by Ashley Rose
"Yeah...he's...my dealer," I offer simply. I'm guilt-stricken at the thought of reducing our relationship to a single term, but she could never begin to understand what he really is to me. He’s my drug of choice, and I don’t think there’s a rehab for it.
"Forgive me, but I can't seem to understand how you can have such deep-seated issues with a man who is merely your drug dealer," she states matter-of-factly, and I know she's calling my bluff, so I put my guard up. I come out ready to fight, that's what I've learned to do. I shift my jaw to the side, tongue running along the inside of my mouth before clicking against my teeth as I stare at her coldly.
"Its complicated." I raise my eyebrows in a challenge and purse my lips. She purses her own lips, nodding in acceptance at my refusal to just give her a fucking break, and I know she's frustrated as hell with me, but this is her job. She's determined to get this out of me, even if we have to sit here all night until I break.
"Tell me more..."
"He's tall...thin...blue eyes..." I muse lightly, but my tone intentionally reeks of disinterest. I trail off, my focus turning elsewhere in the room, and I turn my eyes back to her when she huffs out a perturbed sigh. I don't mean to be this way, but it's just so fucking hard for me to talk about it still, even after spending over a month trying to tell her about my feelings. The words just aren't there. I don't know if they ever will be.
"You know that's not what I'm asking you." She gives me a pointed look and shakes her head at me, seeing right past my smartass bullshit. Whenever you check yourself into rehab, they don't focus on the fact that you're an addict. They go much deeper, you know? I mean, they go way deep. They crack you open and then spill you out and examine all the things that are on the table.
I sigh. "I don't know what else to tell you," I answer shortly with a shrug.
She leans forward on her desk, eyes soft and sympathetic, and I'm still not used to that look yet. Just that look of understanding, caring. It breaks me down, wrenching my insides every time, painfully trying to twist my heart into spilling itself like water being wrung from a bathcloth.
"You're a smart girl, Leala. I know. I've read your excerpts from your writing classes. That's where my concern is. I think you understand all of this a lot better than you're leading on."
I groan. I have to admit that I've become quite the writer since I got to this place. I always used to write, just for fun, but here it's a release. It's a way to get emotions out without talking. I'm not much of a talker, I tend to stumble and never know just what to say. But give me some paper and I'll write you a hell of a story.
"Look this is just...its hard. It's hard being away from him."
"Just tell me what he is to you," she pleads, still giving me that look, and there's a moment of silence, and I know it's coming. I tense up inside, but what is the fucking sense in hiding from it? The sooner I get this out, maybe the better things will be. Maybe this is where healing has to begin. Just face it, head on.
"He's...my weakness...my addiction. The drugs, they could go away and I'm fine. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm an addict and I know it, and coming off of the drugs was tough, but I'm not fine without him."
"Is he fine without you?" she asks, almost relieved, her brown eyes peering at me suspiciously.
I wait a beat before replying weakly, my voice threatening to break. "I don't know."
Part of me selfishly hopes that he isn't, but a bigger part of me fearfully knows that he isn't.
29
Lex slams the door behind him as he enters his house, still distraught and fuming from a long fucking day, not to mention the fight this afternoon. How could he be so fucking stupid to think that things wouldn't be different now? He had assumed that things would change, but today just proved it without a shadow of a doubt. Things will never be the same.
He paces the living room a few times, fists clenched, his breath coming in pants, replaying the words over in his head.
"What have you got to lose?"
He stops suddenly and looks around him, really taking in everything that he has acquired. But one fact remains looming over his head: his entire existence has been bought. He has nothing that isn't worth some amount in dollars and cents. Except...
"Except her," he mutters under his breath, his words barely audible and his insides trembling at the thought. The one thing he has that he thought nothing could take away from him, he will lose his own damn self because he doesn't want to give up a bunch of shit that would all be gone with one good robbery anyway. What's more important?
As he looks around, the walls seem to be closing in on him and it's all too much. He storms down the hallway into the backroom and begins gathering things in his arms, mumbling under his breath all the while.
"Everything you have can be taken away."
If he didn't know himself better he'd think he was going insane as he carries armload after armload of drugs and paraphernalia from the back room and lines it all up on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, muttering under his breath, talking to himself, sweating and shaking. Mental breakdown.
But the words won't stop ringing in his head.
"Everything you have can be taken away."
He sits on the couch in front of the coffee table once he has situated everything, panting as he leans forward, elbows in his knees which are bouncing in anticipation, hands clenched anxiously, chewing on his lips as his eyes flit over the table, back and forth, taking in everything. This is what his fucking existence has come to, his livelihood laid out before him.
This is his life.
This is reality.
This is what he's come to know.
This is what has built him.
This is what will destroy him.
"What do you have when it's gone, Lex? What do you fucking have?"
He takes a deep breath...exhales slowly...
And he snaps.
He grabs the edge of the coffee table and with a growl he stands to his feet and flips it in one swift motion, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the house as his things scatter about the room.
"WHAT DO YOU HAVE WHEN IT'S GONE, LEX? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING HAVE?" he screams as he stomps through the living room, flipping his furniture on end, demolishing any order that may have existed in their arrangement. With a grunt he pulls his flat screen TV off of the wall, bought with merely one week's drug money, and sends it crashing to the floor in disgust.
He tears down the hallway to his bedroom, kicking the door open, and he paces to the bed, ripping the sheets off and throwing them across the room as it surrounds him. The feelings surround him. Every touch, every kiss, right here in this room, in this house, there in that bed. Those are the things no one can take away. And he knows he'll lose them all because of all this other shit that he just can't give up.
He hates himself. He's said it before, but he knows it right now as he storms over to his closet and begins ripping his clothes off of his hangers, tossing them about the room haphazardly, grunting and crying out in frustration, frustration with himself and with everything that he's been feeling and pushing down. He's been pushing it and pushing it and thinking it will just go away, but it's all suddenly come up in a tidal wave and pulled him under. He's the one who fucked it all up, not only ruining his life but someone else's. He's lost, so lost and alone. Alone with all of these things that his money has bought him, but he has nothing else. For once in his life, he finally just wants something else.
He tears pictures and posters off of his walls, destroying anything that catches his eye, because all of it means nothing. It means nothing now when he's all alone.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, red-faced and scowling, pale skin stretched tight over his too-skinny frame with dark shadows around his eyes and he hates himself more and more. He picks up a shoe lying near by on the floor and whips it into the bathroom with a curse under his breath, shattering the mirror with one blow and he feels it. He feels the tears coming up an
d he pushes it down, blinking them back as he storms back into the living room, punching a clean hole into the hallway wall on his way.
Panting, he sinks back down into the couch, the one which he didn't turn over, and holds his head in his hands, blinking furiously and clenching his teeth but he can't stop it. He can't stop it and he soon feels the wetness coursing down his cheeks and he moves his hands to cover his face with a groan as he lets his sobs overtake his body, crying, letting it all out, everything that he's pushed back for the past forever. Every little thing has chased him down and attacked him in this moment, and all he wants deep down is for someone to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay.
And that's the one thing he knows he'll lose if he doesn't change his ways. Through his tear-blurred vision he spots it out of the corner of his eye, lying there on the floor, and he wipes his face quickly, coughing and groaning, clearing his throat as he tries to collect himself as he reaches down to the floor to retrieve it. He flips the thin plastic over and over in his hand in contemplation as he continues to sniff and wipe his face onto the sleeve of his shirt. He finally pulls his cell from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts before connecting the call.
He clears his throat when he hears the answer on the line. His voice trembles just like his hand as he holds the thin disk and delivers the news that could help him break away from all of this once and for all.
"Hey, it's Lex...yeah, I'm ready to talk about that sale you're interested in."
30
I blame myself for Lex not coming back. I mean, how could I be so stupid? Isn't it obvious enough that he doesn't want to get clean yet, and then there I go pushing him. Being the fucking stubborn ass that I am. I guess I thought that maybe, just maybe he needed that one push. That one more reason to do it. If he didn't want to do it for himself, maybe he would do it for me.
But I know he has to do it for himself.
When he didn't come back for a week I wasn't shocked, but I honestly didn't expect to be sitting here almost two months later and not have seen him again. Sitting here almost two months later and not have even talked to him. I don't even know what the fuck he's been doing all this time. The halls and community rooms are draped in green and red, and the last time I saw him the orange paper pumpkins had just been stripped down days before. Halloween to Christmas.
Christmas. God, it's really fucking Christmas day and I'm almost done here. I get released in...shit, in three days. That thought alone gives me a surge of energy to get out of bed when I feel the sun on my face coming in through the small window.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed excitedly but my smile soon fades when I look down to see my form draped in that blue sweatshirt. I had pulled it out last night for the first time in what I now deem as a moment of weakness, after two months of it haunting me from the back of my dresser drawer. I finally just broke down. I missed him too much last night when I had laid in bed, tossing and turning, memories of Christmases past eating me up inside. We never did anything really big to celebrate, the two of us, but it was a time when both of us truly enjoyed being together. It was supposed to be a time of family, but us, all we had was each other, and we always felt like that was enough. And last night when I was alone, I just wanted him with me.
I know that I'm my own worst influence when it comes to him because I can't fucking say no. I still want him, I still need him. I don't know how he does it, but he just makes everything else go away. I never have to have the right answer, I never have to do the "right" thing, all that shit I struggled with my entire young life, and I'm starting to struggle with again. But with him I just do what feels good, and face the consequences later.
But I know things can't be that way anymore. I have to start using my head again.
With a sigh, I rip the fabric over my head and toss it onto the bed as I begin to ready myself for the day. My parents and sister are coming to visit because of the holidays. The past two months with Lex not being around have really given me a chance to work on my relationship with them, and it's a very bittersweet feeling to almost have my family back now. It's great to have them around again, to almost feel like I belong, but I'm beginning to wonder where Lex is going to fit in to all of this. If he even wants to fit anymore. Can he even fit anymore?
I've never really cared about Lex's situation. I guess that's what got me into this whole mess because if I had cared about anything that he was involved in, I would've run from him the very first chance I got. But it's never been about his circumstances—what he has, what he doesn't have, what his job is, if he has a car, if he has money. When I look at him I never see any of that shit. It always just been about him. Me and him. It was never about me getting sucked into his world, I wanted him to be my world, and whatever else came with that just came. Oh, it came alright. And now I see that I paid the price more than enough times.
But only now do I see that, only now does his "situation" matter, and it scares me. Does he still fit into my life? What's going to happen when our worlds collide again? These are the things that still keep me up at night, especially now that I'm so close to being out of this place and back to reality. Now that I have to think about my future. I wonder if he can truly have a place in that now, now that so much has changed, now that I've changed. And I wonder if he has.
I feel like a terrible person, but now when I'm sitting with my sister and my parents, I miss Lex more than ever. I miss us, me and him, our little "family." And I know that's so fucked up to say, but it was so much easier when it was just the two of us in our own little world.
When I say we didn't come from fucked up families, I should also clarify that appearances aren't everything. And while we may have been completely satisfied in the materialistic sense, and we were in fact normal and loved by our parents on some level, we were still always looking for something else. And when we found that something in each other...well, that's enough to make you never want to lose someone, no matter what the cost.
"I think that shirt might've needed a little ironing." My mother tugs at the hem of my button-down blouse, pulling it down a bit so that the little wrinkles smooth out with the tension in the fabric, but it just releases back to normal and she frowns. And I hope she sees me roll my eyes because she's being so fucking overbearing.
I know my dad sees it. "Camille, just let it go," he sighs and I give him a weak smile.
That's always been my dad, the protector. Well, protector of my feelings, at least. My mother runs the fucking show, always has, and my dad has always been on my side behind the scenes, the quiet kind of support because, well, he does have to live with her. He has his opinions but he keeps them to himself and to me, just to save his own skin. Agrees with my mother to her face, just to keep things running smoothly, then goes behind her back and does whatever he can to make sure I'm still happy and feeling okay, because he can't stand to see me upset or feeling like I need something. The kinda guy who would slip me a twenty when I walked out the door after my mother had just been bitching that I had spent up all of my money. Good ole' dad.
I know he was more heartbroken than anyone when I left home and shacked up with Lex and got into the drugs, because he felt like maybe if he could've done something, given me more, I wouldn't have left. He wanted me to be a daddy's girl, wanted to make sure I knew that no one could take care of me like he could, and I still knew that, even when I left, but I was eighteen and stubborn as hell and tired of feeling like a child. I didn't want anything else from either of my parents. I wanted freedom, so I thought doing what I wanted for a change was the answer, and everyone else be damned. I hope he knows he couldn't have done or said anything to stop me. Maybe I'll tell him someday.
"I'm just saying, Paul, it looks sloppy," she argues to him.
And she wonders why I fucking left home.You think you’re indebted to your parents because they gave you everything you have. But they didn’t give me what fucking mattered. They owe me. They owe me for not asking why their daughter is
n’t home. Why she looks distant and sad. Why she has barricaded herself in a fucking apartment with her boyfriend. They have failed me.
"Um, hi, I'm right here in the room," I retort sarcastically and wave a hand in front of her face as she stands before me, shaking my head at her, and my dad and sister chuckle.
"I think it looks fine."
I grin at my dad when I feel his hand on my shoulder and my mother just sighs.
"So, anyway. Are you ready to get out of here?" Aimee asks excitedly, tearing me away from our parents' concerns and I give her a grin that speaks volumes of relief.
"Um, do bears shit in the woods?" I reply with a laugh, my eyes dancing with excitement and she laughs along with me and we're suddenly in middle school again, giggling underneath a tent of blankets and my heart is happy.
"Leala..." My mother's voice is painted with a tone of warning but my dad interjects.
"Are you gonna come live at home, kiddo?"
I turn my eyes to him and open by mouth to respond, but—
"Of course she is," my mother offers, and I shoot her a look of disbelief.
"I actually wanted to move into another apartment," I correct her adamantly. "Not my old one, of course, maybe move closer to downtown, out of North Hollywood. I was thinking like Hancock Park maybe, just to get into a better part of town. It's a nice area."
"I think you need to live at home, just to be around people who support you until you're ready to be on your own again," she insists. She always has to be fucking right.
I scoff. "I am ready to be on my own, I've been stuck in here for months."
She sighs in defeat, but won't back down. I know where I got my stubbornness from, without a shadow of a doubt. "All I'm saying is you need to be in a positive environment..."
"Away from Lex you mean. Just say it," I cut her off harshly.
"Leala," my dad sighs.
"Can we just not talk about him?" Aimee offers finally, and there is a moment of tense silence.
