On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2

Chapter 6

Let me stay with you. Let me not feel with you. I wanna fly with you.

Todd awakened on the floor of the bathroom, wrapped in a blanket and immediately spying Brandy across from him. She was curled up in a sheet just outside the doorway, a pillow in her arms, and looked so small from where he lay. Total stranger and yet...

He shivered at the morning's cold and winced when he tried to move his left arm. Looking down, he saw a nasty bruise developing where he had punctured his vein. Saw tiny red spots at the crook of each arm. His whole body felt sore and, logically, he understood the depth of trauma he was putting himself through. It was exactly like the whore said: his body hated the drugs, but his mind loved it. Needed it. Beat out all the shit he was getting at the hospital. Everything disappeared when he shot up.

Just once, I want a little peace. Then I'll go right back to you, Tim, Doctor Graham, the Great Healer.

But it didn't turn out that way, did it? One shot and he was hooked because the high didn't last. It was too good, too relieving, despite the resulting physical misery. He told himself now that he would use just for the week. Five days, tops. Then he'd go back.

Amazing silence...

With the brisk morning, with thoughts of a whole day in a drug-induced haze, came a certain reality: Todd could not stay in the China Moon without basic essentials such as clothes and money and a toothbrush from the Penthouse. He wiggled his toes. Shoes. At least this is what he reasoned because in all honesty, he didn't care about those things. He just knew that's the way it had to be based on some habitual low level common sense because again, he really couldn't have cared less as long as he had heroin, his soulful savior.

Talk to me, Angel. Tell me what's in your heart.

"Shut up...I don't have a heart," Todd said softly to no one. He cradled his injured arm for a second and then sat up, pulling his hair back. He stood up shakily, hanging onto the blanket and stared into the mirror. Looked at the mess that called itself Todd. He was the son of Victor Lord, rapist, adopted son of Peter Manning, rapist. He himself was a rapist, brand-new heroin user, and full-time psychotic depressive case. He looked like hell. He glanced over at the woman who called herself Brandy. A "pro" she said since she was thirteen years old. Never had a pimp. Christ. Shuddered at the feel of her hands on him. Didn't ask for it, didn't want it, but there she went. He held himself, wounded parts, the blanket falling away. Swayed.

Not nine, not eight, not seven...

When he once more took in the picture in the mirror, the desire to take another hit overwhelmed him. God, he wanted to slip away.

I don't want to feel this pain.

He grabbed the counter top to hold himself up, shocked to see Starr in his own face, her sweetness in his own eyes. Saw Starr as a victim. No...not her. Never her. Looking again, he saw that little boy who once had dreams and did play and did laugh. And did love. Tears burned and he closed his eyes, agony sneaking out from behind the chemical sheer draping him still. Reaching his hand up to the mirror to block out what he saw, he gripped the edge of the counter and silently whimpered, "God...please help me. Please..."

We're here for you. Just open your heart and let us in, Angel.

"I told you...I don't have a heart," he cried, "Just make this all go away..."

Accept and forgive. By feeling the pain, you can then let it go.

He shook his head, near sobbing, "I can't make it go away...which means that this is it... this kind of peace... God... I don't know any other way. I can't... feel... good... any other way."

But this isn't the RIGHT way, Little One. Go home to your healer, go home. You will find that peace.

"I can't go...home... I don't have a home anymore. I've lost... everything."

He lifted reddened eyes to his reflection and when he did, Brandy was right next to him. "Why are you crying?" she asked in a gentle voice, not touching him, like he had told her.

Todd turned in her direction and tearfully tried to explain but the words got caught in his throat, "I... uh... it's nothing. I-I'm ... just having a h-hard t-time..." He couldn't continue, and he sniffled and cried, putting both hands on the counter, holding on.

Brandy stood next to him in her sheet, wearing a sympathetic but perplexed expression. "I never known anyone like you," she said softly. She reached for him at that, and with just her fingertips, she caught a teardrop and put it on her lips. Whispered, "You so so sad. Cryin' an ocean."

He shook his head, eyes closed.

She dropped her sheet and stepped closer to him. "Can I hold you?" She got next to him… "Can I do that?" When he didn't object, she eased her body against his side, touching his chest with butterfly caresses, hardly touching at all, moving down to his belly and the hair beneath his navel. She breathed, "I can love you. I can make you feel loved. You can do whatever it is you want to me… to feel love."

Todd grunted softly, hearing a ghost of a memory in his head. No context, no images, no placement in his history. Just a voice. His own. You can do whatever it is you want to me. Deeply familiar… a sensation of chilled air… a sensation of resignation. Of last hopes. He shuddered. The voice quieted...his own voice disappeared. He remembered the first time he had sex with Blair, his desperation to be loved. Heard himself offer his body to his doctor when he thought Tim had abandoned him in that hospital. The underlying message clear.

Show me that I matter, that I'm something. Show me with your body.

Todd whimpered and rocked himself, shaking his head, "No… you don't have to do that. I can't… that only hurts more… I'm different… I told you..."

She nodded, hard exaggerated nods. Hair hanging down around her face. She seemed to be hiding behind that blackness. She pulled the sheet back up to cover herself, hunching into it. Said softly, "Maybe you wanna a bath? I can help you with that… sometimes that feels good… I know when one of my customers is too much or somethin' … a bath helps." She peeked out from behind her hair, dark eyes working to catch his gaze. He flashed to her, then shut his eyes again.

"I'm sorry," he said, sniffling. "It's not you…"

"It's kinda hard to believe that," she answered, head back up, smiling at him. "Mo' said you kinda rich or somethin'. I think maybe you need someone...more fancy than me? You know...with the furs and stuff… with the fourteen-carrot gold earrings... I think, if I were one of those kinda ladies, maybe you let me help you."

"Fourteen...," he whispered.

"Yeah… don't know why gold gotta be fourteen carrots anyway. Why not thirteen carrots or five? I don't even like carrots. I like them in salads… but yeah..."

He'd turned to her and didn't know whether to laugh or cry more. "No… no… it's not like that."

She licked her lips. Bit her lip. Sighed. "You maybe mad at me for touchin' you? I thought about that… the way you was all curled up, kinda protecting your dick and stuff... a bath helps that kinda thing. Washing away things… when people touch you and you don't really want it… I understan' … I- I- I didn't mean nothin' by it. I really thought you wanted that… 'cause Mo' told me-"

Todd started to cry again at her words, making choked sounds. He sunk to the floor and pulled up his knees, dragging the blanket around him. To hide himself. His face in his hands.

"What'd I say, baby?" Brandy got next to him on her knees, hugging the sheet to her, looking at him closely.

He shook his head and then whispered, "I'm worse than a whore...'cause the truth is...I didn't get anything for being used. I ended up paying… with everything. I'm nothing now, nothing's left."

She looked at him… swallowed hard and petted his hair. He stayed behind his hands while she talked, her petting absent, thoughtless. He seemed to settle and she smiled to herself.

"You talkin' in riddles to me," she said. Paused. Studying him. "I think I seen you before. Yeah, I think I seen you in a newspaper. You real fine with your little beard and all neat and stuff. Who would use you?" She pulled herself tight into her sheet. Said, "I ain't never met anyone like you. No one ever cried to me before."

Todd chuckled sadly, sniffling again. Hazel eyes on her. "Lucky you."

She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling that she got him to laugh. "You real pretty when you smile," she said.

He lingered on her damaged face. "You shouldn't be this nice to me. I ain't a nice guy."

"Sure you are – you just never show it. You one of those men who make mean faces and piss on everyone around you, ain't ya? You yell a lot, I bet...throw things...I know your type."

He held her stare a few seconds, "Worse than that."

She stared back at him, rubbing her lips together, shaking her head, "Mmm...I don't know...you too sad to hurt anyone."

"Brandy...I've..."

She grinned and turned away, her voice soft again, "I like how you know my name."

He knitted his brows, a little perplexed at her. "What else would I call you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know… people call me lots of names, whatever they want to. That ain't nothin'. Why you think you so bad?"

He couldn't stop looking at her. This little blackbird of a woman. More a girl. And yet not. There was nothing girl-like about her... attack... on him. He swallowed shit down his throat. Innocence, innocence wrapped up inside the muck. What did he do that was so bad? It was so hard to repeat, to say the words out loud. He hated what the words did to him, what they meant. He took a breath and said, "I went to jail for rape. I also got away with it. Got away with other things. I'm...not a nice person...not even close to it."

"You don't scare me," she said, looking away a second, pursing her lips to show just how fearless she was. "'Sides, I been raped before. If you did that to me...ain't no big thing."

He was stunned into silence. Choked out, "Wh- wh- what?

"Baby, rape ain't nothin' when you workin' the streets. The cops don't even consider looking at us girls. Boys neither...the hustlers. We all don't get nothin' from the cops other than slapped in jail. They do one of those... 'rape kits'…? And...there ain't no way to tell the paid-for fucks from the not-so-paid for ones." She gave a small smile and shrugged.

Todd leaned back, having no response to that. The not-so-paid for fucks. Brother and sister whores, that's what they were. Brandy tentatively reached out to him, to his shoulder, and he flinched hard, shaking his head. "No...don't..."

She chewed her lip and pulled that sheet tighter. "What happened to you?" she asked. "Why you all cut up?"

Todd looked at his arms. He carefully took off the wrap on his more damaged arm, tossing it to the side. It had been more psychological protection rather than therapeutic. Put both palms up. The scars were ugly. He sighed and folded his arms across his knees. Eyed her. "Hard to explain but...," he hesitated, searching for words. "Thought this was the only way to clean myself up, to un-whore myself."

"Whatever – looks like you tried to kill yourself to me."

He couldn't help but laugh, "That, too."

"See? You so beautiful with that smile on your face."

He looked away.

"You got a wife? I see that ring...it's pretty. Thick silver. It real?"

Lifting his hand, he studied his ring. Viki had brought it to him and he had kept it in a drawer at the hospital. When he left… it was the one thing he took. He didn't know why he put it on. He just did. "Yeah...it's platinum, and yeah, I got a wife. But...she's… way too good for me. And far… far away."

"I bet she's real pretty... huh? Bet she don't get used by nobody."

"Yeah...un-used. Except by me. I did plenty of using… plenty of abusing."

"Mm. You rape her?"

Todd swallowed hard, studying his ring. He then looked up and shrugged, "Maybe in some ways I did."

"You love her?"

"What's that?" he asked sarcastically. She didn't pick up on it.

"It's when you hold something real close to you. And you wanna kiss it. And...you don't like anyone else touching it. And, it's also when you're willing to give up other things you need, or like, for it. Like me and Mo'."

"You… love… him?" Todd said the word, "love" with unfamiliarity. He could hear it, the way it stuck on his tongue like peanut butter. Brandy even giggled at his awkwardness.

"I do...love...him. He asked me not to see this one real bad customer, one who does the hitting. Now, I need the money, I do… And even though Mo' said he'd pay me what I'd get from the job, I give it up cause Mo' don't want me seeing that guy. I give it up for him."

Rape. Love. Rape. Love. He wasn't sure of the difference anymore. Peter liked to hold Todd close. Todd liked to hold his victims close. Peter and Todd liked to kiss their victims. And they both gave up a lot. Like their souls. On the other hand, Téa loved Todd, that's what she said. She gave up so much for him: her dignity, her sense of self-preservation, her honor. Rape. Love. He didn't have anything left to give up for her. Take what you need. He guessed he didn't love her.

"And Mo', he's mostly the only one I kiss." She grew embarrassed, rubbing her lips together again, "'Sides you."

"You wanna kiss me?" he asked, maintaining a despairing gaze, a look of disbelief.

"I don't know. You kinda have a soft mouth...it's real nice. And...you so sad. You make me ... wanna ... kinda baby you."

Still holding her sheet to her, Brandy leaned in slowly, obviously to kiss him. He watched her as she closed her eyes and, like a young girl, puckered loosely, her lips slightly parted. An "oooo," he noticed. He kept his eyes open as she finally landed on his lips. She kissed his mouth, rubbing her mouth against his. He didn't kiss her back. One whore kissing another, he said to himself. Garbage meets garbage. They should kiss, they should do more than kiss. What else were they good for? He wanted to feel something. He wanted to feel that love she was talking about, even a semblance of it, but nothing happened. He shook his head, turning away, an ache for Téa thumping inside of him somewhere. Wanting only to kiss her. But what kind of kiss did he want?

Brandy sat back up, a trace of a smile on her lips. "Why don't you take that bath, baby, ok?" She got up and walked out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. On top of the counter, he saw all the equipment for another shot of dope. Just a little, he thought. To make the shower easier, to make the trip to the Penthouse easier. So he could breathe, so he could not hurt so much. But he didn't do it because he wouldn't be able to resist going all the way with it. From mixing up and using the half-bag. Knock himself out. Spend another fuckin' six hours naked on the floor of the bathroom.

It's the only way I know.

Once standing up, he washed his face, rinsed his mouth, then drank the water from the faucet. Despite the cutting sadness, the storm was relatively quiet inside of him and he sort of marveled at it, at the lingering stillness. Marveled at how he never felt this way. As far back as he could remember, something was always turned on inside of him, like a machine. It was noisy, loud. And like the zapping of electricity, it amped him...he felt twitches, pangs, sweats, suffocation. All the time. With the heroin, for the first time in his life, all that "noise" disappeared in one beautiful blast.

Poof.

The methamphetamine had been different – it quieted the nightmares by keeping him awake. He felt up, animated, raring to go. Haunting voices were shut down only because his own was so damn loud, his own brain being in overdrive when he was under its influence. He also understood the speed turned the whole thing back around, giving those other voices renewed and greater life at the end of his run. The scars on his arms told him so.

He flipped the shower on and when the water was hot, he stepped inside, sitting in the tub to let the water rain down on him, warm him. As he breathed in the steam, he remembered when he proposed to Téa way back when. The night before Georgie ruined his life. Remember me? Remember all of us? Téa was so happy, she was so looking forward to their future. And he had a sense of what she saw. A real life. She was so beautiful, when she smiled, when she kissed him.

Rape. Love.

He touched the cuts on his arms, looking at the rest of his scarred-up body. "I don't want to remember anymore," he said to himself. "I don't want to feel those old memories anymore. I don't understand how feeling them is gonna help me, Doc. I just don't get it."

He leaned outside of the basin with his arm hanging down a bit. Watched water roll down to the top of his hand and drip off. Ping. Ping. Simplicity. Just a drop of water with no real past, no real future. A mere existing set of molecules and yet, that tiny drop was one of the most powerful things in the universe. Without water, there would be no life. It gives life and can end it. He needed water to mix up his dope, he needed water to wash with, to drink. Phillip Manning used water to kill Michelle with. Drowned her in that rushing...swallowing...river.

"Unlike that water drop...you are powerless, Manning, you worthless...fuck," he mumbled, talking about himself. "A not-so-paid-for one."

As he watched the wet stream run to his dangling fingers, he heard the door open. Saw Brandy. "I know you wanted to be alone," she said, looking down. "But...I don't. Can I join you in there? Please?" She raised her eyes to him. "I won't hurt you."

He gazed at his new-found sister, at her pleading eyes. He shook his head, "I don't know..."

"You need me to do another shot...?"

"But I got some business to take care of...stuff to do...I can't do that right now."

She kneeled down and put her finger to his lips, shushing him. Brandy stood again, the sheet falling away from her, and prepared everything for him. She shut off the water and then sat down next to the tub, giving him less heroin than he'd been using. He felt a rush but it was shorter lived and less intense. Wonderful nevertheless. Surprisingly, he did not throw up. She had given him just enough to feel cozy, to feel warm and soothed. He smiled at her dreamily afterwards and he settled against the smooth back of the tub, knees apart, feet apart. She climbed in, facing him, her back to the faucet. She was careful not to touch him. She flipped the water back on. Letting the water rain gently on them.

He watched her lift her head and taste the water. She was in her own world. She closed her eyes and touched the raindrops. She smiled at him. She reached for him and touched his chest, moving one of her hands downwards, caressing his belly. He studied her hands on his skin… how the heroin let him not be so scared. How he didn't go crazy at her hands on him. When he didn't object, she began stroking him. It was easier this way, high, the memories just not happening. It felt good… kind of adding to the high. He swelled but then pushed her away. The touching… it wasn't that easy. He wasn't that lost in the drug.

Said softly, "I don't need that, okay? Just… just turn around. Lie on me. Lie back hard." For some reason, he needed that more. Wanted to feel a person's weight on him. Pressed back against the porcelain white. Pressed… flat… the life pressed out of him.

Yeah, yeah, he could go to the Penthouse now.

To be continued….