Ethan Walker's Road To Wonderland (Road To Wonderland #3)

by L. J. Stock

  Punching the bathroom door out of my way, I stripped and turned the shower on, my hand automatically sliding under the spray, waiting for it to heat up. If the bastard wanted me to pay rent, I'd do it until I could get the fuck out of there because, unlike Mum, I wasn't going to be an enabler for his bad habits. I wasn't going to cover the bills he'd gambled away the money for. In fact, I would sort my four hundred pounds so it went into the bills directly. I wasn't giving him a penny.

  Grabbing my things from the bathroom floor, after scrubbing half my skin off, brushing the enamel from my teeth and drinking mouthwash in hopes of washing the memories away, I marched to my room and slammed the door behind me. I paced the room in my towel, my pink skin tingling in the cool air as my anger nested inside me and stretched out for the long haul. I didn't want to become my father - the bitter, cynical arsehole who would suck the life out of everything. I'm not even sure how he ended up that way to begin with. I don't believe he'd always been that way, but thinking of the past only brought back more memories of Mum.

  This inevitably brought on the amalgamation of repressed emotions I carried around on a daily basis.

  The problem was, I was confused. I was so scared of remembering, yet terrified of forgetting her. The conflicting fears made it impossible to think of anything at all, and that was generally where that black hole inside me grew. I tried to memorize the soft tones of her voice and the gentle lilt of her laugh, the way she would brush my hair from my eyes if I laid out on the couch. Such small things at the time, yet I took them all for granted. The very things I was forcing myself to remember were the things that made the pain contort into something bigger.

  Then there was Dad.

  “It should have been him” started playing in my mind again as I paced back and forth like a caged tiger. My hands balled at my temples as the sound of my own voice echoed through my head, growing more manic by the second. What sort of person wished the death of their father? Sure it was in the place of Mum, but it was still despicable.

  No, I reminded myself. It was the way he would think.

  Had he already contemplated it? Had he already wished it were Dean or I that had died in her place? I'd like to think the answer was a resounding no, but I knew better. We were Mum's world, but Mum had been Dad's whole universe.

  There was a knock at my door, pulling me out of my destructive ruminations and back into my own personal hell. It was too much to think Dad would be at the door, willing to listen to a word I had to say or even talk it out. So that only left Dean.

  "Yeah, Dean?"

  "Goin' out, E. I'll see ya."

  "Alright, mate. Just be careful, yeah?"

  The mumbled response and snort of derision were enough of an answer for me. I knew he needed to escape just as much as I did. I would never begrudge him that.

  Memories of the night before flooded my consciousness, making my skin prickle with the ghosted touch of that skank, Jessica. I didn't know what Dean did while he was out with his mates, but my sudden urge to protect him lurched me forward, pulling the door open to surprise him at the top of the stairs. It didn't matter that it was only ten in the morning. This mattered to me.

  "Wait here."

  "Da fuck, E?"

  Running back into my room, I picked up a box of condoms and rushed back to the door, tossing them at him with a smile. He looked at the box and rolled his eyes, but I could see the humour sparking there. He flipped me off with a laugh and pushed his hands, and the box, in his pocket before jogging down the stairs, pulling the front door closed behind him.

  Of course Dad didn't bother knocking when he left, just slammed the door in his wake, leaving me alone in the house with nothing but my thoughts and memories.

  It couldn't have been long before the walls started closing in around me, the silence creating a ringing in my ears. Even putting music on didn't help. It was like a voice in the back of my head, reminding me I was alone, and beyond the haunted sounds of the Tainted Love remake, there was that ever-expanding silence.

  Everything started piling on top of one another in my head, the anger slowly seeping out of me as the void slowly resettled, sucking the life out of everything good. Though I hated to admit it, my mind moved back to the night before. If it had been anyone other than Jessica, it would have been a stellar party.

  I looked to my coat and turned away, fighting the urge for just one more day of feeling.

  What would it hurt to do it just one more time?

  The room tripled in length as I looked up at the jacket hanging over the back of my door. My mind flitted between the pros and cons as I willed my body to move. I should have realised what a bad idea it was. There was a reason I was hesitating, but I favoured ignorance over the glaringly obvious fact that this would only lead me somewhere I didn’t want to go.

  I stumbled from my bed and threw my hand into the first pocket I came to, coming up empty and a little bit frustrated as I shifted the material so I could reach the other side. The moment I felt the edge of the plastic bag, I had it in my hands, breaking the little seal at the top.

  The first sign that I shouldn’t have been doing it was the indicative peering around the room to make sure there was no one there. I already knew that Dad and Dean had left. It was knowing I shouldn’t have been doing it that made the thought of someone watching become a physical search of the barren room. My eyes scanned the corners of it, waiting for my mum, who wouldn’t come bursting in my room ever again, to stop me from doing something stupid.

  Not that it deterred me, of course.

  I think by that point it would have taken a small miracle to stop me from doing it, or some divine intervention to tell me it was wrong - for someone to care enough to walk in there and stop me from making the single biggest mistake of my life up to that point. I felt isolated from the world, stood there in my towel, staring down at the smiling face stuck on the tip of my finger.

  Lifting my hand to my mouth, I stuck the tab on my tongue and swallowed compulsively, the moment’s significance brushed aside as I moved to my chest of drawers to grab some boxers.

  It took forever to do anything. I spent almost fifteen minutes thinking the bitch had given me defective ecstasy.

  Then it settled in, dragging me slowly under its influence like a siren.

  For the most part, my room was the only scene I needed for my little roll that night. I was spread out on my bed in my boxers, arms flung out on either side of me after turning the radio on. The top forty was playing, as it did most Sundays, but it was like I’d never truly heard it before. The notes danced around the room, sending little vibrations over my flesh. When I sang along, the vibrations from my own voice seemed to mingle and twist until my hand was on my stomach, the stroking sensation only adding to the euphoric feeling that already had me in its grip.

  There weren’t many of them, but I found the songs with piano pieces difficult to listen to. Tears welled in my eyes, memories suddenly swarming around me like angry bees, reminding me of years of lessons, the smiles Mum would wear when I managed her favourite songs. I could almost feel her sat next to me, wiggling her fingers as she wistfully spoke about having long, elegant digits like mine. I missed her so much, and these moments only made it worse, but when the song would change, my mind would be diverted somewhere else and I got a reprieve from the pain. All of the memories that surrounded me faded, lingering in the back of my mind as they waited for the next opportunity to drown me.

  I’m not entirely sure whether it was a blessing or a curse when my mobile rang. In my little haze, I actually considered not answering at all, because that would involve moving my hand. I moved my pinky first, sliding it along the material. It felt divine against my sensitive skin, so the rest of my hand followed, taking in the sensations and laughing at the vibrations from the phone.

  Lifting it to my ear, I mumbled a greeting and waited for a response, but the odd tonal music just played again, making my eyes roll and a noise rise from my throat. I hadn’t hit t
he send button. With a quiet chuckle, I made a second attempt and held it to my ear again.

  “Hello?”

  “E, we’re headed down the pub, mate. Wanna join us?” Scott asked, his voice clear and crisp. He sounded so much better than I felt, and when I looked up at the window, I realised it was most likely because he’d been sleeping the whole damn day - something I should have done instead of rolling like a boss.

  I couldn’t tell him I was high, but I could pass it off as being drunk, right?

  The thought of getting out of this room and this house suddenly sounded like the best idea I’d ever heard. Whatever had held my attention all day had suddenly receded into nothing, and there was just a void in its place.

  “Out? Fuck, yeah. I’m bored.”

  “Jesus, you started without me?”

  “I can’t help it if you’re a lazy fucker.”

  Mixed emotions filed in around the coherent part of my mind. If I had to lie to my best friend about it then it wasn't a good thing. He deserved the truth, and he needed to know what was going on. Somewhere, in the oxygen-starved part of my brain, my head was telling me he wouldn't like what I was doing. However, the rest of my very fucked up brain couldn't have cared less, because we were going out. Going out where there were probably women - women I could touch and who would touch me. Women who would give me that "alive" feeling but wouldn't leave me repulsed when I finally sobered up.

  “Be ready in ten, you twat.”

  “Ten minutes. I’ll be ready.”

  I could hear his laughter when he hung up. I’d made my mate laugh instead of making him depressed because I couldn’t get myself into gear. That thought alone exonerated the tiny white lie I’d told him. At least, that’s what I convinced myself of anyway.

  Pulling on my clothes was a whole new mountain to climb. Every slide of fabric dragged my mind away from what I was doing so it focused on that instead. Brushing my teeth again pulled my focus to the thousands of bubbles popping in my mouth and every stroke of the bristle.

  Then there was the bag as I pulled on my jacket. The temptation to keep this going was the only reason I stuck another tab on my tongue. It was stupid, because I was close to being sober and maybe getting through the night without making a complete twat of myself.

  I made it outside before Scott got there. I’m not sure how, but the breeze was happy to keep me occupied as I waited.

  By the time I got to the pub, things started to get a little fuzzy. Moments started to blur together. What I do know is, I laughed without guilt, I flirted with women twice my age and girls my age. Hell, I think I may have actually flirted with Scott’s sister, Beth, too. I was untouchable and in my element; nothing could have touched me.

  I woke up the next morning beside an older woman that I'd met at the pub. It was a stark contrast to the nightmare that had been the night before, and I gave myself bonus points for using a condom. Being with an older woman was an incredible experience. She'd been babbling on about yoga or pilates or some shit. Whatever the hell it was, it made her flexible as hell.

  She only lived a couple of streets over, so I snuck out without waking her up, and made sure her house was locked up before I jogged home, happy that Dean and Dad would already be at work. The last thing I needed was more questions. As far as they knew, I had been in my room all night. It seemed I hadn’t bothered turning my radio off.

  The come down that morning was just as bad as the one after the party, the only difference being that I suffered it at work. For the first time since I started working there, I volunteered to do the stockroom because I couldn't face talking to customers or listening to the idle chatter.

  I withdrew into myself, the process slow at first, but picking up momentum as the day progressed. It all became excessive, and the darkness of sobriety began to consume me. Everything I’d been avoiding was coming back and haunting me tenfold. I suddenly found myself craving just one more high to stop the feelings for just a while longer.

  Thinking back, it would have been so easy to stop taking the drugs right then and there. To see that although they helped while I was high, the slippery slope of them wearing off just made everything worse. That was too logical for me at that point, though. I was lost to the high, and for me, it was worth the pain.

  I had no will power. Every time I told myself it was going to be the last time, I’d wake up in the murky cesspool of self-loathing and depression and seek the higher emotions that came with the ecstasy. It wasn’t long before I avoided the downward spiral altogether. Waking up, I would reach for the baggie I’d taped under my bed frame. During work when I’d come down, I’d suddenly have to head out for lunch so I could find somewhere quiet to let that first euphoric trickle level me out.

  Before I knew it, drug-fuelled days turned into weeks, and I found myself making friends I would have avoided like the plague normally. I dodged Jessica for the most part, but I’d called her from a pay phone once to get the number of her dealer. She’d offered to get them for me for free, but paying for them was exponentially better than sleeping with her would have been.

  I tended, more often than not, to skulk around in my hoodies, the material up over my head as I shook hands with the dealer in an exchange. It never took long, and I was around the corner with my hood down within ten steps. That didn’t mean I didn’t feel cheap, though. It also hadn’t escaped my notice that I was taking my life into my own hands every time I turned down the alley. All it would take was for them to think I was a narc, or that I had money, and I’d end up with a knife in my side, bleeding to death and pissed off because I didn’t get my shit.

  That should have been enough to deter me.

  Should have.

  So should the thought of leaving Dean alone with Dad, but I was so lost in my own grief and my own head that everything else just slowly faded into the background, mingling with the rest of the noise that resided there.

  The drugs were consuming my life, one hit at a time, one bag at a time. I’d like to believe that if it hadn’t been for my grief, I would never have immersed myself in the lifestyle of the drugged and junkied the way I had, but it was a moot point. I was drowning in my bereavement, and I was holding onto the drugs like they were a life raft.

  Scott, who knew me better than anyone, didn’t take long to figure out what had happened to me. He refused to touch the stuff on account of one of us having to stay sane. He tried everything he could to derail that particular train, but it was useless. He knew it, too. I could see the disappointment emanating from his pores as he watched me throw my life away, and I deserved every bloody bit of it. I was sick of myself and my attitude. I was sick of the weakness that had taken over me. Eventually, as was inevitable, I pushed away the people I loved, justifying it to myself with the excuse that they were better off without me.

  Scott had been my best friend for eighteen years. There was a part of me that believed he would never give up on me, and true to form, he never did, but there was a time I thought he had.

  We were in the local pub, my body pressed against another woman, practically dry humping her and not giving a shit who was watching or what they thought. All I was interested in was gratification and the feeling that encompassed me with the friction between our bodies.

  Scott tried to break it up, a tap on my shoulder and a tilt of his head toward the rest of the pub where all eyes were on me and the lass.

  “Come on, lad. This ain’t the place.”

  I told him to fuck off, shrugging him away and trying hard not to react to the point of contact, where some extremely fucked up sensations were branching out around my body.

  “Is this really what it’s come down to?”

  “What of it?”

  “E, look around you. You’re making an arse of yourself. I love you, mate, but this ain’t who you are. Fun? Absolutely. Exhibitionism? No fucking way. Bloody hell, mate, a month ago you’d have been taking the piss out of a lad doing what you’re doing.”

  I backed away from
the lass, staggering under the weight of the stares as all the good feelings drained from my body. He was right, and I knew it, too, but the sudden switch of the high into the low made me defensive.

  “You don’t have to babysit me, Scott. You don’t like what you see? Fuck off.”

  It was exactly what he did, too. He turned on his heel and back to the table, grabbing his coat before turning to face me head on.

  “I can’t fucking watch you do this to yourself, mate. Your mum would have been so fucking disappointed in you. Flush your life down the pot, lad, but don’t expect me to hang around and watch you.”

  Then he was gone, and I was forcing a laugh, calling him a tosser before going back to what I was doing. I felt sick, but I couldn’t follow him, and some twisted sense of pride demanded I showed all those twats staring at us. I knew I had no validity to that rationalisation. I knew I was making a bigger arse of myself, but that’s what the drugs did to me. After a couple of seconds, I was hardly aware the rest of the punters were there at all.

  He didn’t walk away, not completely. He made sure I was awake and sober for Sunday brunch. Dean, Scott, and I had decided it was the new tradition so we could all catch up. We all had jobs now so it was the only way to make sure we didn’t fall too far away from one another. Dean was still oblivious to my new crutch in life, and I was fine with that. The longer he was oblivious, the better.

  The slow, unmoving time that had haunted me since Mum’s death suddenly started to pass too quickly. I found myself losing whole days. The monotony of work was swallowed up into the obscurity of the high. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was losing everything about myself to the rush of the high.

  It had only taken four weeks for the drugs to consume me and pull me into their sticky little web. I’d also managed to avoid Jessica Gregory for most of that time. Unfortunately, it was bad luck when that four week anniversary saw me at another party, and not one I would normally have been seen at, but the drugs were free if you were brave enough to take them. I should have known she’d be there. Then again, that's what happened when you stopped thinking like a rational human being and let the drugs take over.