Alfendi was no stranger to drug busts.
He had both seen it in action for other homes during a lead in a case and for himself; the latter was hardly something he'd ever want to go through again. His whole flat had been upturned, quite literally, and they never found anything because they didn't quite see nor do they think outside the box, much to Alfendi's previous amusement.
The first drug bust occurred on the suspicion that he had been using, under the thinly veiled concept that Keelan Makepeace, his last major case before he started using, was coming after him with an explosive in his home via a letter, they had to check his flat. The rest of the drug busts became excuses to prove, somehow, that he was using. They never really worked; Alfendi knew when to move the drugs and had different places to put them in, being much more clever than the Yard in that capacity.
He put the key into the hole, unlocking it after what felt like an eternity past and stepped into it with a distinct waft of lemon coming straight to his nostrils. Clearly, someone had been in, just by the state of the cleanliness and lack of dust on the coffee table. He grimaced; he never quite liked having people over in his modest flat that was bordering on a bedsit. Hanging his coat, Alfendi sighed, trying to figure out who had been in his home, most likely to his father's discretion. He almost continued into the flat when he saw a small little note on the kitchen table. Striding over, he picked it up and realized that it was Lucy's friendly scrawl, something he had memorized within his head long ago. She must have cleaned prior to her birthday, considering she had no knowledge of his return until that moment in the hallway.
Prof -
Your father asked me to tidy up the place. I promise I didn't go into any of your stuff, but I dusted around and just made sure your fridge was stocked and all. Blimey, you shoulda seen your home before I cleaned it. I was sneezing everywhere! You won't have that problem anymore though. :)
I'm glad you're back, do text or call me when you get home, I wanna hear your rating of my cleaning. I think you'll have a phone by now? I'm not sure. Anyway, I left my mobile number down there if you do get one if I don't see you at the Yard on your first day back.
Yours,
Lucy Baker
Alfendi smiled, fishing out his mobile that was one of the few things the center kept for him. Thumbing her number into his contacts, he sent a quick text.
Sent
Baker, it's the Prof.
Almost immediately, he gained a response. Several responses in one go, actually.
Received
hi prof! glad to hear from you :)
did you get home safely?
wait of course you did, you're
texting me right now haha.
I hope I didn't mess up your flat
that much!
Even within texting, she had that bubby persona that made Alfendi smirk.
Sent
Of course not. Your cleaning skill
is quite impeccable. You didn't
have to, even if my father did say so.
Received
you'd probably need it anyway,
it'd been awhile since you'd been
in your flat, aye? that fridge of yours
was absolutely bare!
Sent
Quite right. What are you doing now,
then Lucy?
Received
crap telly and some takeout, really
that's kind of my normal routine,
birthday or not. what are you gonna
do then, Prof?
Sent
I'm not so sure. I feel foreign in my
own home, much to my chagrin. I
may just spend my time remembering
my place in the flat.
Received
well if you need company on the phone
or on text, you know who to talk to :)
Alfendi smiled at that—maybe he'd take up on her offer later.
Sent
Yes, yes of course. I will leave you to your
'crap telly' and takeout. I might get some
myself.
Received
aye, okay. I'll talk to you later then. good
night, Prof, if I don't end up hearing from
you!
Sent
Good night, Lucy.
Alfendi put the phone down, glancing up at the mirror that was across from him. Somehow during his texting, he had made it to the hallway, where he had a garish mirror staring back at him. He was always a lanky man, never quite necessarily reaching the proper threshold between body fat and muscle, but he looked healthier than he ever had in years after being forced in rehab. He touched his chin stubble, examining his face clearly. He remembered what he looked like back on the drug—panicky, eyes dilated and absolutely wrecked at times, but that Placid personality always came in full force whenever he did. The personality they liked better.
He grimaced, his reflection copying him. The supposed 'intervention' that had came in the hallway of the Yard wasn't something he wanted Lucy to see, but they had to ruin everything. He could tell that they did, just by the way Lucy seemed much more reserved when they spent their day at the Mystery Room. She labeled it to her feeling exhausted at turning twenty-three, but she was a horrid liar and her feelings were all their fault. Those three simpletons were only concerned about themselves; hoping that he'd fall from grace yet again to get out of their guilty hair and get Lucy supposedly 'out of a bad situation.' He hardly wanted to harbour anything from her, knowing fully well that she wouldn't appreciate it and could very well leave him.
He shudders at the thought.
He made his own separate vow, the day he chose to get sober: Lucy would come first.
It sounded odd, truthfully, in a logical sense. Why was he placing such a high standard for Lucy, someone he had only met for such a short period of time? She didn't know the entirety of his secrets for the most part; the cocaine use, yes, but everything from his childhood to now had always been a topic they never breached to a point. The Detective Constable had gotten her initial deduction towards the reasoning of his cocaine usage correct, but one day, he knew, he'd have to give it to her in the full scale when he was ready. She could very well leave and he wouldn't blame her.
Alfendi sighed to himself, stepping away from the mirror and entered his bedroom, turning on the lights. Like the rest of his flat, it smelled faintly of lemons and was cleaned well. Nothing seemed necessarily out of place and he was too tired to check further than an initial inspection. He shed his jacket, throwing it haphazardly on a nearby wooden chair and almost laid down on the soft bed when he saw it.
The item had been fairly ignored during a previous drug bust, something that Alfendi still found amusing to this day. He crouched down, pulling out a simple slipper from under the bedside drawer that to anyone, just seemed like an out of place item that had been forgotten. Lucy didn't seem to see it.
His veins sung the moment he reached into the slipper and pulled out his prize with trembling fingers. Since when did his fingers start to tremble?
It didn't scream to him in the same way like it did in the rehab center; perhaps because he knew for a fact this was a contingency plan that had always been present for years prior (or rather because there wasn't some unknown blonde woman there playing games with him and he wasn't tied up to his bed). The white powder and bag glimmered in the lamp light, like a siren's call that he was privy to. In a familiar setting such as this, it felt more like a comfort rather than a fear to be holding the demon that had been bothering him for years. The grams in his hand offered many things all at once—clarity, understanding, and being able to have some sort of definition of 'normal'.
He hated it.
That ridiculous notion of wanting to fit into a box, using a drug to achieve such nirvana and mannerisms that should have been easy to claim.
He could go in circles, dancing around it like he had been for four years, opting to destroy what he had.
Destroying himself because it was easier than allowing those that cared for him in—though, he supposes he could argue that there was nobody like that back then till Lucy.
If you had asked him, between the time he started and the first day of rehab, he'd say that shooting up was akin to finally feeling alive.
He wasn't so sure anymore what being alive was anymore. Not in a depressive manner, but that definition he had placed on that idea before was waning. Before the drugs, it was murder cases. After the drugs, it was murder cases and cocaine. During rehab, there wasn't really much except the concept of getting his next fix, but even the doctors were able to tell he wasn't sincere in his desire to get sober and kept him in. After rehab, he wasn't so sure anymore. Was it Lucy? Was it the euphoria of being able to move past it in some way? What would make him feel alive now, now that he was out?
Alfendi huffed a breath out, nostrils flaring as he replaced the substance back into the slipper and put it back where it belonged. His veins bemoaned the loss of the thing he wanted, but he shook it away, stepping back and falling into his bed as it groaned in protest. The ceiling looked back down at him, almost in a silent question of what he was going to do in the future. He wasn't in the four suffocating walls of his room at the rehab center. He was home, all by himself. Nobody would technically know.
No.
He couldn't. Not with Lucy waiting. Not with everything he went through to get here again.
One day, he would flush it down or get rid of it in some other way someday with Lucy standing beside him in silent encouragement, hand intertwined with his.
It wasn't going to happen today.
Too soon.
But he would. It would all be thanks to her, someday.
He pulled out his phone and thumbed a quick text.
Sent
Thank you, Lucy.
Received
for what, Prof?
Sent
Everything.
