs of distress even if I didn't look as bad as yesterday my body language and complexion were sure to be a little off.
Batman didn't comment though. He simply said "Let's get started."
I did a mini cheer in my head that Batman was too prideful and cranky to be verbally inquisitive or obviously nosy about anything…despite the fact that he seemed to find out everything about everybody. Still though, I have yet to hear anyone classify Batman as nosy, never mind him spending his free time bugging people and hiding in bushes…
Robin bumped my shoulder with his as we walked together and gave me a frown that spoke a question.
Is everything okay?
I just smiled at him sadly and shook my head.
Not really, but I'm handling it.
Robin patted my shoulder and held out a fist.
I'm here for you, bro. He conveyed silently.
I bumped his fist with mine.
Thanks.
Our silent conversation ended after that.
"Alright," said Martian Manhunter after we entered the room that had been set up and laid down on the slabs that had been placed in there. "Let us begin."
