Chapter 54

I was halfway through my eighteenth bottle of Budweiser when the phone rang. The glass bottle slipped from my hand and onto the floor, the same place where Jake had staggered over to that time when he'd gotten drunk. I was sitting on the floor in the corner of the dining room, knees drawn up, my arm bandaged and clean. After Becky left I'd cleaned myself up before going shopping, mostly buying alcohol, also some minor other groceries, bread, toothpaste, sleeping pills…the girl who checked me out at the store eyed me suspiciously. I couldn't tell if it was because of my build or my height or my selection of purchases…maybe she watched wrestling and recognized me. I don't know. But I scowled at her and told her to stop gawking.

My limbs felt clumsy and weak as I got off the floor, walking to the phone, feeling like I was submerged in water. The heat of the alcohol rose in my cheeks, heated my neck. The phone was so loud in my ears, so repetitive, so menacing.

"Hello?" I asked into it when I'd finally picked it up, staggering and falling, catching myself against the wall in the living room. I closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning, my feet feeling incredibly heavy as I stepped over to the couch and fell into it, not feeling it at all, just blackness and then the couch.

"Kane…" the voice was deep and it took a moment for me to register that it was Mark.

"Mark!" I exclaimed, childishly, laughing as I remembered who he was. "Hey…man." I felt a wave of nausea and held my stomach, feeling like I would vomit.

"You're drunk…" he said. I remember that he sounded a little discouraged. I felt horrible, knowing that I was drunk, knowing that he wasn't, in my mind able to think soberly but not being able to translate that to my body. "What are you drinking?"

"Umm…beer…" I answered, tasting it, looking into the next room at the empty bottles that were all over, and unopened ones in six packs that were on the table. I heard Mark groan through the phone and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling acidic tears forming, not from emotion, just from the inebriation, and tried to control myself.

"How many have you had?" he asked me.

"Eight-"

"Oh…"

"-teen."

"Fucking Christ, Kane…" he cursed. "Don't drink any more. I'm coming over."

I laughed and told him okay, and he hung up the phone. I just sat there with it in my hand, looking at it, my stomach churning. I felt so sick and dizzy. The sour taste spread through me, and the phone slipped from my hand, falling on the floor. The room spun around me when I opened my eyes, blurring. I looked at the couch, seeing the pattern and texture of the fabric, seeing it suddenly rushing for my eyes. Then blackness. I had fallen over, not even realizing it until it was already done.

The phone began to beep because it was off the hook. Amber. The phone. My stomach lurched in my body and I stood, stumbling through the apartment to the bathroom, collapsing on the ground, holding the sides of the bowl as I vomited. Tears squeezed through my eyes as it happened. I hated the feeling of doing that, but once it was done I felt better, the nausea gone, replaced by cold, replaced by thirst. I flushed the toilet and pulled myself up, wiping my eyes on my sleeve and walking into the dining room. I wanted to finish the beer that Mark had interrupted, even though he told me to stop. To me, I was completing what I'd told him. I told him that I'd had eighteen beers, when really I'd had seventeen and a half. So with that gratification I fell down onto the floor where I'd been sitting and kept drinking, reaching for the remote for the big stereo in the living room. I didn't want to hear the phone beeping anymore, it reminded me of Amber, though I was too numb to let it bother me. It still…pissed me off.

Lazily I pointed the remote at the stereo, pushing the button to make the volume rise, the chaotic sounds of Mindless Self Indulgence fill the apartment. I heard a crowd cheering, and Jimmy Urine's amplified voice saying "Who you callin' a faggot? Yo, yo…yo, yo…when you out gay-bashing, I'm gonna  be at your house, fuckin' your girlfriend. In the ASS!" Then the track changed, random, to some song whose title I couldn't think of. It took me a moment to remember the title. Last Time I Tried to Rock Your World. I could feel the bass of the music rumbling in my chest, and the techno sounds of that particular song made me feel sick again, like I was moving too fast. Sweat broke out over my face and my body, I could feel it. So confusing everything was…

The glass bottle slipped out of my hand when it was empty, and I smacked it so that it would roll over to a collection of others, clinking against them. Without looking I reached up on the table for another drink, ripping the cap off and pouring the liquid into my mouth, uncaring that Mark didn't want me to drink. It was so…good. And I didn't even like beer…it was just that the more you drank, the less the taste bothered you. The more you drank, the easier it was to just…drink more. And then…a little more than a minute into the song Harry Truman, the music sounded just slightly sad…that was where the alcohol wouldn't beat me.

I burst into tears.

At the moment I didn't really know why I was crying but I just was, because I felt depressed, miserable, drunk…it took every ounce of strength in me to keep it in my head that Mark would be there, that he would save me and all that. I held myself and brought the mouth of the bottle to my lips, tipping it back, pouring it, swallowing half the bottle in one shot. The song Bitches came on. I wanted to be happy, wanted to listen to MSI and laugh, the reason why I put them on in the first place, because it was, as the name suggested, mindless. It was happy and laughter-worthy and blissful. Golden I came on. Then Royally Fucked. Backmask. Boomin'. By the time Mark had come in, I Hate Jimmy Page was playing. He let himself into the apartment because I hadn't locked the door, and had a wild, kind of concerned look in his eyes as I watched him walk into the living room. He didn't see me right away and stopped at the stereo, looking down at it for a moment before turning the volume down so that I could barely hear it. I finished drinking my sixth beer since we'd gotten off the phone and burped, unintentionally, not in any way to be rude but it just happened.

"Kane…" his eyebrows came together as he walked over to me. I looked up at him, seeing on and off blackness, like a slow strobe. One moment he was across the room, the next he was beside me, taking me by the arm and trying to pull me to my feet. He squeezed my forearm and I cursed.

"Ahh, fucker, that hurt," I hissed at him, drunkenly, falling against him as he tried to help me up. He caught me and held me in his arms. I could hear him crying but didn't know what I could do about it. I turned to look at him, his head turned away from me and looking down at my arm. I hadn't even noticed that he'd rolled up my sleep, and looked at my wounded skin, cuts etched in pale tissue. I didn't know what to do, was too drunk and mindless to know what to say to him. Suddenly I felt sick again.

I tried to walk past him, stumbling, falling, to let him catch me. He steadied me and tried to hold me still.

"I'm gonna fuckin' puke," I slurred, and his eyes widened. My sight blurred as he walked me to the bathroom. I fell to my knees and vomited, Mark gripping my shoulder. I knew that he didn't know how to be comforting. Our roles were usually reversed. I was the compassionate one, I knew how to comfort people because I'd been through so much shit myself. Mark was the level-headed, strong willed one, who only rarely found himself in situations that required help.

When everything was over with I fell back, leaning against the wall. Mark flushed the toilet and knelt down beside me, grabbing my shoulders and trying to look into my eyes, but I was too distracted, my head rolling on my shoulders.

"Why were you fucking drinking, Kane?" he asked me angrily. I knew he wasn't really angry, just frustrated with me. My eyelids felt weighed down and my head pounded with confusion. He pulled his hands away and clenched one in a fist, resting his forehead against his knuckles. His hair was down, and dark, and fell around him. His other hand was trembling. I felt so fucking bad.

"Because…" I tried to say. My tongue was made of lead. "Well…because of Amber…"

He closed his eyes as if I'd struck him. "Kane you really need to stop this."

"Stop what??" I demanded. "Where's Amber? I thought she was with you and Raven." Honestly I did, the alcohol screwing with my memory, with my purpose. Mark bit his bottom lip, jaw shaking a bit. He pulled me against him, hugging me without words.

"Kane don't do this to me," he cried. I held him back weakly, confused as to why he was doing this. I felt like crying to, like some brainless idiot, crying just because he was and I didn't know what else to do. And then blackness.

The next morning I woke up with my stomach in my throat. I rolled out of bed, wearing boxers and a t-shirt and walked to the bathroom, still feeling a little wobbly as I vomited. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Mark, looking tired. When I was through I cleaned myself up and met him out in the hallway. He looked like he hadn't slept in years.

"What happened?" I asked casually, holding my stomach and leaning against the opposite wall from him.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember…getting in a fight with Becky…going shopping, buying beer…coming back…getting drunk…" I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "And I remember listening to MSI really loud and then you coming over…puking…you crying…that's pretty much it…"

"What else did you buy?" he asked me darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. I understood his body language. He wasn't asking because he wanted to know, he was asking because he wanted me to know that he knew. I groaned and shook my head, walking back into my room, my hand sliding along the wall for balance. "What else did you buy?" he repeated more firmly, standing in the doorway as I fell back into bed. My body seemed to spin but not the room, a big cyclone. I just closed my eyes, trying to lay as still as possible in hopes that it would go away.

"Umm…bread and Crest and some medicine. What's it to you?"

"Kane! Don't fucking treat me like an imbecile," he yelled. "Medicine! Yeah some real fucking medicine, Kane. You bought SLEEPING PILLS!"

My nerves tightened and I sighed, opening my eyes to look at him for a moment before I closed them again and turned away from him, hugging an extra pillow and curling into a fetal position. He knew. He fucking knew. He sighed from where he was and I heard his shoeless footsteps cross the floor. He walked around to my side of the bed (I was on Amber's) and sat down.

"Kane…" he said calmly. I lifted my eyes to him. "I'm not mad at you. Just listen to me, okay. The reason I called you last night was because Becky went to Saphrin and told her what happened. I don't know what your memory has twisted it around to but she said that you two had sex, and that you freaked out on her, cut up your arm, and then thought she was Amber. And then you guys argued, and then she left. Saphrin called me and said she was worried about you, and after we got off the phone I blacked out cause I was…feeling things. And I had this vision of you getting drunk and overdosing on those goddamn pills."

I felt very inadequate to him, felt like I was a child being scolded, put on the spot. As he sighed it seemed that I was shrinking, like I was small and humiliated.

"I don't want that happening," he said to me. "And if  I hadn't come over last night you'd be dead now…" he said this openly, not accusingly. Because, once again, he knew. He fully knew what was going on in my head, things that shouldn't be known to anyone except me. He knew that I didn't care, he wholly understood my indifference to being alive. That if I were to die I wouldn't be afraid, and it wouldn't  bother me. Mark's eyes misted over, stormy, gray-green.

"Sorry…" I said softly.

"No, Kane," he said, pushing his hair out of his face. "That's not the answer I want from you. I'm not scolding you for this, I understand how you feel and you're completely justified. But, I want you to instead tell me what you think that would do to me if you were gone."

"Hah," I scoffed, and looked away, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. "You could probably go out dancing. Like you fuckin' need me…"

"I do."

I turned to him abruptly, truly stricken by his words, under the impression that he could actually mean that. It was the first time I'd ever heard him admit something like that, and so easily. It was such a quick reaction to what I'd said. But no…

That was my given factor. I knew, that no matter what was going on, I was just some detachable branch of Mark's life. I was just some toy for him to amuse himself with. If Mark was in a good mood, I was his friend. He could give the dog a biscuit and a pat on the head and let me hang out with him. If he didn't want me around, he kicked me in the ribs and told me to fuck off and I understood. I didn't like it, but I understood, but then again, who does like being someone's dog? Especially your brother. No one likes being dominated this way. No one, no matter who they are, likes being at other people's mercy. Mark…hated me, didn't he? That's what I'd always told myself, that on the inside he hated me, that when he told me he loved me it was just to make him look better in my eyes, that while we were friends it was just him wasting some time with his useless little brother, just the way things are with kids. Everyone knows that. With kids, it doesn't matter how tight two brothers can be, when friends come around, the older one is too good for you. I knew. I remembered countless times watching him through the window, watching him call me a freak just because he needed to be accepted, and running outside to join them in football. I remember watching them laugh at him and call him a faggot because of his black clothes and inverted crosses. He could kill all of them, easily, had the strength of our brute father. But when there were five of them he would come back into the house with a bloody nose and ignore me for weeks. I knew why they made fun of him…not his clothes, well, not just his clothes. They made fun of him for his freak little brother, for the little monster that they all knew about. If I had died with our mother, Mark's life would've been so much easier…and if I died now, he wouldn't care. I always figured that he would be happy, that no matter how much we were getting alone he'd just see me as one less burden.

But that answer…it came so naturally and without thinking that I knew all my thoughts were untrue. Even with his con-artist alliances with me, he could never lie to me like that. I always could hear in his tone when he was lying to me.

I blinked my eyes and just stared at him, not knowing what the hell I could say to him.

"You don't believe me…" he said, defeated.

"No!" I protested quickly, adamantly. "No…actually…I do."

"Hah…why should you? I've treated you like shit for all our lives. You've been good to me and I've been an asshole to you. Why should you believe what I have to fucking say?" I saw the tears in his eyes. So rarely I saw him cry in our lives, and yet the past few weeks I'd seen it so often.

"Because…I always knew when you were lying."

"You did?" he let out a small laugh to break the tension a little. "So why did you let me use you?"

"Because…" I stopped, realizing that I didn't know why. "Because…I had to. Because I love you. Because you're my brother."

"Right…" he said it light a grunt, and stretched, lying down on the bed next to me. "We're brothers…all that bind of blood shit, right?"

"Yeah…I suppose," I looked at him thoughtfully. "But why did you even bother being my friend? Don't…pretend, Mark. I know that you've always hated me. It was just convenient to pretend that I didn't know, and not tell Amber or anyone else."

"Because…" he started to laugh. "I had to. We're brothers."

"And what made you have this Kane-loving-epiphany?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Cause Amber was gone and…Claudette and Armand…" he looked unbearably sad. "And honestly, Kane…I might have hated you and all that, but I loved your daughter. She was like…okay this might sound kind of strange but to me, she was the purity of what you and I never had…I just feel horrible that she was ruined."

"Maybe it means that we'll never find peace…" I, obviously, didn't see, but I knew that my eyes must've grown distant as they fixed on Mark's, my mind traveling to memories.

"No. Maybe it means that we just have to stop being so fucking sentimental and not let this get us down."

"Right…"

"I'm serious…"

"You're always serious…"

We both started to laugh.

"No, really…" I said to him. "Don't just tell me that sappiness about my daughter. Why? Really…"

His eyes darkened. I knew the expression. I'd seen it on him that night on Valentine's Day when he'd come over to apologize to me. "Because…" he took a lengthy pause. "Our whole lives, I've had more than you. I'm older. I knew Mother longer before what happened. You're scarred, I'm not. Paul abused you and was afraid of me. I'm not…fucked up in the head, no offence, but you've got some psychological problems and shit…and then all of a sudden here you are, my little deformed brother who has always been some thorn in my side who followed me to the WWF and lived in my shadow by his own will…and you're out getting married and having friends and raising ducks and making babies…like you finally…became more than what I thought you were. Finally you disconnected from me and made your own life…and I guess I saw you as something else. And I was able to understand that. You  had more than me, I was at your mercy now, and you could've rubbed it in my face like I rubbed it in yours and you didn't 'cause you're a good person. And I love you for that, Kane. I really do."

"Thanks…" I uttered. My voice was gone. We just stared at each other as the hangover wrestled my body. The last thing I remember seeing was his eyes as I fell back asleep.