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There's nothing left in the room, I keep telling myself. Nothing, nada, no hablo espanol, jodà arriba.
Todo.
It's all my fucking fault. I hate me. I hate me so much. Why can't I leave them alone?
Zack has never been very eloquent, and he said some mean shit to me. But it all had meaning, value, worth. His words mean more to the world than I do.
He's so pretty. So so pretty. I'd hold him all night long, gently, and we'd cry together and talk about everything because I don't know him at all. And we'd go on cruises together to exotic locations and see all the pretty eye-candy that the world has to offer, because it always comes back to sex, and scream PDA every ten minutes because we're still kids.
There has to be nothing up there, I tell myself again, I'm completely cleaned out. The rest of the X surrendered itself to me hours ago. But I'm falling from my second high now. The world is scary once again. And it is so so real.
I watch Zack leave me. What does he know? He can't know more than me. That's like... he's like... inerrant. So I run from Zack, and his truth, back to the room where Dewey tried to sober me up. There has to be something left, somewhere in this cruel world.
My stuff is thrown all over the room in my chaotic search. Sequent-packets, platform boots, skirts from when I shared my suitcase with Michelle (that lasted all of like two minutes). There are tears running down my cheeks. If feels like there are a thousand-million needles stabbing into my head. It honestly hurts so bad right now, I just want something to dull the pain. Or scream until my throat closes up.
But I can't find anything, because Dewey cares so fucking much about me. He cares enough to leave a (recovering) drug addict alone, with the doors unlocked. No, no. That's unfair and it doesn't make sense. Dewey never made sense.
I remember when I first noticed him. Not just saw him, but really looked and realized what the fuck he was doing to our lives. He let Summer dry-hump the grade book until she realized her precious A's wouldn't get her through the long winters on Frigidbitchia. He made Tomika grow some balls. He got Zack's dad to back the hell off (his ass).
And he... got me out of the closet, albeit kicking and screaming. No, really. I was ready to tongue kiss Eleni to Armageddon and back. But then he shoved me in the general direction of Boy's Town one Saturday afternoon before a Chicago-show. Fucking queer boy owes it all to this chump. And what does queer-boy do to pay him back?
Right now, I'm turning my back on him, and I'm going through his stuff. Dewey's a rocker, so he's a roller. He's got to have some pot, right?
Why didn't I think of this before, I'm so brilliant, so so so incredibly smart, and charming, and good looking. I check my reflection out in a mirror, and realize that I'm drooling a little. So I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, no big deal, and continue to pick through Dewey's brown corduroy handbag.
I hear something rattle, and briefly think it's the door handle. Like Hamlet's ghost has come to get me. So I spin around, and hug a wall, quite literally. My heart races, the tips of my fingers hurt from chewing down my nails too much. But there's nobody there. Literally, nobody. The door didn't even move.
So that's when I look down, and see the bottle in my hand, with a piece of paper attached. I read the loopy handwriting that can only belong to a person of medicine.
Some methylpheidate.
Related to cocaine, except not. Because it's legal when a doctor prescribes it, like this one did, for Freddie. Not legal, for me, when I take it in the middle of the night in the middle of a thunderstorm in the middle of a total meltdown.
I pull my shirt up over my head like I'm a turtle. And I lay down on the bed, with my feet hanging off the side. The power flickers on and off occasionally.
Really. What could Zack know that I don't to make him act like that? He's only a month older than me, and he's too caught up in the music, and he's fucking SOME RANDOM over in the next room.
Underclassmen don't OD. It's a rule. I read it somewhere. But I'm legal now. I'm supposed to fill out my draft card and be so so responsible. I pick up the phone, and try to read the numbers through my teary eyes. 9-1-1. Upperclassmen OD all the fucking time. They just remember to call for help. But I can't.
And I shiver on the bed for all of about an eternity. And think. About...
Thoughts shift back to Zack. Making love in the next room. He's caught up in some precocious moment that I probably could never understand because I don't have class. There, I said it. Well, neither does he, because he's a cheating, lying asshole, but goddammit. He's in love with something so so real right now, even if it is himself. It could be anyone that's sucking him off right now, but he's probably so content right now that it has to be SOME RANDOM in a short skirt.
God forbid he admits his real feelings to Katie.
God forbid I admit...
...that I fucked up.
So, so badly.
Dewey finds me just before I pass out. Passionately. With foam at the mouth and everything.
He bangs on my chest with his fist, while I stare up at the ceiling with the blankest, deadest eyes I can muster.
I'm thinking, maybe I've figured this thing out. How to cheat the fucking system. I want to have brain damage, and loose my five-minute boyfriend, and kill my dealer. I want to be so numb from drugs I don't even feel the random hands feeding cords down my trachea. Stomach pumps are really not as glamorous as they seem.
As order is being restored to my body, I close my eyes and try to imagine myself as a kid again. Dad (this is before the car crash he and mom "succumbed" to) pushing around a tike on a bike. My ethics are redefined. Black is bad and white is good. I just wanted to feel incredible for one more night. But I am so small, that when the doctors pull Dewey away from my bed to fill out some forms... I feel so fucking fallible.
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umm... both bois are at the hospital. does that mean something? umm... of course. and in case you didn't catch it, billy's parents died in a car crash a while back. so he is HP-ing.