Chapter Thirteen: The Grasshopper and the Scorpion
The name on the translucent orange medicine container glared back at him, the ink almost ominous as he considered the peculiar last name of the patient. The man to whom the name belonged must have surely been the subject of ridicule by his childhood peers, for Grasshopper was certainly a name which would have stood out among them. He shuddered to think of what children would have said about him, for he had something far more obvious to bully than a strange last name…
It was a substantial bottle of high-grade opiates, certainly better than whatever fentanyl laced concoction she had been buying off the street from those disreputable dealers. Its large, white pills almost sang to him, like little angels trapped in a vial, begging him to release them from their plastic prison.
Save us, take us, set us free and we shall return the favor!, they seemed to sing.
It had been so long since he felt the euphoric rush of drugs in his system, the obliviousness they had given him from all his woes…until they stopped doing their job sufficiently.
Shaking his head, he shook the desire to ingest them from his mind. He could play out that scenario to the end and he knew where it would lead him, using copious amounts that still left him feeling miserable. He would still be alone but broken and in more pain than ever before.
His face was still damp with the tears he had shed, causing his mask to feel suffocating as it clung to the skin of his dead face. Through the door of his closet, he could still hear her pitiful wailing and it was torture. She was not ready, she had said as much.
He was willing to admit to himself that he was addicted to her now. It was quite obvious to him by the behavior he had displayed, allowing her into his private space whenever she beckoned. He fancied himself in love with her…although he could not be sure, for he had never experienced love.
If it was love, then it was strange indeed and it was a toxin coursing through the fine network of his veins, filling his body with dreadful longing. The hope, he found, was the worst symptom of all. He knew he was too broken to love her adequately, and she certainly could never possibly love him back.
But it was her small gestures, the innocent touches, the bright smiles, her willingness to know him, which had him clinging like a desperate man clutching ship debris while lost in a turbulent ocean.
Madness had taken him, giving him grand plans of bringing her into his home, allowing him to entertain the pathetic fantasy that with enough time she would grow accustomed to his constant presence. He had developed the hope that with enough time she would, what? Welcome him to her bed? Warm his cold, dead body with the heat of hers? Hold him tight in the dark and whisper fervent words of ardor and desire, bathe him in breathy sighs of satisfaction as his fingers wandered her body in the dark?
He could have allowed her to grow dependent upon him, to source all her highs from him alone. It would be so terribly easy to keep her in supply, so trivial to rob pharmacies and hoard a stash down here just for her.
Fixing broken objects was enjoyable, and he could not help when a challenge presented itself. She represented that, a bird with a snapped wing that he wanted to mend or a broken cuckoo clock that needed to be gutted and regeared. It was all folly, for one broken person cannot possibly fix another.
Having her so near was torment, yet sending her way seemed like hell.
With the war inside his mind, he left the confines of his closet and found himself standing over her curled, crying body in the bathroom.
"I have thought about this at great length, Christine.", he said as he sat upon the floor beside her, his long legs jutting out as he pressed his back against the wall.
"You think I'm weak.", she blubbered, her face pressed into her hands.
"I do not.", he replied truthfully.
They remain in a terrible silence for what felt like eternity, the seconds dragging by painfully. Her sniffles could be heard, ringing in his ears as loud as gunshots, as she shivered violently on the floor.
"I offer you a choice.", he said as he placed the jar of pills upon the cool tile of the bathroom floor. They rattled in the bottle as they made their descent, a love song to an addict in withdrawal.
She pushed her sick body from the floor, her face red and streaked with tears. It was a dreadful sight to see her in such a state. Those slender fingers of her darling hand reached immediately for the vice which sat like a beacon on the floor.
"The choice is this," he said sternly, halting her hand midair, her fingers outstretched desperately. "I could take you now and enter you into a very comfortable treatment center. You could recover and be cared for by the very best of addiction specialists. Afterward, you would return here, you would have your own room awaiting you…or," he pointed an abnormally long and thin finger towards the garish orange container sitting before them, "You choose the Grasshopper and you never return here."
Her face scrunched up with utter confusion as the words sank themselves into her understanding. "I could never come back?", she replied in dismay.
"I could not possibly live with a using addict.", he lied easily. This was for his own self-preservation and he knew it, he was not worried he would relapse, he was afraid he would lose himself to his obsession for her. She had become his poison of choice.
Her blue eyes, puffy and ringed, searched his, as though she would find more answers hidden in their yellow depths. It was then that he knew it was time to do what he had decided to do…this charade had gone on far enough. It was only fair she know now what he truly was.
Reaching his hands to the back of his head, he loosened the artfully tied stays of his mask and allowed it to drop sadly into his lap. It fell like his very last hope, dully and soundly. Her eyes grew as large as full, blue moons. The blood drained from her already stark, white face as she took in his appearance for the first time.
Yes, he thought, now you understand why I have no mirrors in this room.
What was it she saw first, he wondered, the translucent sallow skin, the skeletal features…or was it the cavity that sat prominently in the center of his face, black and menacing? Had she seen inside another person's sinus cavity before now?
"I'm sorry," she managed to mutter as she flew to the toilet and began to dry heave her nothing stomach contents into the fine porcelain bowl. The sound shredded roughly through him.
He stood and looked upon her dispassionately, his heart drained and his mind numb. It would do him no good to feel anything in this moment. With an act formed from habit, he reattached the mask to his horrid face.
"I am going to leave you now. I will leave all the doors to the building open as I do so…I will give you ample time to come to your decision."
He did not wait for her to reply, wordlessly slipping from the bathroom and leaving her behind with her face still hidden in the privacy of the toilet bowl.
With callousness in his heart, he walked out of his apartment, leaving wide open the door to his private sanctuary. He brusquely walked, running from the feelings that stalked him down the long hallway towards the exit outside. Each time he stopped to manually deactivate a security feature; he could practically hear the heavy breath of Grief against his neck.
When he found himself outside, standing in the fading light of day, a crisp breeze ruffling his hair and penetrating the thin fabric of his dress shirt, it felt as though he had escaped the beast that prowled him. Yet the tips of his fingers itched, begging him to return inside.
Hold her, comfort her, be her savior. She could look past your horrors with enough substances, with enough dependency…She almost had…You nearly had everything you craved.
She had ruined his life by entering it the way she had, but she was blameless. He had been the weak one, the sick one. Her very presence was temptation incarnate. It was only a matter of time before he did something thoroughly stupid, before he took advantage of a desperate woman.
Glancing at his palm, he took in the sight of the pale scar and remembered his moment of madness.
Never again.
The street seemed to welcome him as he made his way down its cracked sidewalk, taking an aimless path to further distance himself from the feelings that treaded close on his heels. He did not allow himself to think, simply focusing on the task of dipping through alleys and avoiding pedestrians. Any other time, leaving his home open and vulnerable would have been beyond unthinkable…but now, he cared not. A mob could enter his house and destroy it, burn it to the ground, and he would shrug his shoulders and move elsewhere.
Nothing felt important anymore.
The city grew dark as night descended, indicating it was time to return home.
When he found himself standing in his bathroom once more, the bottle of pills was missing.
She was gone, just as he knew she would be.
The world shattered around him.
I have appreciated the feedback! Thanks to those of you who took the time to leave your thoughts.
This was a hard chapter to write.
Hope you are all healthy!
