by Unknown
Taking the invitation, I step foot in the home and ask, “How did you know who I was?”
“Mr. Collins has been expecting you,” she replies as she locks the door behind me. “Or shall I say praying for you to come. I'm Mary. His live in nurse. I've met your brother, Noah and your sister, Liz. Other than his children, Mr. Collins refuses to have visitors.”
I try not to smile vindictively at how the social sultan has fallen. More than his body is crumbling. His picture perfect prized legacy is in pieces. Shambles. It feels good to know he finally knows what that feels like.
“He has photos of all of you,” Mary continues talking, leading us past a formal dining area I assume was once used to entertain the who's who of his old fraternities and the women who suckled at the cash cow teat. He was never lacking in funds despite how much he bitched about the expensiveness of a family. There were always investments to triple his portfolio. Locked stashes to dip into. Secret Swiss accounts as if leaving us was always lingering over his shoulder. While Noah follows in those footsteps I'm hoping like hell, he leaves the others alone. Whatever bullshit is potentially going on with his secretary, I'm trying to believe it is platonic. It's hard to believe anything else when the Collins are so good at secret keeping. For once that includes me I guess. But I have every intention on telling Pres about Kara and Law. I just need more time.
On instinct my face sneers. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why all the photos?”
“Because he loves you,” she states in such a tone I almost want to believe it.
“Doubtful,” I mutter as we arrive in front of a pair of cracked French doors.
“You will find Mr. Collins inside. Please feel free to use the intercom if you need anything.”
With one final usher of her hand, she disappears leaving me in the same position I was in at the front door. This is what people do for those they love, right? Sacrifice their own moment of happiness to deliver one for someone else? Presley's face lighting up at sight of a beach resort hotel confirmation email moves my knuckles for me. Maybe I'll start saving up and take her on a cruise. Seven days and nights away from the bullshit of every day work would be amazing for both of us, but her especially. The down time she spends away from work is short. She pushes herself hard and refuses help, even though I know she needs it. That's why I'm really here. To swoop her away from here and spend an extended amount of time taking care of her. The idea of having to do nothing but have sex and eat exotic food somewhere warm are what will make these next few moments worth it.
The moment I step into the large office, my father looks up from the book he was reading. “Ryder.”
I let the term of choice roll around my tongue before speaking. “Father.”
“You came.”
“Noah's an asshole.”
He smiles and shuts the book. “He got the Collins negotiation skills.”
“One more thing I didn't.”
With a grin still engraved in his expression he says, “No. You didn't.”
Unsure of why he's so full of life considering the fact his body is betraying him every minute he takes a breath, I shove my hands into my pockets, eyes anxious to look anywhere but at him. To my surprise the room is covered in childhood photos I wasn't aware he had, alongside many moments I was mentally absent. Liz's graduation. Her wedding. Noah's graduation. His wedding. Shelby's birth. The wall of devotion to a family I'll probably never feel comfortable calling my own caresses an untouched nerve to numb the dysphoria.
Law's words about facing the first steps of a past mistake begin to repeat until my lips are moving. “Noah said you wanted to see me. Why?”
Instead of answering the question, he motions his hand to the left of him. “Care for a drink?”
“Drug addict,” I state forcefully. “Can't drink.”
“Recovering,” he corrects quickly. “Quite well if I may add.”
“I'd rather you not.”
“I wasn't aware that because you are recovering, you can't have a drink.”
“Alcohol is a drug.”
“Fair.” His immediate retreat further makes me uncomfortable. “Can I have Mary bring you something else? Soda? Juice? Water? I don't drink many things any more but-”
“Why did you want to see me?” I repeat, this time clenching my fists.
One of his hands motions to the empty seats around the room. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No.”
“You sure? There are plenty of spaces for you to do it without coming too close to me.”
“I won't ask you again.” With a shrug I add, “I'll leave.”
“Please stay,” he begs.
Taken off guard by the intonation once more, I shift my weight.
He scoots over to one side of the couch and sighs, “Dying makes a man think, Ryder.”
“So I'm told.”
“I've made many mistakes in my lifetime, but the one I regret making the most is the way I treated you.” His trite words don't get a reaction from me. “You never deserved to be cast aside. It wasn't your fault our marriage was failing. It wasn't your fault we didn't love each other. It wasn't your fault I regretted settling down too early. You were born the scapegoat that we never stopped crucifying.”
Hearing my life outlined in such exposed simplicity makes me grimace.
“And what kind of parents do that to their own child?”
It's a damn good question.
“You want the truth, Ryder?” He shrugs innocently. “I don't think we were ever meant to be parents.”
The unanticipated words crack my jaw.
“It was what was expected. It followed the formulaic routine of the generation. It was my job to meet a list of requirements just as much as it was your mothers. At some point love should've factored into it. At some point I like to think that it did, but that was before we had children. Even Noah. At least when Noah was born I had more than a drained bank account to take away from the relationship. Liz gave your mother the same. But you....you were the unforeseen embodiment of our mistakes as a whole as much as individuals. No one likes to stare their failures in the eyes, especially every night at bed time.”
My jaw trembles in silence.
“You reserve every right to hate me. Hell, I hate me for what I put you through. For rejecting you when it was obvious all you wanted was approval. For ignoring you when all you wanted was a glimpse of attention. For never letting you know you were good enough. I wanted to see you, not so that I could ask for forgiveness, but to give you the opportunity to persecute me for my crimes against you and to tell my son who I never gave a fair chance to be my son, that I'm sorry.”
I sniffle away the urge to accept the words at face value. He lost that right. Dying doesn't pardon him. Death will not pardon him, only transfer the animosity six feet under with him.
“I am sorry, Ryder,” his voice croaks. My father's hand suddenly starts to rub at his chest as if air is having a hard time finding it's way in. The sight of him so desperate to be forgiven, so desperate for another gasp of life, shatters something inside of me.
In a very cold voice I state, “I. Hate. You.”
My words don't seem to surprise him by the way he nods.
“You ruined my entire life.” Taking a step forward I announce, “You took away so much from me. You cost me the one person who actually loved me. The one person who gave me all those things you just admitted to never doing for me. You nudged me down the path of becoming an addict. And ultimately, yes, I am the reason I became an addict, but it was my desperation for one moment of approval from you that made me walk away from Pres. It was hoping you would finally give me a smidgen of the same thought you gave to my two siblings that lead me to follow the only advice you ever gave me.” Anger surges up my throat while tears tingle my eyes. “There wasn't a goddamn thing I wanted more growing up than for you to look at me once like you did Noah! For a pat on the fucking back! And the one thing I did to get
one turned my life into shit!”
My father wheezes, “Ryder-”
“No!” I shout. “You don't get to say shit to me ever again. You didn't want a son then and I don't want a father now. Just know the money you pumped into rehab after rehab to avoid once more being there for me actually worked this time. I'm completely clean. I have been for months. I'm healthy. I have a job. I have an apartment. And most importantly I have the one person you took away from me back in my life.”
“Presley-”
“You don't get to say her fucking name.” My bark shuts his lips. “You're less worthy of it than I am and that says a lot.”
He simply struggles to fold his shaking hands.
“My sponsor says it's important to face my past. Confront my mistakes. Take responsibility.” With a firm nod I say, “You are my past. Wanting your approval was my mistake. I will not make it again. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not your son. Your son died in rehab. The man that stands before you, the man that I am now, is a stranger to you. And he will remain that way. You will die never knowing him. You will die never having his approval.”
A choked sob comes from him.
“Enjoy your final days Derek Noah Collins. May they be filled with the peace you once took from me that I'm finally finding again.”
No further words are exchanged. I stroll back the way I came offering Mary a minor nod before disappearing out the front door. Dejection mutates with appeasement. The unusual creation streams rapidly through my bloodstream, prompting the desires of the dark to dance dirty. I need something for this. A cigarette. A bong hit. A Molly. Something. Anything. No. No. The drug I need to cleanse my system is the one I came here for. I will not let the minor moments in his presence send me spiraling the wrong direction. I am better than that. I am a different man than I was.
In my car, I pull out my cell to place a call to Pres, when it starts ringing. I should hit ignore. Now is not the time to play Superman. “What.”
“Ryder,” Kara's voice struggles to come through on the other ends. A crowd seems to be cheering and her words are barely audible. “....help.”
Insanity from the past whispers a tempting thought to join the madness she's trapped in. Toss back a beer. Roar in freedom of unrestrained fun. Let the monster out for a victorious moment. Relinquish the control I wake up every morning struggling to keep. A familiar pressure is trying to persuade me to undo all the progress. “Where are you?”
Like her previous sentence, the answer is muffled, “...on The Row.”
“Wait outside. I'll find you.”
Ending the call, I start my car and pull off down the road while the battle of wills continues inside of me. If I pick any drug that isn't Presley right now, I'm a liar. To her. To Doc. To Noah. Baby Shelby. To the man I just walked away from. I'm not the useless waste he helped birth. I'm more than that now. I plan on staying more than that. This is my life and I'll be damned if I ever let him have that sort of power over me again.
A few blocks from Ashwin, the prestigious art school Merrick and Jovi both attend, I take a left onto The Row. Even art nerds have sororities and fraternities. Fortunately they're grouped together making it a one stop party shop if you're in the mood. The club homes are built out of older homes they revamped and refurnished to fit the lifestyle they desired.
Slowly I cruise my car down the territory, head swinging back and forth, eyes squinting in the dark for a figure I recognize. At the end of the rowdy road I recognize the blonde with purple tipped hair who seems to be leaned against a car for balance.
When I come to a complete stop, I unlock the door, and roll down the window. “Get in.”
Kara's body sways as it struggles to do what it's told. The moment she flops down in the passenger seat her eyes fall shut.
Taking a right, I harshly snap, “What the fuck did you take?”
She shakes her head. “N-n-n-nothing. Someone....slipped...”
Her inability to finish the sentence tenses my body. “Were you drinking?”
Kara incoherently mumbles, but I manage to capture the word soda before she's completely passed out in my front seat. At the light I relocate my attention to her paralyzed body that's sweating profusely. She wasn't roofied. Most likely she ingested a combination of something harder. Something that would initially knock her out but later induce the desire to want to be fucked. There are a handful of party drugs that do that, so to assume which one she was slipped is pointless. What matters now is that she's not alone and that I don't leave her somewhere to be taken advantage of.
The light changes colors and I let out another frustrated groan. I'm not a hero. Hell, I used to be the villain who would deliver a batch of this shit with no moral concern who it would be used on. It wasn't my problem. My problem was solved upon delivery. My next high could and would be met. As an addict tunnel vision takes on an entirely new meaning. I didn't have to give a shit what happened after I left, but seeing it first hand now churns my stomach with disgust. What if I hadn't shown up? What if I would've ignored her call? What if I would've arrived blitzed? What kind of sick shit would I not mind doing to her? What kind of walking horror was I when I was fucked up out of my mind? There are memories from those days I can't unlock. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe just seeing this nightmare is enough of an unwanted memento to drown out any desires that attempt to show themselves. I don't give a shit how hard my life gets. I don't want to go down this rabbit hole. I don't wanna lose Pres. I don't wanna lose myself again.
Ryder
The beginning throbs of a headache create a groan in my throat. The stressful night I had yesterday has managed to roll itself into today. I drag my exhausted body out of bed, slip on shorts, and head to grab some aspirin. On my way to the kitchen I grab a glimpse of the unwanted visitor passed out on our couch. Couldn't take her home because I don't know where leaves. Couldn't drop her off at a sponsor's because she doesn't have one. If I would've taken her to the hospital to have her system flushed I have no doubt she would be thrown back in rehab against her will for something that wasn't entirely her fault. Addiction is enough of a prison sentence without constantly having others force you in a physical one.
Through another groan of pain, I open the cabinet to grab the medication, thankful Jovi has built up a habit of making sure this apartment is stocked with such necessities.
Seconds after a bottle of water is in my hand, a feminine voice calls out, “Can I have one too or does that cost extra?”
My eyes cut over to the sight of Kara gripping the sheet covering her. I grabbed her one also and acknowledge her conscious state. “You're probably dangerously dehydrated.”
She slinks her body to a sitting position. “Is that why I'm naked?”
Sitting on the edge of the couch beside her, I offer her a bottle. “Probably. When I went to bed you were still wearing clothes.” After the water is in her grasp I throw the pills in my mouth and wash them down. “You hadn't hit the heat phase.”
Kara sips on the drink. “I don't....I don't remember anything from last night.”
“You remember calling me?”
Her head tilts as she struggles to recall. “Not...not exactly. The last thing I remember was being handed a soda from Marc. Everything after that is fuzzy.”
For a moment I stare down at the epitome of the lifestyle I used to choose, which is exactly what it was. It was a choice. I chose to get lit. I chose to party. I chose to do the things necessary to feed the demon, to keep it happy. Here, in a scarred blonde form, is the cast aside shadows I ignore. Staring at her in disbelief I ask her something unexpected. “Is sobriety a game to you?”
Kara's eyebrows dart down. “What?”
“Is staying clean something you actually plan on doing or is it something you happen to be doing until you grow bored?”
“I didn't purposely take drugs last night, Ryder.”
“No,” I agree. “You didn't. But every time I look up you're putting yourself in the same fucking position. Every
other day it seems like you stick yourself right in the middle of chaos in hopes it will consume you. You wanna stay clean? It helps to stay away from parties. It helps to stay away from night clubs. It helps to stay away from all the same goddamn bullshit that you got you hooked to begin with!”
“So I'm just supposed to give up living!” She snaps harshly. “I'm supposed to die miserable, alone, and sober? How the fuck is that better?”
“No one told you had to die from any of those things. You can be sober and have a life worth living.”
“Really?” Her voice gets cold. “Is yours?”
Without hesitation I reply, “Yes.”
“When? When you're struggling to rub elbows with people who will never know the abyss that only I know expands inside of you? When you're sitting like a good student at those fucking meetings?”
