Chapter 4: Back in the Habit
For Disclaimer and other notes, see chapter 1
NOTE: This chapter contains a LOT of bad language. Be forewarned!
"You're so far away,
So far away,
You left me…
You told me you would stay.
You never said goodbye,
And I'll keep asking why…"
Roxette, "So Far Away"
Charlie didn't remember much about the week that followed. Old habits were hard to break, but they were frighteningly easy to fall back into when occasion called for it. Roach had access to good, high-quality heroin thanks to a friend of his from the record business who was based in southeast Asia. Charlie's skin soaked it up like water to a sponge; as if he'd been made for the stuff. He hadn't realized how stretched and dry his skin felt during his years of sobriety. He felt limber now; loose. As if he could tackle the weight of the world head on, Atlas-style. He was man, hear him roar.
At least… That was how it went on the good days.
The bad days weren't really days. They were hours, but they felt like days. They were the hours between when his buzz began to fade and when he took the next hit. Everything would grow a little less colorful, a little less dreamy. Suddenly the world would be in focus, full of sharp angles and dark shadows and bright, accusatory sunlight. Those were the hours when he'd find himself staring at the wall, blind to everything else around him, wondering how the hell he'd fallen so far so fast, and when would Roach get back from the store or the beach or the bar to give him his next dose? This was how far he'd fallen, that Roach didn't even trust him to measure out his own hit.
Today was a bad day. It was Day 1pm to 2pm, which was ALWAYS a bad day, especially when the sun was out. It would cut through the moth eaten curtains and throw Charlie's life into stark relief against the walls, bold and black and hollow. He didn't like the afternoon. It made him think of days on the beach with Claire's head on his shoulder as she dozed in the sun and he watched Aidan build sandcastles at the high-tide line.
To escape the light, Charlie retreated to the room that had been dubbed "his" while he stayed here. The window was covered with blackout cloth, and the walls were spattered with black-light sensitive paint. An incandescent bulb dangled from a wire in the center of the room, casting garish, unfiltered light across the rumpled bedclothes. The room was small and cramped, just a bed and a dresser and a chair to throw his clothes on; but it was his. For the moment, at least. Until he could get himself together and face the world outside again.
Slamming the door and falling on the bed, Charlie threw an arm across his face and tried to focus on his breathing. Perhaps he'd fall asleep. Maybe he'd dream.
You're the rock god, baby brother.
Charlie grimaced. "Oh, shut the hell up," he muttered to the empty air. "You and all the rest of you shut up. I'm not bloody crazy and I'm not hearing damn voices. Got enough of that on the island, thank you very much."
We walk away.
He sighed and took his arm away so he could rub his eyes. "Yes we do," he said aloud. "We walk away. That's what the Pace brothers do, isn't it? We start something, then we walk away. Fuckin' hell…"
Pushing himself up, Charlie swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet. Resting his elbows on his knees, he ran his hands through his hair. "Let's count, shall we?" he continued. "I used to be a good clean Christian boy. That's out the window. Liam! You used to be the lead singer of a bloody rock band. Nope, not anymore. Now you want to be Mr. Cleaver."
Dragging his fingers down his face he stood up and walked to the dresser. On the wall above the bureau there hung a frameless mirror, chipped on all sides with a hairline crack running diagonally across the middle. Charlie stared at himself. Christ, he looked like hell. The tan that had been with him since his second week on the island had begun to fade, and he was starting to turn a sickly shade of pale. Dark, bruised circles of exhaustion painted the skin beneath his eyes, highlighting the unnatural sharpness of his cheekbones. He was getting too thin again. Natural, of course, when your diet for a straight week consisted almost entirely of alcohol, heroin, and Coca-Cola.
"But it doesn't end there, now does it," he said to his reflection, shaking his head. "Ohhh no, it just gets better from there. See, Liam, YOU walked away from ME when you left the band. Remember your baby brother? Yeah? Like hell you remember me. Like hell. Else you would have thought, Hey, maybe I ought to THINK about what my actions are gonna DO to my own goddamn flesh and blood. Huh? Maybe you should have THOUGHT!" He was getting angry now. He hadn't gotten angry -- really angry -- since his fight with Claire, and thinking about that just made him angrier.
"So I walked away from YOU, now didn't I!" he shouted at the mirror, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection. "I FUCKING walked away from you and your goddamn hand of mercy! I didn't NEED you, BIG BROTHER. I NEVER fucking needed you! I was the rock god, remember? You were just a sodding PARASITE!"
What the bloody hell use are you!
"SHUT UP!" Charlie roared. "Just shut up! I didn't need you on the island, and I don't need you NOW!"
Balling up his fist, he lashed out at his reflection, howling with rage. The weakened glass shattered under his hand, the wickedly sharp edges sinking into the flesh between his fingers and lacerating his knuckles. Charlie barely felt the pain as he watched the shards of mirror tumble down off the wall, taking his fractured reflection with them. He stared at the clean rectangle of wall where the mirror had hung. Compared to the rest of the wall, the patch was positively sparkling.
Letting gravity drag him down, he flopped back onto the bed, propping his head awkwardly against the wall. Raising his arm, he watched as blood flowed over the back of his hand and began to trickle down his forearm. He felt it pooling in the palm of his hand. It was oddly enthralling.
So, you guys hiked all the way up on that mountain for nothing, huh?
Claire's voice came unbidden to his head, like a flashlight in the dark. "Yeah, I guess we did," he mumbled, flexing his fingers, watching the blood glint in the harsh glare of the lightbulb. "All for one, and all for nothing." He sighed and dropped his arm, feeling it fall across his chest. Readjusting his head, he stared blearily at the water-stained ceiling.
"I miss you," he whispered.
The voice stayed stubbornly silent. All Charlie could hear was the incessant pounding of blood in his ears and the grating rasp of air in his lungs.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
Then, kicking up violently with a booted foot, he felt his toe make contact with the light bulb, shattering it like spun sugar. Wafer thin shards of glass tinkled down around him, some landing on his body, one right beside his closed left eye. The room went utterly black, save for the dim light that filtered around his door.
"I hate you," he muttered to the room in general. When no voices answered, he gave up and slept.
"Oh my God, look who it is!"
Claire laughed, watching with sparkling eyes as Shannon scooped Aidan up in a bear hug. "You're getting so big!" the other young woman said, looking into the little boy's excited blue eyes and grinning. "I think you're going to be taller than me soon!"
"Remember Aunty Shannon, Aidan?" Claire said, rubbing her son's back. "Say hello, sweetie."
Aidan laughed and wrapped his arms around Shannon's neck, kissing her cheek and hugging her tightly. Shannon laughed, closing her eyes and hugging him in return. "Ohhhhh, I missed you," she said, rocking the little boy side to side. Then, opening her eyes again, she smiled at Claire. "Come on in," she said, gesturing with her head for Claire to enter her apartment. "I'll make coffee."
Claire smiled and followed the other young woman through the door, holding Fluffy Bill tight against her stomach. The apartment was enormous, and absolutely sparkling. The color palette for the furniture consisted of every shade of white and cream imaginable, with the occasional flash of a pale pink throw pillow or a lemon yellow coffee mug. Everything else was sleek, black and ultramodern The floor plan was airy and open, with the furniture separated into little sitting areas around an enormous plasma screen TV. A fur rug -- polar bear, Claire noted with amusement -- took up most of the floor in front of the largest overstuffed cream sofa. A pair of sliding doors in the far wall led out onto a tenth floor balcony overlooking downtown Sydney, with a clear view of the prominent opera house nestled in the harbor.
"Espresso? Cappucino?" Shannon asked from the kitchen, where she had a cupboard open and Aidan propped on her hip.
"Whatever you're having would be great, Shannon, thanks," Claire said, letting her eyes drift over the lush, high end furniture. "This place is absolutely beautiful," she mused aloud.
"Yeah, mom is using it as a way to allay her guilt," the other woman said from the kitchen. "I'm not going to argue with her if she wants to pay the bills. No no, Aidan, don't touch that."
"You can send him out here, Shan. I'll take him back."
"I don't want to let him go! I haven't seen you guys in over two months! Hang on, almost have it… There." She emerged from the kitchen, still carrying Aidan, grinning. "It'll just take a couple of minutes to brew. I hope you don't mind plain hazelnut. I'm feeling organic."
Claire laughed. "Not at all." Holding out her arms, she took Aidan from Shannon's hold, tucking Fluffy Bill into his arms. "How's Boone?"
"Bonehead's fine," the other woman responded, sitting on the biggest sofa and gesturing for Claire to join her. "He's in L.A., working out the kinks in that TV deal with the studio."
"So that's going through?" Claire asked, sitting down and adjusting Aidan in her lap. The little boy was squirming, his head swiveling in every direction, trying to take in the new environment.
"Yep. You'll probably get a letter about it soon, verifying your permission. I still can't believe a studio wants to make a TV show about us." She snorted. "A movie, that'd make sense. But a TV show? Everyone knows how it ends -- it was all over the news for weeks. It'll never work."
"Oh, I dunno. I think it's got possibilities."
Shannon chuckled. "Yeah, well, it's got plenty of romance, right?"
Claire managed a strained smile. "Yeah," she agreed, gently smoothing a flyaway lock of Aidan's sleek blonde hair.
"Uh-oh." Shannon sat forward. "You went, like, six shades paler when I said that. What's wrong in dreamland?"
Claire managed another smile, trying to seem less forced this time. "Nothing, Shannon, really."
The other woman rolled her eyes. "Claire, would you PLEASE stop trying to be all strong and suffering? That went out with leopard-print spandex. Where's Charlie?"
Claire sighed and raised her eyes. "I don't know," she said quietly, resting her chin on Aidan's head as the little boy toyed with one of Shannon's pillows. "I haven't seen him in almost a week."
"WHAT?" She crossed her arms over her stomach. "What did he do?"
"What makes you think he did anything?"
"He's a guy. It's always the guy's fault. You're a woman, don't you know that?"
Claire smiled for real this time, though it was small. "No, it wasn't his fault," she disagreed quietly. "I was too confrontational. We both… said some harsh things. He…" She swallowed, fighting down the lump of fresh emotion that had risen into her throat. Dammit, she'd gotten past this. "He took his guitar and… and he left. And that was the last I saw of him."
Shannon laid a hand on her arm. "Hey, it's going to be all right, okay?" she comforted gently. "Why were you arguing?"
Claire barked out a laugh, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand and staring at the ceiling to hold back the tears. "I don't know!" she said. "Isn't that silly? I don't even remember anymore. He didn't like me coming down here to meet Thomas, that was what started it. But that wasn't what the argument was about." She pulled her fingers through her hair. It still amazed her how silky it had become with simple shampoo. "I don't even know why I got so angry. He had a legitimate complaint, you know? I just… didn't like the idea of him telling me what to do." She kissed the back of Aidan's head, and giggled a little through her tears when he reached behind him to bat her face away playfully.
"That doesn't sound too unreasonable."
"He would disagree with you."
"You're allowed to make your own decisions, Claire. It's good to take what he's saying into account, and if it changes your mind, fine. But it's YOUR decision." Shannon rubbed her arm again. "I'm sure Charlie was just worried about what was best for you and Aidan. You know he's always been protective. I bet it's killing him right now, being away from you."
Fresh tears sprung to Claire's eyes, and she bit her lip as they overflowed onto her cheeks. She tried to speak but couldn't as her throat closed up. She looked at Shannon helplessly.
Shannon's eyes widened. "Aidan, sweetie, why don't you play on the floor for a bit," she said, not taking her eyes from Claire's face.
"Wanna Shanana!"
Shannon smiled, reaching for the little boy and lifting him off Claire's lap. "Shanana banana has to talk to your mommy, kiddo. You just play with your teddy, okay? Mwah!" She kissed him on the cheek and set him on the floor, where he proceeded to start petting the bear skin rug, talking to it in his secret toddler language.
Claire watched the scene through blurred eyes. Her head was aching and her mouth felt sticky and she just wanted to collapse and scream her heart out like a dying woman on the rack. When Shannon's arms wrapped around her, she clung to the other woman like a life raft, crying as quietly as she could against her friend's shoulder. "Shhh," Shannon soothed, rubbing her back. "Shhhh, honey. It'll be okay. Shhh…"
"I'm so scared…!" Claire gasped, sucking in air and sobbing it out again. "He was so broken, Shannon. You didn't see him. It was like he… he'd split in two! Oh God…" She dug her fingers into Shannon's back, pressing her face into the other woman's shoulder. "What if he does something stupid? What if he goes and… and gets drunk, and steps out into traffic? What if he does something… something WORSE? Charlie…!"
Shannon didn't say anything, and Claire was thankful for that. Somehow, between sobs and gasping breaths she managed to spill all the details of the argument with Charlie. She told Shannon everything -- about the letters, about Charlie's eyes, about what they'd said, about how much it had hurt to watch his back disappear down the front walkway, just like Thomas all over again. Just exactly like Thomas all over again.
In the end, when she had no tears left in her, Claire leaned on her friend and watched Aidan play quietly on the floor with Fluffy Bill. He'd always been a quiet child -- not introverted, just quiet. Perhaps it came from living on an island where too much noise could make you some wild animal's next meal. Or maybe he'd just never felt the need to say much or make a fuss. He had an extended family that cared for him like their very own, and parents who loved him madly. Or, he'd HAD parents. He was running one short on those now.
"He's gotten quieter since Charlie left," she murmured, knowing Shannon would know she meant Aidan. "He still talks, but not as much. And he barely ever cries."
"Did you take him to a doctor?"
"He's fine."
"Are you sure?" Claire nodded against her friend's shoulder. "How do you know?"
Claire sighed and sat up. "Because I'm his mother," she said softly. "I just know." Reaching out, she trailed her fingers over Aidan's cheek. He looked up at her with huge blue eyes that looked so much like Charlie's, it would have made her cry again if she'd had any tears left. "You miss daddy, don't you, sweetheart?"
Aidan grabbed her hand, tugging. "Mama," he said, pulling on her arm insistently. "Mama!"
She laughed softly. "You want mummy to come down there and play with you, sweetie, is that it?"
She heard Shannon snort behind her. "Well, fine. Ignore me. Pfft! Shanana Banana's going to go slave over the coffee while you two have fun."
Claire laughed, grinning over her shoulder at her friend as she let Aidan pull her down onto the rug. "Hurry back! Aidan misses his aunty already. Don't you, Aidan?" Aidan kissed her on the cheek, tumbling forward into her lap.
Shannon laughed. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, standing up. "But I expect a kiss, too, when I get back. Do you hear me, kiddo?" Aidan stuffed Fluffy Bill's paw into his mouth and waved at his adoptive aunt. Shannon waved back, grinning, before turning away to go back to the kitchen.
Claire cuddled Aidan close under her chin. "Yeah, you just wanted to cheer mummy up, isn't that right, sweetheart?" she murmured near his ear once they were alone, rocking him gently from side to side. "My smart little boy. You always make mummy happy." She hugged him tightly. "I love you so much." Rubbing his back, she sighed and closed her eyes. "I love you…"
This was the part where Charlie was supposed to pounce on them from behind and start tickling them both mercilessly. But he didn't.
"Charlie? C-Man, you okay? Come on man, open your eyes, huh? Come on…"
Someone was hitting him. Not hard, but insistently across the face. It was making his head pound. "Stop that…" he slurred, waving his hand in front of his face to shoo the other person away. He winced as pain washed down his arm. "'Mawake…"
"Thank Christ." It was Roach. "I thought you'd gone and died in my guest room. That would have been fun to explain." Hands were pulling at his arms now, trying to get him to move. "Come on, C-man, sit up. You're twisted like a pretzel. Lemme take a look at that hand."
Opening his eyes a fraction of an inch, Charlie winced. Someone had taken the blackout cloth off his window, and orange afternoon sunlight was streaming into the room across his bed. Roach was hovering in front of him, pulling and yanking him into a sitting position. Moaning, Charlie complied, letting the other man maneuver him into a 90 degree angle against the wall. "Time is it?" he asked hoarsely. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt heavy.
"Almost five. Shit, man, you did a number on this hand. What'd the mirror do, call you a dogfucker or something?" Craning his head around, Roach shouted over his shoulder, "Oy, Alia! Get me the first aid kit out of the bathroom! And a coupla bottles of water out the fridge!" Turning back to him, Roach shook his head, eyes serious. "You were on one helluva bad trip, mate. Alia and I come back to the house and it's dead silent and I just KNEW something hinky'd gone down in here. You're damn lucky that door doesn't have a lock, else I might have just thought you were shacked up in here with some bird you got over the phone." He winced as he prodded at Charlie's hand. "Doesn't look like there's any glass in there still. Lucky for you. That means this is just gonna hurt like hell, not hurt like hell AND tear you up even worse."
"This what you wanted, Roach?" A pretty young woman with short brunette hair appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a pair of flip-flops, a denim mini-skirt, and a pink baby-doll t-shirt that read How did I get so cute? She held a small First Aid kit in one hand, a pair of water bottles in the other. "Hey, is he gonna be okay?" she asked, wide-eyed as she stared at Charlie.
"Yeah, he's going to be fine, babe, just gimme what you've got there." Roach reached behind him and Alia hurried into the room to hand him what she was carrying. "Can you get my coat too, baby?" he asked over his shoulder. "I forgot to ask before." Alia nodded and scurried back out the door.
"She's cute," Charlie said, watching as Roach poured some of the water onto some gauze and began swabbing blood off his forearm.
"But she'd be better as a blonde, yeah?" Roach snorted. "I've seen the pictures in your wallet, man. You're all kinds of screwed up, you know that? Here." He pressed the other water bottle into Charlie's good hand. "Drink. You sound like a toad with laryngitis."
Charlie twisted the cap off the bottle with his teeth and took a gulp of water. It was sweet on his dry tongue. On the island, water had been the only available drink, except for the occasional cup of coconut milk. When they got back to the mainland, he'd ended up bouncing off the walls for a week because he couldn't stop guzzling soda. "Sorry 'bout the mirror, Roach," he said, when he'd polished off half the bottle. "I got a little carried away."
"Yeah, I noticed." He abandoned the wet gauze and picked up a fresh piece, soaking it in peroxide. "This is gonna hurt, C-man. Bite on something and thank God it's not iodine."
Charlie gritted his teeth as Roach brought the gauze down to his hand. The sting was incredible -- his hand felt like it was on fire. He felt cold water wash over his other hand as he squeezed the bottle into submission. "Oh… shit, that hurts…!" he gasped, watching the peroxide foam on his abused hand.
"Yeah, I bet it does," Roach muttered, swabbing away. "But it's this or gangrene, take your pick."
Charlie closed his eyes, his body tensing and flexing with the pain as it seared up his arm. When it suddenly stopped, his eyes snapped open and Roach swam into watery focus. "I'm gonna bandage you up, Charlie," the other man said, taking a bandage from the first aid kit. "Then you're going to leave."
Charlie blinked, his vision clearing a little. "Hey, what?"
Roach looked up from where he was winding the bandage around Charlie's hand. "You don't belong here, Charlie," he said seriously. "Like I said, I've seen the pictures in your wallet. What the fuck are you doing here, mate? You've got a girl like that, and a kid like that, and you're HERE?" He shook his head, looking back to his work. "Your priorities boggle the mind."
"Don't lecture me, Roach, all right?" Charlie snapped, straightening up against the wall. "You're one to talk."
"Yeah, I am, actually," Roach argued right back. "I've lived here a helluva lot longer than you have, and I don't just mean the damn house. I know what this life is like, all right? And I'm cool with it. I've got my niche and I live in it. But you…" He looked up again, wide gray eyes puzzled. "You've got this whole other great thing out there, and you've decided you're just going to curl up like some bug in its damn cocoon and let the world step on you. Forget that, man. I'm not in the habit of watching guys self-destruct in my guest room." He snipped off the bandage, tying it off neatly. "There, all done. Where the hell is Alia? ALIA!"
"You've got lots of jackets, Roach! Which one do you want!"
"For God's sake, Alia, the one I was JUST WEARING!"
"Oh! Right! Hang on!"
Roach sighed and chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Women, huh?" he said, giving Charlie a half smile. "Can't live with 'em, can't have mind-blowing sex without 'em. Well, you can, o' course, it's just not the same."
Charlie didn't bother to smile.
A few seconds later, Alia came scampering back into the bedroom, carrying a gray pullover hoodie. "Here you go, Roach," she said, handing it to Roach, then draping herself over his shoulders as he fished around in the pocket for something. "Heya, Charlie. How're you feeling?"
He gave her a quick nod. "Pretty as a picture in a palace parlor," he said, out of habit more than anything.
"That's cute," Alia said, rubbing Roach's chest. "Isn't it, Roach?"
"Adorable. Okay, here we go." The other man pulled a familiar, powder-filled plastic baggy out of the pocket and held it up between them. "There's a three day supply in here," he said firmly, shaking the baggy. "Take it. Get yourself back to Brisbane, all right? Fall onto that pretty thing's neck and tell her all your problems, then get yourself some rehab. You got me?" Charlie reached for the baggy, but Roach pulled it away. "Do. You. Get me?" he reiterated.
"Yes, I bloody get you," Charlie snapped, glaring at him. "Can I have the sodding stash?"
Roach pressed it into his hand, and for a split second, it was three years ago in Sweden, carousing in the streets of Stockholm. "Three days, Charlie," the other man said, breaking into the memory. "I don't want to hear on the news that you went and took it all in one go and died on the bus from an overdose."
Charlie glowered at him. "I think I know how to take it, Roach," he retorted, sliding forward until he could push onto his feet. For a second the room swam around him, and he wondered just how much blood he'd lost. Quickly recovering, he stared down at the former drummer. "Anything else, mummy?"
"Yeah." Roach rubbed Alia's arm and looked up at him. "I'm doing this because I'm your friend, C-man. So believe me when I say I don't ever want to see you again. I won't take it personal, I swear." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Now get out of here. And don't walk out the door. Run."
"Bye, Charlie," Alia said sadly, wiggling her fingers at him in a wave.
"Bye, Alia," he muttered. "Roach."
The other man didn't even look at him.
Charlie snorted and stuffed the baggie in his pocket. "Whatever," he growled, grabbed his guitar case, and stormed out the bedroom door.
The first bus out of town was going to Brisbane. He bought a ticket for the second.
Noon the next day saw him standing outside an unfamiliar apartment door. He debated knocking; perhaps he should just turn around and go to the nearest bar and get drunk. Drunk would be good. So what if people looked at him funny this early in the day -- he needed a buzz, and he was already a day lower on his stash.
Right. The bar it was.
Or would have been, if the door hadn't chosen that very moment to open, revealing a familiar figure in an unfamiliar bathrobe.
"Buddy, you're standing on my pape-" the figure began, then stopped, eyes widening. "Charlie?"
Charlie managed a smile. "Yeah."
"DUDE!"
To be continued…