On the Edge of Wakefulness, Part 2
Chapter 33
I have nothing left for you, my love. Like a knife, your sorrow at being alive ripped all that remained within me, from me. And with that torn-away tattered love went my tolerance. I must tend to my own wounds now ... because I cannot bear to see you cocooned this way, wrapped in a sheath of such pain and need. Each moment of your chosen life that I bear witness to is a re-opening of the cuts that cover me. And so long as I continue unhealed, I cannot care for your son. Free me, my love, let me go. I beg of you.
When Todd maddeningly cried at the loss of his deadness, the beats of Téa's own inner strength fluttered. He had then grabbed his doctor and furiously begged to be put back, begged to be high again, "Let me not breathe, Doc, let me not breathe again…please, please, don't fucking do this to me… GRAHAM!" She looked at Tim who had only just moments before promised that things could only get better and then, without hesitation, backed up. The beats inside her stopped. She put up her hands and shook her head, muttering her own denials at reality, "No, no, no, not doing this..."
"Téa, come on back," Tim had called, his face scrunched with all he was asking.
She kept walking.
Her name being spoken by Tim faded and soon she found herself in the cold morning air. No coat to block the chill, she forced herself to breathe in the icy cleanliness, her chest tightening. As she inhaled deeply, she smelled the threat of snow, heard the peeps of winter birds and saw the brightness of a sun promising to warm muscles that ached from holding onto Todd so tightly throughout the night. As she walked, the sense of doom slowly slipping off like a suffocating cloak she'd been wearing for too long.
While she traversed the snowy sidewalks, contemplating and deliberating, she came to the conclusion that she was a trapped animal. That Todd had a hold on her that went beyond emotion and into a surreal kind of physicality. It was as if he caged her. No matter what she did, no matter the fight, she always ended up back in his hell, body and soul. Images of Brandy popped up at that thought ... and it was pretty obvious that she too had become another animal tied to Todd, another one of his victims.
Surprisingly, Téa considered Brandy in an oddly empathetic light, suffering a momentary need to see her. "Just to assure myself I'm not you," Téa said to herself. "That I'm not willing to die with him."
Or was she?
Back in law school, she recalled learning about a moral dilemma involving mountain climbers where one man clung to a rope while another man clung to the same rope beneath him. The problem was that the rope could not maintain both men and the only way for at least one of them to survive was for the first man to cut the rope so as to let the man beneath him fall away, freeing the first who could then crawl to safety. What does one do in that situation? Is that considered murder? Is that a level of self-defense? Or is it something entirely different? Does the result depend on who is beneath you?
The horror of that dilemma always haunted Téa and in her most stressful moments of life, that scenario would pop up in her mind. Perhaps it was because she had the tendency to attach herself to men, to situations, which threatened her emotional survival. Like now ... like with Todd. How Téa wanted to cut the rope ... but couldn't. As she dangled with indecision, all she saw was him looking up at her ... his head on her lap, with beautiful drugged eyes ... managing to still show so much pain ... back in the hospital that one time ...
"Do you still love me, Téa?"
"Don't ask me that," she said quietly to nobody. "There's nothing left for you. Nothing ..."
With that insistent thought as background noise, Téa made her way to Llanview Boulevard. People bustled past her, busy, all with a seeming plan in mind, a future. Commerce clamored, cell phones ringing, people talking, cars zipping by. It was lively and promising, but didn't last because the deeper into the city's heart she sojourned, the less hope there was. The closer she moved to the center, the more deprived population and dying construction. The spiral continued at a blinding speed through to the worst section of the city. She stood mere yards away from where Todd had rescued her from a cruel attacker that one late night. My God, she thought, out of all the places to wander off to, I come here. His place, his hell, his heaven.
"Gotta cut the rope," she chastised herself. "Right, Delgado?"
She could do it. Of course... but for the fact that deep inside of her bounced about a rancorous wish: that she could simply accept his self-destruction ... that she could be his "Brandy." It could be her who would lie with him while he drifted peaceably in a chemically induced dream, it could be her who would stop the blood trickling from punctured veins, it could be her whom he'd love in drugged bliss. Yes ... maybe ... perhaps if she couldn't dive in entirely, maybe there was some way to balance his method with a more acceptable one. Maybe not heroin, but something akin to it. Maybe heroin ... on a lesser level ... perhaps ... maybe ...
... on a cold day in hell.
No. Truth was that as far as she was concerned, "Brandy" was someone she could never be. To be his enabler, a fleshy deliverer of heaven in a syringe, was not possible, not ever. No, her wish to be his "Brandy" was desperation. Injured love. Unlike Brandy, Téa had too much self-love to be his assistant. And yet, despite her acknowledgment of such inner sturdiness, here she was in the center of urban perdition ... surrounded by the outcasts of common and decent society, surrounded by him.
How curious that she was as drawn to Todd's way of life as he was, how not surprising that she couldn't cut the rope that bound them ...
... and neither could he. Just as strong as her hold was of him, his was equally as tight. She knew that no matter what happened, no matter where he was or how far away he was from rational society, no matter where SHE was, he would crawl out of the deepest of mud just long enough to remind her that he still existed, that he still loved her, that he would always have the strength to rattle that lock on her cage.
Hi there, angel with the clipped wings, remember me? Remember your loyalty to me? You aren't ever getting out because you're mine. My inspiration, my sense of normality ... my ... love.
Imagining the sounds of metal bars shivering with his energy, she slowed her walk, the rush of the street next to her momentarily blocked out. Then, out of the blue, someone touched her shoulder purposefully, startling her. Turning quickly, she saw it was Kyle, the priest-to-be smiling mischievously.
"Wanna go trade some needles? Huh?"
Strange relief washed over her and she fought tears at the sight of this accomplished man before her. She was speechless, too overcome ... and he instantly realized that she'd obviously been through something, his features changing immediately.
"Oh I'm sorry," he said. "Don't always have the best timing with my bad jokes."
Blurting emotion-laced words out, she soothed the awkwardness of the moment, "You're the best thing I've seen all day ...bad jokes and all." Within seconds she began to cry and he uncomfortably held her, not knowing what else to do. "Oh Kyle ... oh my God ..." She couldn't stop crying she found, the stress of the night wholly breaking her.
He responded to her emotion by holding her tighter, walking with her, asking if she wanted to go somewhere to talk - that he would listen. For the first time in a long while, Tea understood that she really needed to be loved by somebody ... to be held by someone stronger than her who wasn't going to manipulate her or demand anything from her ... or ... anything. She wanted someone to just give without taking. A simple need that had gone unanswered for many months.
In minutes they were at the shelter, passing by burdened faces, hearing bits and pieces of stories being told to the missionaries volunteering, hearing snippets of histories being told to each other. The worse part, however, was the sound of the children. How unfair, Téa thought, that they should be here, how wrong that kids should be suffering. Suddenly, a brown-haired girl no more than five years old ran up to Téa and grabbed her hand, "Are you my Tía?!"
A rumpled woman with mottled cheeks who must have been the mother called after the girl, "Niña! Leave her alone!"
Téa smiled, waving her hand to let the mother know it was not a problem, and kneeled down to the child, saying, "I wish I was your Tía... how lucky she is to have you asking for her. How pretty you are!"
The girl laughed, embarrassed, and skipped back to her mother ... Téa getting up and saying softly to Kyle, "I hate poverty. I came from it and ... you know what? The stain of it never leaves you."
"What do you do about it?"
Lifting a shoulder in a half shrug, "Live with it ... find a way for others to not feel what you did, work towards that."
"Like working at a needle exchange," he suggested, smiling playfully.
"Yeah .. like that."
Kyle nodded thoughtfully, asking again, "You okay?"
"Not really ..."
"You wanna talk privately? There are meeting rooms. We have lots of support groups that get together in this facility. I'm happy to listen."
Taking a deep breath, Tea looked about the busy entrance hall. She knew the various parts of this special place: the food distribution center, the floors dedicated to temporary housing ... the clothing distribution section ... lots of hands needed. Lots of places in which to hide from the memories of the previous night.
She shook her head vehemently, "No ... I need to do something. I'm sort of useless right now ... the one obligation I do have is safely locked away and stuck with counselors all morning. How about I help around here?"
"Sure! I'd never turn down help. Come with me ..." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the hallway. Stepped into a larger place, full of boxes and tables and movement. The mix of activity, progress, and sadness was nothing short of rejuvenating. "This is our food joint. See that line of people? They need supplies. We give them enough to feed a family of four for a few days. This is emergency kind of stuff ..." Someone in line waved to Kyle and he waved back, his face brightening with recognition. Téa looked at him and was reminded in some way of Andrew Carpenter. Some guilt stabbed at her but she ignored it. Can't do much about the past.
With that, she felt herself pushed by one of the Sisters, a surprisingly young woman ... the girl's hands literally on Téa's back.
"Ahhh!" she said happily. "Look everyone! Another body! You're on canned goods! YAY! Kyle, where do you get them from?"
"Did I say she was here to work?"
"Too bad! Even if she wasn't ... she's going to work now! Hee!"
He grinned responsively and winked at Téa, stepping over to the line of waiting families, doling out what he could in the form of comforting touches and all those bad jokes. Téa laughed lightly and took her place behind the appropriate table, looking at the cans before her of fruit, vegetables, and other kinds of sustenance. How easy, she thought, how wonderful ...
A bird landed on the faux balcony outside the window of Todd's hospital room. It pecked at something for a bit then toddled back and forth, spreading its wings about to fly, changing its mind and choosing to dance about instead. About to fly, Todd thought, pulling up his knees as his stomach cramped again. Holding his breath, his entire body tensed waiting for the spasm to pass. At least the damn restraints had been removed, the handcuffs, too. Only a cop at the door with a gun in the holster kept him confined. Thank God for small fucking miracles, he thought. Thank God he could twist and turn and dig into the sheets.
He bit down hard on his teeth, rubbed his cheek against the pillow, fought against the kind of high that hurt, the kind of delusions that were anything but relieving. Once more, heroin withdrawals had him in their ugly grip and bottom line, he wanted to die. That bad ... yeah ... that fucking bad.
God ... please let me feel her again ... let me remember. She told me I would remember ... but right now, all there is, is hell. Do something ... please. Damn you for making me come back. Damn you.
"It was not me who sent you back ... nor the True Savior ... it was your choice, Angel. Only your choice. You must remember WHY you returned. Think of the ... why."
He whimpered with the intense pain running down his legs, radiating from deep within him. Tears formed in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He kept focusing on the bird, thinking about flying, thinking about what it is that he really wanted. Which was ... which was ... what? What was it that he really wanted? What WAS the "why" behind his choosing to come back from death's door? For love ... for ... his family ... for ...
... for the Powdered Princess.
Licking his lips, the need for heroin was mind-numbing, making him fucking crazy. Pictures kept flashing, pictures of the life he'd been leading. The filth of the shooting gallery, the writings on the wall. The letters he saw were so lifelike, red ones, black ones, ones dug into the plaster with finally-destroyed needles. His fingertips tingled as if he were touching the letters. He kept hearing Toby's syrupy voice promising him more junk, "Yeah, man, we got the best. Gimme what you have ... we can deal ... I'm here for you ..." The voice itself was infused with the drug, the precious liquid seeming to slide along with the words, sliding into Todd's body. Toby himself, saving Todd.
More pictures intruded, faceless touching in the gallery, long fingers that helped with the needle then helped themselves to his buttons at his crotch, then lay on him and used him. He forgot about that but no, that isn't true. Brandy said he wasn't built for that, built for what, built for that, but then he knew that was a lie too because then Rock was there… that ... bastard, that ...Phillip. And he kept touching the bandaging in between his legs, cringing with intense, blinding, sickening... revulsion. He called it that. Revulsion. He saw the apartment, tasted the desire for the dope, the promise of money.
What am I paying for? A fuck? A suck?
Not a fuck. Not that.
Okay, a suck then. But you gotta come. We all want to see that. Your pretty mouth open, breathing all hard and shit. Yeah.
And he remembered it. That mouth ... that ... sick ... slick… salted feel … his hand moved now to his cock, hardened without his doing. Moved without thought, without consciousness.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes at the memory, tears rolling down his cheeks, more shit beyond his control, squeezing himself, knuckles grazing the bandaging. Heroin had led to that place, to Rock… who was Phillip Manning, killer of Michelle, partner in crime to Peter Manning back in the day, rapist of Georgie. Is that what he wanted? Did he really want to sink there again?
GOD ... god ... what he wanted was to crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out. Heroin had gotten to him badly, deep into his system. Heroin ... it was his salvation ... and it was his almighty punishment. He heard his own uncontrollable whimpering again ... and buried his face into the pillow. Still squeezed his cock, rolling over, pulling up his knees. Squeeze. Squeeze. Why ... tell me the why, he asked the faceless something that spoke to him so often. But there was no answer.
"The pain's legitimate," a female voice said, cutting through the heated air.
"Has he asked for anything?"
Someone male was talking, the voice unfamiliar. Or was it ... oh hell, he didn't know ... they were only words shooting about ... zipping past him. He moved into his squeezing fist, groaning into the damp sheets, wet with his sweat. His other hand grabbed onto a portion of the more linen, tightening and untightening then tightening again. Left the apartment, left Rock, thought about Brandy. Thought about her lying on top of him with that wonderfulness ... that relieving needle in her hand. He could see it ... he could see the liquid inside the barrel ... he could feel the pinprick ... he could feel her lips on his skin ... kissing him ... talking to him ... God ... he knew he was groaning aloud.
Squeezed more. Squeezed faster.
He could hear himself, and there was nothing he could do to stop the noises. He bit at the sheet cradling his face, feeling saliva drip out. Squeezed and squeezed. Everything was beyond his conscious control and yet he was fully aware of everything around him, his body, the impending come, the bed, the window, the bird calling to him, the helpers in the room, all right alongside the memories. Phillip had his mouth on him, Jesus, sucking hard, and Brandy was on the rest of him, sticking him over and over with the needle…
You like that, baby? You like that? Can you feel the dope? Ain't it good?
Her words were the kicker. He felt the orgasm rip through him and he moaned into the sheets, his whole body jerking hard, making him cry because he didn't really mean for that to happen. Nothing was in his control, everything was beyond it. He was a child again. He collapsed into himself, pulling his hand into himself, feeling his gown wet now. He knew he was crying at it.
I didn't mean to make a mess, dad, I didn't mean that. Please, please, please... It's the heroin, dad, it's just the heroin.
Another voice came at him though.
No, you fuckin' faggot, it was me, my mouth, my hand, my dick. Fuck yeah.
He shook his head and lifted himself a little before falling back down again. Heard yet another voice now. Tried to look but couldn't, that voice meaning something to him. That voice crawling into his head and squeezing his heart.
"Has he gotten up?"
"Yes ... not much choice in that department. The alternative to getting up has been ... motivational."
"Yeah ..." A cool hand felt his cheek, another took away a cold cloth that had been pressed against the back of his neck. "Temp? Feels like it's up there." Todd now turned his head just enough and found himself looking straight into the blue eyes of his doctor.
Tim offered a sad smile to him.
"A hundred two point five," the nurse said. "He's coughing quite a bit. Throwing up. The whole kit and caboodle. We have a very unhappy camper." She was joking ... the bitch. The fucking bitch. I'm not camping, I'm fucking dying. The bird suddenly flew away and Todd reached for it, grabbing at it. How he wanted to go, too. So bad ...
"No," he moaned, his words incomprehensible to anyone but himself. "Don't go ... don't leave me here ..."
Let me go with you ... carry me out of here, bird. Carry me on your back ... carry me in your claws. Let's get close to the sun, let's pass the peaks of mountain tops and skim the glasslike blue of lakes. Let's fly, bird ... you and me. Let's fly.
"Todd? We can take care of the pain for you, the symptoms of the withdrawals. You want to talk about it?"
In response, Todd sniffled and curled up a little tighter. Burrowing into the sheets, he cringed at the wetness that was quickly turning cold. His doctor's voice softened, calling him a name ... one he didn't want to acknowledge. It was too kind and for some reason, he couldn't tolerate it. Footsteps fell around the bed, telling him the doctor was about to intrude on Todd's focal point. The bird with the blue wings ... stepping ... turning ... singing ... it was back again. This time though, the bird was eyeing Todd, chomping its beak, talking ...
Recognize me? I wear different clothes but I smell the same, I sing the same song. I'm waiting for you ... I'll carry you in my claws. Drop you in the lap of the Princess herself ... free you to kiss her soul and get that rush of chemical bliss. Come on ... come on ... come ...
Warmish blue eyes peered into his own once more and Todd found that he loved those eyes, loved the gentle bear compassion draping freckled features. He slammed his eyes shut ... not wanting to see that much concern, not wanting to see the bird hopping on the ledge twittering its temptations. Both the bird and the doctor further twisted the mechanisms of the medieval rack on which his spirit was tied. A rack where two opposing forces were simultaneously pulling him apart: one force, his need for normality and love of a distinctly earthly kind; the other force his need for divine love and for that ... fucking drug. Pull ... stretch ... pull ... ripping him to pieces in a distinctly earthly way.
Tim carefully held a wet cloth against Todd's forehead, saying, "We can start you on a methadone management program, kiddo. The pain will stop, the cravings will stop. Then we'll ease you off that slowly and get you clean. In the meantime, THIS suffering will stop for the most part. Any thoughts? Sound good? Plausible?"
Todd kept his eyes closed, rubbed his face against the sheets. He itched ... his cheeks ... his back ... and he thought he needed to throw-up and thought blood was coming ... all that blood. A grinding sound floated about him, coming from him, the sound of his teeth crushing against each other, mixed with a noise being forced out of his throat.
He felt Tim's hand on his cheek.
"Look at me, kiddo, open your eyes. Come on ..."
Come on, pretty boy. Let's fly to those mountain tops ... let's fly to the princess herself. She'll save you ... she WILL save you. Angel ... perfect angel ... angel daddy ...
The mountains he dreamed of, along with a faint picture of a woman with red hair, some kinda rustic beauty captured within the confines of a pearled frame, familiar. He couldn't see the details of her face. It was part of the why, he thought. He shook his head and groaned softly. Who was the woman? Red hair ... like stained gold, like blooded rain …
"Has he been responsive to any questions?"
The nurse said, "No, but I don't think it's medical. I think he's upset with lots of things."
"Yeah, probably. Come on, Todd ... it's me, Tim. Come on ... look at me, talk to me."
Todd purposefully shook his head, no.
"Ok ... ok ... glad you're listening. Tell me what hurts you? Let me help. You're not alone in this."
Finally some words managed to crawl out of Todd's mouth ... crawled out, black and spidery.
"F-fuck you."
Tim sighed, turning the towel over. "Well ... at least you can talk." Grabbed a chair and then sat down next to the bed. Leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined beneath his chin. Looked ... doctorish. Todd was staring at him, now, shivering. Stubborn ... stubborn as hell.
Ohhhh ... lemme get out. Lemme get back with my girl ... lemme get back to that place in between here and there ... into that place where thinking doesn't happen ... where quiet runs the projector of prettiness ... ohhhh ... GOD ... lemme fly away to the Princess ... mmmmm ... let me be loved by her, fucked by her ... yeah.
Suddenly things were clearer ... suddenly reality was amazingly ... real.
"Is the nurse right? You're angry?" Tim asked.
"G-go to ... hell, you m-motherfuckin' ... b-bastard ..."
"Tell me why."
Todd said nothing, focusing on Tim's hands which had dropped from his chin to someplace in between slightly spread knees. Grinding teeth ... he could hear the sound of it. Made him think of being crushed in an avalanche of suffocating, pounding weight.
"Ok ... so let's play a game. I try to guess why you're pissed and you tell me when I hit the right reason."
More jaw grinding in response.
"So ... is it because you didn't die? Or is it because someone screwed up your last hit? Or ... you mad because your run of a heroin binge is temporarily halted? Or, or maybe it's because you're sicker than a dog. Not only are you kicking a nasty habit, you have double pneumonia and it's got a good hold on you."
Unexpectedly, Todd hacked and spit at Tim, sputum hitting the doctor's hands and oozing to the floor. Tim had popped back at it, shook his head but wasn't angry or upset. Wiped off the mess on a towel handed to him by the nurse.
"Ok ... all the above. And ... at me. Todd ... I didn't put you here. You did."
"'Cept you c-can let me the fuck outta here ... but you won't. Naahhh... you bastard ... j-just gotta keep m-me locked up. You g-gettin' off on this? Huh?"
Todd didn't know if Tim had answered, wasn't sure he cared. He tried to lie still, cursed some more, but his muscles wouldn't let him alone. They kept seizing and cramping ... and he was sure he was going to throw up again. And the discomfort from the apparent pneumonia wasn't helping anything, the fever making him shiver. He was so screwed ... he was so screwed up.
Closing his eyes once more, he stretched out his legs, rotating his ankle ... it hurt so much. Yeah ... okay ... he was mad. There were no words to describe just how pissed off he was to find himself in this hospital, in this room with his Téa looking at him in complete and consuming grief. He had seen her face, had seen how dejected she was when he woke up to this fucking hell. He had seen her turn and walk out the door. Flip ... flop ... shoes down the hall. More tears rolled down his face and he could taste the saltiness on his lips. She didn't understand the shock of white all around him, that scream of sterility, that it shot him straight into the worst of the worst … him facing ... himself. He was the black on white, he was the massive spot of color on a empty canvas. Couldn't do it ... didn't fucking want it …
He'd been so happy.
And yet, the faceless nothing said this had been his choice. Yeah, he was mad, spitting mad. Dragging his eyes from the floor up to Tim, Todd grumbled, "I-I want p-painkillers ... give me ... uhhhh ... gimme morphine ... give that to me. Please ... please ..."
"Can't do that. I can put you on methadone."
"I-I h-hate you. I hate you so ... m-much ..."
Todd started to cry, but pulled himself together fast. He wondered where everyone was ... Viki ... Téa ... Brandy ... he felt so alone. He hurt so bad and nobody seemed to understand. Brandy did, though ... she did ... she'd know how to get stuff to him.
Remember why you've come back, Angel.
"Shut up ... shut up," he groaned, that acute high wafting back and fogging up his reality. From somewhere, somehow, he could tell he was getting sick again. Could see Tim help, heard him say kind words, soothing ones, despite the fact that he was sort of being hard on Todd and vice versa.
A nurse came around. The same one. She injected something into the IV line and he caught sight of the syringe ... and ohhhh God, a horrible taste of yearning flooded his mouth, spreading to each part of him. Then the space cleared around him and he felt someone pull his hair gently and tie it back. He tried to hit them to get away from him, except Tim held him down ... talked to him, offered more kindness, more patience.
Todd coughed up some slick garbage from deep inside of his lungs, spit out the crappy taste lingering in his mouth, and collapsed onto the pillow at last, praying he could sleep, knowing that wasn't possible. He sniffled noisily and felt really sorry for himself. He hurt ... everything was hurting.
Wow, he thought, talk about most pathetic. This HAD to be it, Jesus, this had to be it. The room quieted for a while, his own noisy existence seeming to take a breath. Tim stayed by him. Put a wet cloth to the back of his neck. He quickly realized that someone had undressed him, sheets replaced, a fresh gown put on him. Tim was blotting a wet cloth on his face, his neck, bare shoulders where the gown shifted low.
Todd turned to his doctor. "I was… I… uh… wet...uh…wet..."
Tim shook his head, trying to understand, saw Todd's hand move to his middle… then light went on. "Oh… yup, yet another fun thing with withdrawals."
"N-no, I did th-that…I sh-shouldn't be doing th-that."
A hand rested on Todd's arm. "No, kiddo, you weren't doing anything. It's a symptom. Spontaneous ejaculation." He furrowed his brow, "It just happens. It's...not that fun."
"Fuck," he whimpered. "I'm… are... y-you sure?"
"I promise you. You've been holding on to the bar next to you, the sheets, both hands, I swear." He smiled, "I'll give you full props if I'm wrong. But…" He took the towel, wetted it again on a bowl next to the bed and placed it back on his head. "You're not all here, ok? High temp, withdrawals, your brain is filling in a lot of blanks right now."
Then, Todd asked softly, "Brandy. Wh-where is she?"
"She's upstairs. Visiting with a social worker."
All he heard was that she was here and suddenly he got real scared for her, afraid for her actual physical safety. A breaking into his head of honest-to-God selflessness. She had her own means of personal redemption, he remembered, and it involved pain in the form of repetitive abuse. Mostly at his hands ... currently at his hands ... but she might go someplace else to get it now that he was laid up ... she might look for the ultimate in redemption. Yeah ... yeah ... she'd look for it and that new savior might not stop himself before fully doling out what she asked for. And he knew this, because he KNEW what she'd done with Toby. For Todd.
Brandy ... Brandy, he chanted to himself, pretty girl, pretty street girl with the swinging pink purse and her own song of temptation, with clicking Stiletto heels and the guarantee of a trashy, bruising come.
Yeah ... and he tried to picture her, tried to visualize her sway on concrete, but ... something was wrong. He was mixing her up in his head .. one moment she had long, stringy brown hair and the next it was gold ... shorter ... she was way smaller than him ... a little boy ... looking up at him ... asking for the why, asking him the purpose of taking another breath and he shook at the confusion. Felt that cold washcloth on him again and wondered about the ultimate redemption ...
And then ... he just gave in to the riptide of strung-out, pulmonary misery, gave in to the unseen tensions tugging at all his muscles which created this joined sense of movement and suspension. He stopped the breathless swimming and let himself sink further and further beneath the water. Rushing ... drowning ... yeah. It'd be so much easier, he and Brandy, they could be happy, they wouldn't have to worry about the why anymore.
Yeah ... he breathed through his mouth, licked his lips, letting himself roll with the current ... no more questions about the purpose of being here … about the why, why, why…
... and suddenly he was gasping and choking on shit he was coughing up. Tim and a nurse he hadn't seen before yanked him up to a sitting position, a mild sense of panic in the air. Another new nurse was there too. All the sheets were off him.
"How long?!" He heard. Blue-eyes was mad. That was his voice.
"Just under two minutes."
"Jesus…is this the only one he's had?"
Someone answered but Todd couldn't make sense of it.
"Yeah, that's good, give him that, go ahead. Right in the line."
Blue eyes held Todd's now, calmness settling back into his doctor's face. "Hey, kiddo, welcome back. You ok? Can you talk to me?"
"Wha-what, I d-don't under-understand…"
"You had a seizure. Not uncommon. A mild one but still a seizure. Nurse says you've had a coupe of them. Not to worry."
Todd started coughing up a storm and the doctor spouted commands and an oxygen mask was being pushed on him face but he did his own pushing, swatting the damn thing away, promising something rude if they continued to fuck with him ... 'cause DAMN IT... he couldn't handle being touched, yeah? He breathed in painfully, better, clearer. Things seemed to relax after a while and he slumped against the pillows, constantly adjusting himself to accommodate his cramping muscles and tight chest. They sat there in uncomfortable quiet for a long time.
"Watch her," Todd mumbled into the dead air, breaking up the peace.
"Watch who?"
"My whore ... my s-slutty woman who pushes shit and ... ha ... loves me. S-sick bitch." The words were harsh, but his voice ... it betrayed him.
Tim sighed. "What do you want me to watch for?"
"Pain ..."
"What kind?"
"The heart kind ... the head kind ... c-can you w-watch her, Superman? Can you tell her ... not to try to s-save herself?"
Tim bent towards Todd, his face a mask of concentrated effort, trying to get what Todd was saying, racing to figure out the riddle ... saving ... saving. "How does she do that? Yours is the drug, what's her salvation?"
Todd chuckled, closed his eyes. "S-smarten up, S-Superman ... you already know. Let's play a game."
"No more games. Tell me."
"Stupid ... stupid S-Superman."
"Exactly. Spell it out for me."
"Pain. She likes my hands ... a-around her throat. She likes me ..." He grinned dreamily, but then crumpled his featured in a mix of pain and sadness, "She likes me ... to h-hurt her in our special way ... in a common way ... and if I'm not around ... sh-she might find another killer to love her..."
He swallowed and then, without warning, a flash of madness took over Todd and he tried to grab Tim, but Tim knew Todd too well and was able to stop the now-closed fist with his hand … "Hey! Todd! What, what?"
Todd then growled, "Get me some fuckin' morphine ... you fuckin' shit. I am DYING!"
Tim held Todd's fist with his hand, patient and doctor glaring at the other. A momentary pause in their strained dialogue. Tim said firmly, "You do that again and I will put you in restraints. You want that?"
Todd said nothing.
"Then get some CONTROL. You got me? Now, for the last time, you're not getting any morphine from me, you're not getting any kind of opiate other than methadone. THAT I can give you. The other option is to suffer. You're on some medication that's taking the edge off, also on antibiotics ... but that's pretty much it. You want to feed your dope need, you're going to do it on your own time, NOT here. And it's going to be after you've already gone through ... THIS ... for a good goddamn seven days. Now tell me about BRANDY."
Tears suddenly filled Todd's eyes, an expression of a hurt boy creeping over his features, but it quickly changed to one of hate and he gruffly rolled over, looked out the partially open door, feeling pretty damn whipped. His brain cleared a little. Said quietly, "Brandy likes pain. W-watch her."
Tim breathed a relieved breath, assuring his patient, "I'll make sure that someone talks to Brandy before she steps foot outside this building. I promise. I will address it."
Minutes of quiet passed. Todd then asked in a fearful tone, "Did Téa ... l-leave for good?"
Tim looked downwards. "I don't know."
"I want her."
"Well ... I'll put a request in for her."
"I want Téa," he whispered. He heard Tim breathe in deeply and relax back against the chair.
Todd studied the bruises on his arm. Thought again about Brandy ... but pictured Téa. He definitely wanted to feel her love again, although he doubted it existed anymore. That was a reason he came back, right? For her love? Once again, he started to cry, reaching in between his legs, pressing on himself to stop the near-painful sensation there, a sickeningly sweet sexual feel that wasn't good at all. GOD, he was pathetic. But he knew what he needed to make this all go away and he reached for his doctor and was petting his hand, rubbing it over and over as he cried, "I-I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry ... p-please ... please ... just give me s-something ... you can do anything ... you can get me something. I promise I won't be bad ... I won't do bad things anymore ...please ... p-please ..."
The doctor had gotten up and Todd was looking up at him, crying now so openly, so sorrowfully. The petting continuing, Todd's other warm hand tight on the doctor's wrist. The doctor shook his head, saying no, eyes all over his patient, and he just knew what was going to come next and sure enough it did…rolled out as easy as pie.
"What you want, Graham, huh, what you want me to do you? Please… anything… I'll do wh-whatever you want… just s-say the word and I-I won't tell, I'll keep your secrets, you know I will..."
The doctor finally just held Todd's hand in his own, interrupting the appeal. His voice grew gentle, gentler now, less medical, more fraternal.
"God damn it, why'd you have to find this kind of relief, huh? Why didn't you listen to me? I warned you ... I begged you. This drug is the worst ... it's the best ... but it's mostly the worst. Damn it ... damn it."
Todd gently rocked himself, embracing the deepest kind of sadness. He hurt so much, all for a few moments, for a few hours at a time, of peacefulness. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right that he should have to go through this ... to try to live with who he'd become thanks to Peter. Thanks to his mother ... thanks to providence.
He heard his doctor talking. Low tones, muted. An admission lurked in his words ... coming into view like a shadow behind the hooting owl of Todd's addiction.
"If it was up to me," Tim said. "... if I was king of the world, I'd make it legal. They do it in some places, legalize heroin. I know what it does for you, I know the feel of it." He rubbed Todd's hand, a thumb smoothing the skin. "I've been where you are, right now. Kicking is cruel… and worth it because yeah, heroin is amazing, brilliant. My partner doesn't even know about this. He told me he used but I didn't tell him about me." He eyed Todd who was listening now, quiet now. Tim put moved Todd's hand away, placing it on his belly. The doctor sat on the chair.
"But there's no way for you to do this here in the U.S. without tremendous risk. Todd, you o.d.'d on tainted heroin. Some luck fell on you because… others? They died. Didn't survive the coma that you were in. That's the risk you take every time you shoot up. Every shot might be the hot one, the one that's gonna kill you. And on top of that, what about the risks you take in just being out there? Hep-C, HIV, getting robbed, assaulted ... raped ... and then there's jail ... there's always jail."
Hard blue eyes landed on Todd's, a gaze that said he knew everything.
Todd got that Tim avoided the elephant in the living room: the bite from Phillip. Yeah, he already had experienced the danger of being out there. So yeah ... he knew the risks. Funny how they didn't seem to matter any more. How much you offering? Those had been his very own words. Ticker tape. Right out his mouth.
You're big, and beautiful. One thousand it is, pretty boy.
Christ, there was a time in his life where if any guy had touched him in any kind of sexual way, either the guy would have ended up dead on the floor or Todd would have been suicidal. It came, it went. Several times over if he wanted to get super-truthy. Ok, maybe he did get a wee bit suicidal but he couldn't say exactly what part of the night got him craving death... the sex bit, the oh-shit-it's-Phillip-Manning bit, or that shit was just fucking hopeless, and hey, he was still more than fuckin' alive and everything he'd been doing seemed to have just faded away into the tapestry of garbage that was now his life.
All because of the dope. All because that feeling he got from using was just too fucking good. It was what he lived for, what he'd been searching for nearly his entire life, and he'd found it ... in a syringe.
So yeah, risks. Who the fuck cares? Some guy had his mouth on him, his hand, his dick, and who fucking CARES? He could come like that. Who. Cares.
Nothing mattered but the dope.
"Awww kiddo."
He knew he was crying again. He heard it. Felt it shake his insides. Knew he was in the sheets again. Heard his doctor say, "I'm so sorry. I know. I really know." Felt a heavy hand on his head.
The white wrapped around his body, held his heart together, held him together. He wished to be home with Téa, wished to play some stupid game with her like ... like a jigsaw puzzle. Wished to hear her laugh. Wished to point a camera at her and capture her image on paper ... like he had before. Stolen love. Wished to watch her wave a fork in the air as she talked over dinner. Wished to hear her bang around in a kitchen ... make some rice for him in a dingy apartment. Make some love with him. Make him feel guilty for keeping Brandy around. For using ... for being alive. Wished she would make him breathe again. Except it's too late. She's gone, he thought. Yeah ... he had seen her walk out ... walk away. He took a deep breath and ignored the knifelike pain in his lungs. Breathed again. The rack was pulling at him, mixed up desires which were tearing at him.
"Wh-what am I gonna do?" he asked pitifully.
"Fight for your life," Tim answered without hesitation. "Accept what's happened to bring you to where you are. This drug has become bigger than you, bigger than all your other problems because you're now a slave to it. Before, you actually had some kind of control, believe it or not. It wasn't until you got your hands into the methamphetamine that it all went straight to hell. You COULD have dealt with your past ... you could have managed it."
"F-from the pan into the ...f-fire. Is that ... wh-what you're saying?"
"In a way..."
"Can't be ... th-that s-simple."
"It's not ... but ... it's an element of where you are. Look at me."
Todd turned his head slightly. He suddenly wanted to hug that bear-like doctor of his. Like ... a parent ... like ... like a friend. Like something more. Something life-giving.
"Tell me what YOU want, Todd. Tell me ... besides the obvious ... tell me what's in your heart. Don't think about it too much, just ... say it."
He put his head back down on the pillow, tasted those salty tears running into his mouth. Felt the pain banging away like a bull out of control, sharply aware of the coming of the black depression, feeling its force heading his way.
So what did he want? What was in his heart? Why was he here? He had made a decision to come back ... he understood that; he understood that he had heard people who loved him calling to him. BUT when he looked around, they weren't here. There was only Tim in the room with a nurse coming in and out. Fussing with stuff. She really didn't care ... she was doing her job. Even Tim was probably getting paid extra to spend the day here. Everyone had pretty much forsaken him.
Raggedly, he said at last, "I want my life back ... I want s-something ... to make being ... h-here ... worth it. Worth my kind of ... hell."
"You can have it. You can have everything you want. You just have to get up, Todd. You have to stand up for yourself and not look back anymore. It isn't easy... I know. You have a lot of pain that's hard to let go of. I see it ... and I know what heroin does for it. But there are other ways of handling it. Not as direct, not as ... simple. But you can get something for the trouble."
"Will Téa come back?"
"I don't know. But why should she even try if there's nothing to come back to? Give her something to see, to feel, to love. Give her a little hope, man. Give yourself some hope."
Shivering, Todd hunkered into the once-more sweat-dampened sheets again. Hating Tim for sounding so goddamn grounded ... hating everything. He stared at the colors behind his closed eyelids for the longest time, all the while, fighting the debilitating high, the terrible pain, and ... well ... continuing to wallow in his beloved self-pity. Jesus, there was that forgiveness thing again, tickling his feet, cooing its song.
Give her something to see, to feel, to love. Because, Angel, it wasn't your fault.
The drips of saline running through the intravenous line caught his attention. Each drop rolled easily down the plastic tubing ... evenly, smoothly ... straight into a vein in his forearm. A nice entranceway into his system. He pictured the drops traveling through him ... up and down, twisting and turning ... god, GOD, if only it was some opiate doing that.
And it hit him.
How dehumanizing the past months had been ... how soulless he'd truly become. He was nothing but a series of blue-green lines shooting straight into his brain; nothing but muscles which cramped when not fed ... a stomach that seized when deprived of its medicine ... a body that called for more heroin, calling out ... all the fucking time. He had a horrible precognition. This was going to be his truth for the rest of his life.
So then, yeah, what was there to love? To see? To feel?
Stay away, Téa, stay away from me. Keep to your precious world of purity, of sanctioned love. Don't let me hover over you like a black storm, wet and thundery. Hide from me, from my rain, from my flooding you with my essential self. Ha!
Todd and his doctor sat in undemanding silence while Todd struggled with more cramping ... with more sickness. Tim helped for a time, talked to him some more. Assured him over and over ... the illness wouldn't last. Listened to pitiful pleas for drugs, offers of whatever, dreamy disconnected entreaties ... in between requests that he help get Todd's life on track again ... and then would sadly shake his head when the begging started once again, the cycle.
However, when it seemed there would be no end to the discomfort, Todd croaked begrudgingly, "Give me the fuckin' methadone ... fine ...what the fuck ever..."
Tim agreed, made Todd listen to the details of the program not without sniveling complaint ... and within a half hour, Todd got the methadone. Drank it down ... sat back ... and waited for the sickness to go away. And all the while he lay there, he could only wonder which spiritual pull would win: his weeping desire for earthly, rational love or his agonizing howl for divine love and salvation.
What you want, baby? What you need?
To be continued...