Good Until it Hurts
21. Never, Ever
The closer we get to Tulsa, I get more and more tense. My heart goes pretty wild as we turn into our neighborhood, and I don't want Tim to notice anything, but I can't help shifting in my seat and keep clenching my hands, so much Tim starts to throw strange glances at me. Shit, I guess he must notice, then, but at least he don't say a word about it. Actually, he hasn't tried to talk to me again all the ride here, and that's a good thing, 'cause then I don't have to try and come up with lies and stuff. It wouldn't be a problem before, but now I have a hard time thinking.
He parks on the curb outside our house, and I realize I really don't feel like going inside. I don't know why, I just don't. I don't feel happy or relieved or whatever, I ain't sure what to feel or do, so how am I supposed to know how to act? I haven't been away from home before and that means I haven't had to come back, either, and especially not like this, all fucked up in my head. But I can't stay in the car, especially not when Tim climbs out and gives me another funny stare, so I have to open my own door and force my feet to move and go after him up on the porch.
Inside I let the front door slam shut behind my back, but I stop in the hallway, looking around. Our living room looks the same, all messy and smelling of smoke and beer and old food. I don't see any sign of Pa and Angie - it ain't like I expected some fucking welcome home-party or anything, but maybe I thought they at least would be home, to say hi or whatever. Ma's probably here though, 'cause she never leaves the house if she don't have to. Not that she would come out and greet me or whatever anyway, but I don't need nobody, besides, I'm home now and the only thing I want is to forget about juvie, forget that I even was away and just go back to how it was before.
Not that I know how to do that, 'cause it hasn't started out that great, has it? I stare at my shoes and Tim sighs heavily, crosses the floor to the closed bedroom door and knocks on it. I don't hear Ma answer, but I listen to Tim saying we're back now, reminding her that he went to pick me up today, but the door won't open. I look up in time to see the look in his eyes when he turns his head, and I think fuck it, who really cares, right? I already knew Ma is all depressed and moody and stuff. Maybe she just took a beating, then we won't see her for a while.
"Got another cigarette?" I ask, luckily my voice sounding normal, 'cause I think I fucking need one.
"Didn't you smoke enough on the way here?" Tim says, but he walks over to the coffee table, starting to check under some newspapers and pizza cartons for a pack, only it seems there ain't any.
"Don't bother," I mutter, and he stops looking and sits down in the armchair, kicking up his feet onto the coffee table. I wonder a bit if he still has his job, if he has to go soon, but I guess he had to take the whole day off for me so maybe he'll be home all evening. Only it's Friday, so maybe not.
Like he could read my mind, he says, "I'm headin' out later, some stuff's goin' on out on Apache. Wanna tag along?"
I open my mouth to say 'fuck yeah', 'cause I mean, I always, always wanted him to ask me that before. But I don't know what stops me, why I feel so nervous all sudden. Maybe it's 'cause I don't know if he ask me 'cause he really wants me there, or only 'cause I'm his brother. Maybe it's the thought of people seeing me, and what if they figure, what if they find out? What if I won't be able to hide it, what happened? What if they ask too many questions, what if I drink too much and say things out loud?
My head is spinning of all the what if's, making me feel like I want to throw up. I wish Tim could get up and put the damn TV on, or the radio, maybe, so it wasn't so quiet. Maybe I should go with him later, drink it all away, maybe get my hands on some stronger stuff, if that guy Allen shows up tonight.
Only I don't have any money. Shit. I suddenly feel real awful, and not saying anything I hurry to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I sit on the toilet lid for a long time, not caring if Tim wonders what I'm doing in here. He's the last thing I think about really, but I thought I needed to be alone but now when I am, it's just getting worse. I feel so edgy, and my clothes are suddenly itching, feeling dirty, and fuck it, I need to wash them or throw them away 'cause he fucking gave them to me. I almost gag at the thought, that it was only a couple of hours ago, today, this morning. I was in juvie this morning, and Bennett -
Don't think about it! But it's fucking impossible, he goes into my head again and won't fucking disappear. I know I breathe faster, and I have to try and slow it down before I start bawling. Nothing got better coming home, I don't know what to do, how to deal with this. Scott would know but he ain't here, he ain't here to make it all better.
I press my fist into my forehead, hard, wanting to smack both of them into a wall, feel the pain in my head and hand instead. I get up on my feet and try to pace, but I'm trapped in here, no where to go, except going out but Tim is there and he can't see me like this.
My gaze lands on the shower, and maybe that will help. Shit, I haven't taken a shower alone in three months, but I hate to shower, but maybe it will help, washing it away.
I start with my shoes and it goes fine, and then I take off my socks. My hands are shaking badly as I drag the shirt over my head and I almost can't open the button of my jeans, and I think too fucking much, think of how I hate getting undressed, think of hands and breaths and pain and things shoved into my mouth as I drag them off me and leave them in a heap on the floor.
I start bawling for real then, and fuck this shit, I quickly step into the shower and turn the water on so no one will hear.
xXx
The bottle in my hand is already half empty, even though coming here only ten minutes ago. I walk along Apache street, passing cars standing parked all over, listening to the sounds of people talking and laughing and fighting. It was supposed to be a drag race tonight, and some let their cars skid away over the road, but it's too much snow and ice on the ground for anyone really wanting to step on the gas for real, so no one really cares who wins or not. But everyone cares about getting drunk, and I do, too.
I tell myself I feel good. I think the booze is helping, and I don't take sips, I take gulps, and before I know it I have finished the bottle. I burp, and it burns in my throat and mouth, making my head spin even worse.
Someone's walking backwards and stumble into me. He grabs my arm to steady himself, but before I can push him away he's grinning at me, letting me go.
"Curly! Shit, haven't seen you in a while. How's it goin', man? I heard you went in."
"Yeah. M'fine." I look at my bottle while he goes talking, asking things but never waits for an answer, I don't even know the kid but I think he maybe is in my grade at school. I don't listen to anything he says, blocking it all out and sway in my place, letting the drunkenness hit me more and more for every minute.
A couple of guys walk up, one of them slinging his arm over the first one's shoulders, passing around a bottle. I throw away the one I'm already holding when it comes to me, raise the new one to my mouth and down it.
I don't really know what happens next. I'm alone again, walking back and forth along the street, avoiding people. Everything is a blur, people, cars, trees, I think I walk around for a while and maybe drink some more, and then I lie on the ground and something wet and cold seeps through my jeans, and someone lifts me up by my collar and shakes me.
"Shit, Curly, how much did you drink tonight?"
"Dunno." I try to swat his hands away, but he ignores it and drags me to my feet. "Shit, lemme sleep," I protest.
"Not out here, it's fuckin' January."
He drags me to his car and I think a lot of people has gone home already, 'cause it's only a few vehicles left. Tim opens the door to the passenger seat, and I throw myself down, closing my eyes as the world don't stop moving.
"Don't throw up in my car," Tim says threatening, slamming the door shut.
Next I know he's dragging me up the stairs to our room. I really feel like puking, and I say so, and he sighs and takes me to the upstairs bathroom. It's real small and everything so he don't fit in there with me, so he pushes me down onto my knees just inside the door and opens the toilet lid, standing in the doorway and looking at me. I cling to the seat and wait for it, but nothing comes up.
"Gonna puke or what?" Tim grunts impatiently.
I just mutter something and then it comes, all the booze I had, and when I'm done I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I can't get up on my own and Tim has to help me, and I almost shout at him to not fucking touch me, but he's my brother and he wouldn't do anything, but the place is so fucking small and I feel trapped. I push at him and he lets go, letting me fall back against the wall.
"The fuck, Curly?" Tim growls, and I stagger up to the sink and turn the tap on. I drink some water and splash it onto my face, almost losing my balance again.
Tim has to help me to our room, but thankfully, he just drops me onto my bed and lets me lie there, wet clothes and shoes and everything. I think if he would start trying to take anything off me, I would kick and scream at him. But instead I fall asleep with everything on, my last thought that drinking didn't help one bit, I thought about it all night, all the bad stuff, and it's spinning worse in my head when I realize it will never, ever go away.
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