A gay story: Hold Me Now – Alive and Kicking AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Before you read this I just want to talk about the ending of… let’s call it part one.
There were both personal and narrative reasons for the way it ended. I actually started writing this story like 2 years ago, and by the time I was able to finish it I just couldn’t manage to get B and Harrison together in my head. Things happen for me IRL that make certain things hard to face even in my perfect imaginary worlds sometimes. Harrison has a little too much of me in him, and I wasn’t sure if I could write about the places I saw him going, especially not with poor B being strung along for the ride. I have been in a bit of a weird place trying to finish it, and just wanted to put something out there because it’s been so long. The funny thing was, I actually didn’t realise how much of a controversial ending that would be… I’d been in my own head for a long time about this and I think I kind of forgot like… the POINT of the prose I put out here.
Besides my own personal reasons for Bailey moving forward, I think it was really important for Bailey’s journey to go through a relatively healthy break up. This story is about him growing up, and part of that was opening himself up to the vulnerability of saying ‘I love you’, but another part of that was learning how to deal with uncomfortable situations, and seeing that life still has meaning. There was so much of him so scared to live life to the fullest because he was scared of it going sour, and losing Harrison helped him manage that in so many ways. I think some of you saw that, and saw the beauty in understanding that there is no one perfect person and that love doesn’t just start and end- and for anyone who was ok with that, that’s basically where I intended to leave it and you don’t need to read this.
Having said that, I’ve set up a precedent of writing love stories with X + Y = True Love Forever and breaking that was definitely a choice. I can see why you’d be disappointed and annoyed. I always try to write a HEA for my characters because the real world is bleak enough, I wanna read happy stories about hot people fucking who get married and adopt two children and five dogs. My audience does as well, I assume that’s why you read my work over infinitely sexier stuff ha ha. So I am sorry. I also want to say most authors read all your comments and being disappointed by the end of a story is one thing, and being kind of an ass who suggests I have no talent and did this to you intentionally is another. (I might be talentless but it’s not because I couldn’t give two fictional guys one happy ending…)
Finally, on a different note but it comes up over and over again in my comment sections…. I know my dialogue tags SUCK. I honestly work so hard to fix it but it’s an uphill battle, ha ha. I come from a screenwriting background- dialogue, shot for reaction, dialogue, close up, et cet… That’s why I fuck it up all the time. Working on it though. Feedback is valuable- I’d never have even realised I do that all the time if people didn’t point it out. I’m not averse to feedback, even when it is tearing the end of a story to shreds ha ha. Go off, speak your truth, I’ll cope (and hopefully be a better writer for it).
SO; I’m sorry I broke these guys up after like 7? 10? 12? pages of build up, I totally get why that’s incredibly unfulfilling to read (even if I did try to create the nicest, sweetest back up option ever… maybe Basil needs his own story…). But it’s ok, now that I’ve read your feedback and have a bit of space from the story I can see that I could say more. So here is where we left B, from Harrison’s point of view. Hopefully you hate me a bit less after this 😅 no bait and switch I promise (although part of me thinks that would be the funniest thing ever: can you imagine I did a whole redo and on the last page gave Bailey a third perfect man?! but I PROMISE I won’t, even for the bit).
TW though, Harrison’s in a bad place. (It’s one of the reasons I wanted B to find someone else…. You can make characters do whatever you want them do; but if you don’t let them go down the path they’re trying to go down sometimes, they come across as insincere.) Harrison is dealing with substance abuse. If you don’t want to read that, skip to the bit that’s headed “What’s it gonna take to make a dream survive?”. It’s still mentioned but you don’t have to go through it with him. There is also mention of self harm and suicide between “What you gonna do when love burns down?” and “What you gonna do when the flames go up?”.
As always, thanks for reading. Can’t promise when the next story will be out because I’m like, consistently a wreck and I don’t get paid for this but there are like 50 stories in my drafts so one of them will make its way here one day.
Ka kite anō!
—–
— What you gonna do when things go wrong? —-
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it, Harrison.
You don’t want to know.
You don’t want to see him.
This is stalking, and it’s gross, and it’s lame, and it’s been like, years, and you need to move on.
Too late.
Ughhhhh why do I do this to myself? I stared blankly at Bailey Green’s instagram. I open it probably once every six months. I don’t know why. Because he left me probably. He left me and I didn’t know why, or how the fuck he moved on so seemingly unharmed. I mean, I suppose it was mutual. Actually, I think I might have even proposed it. But I never actually expected him to agree. I certainly never expected him to meet someone else. Some fucking asshole who’d popped up on his instagram about two years ago and seemed to be gearing up to marry the love of my life. I groaned in shame as I stared at Bailey’s latest story. Him, and Lou, and Brent, and everyone I’d left in Wellington were celebrating B’s latest exhibition. He’d done so well for himself. I always knew he would. He was so determined. The camera moved to show Bailey’s new man… no. Not so new now I guess. His fiancé-who was just a knock off version of me, which actually made it sting a lot worse. If B had decided to go back to tall blonde Adonis types at least I’d know for sure he didn’t have any feelings left that I need concern myself with.
I winced and closed my eyes. Ok. Options right now were to cry, which was tempting…. Or to jerk off like an absolute loser to some guy who’d completely moved on… Or to put down my phone, get the fuck up and try and do something with my day.
I had a gulp of whiskey to rinse my mouth out as I stumbled out of bed and pulled some trousers off the floor. I avoided my reflection. Sometimes catching my own eye makes me think a little too much about what exactly I’m doing here. I’m not saying life is all bad. I’m the lead guitarist for one of the coolest bands in Australasia. I made the front cover of Gay Times six months ago. Well. The BAND made the cover- but I’m the gay one in the band! So that’s still my win. Sure, I still have to work a slightly normal part time job to keep the lights on but I’m basically as successful as anyone has any right to be. And I’m still young, and I’m still hot. I’m doing ok.
I’m mean. I’m doing… ok.
I’m…
I stopped in my tracks as I made it down the stairs and passed the living room. I paused. I turned and took two steps back and stared through the door. I frowned.
“Hey?” I raised an eyebrow. I glanced at my phone. 3.37pm. Not exactly party time. And I’m sure I would have remembered if we were having a party. So what was my whole fucking band, and a some of my my workmates, and Mel from the record store and Stu from Salvos and some random dude I’d never met doing, staring at me, sitting placidly in the living room?
“Hi.” The stranger smiled warmly at me. “You must be Harrison.” My eyes alighted on the pamphlets spread out on the table. Oh. Oh fuck.
—- — —- —
Bile rose up first, although I managed to breathe through it. I mumbled something about grabbing a t-shirt. If I really had to sit through this I’d rather do it fully clothed. I considered running away. I swallowed that thought pretty quickly. I think when you run away from- ugh. I would have put any money I had on it. This was an intervention. Well, if you run away from it, that intervention suddenly looks like maybe it has a point.
I can’t say I was shocked. I mean, it’s just part of the lifestyle isn’t it? I’m a fucking rockstar! Just because it’s been… well. Huh. I honestly don’t know the last day I did like, 100% sober. It gnawed away a bit if I let it, but I didn’t let it. I mean, I wasn’t SO fucked that I was blacked out everyday. Just. Not. You know. Like, not NOT intoxicated. I knew I was drinking more than my flatmates. I knew most people didn’t start every day with a joint. I knew the reason I was skint every week was entirely to blame on how fucking easy it was to get your hands on some coke over here in Oz… it was practically impossible back in Wellington. I didn’t realise I’d like it so much. It was just parties at first. Then gigs, because it helped steady my hands, then just…
Yeah.
I can’t say I was shocked.
So I grabbed a t- shirt and sat down heavily, hanging my head between my knees as I listened to my friends talk about how worried they were, and how out of control I seemed, and the damage I was doing to my brain and body and relationships. I nodded and smiled weakly in acknowledgement as each person finished. I wasn’t sure if anyone’s words were really having impact. On one hand they were grazing me, like this dull rusty knife that was reopening wounds I’d been ignoring…
But I’m really good at ignoring things. So in another way everyone’s pain was just washing over me, maybe rubbing a bit of salt in the wounds, but hardly giving me more damage.
“Harrison…” I felt Skinner sink down beside me. “Are you… hearing this?”
“Oh.” I glanced at him. “Yeah mate. Hear it. Lay off the drugs. Et cetera…” I waved my hand blearily and I could feel a collective wave of annoyance against me.
“Harrison.” Skinner took a really deep breath and gently touched my shoulder. “This is a little more than ‘lay off the drugs et cetera’ ok? Not everything is a big fucking joke.”
I don’t know why that did it.
I can’t like, draw a line and tell you when it happened. Part of me wants to blame leaving Welliington, only I’d been smoking weed to a slightly alarming degree even before I moved to Melbourne. It didn’t get significantly worse after any significant events. B and I broke up- that was super fucking lame. Dad got sick- also super lame. I don’t know. Seasons changed, whatever… there’s no like, MOMENT though. It just crept up on me. I’d gone from someone normal- a guy in a band who did drugs from time to time- to someone who got a little stressed and sweaty when he realised he didn’t have any. To someone who put money aside each week for narcotics in the same passionless way he did for bills and rent. Someone who needed a joint to start the day and half a bottle of whiskey to finish the day and didn’t think a party was really a party unless he felt like someone else.
I swallowed as I looked at Skinner. No matter what kind of a loser you are, no one gets all the friends you’ve ever had in the city together to say ‘lay off the drugs, et cetera’. People only do that when they think something is seriously fucking wrong. And if I wasn’t avoiding any internal thoughts or the mirror so hard… maybe I might have caught that earlier. I hung my head again and cradled my knees. I could see the Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet glaring at me from the coffee table. I swallowed the vomit as it threatened to expel itself again.
“Yeah.” I gritted my teeth. “Skinner, I hear you ok?” I sat up, gripping on to myself tight. “No, I hear you. I have a problem.” That was easier to admit than I’d expected. I glanced around the room. “Not like I think any of you are saints.” I raised my eyebrows. “But I’ve gone a bit overboard. I agree.” I exhaled slowly. I reached for the pamphlet. “I can do this.” I mumbled. I was talking to myself as much as anyone else.
“That’s really good, Harrison.” Skinner took my hand. “Because we have some boundaries we wanna talk about with you.”
——–
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling.
Lay off the drugs et cetera. Or we kick you out of home. We tell your parents. We get a new guitarist. We tell your boss. Fuck you, Harrison! You’re such a loser! You’re such a nothing! Such a total waste of space! The world would be better without you in it. The world was always better without you in it. Name one fucking thing that you didn’t make worse. What’s that? Bailey? You fucking moron. B is a million times happier now you’re not around. You fucking waste of space. Waste of oxygen. Waste of time and energy and
My hand was subconsciously reaching for something. Anything.
We talked for half an afternoon, and then I retired to my room to think and cry. There were tabs on me, I could feel it now, so no running away right this second. No hunting down something to numb everything. But lucky for me, past Harrison had some idea something like this would happen. And because past Harrison could occasionally be a slightly obsessive addict, he made sure I had enough treats tucked away to keep me bright eyed and bushy tailed. Past Harrison knew there might be a rainy day and he’d prepared me well.
I took some shrooms to space me out, and spent a few hours scribbling random lyrics on paper and hiding from the doorway which I thought I’d locked but was too scared to check. I had some edibles to calm down the end of my terrible trip…. I really should have put a bit more effort into staging something decent. “You’re a loser” was never a good place to jump into psychedelics from. I washed everything down with some vodka and I was just feeling like I could go to sleep when my alarm started to ring to wake me up. So I had more vodka. I had a shower and ate some toothpaste. And I headed to work for the brunch shift. Thank fuck everyone else was asleep. I’d seen my reflection. It wasn’t even me. I’d been replaced by a demon from my own nightmares.
——–
I let the roads take me to work. I was barely aware of them, too consumed by my own thoughts. My eyes were red and raw and fuzzy and I’m not even sure they were open. I got there regardless. I only realised it when I felt myself turn the engine off.
It wasn’t the first time I’d lost time. It was rare, but it happened; when I’d wake up in the middle of a conversation and know I was drunk, and have no idea where I was or how I got there. I panicked the first time. But things always get a little easier after the first time. There’s no point worrying about what you did or didn’t do. It was either legal or moral or idiotic or it wasn’t. It would either come back to bite you or it wouldn’t.
I prayed I hadn’t hit anything or run any red lights as I stepped shakily out of my car and into work, waking myself up by slapping my cheeks. By all rights I should have been the Manager of the little local wine bar on Sydney Road by now. I seemed to have a knack with wine, which was somewhat ironic since I barely touched the stuff these days. Let’s be real, just because it actually tastes good doesn’t mean there’s any value for money there. Vodka is definitely the best if you’re trying to keep the edge off for as little cash as possible. I like whiskey, and I used to drink proper Islay single malts but I’d REALLY developed a taste for The Famous Grouse- the cheapest shit I could find. You’re probably starting to see why I wasn’t running the place. I probably could. I could probably do it with my eyes closed if I wanted to… But I have a natural aversion to anything remotely akin to responsibility. I didn’t want to. I wanted to show up drunk, or high, or hungover, get paid anyway, and go play gigs in the weekend.
One day I would quit waiting tables and just be famous- but just because Hordes had radio play now, and the odd successful tour… that didn’t mean we had it made. The kind of thing we had could all fall apart at any time. AND. I was mildly aware that I was one bad day from being kicked out of the band anyway. Not that they could replace me easy- I might have the lowest self esteem of my life, but even through that I knew I was one fucking hell of a guitarist. I smiled to myself. No way they’d actually kick me out.
I stumbled into work with a fake smile on my face and Jacob greeted me awkwardly.
“Hey mate.” He clasped my shoulder. “Glad you’re early. I have bad news.” He took a deep breath and avoided my eye. “New overlords gentrifying our neighbourhood want drug tests.” He handed me a small yellow jar.
I felt the room swim in front of me. New overlords. True, the place has been sold a month ago. The new owners seemed cool though. I wouldn’t have expected… I mean. Unless. I felt a wave of shame wash over me. It’s funny. You always think you’re hiding things ok. Keeping it together. But then again; I’d literally just been party to an intervention. It was pretty likely my boss knew.
I stared at the cup he’d given me.
“Yeah, you know how it is. Just with the times we figured it was better to do three monthly tests, may as well start now, get ahead of it….”
“Jake, I’m not going to pass this.” I said flatly as he rambled on. Jacob stopped in his tracks and looked at me. He looked at me properly. He looked behind the shower and shave I’d managed 30 minutes ago. He looked behind the toothpaste and the clean clothes. I think I almost saw a bit of fear in his eyes as he caught a glimpse of the demon that had been possessing me.
“Oh, mate.” He sighed. “Hey, you wanna try anyway? I know weed sticks around but…” I closed my eyes. If we tried tomorrow… maybe. But let’s be honest. I used daily. That weed wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’d had some coke like two days ago which was probably detectable. The shrooms were only just wearing off. And I was way above any legal limit for alcohol, even first thing in the morning. I winced and bit my lip.
“I…” I sighed. Hey, maybe miracles do happen.
That’s something I’ve learned about denial. It keeps you in eternal optimism.
—- —- —-
“You’re home early.” Fox greeted me as I trudged through the front door. I imagined myself lunging at him and strangling him. It kind of helped. Then I felt bad. I stared at him instead and shrugged very, very slowly.
“You’re home.” I commented.
“Night shift.” He yawned. “What’s the early day for?”
“Sick.” I mumbled. Fox looked me over critically and I felt myself heat up.
“Ah.” He said quietly. “Is it… you know… withdrawal?” I felt a little light in my stomach. I glanced at him. I nodded. That was plausible.
“I might… need some time off work actually.” I whispered.
“Oh yeah dude.” Fox got up and went to put on the jug. “Hey man, no worries ok? We are gonna look after you while you go through this.” He brushed my hand gently as he moved past me and our eyes met. “I’m real proud of you Harrison.” He said. I smiled thinly.
“Thanks.” I said.
I texted my dealer as soon as I got to my room, with explicit instructions on how to meet me on the roof. I crushed a pill that was hanging out on my desk which I think was Ritalin. I applied for three jobs, pretty sure Jacob wasn’t planning on having me back and smiled at my reflection, avoiding my eyes. I’d be ok. You know what? I’d do a fucking month sober. Just to prove I could. I’d get a new job. Everything would be ok.
—- —-
“You owe me $100 on top of this.” Derek snarled as we swapped packages on the top of my roof. I smiled at him.
“Yeah, got it.” I saluted. “Next time, boss.”
“Harrison.” He glared at me. “You’ve racked up enough debt already.”
“Don’t you dare remind me.” I laughed. “But I promise. I’m just between jobs.”
“Between jobs!” He hissed. “Mate! No more until you have an income!”
“Whatever.” I said. “I’m taking a month off this stuff anyways. But I promise I’ll have the cash when you see me next ok?”
“Harrison!” Derek pinched his nose. “Dude. You have a problem.” He mumbled.
“Why would you give a shit?” I sat down on the roof, enjoying the sun. I squinted at him. “I don’t have a problem.” I could feel that optimism bubbling up. “And if I did, I’m just lining your wallet.”
“Not when you owe me $1200.” Derek sat down beside me. He sighed. “A month off? Good. You need it.”
“$1200?” I blinked. Fuck. Worse than I’d thought. By a long shot. I stared at Derek and bit my lips. There was no fucking way I was gonna manage to get that together.
“$1200.” He confirmed. I stared at my shoes.
“Fuck me and call it even?” I suggested. Derek laughed and nudged my shoulder.
“Aw. Harrison. No dude.”
“Worth a shot.” I smiled as I started to roll a joint. I lit it and offered it to him.
“Hey.” He took it. “Stick with me ok? Let me know how your month off is going. Just… please don’t start offering your body to other random guys. Because some of them will say yes.” I nodded absentmindedly. Not the worst deal in the world, I thought privately. Almost a win win actually. “So when’s your month off starting?” Derek took the joint off me.
“Today.” I grinned at him. “After this.” Derek’s face fell.
“Oh. That game.” He said. “After this joint. Ok.” He sighed and stood up. “Call me, buddy.” He smiled thinly. “Look after yourself.”
“Will do!” I waved goodbye as he scaled the Ivy back to the main road.
——
I was comfortable enough to catch up on the sleep I’d missed last night and fell asleep on my bed fully clothed. I woke up to find someone was holding me. I frowned and blinked blearily. Skinner. He glanced down at me as I stirred and gave me a thin smile. I sat up and yawned.
“Your boss called me.” He said. I groaned and threw myself back next to him. His arm fell over my shoulders and he squeezed it gently. “He said he was a bit worried about you and he was standing you down from work for a couple of weeks. So I told him it was all good, we knew, and we’d talked about it, and you were going to try therapy, and NA, and take a break from partying and drugs.” He sighed. “You showed up high this morning?”
“I show up high every morning.” I snorted and pressed my face into the duvet. “He just decided to start drug testing today.” I rolled over. “I don’t think I was HIGH.” I argued. “Just coming down.”
“And you were drunk. You drove drunk, Harrison.”
“I don’t think I was drunk either, I’d just had some alcohol the night before…”
“You gonna keep lying and making excuses or we gonna talk about this?”
“If I’ve been relatively good at my job for the last two years and relatively not sober for at least the last year and no one’s said or noticed anything for all that time, can we collectively agree it’s not that anyone minds me actually doing it substance free, they just have dumb hang ups about it?”
“The problem with being a nice person who makes friends with everyone he meets is that people do notice, Harrrison.” Skinner nudged my leg. “Jacob said he thought you were depressed, everyone in the whole city thinks you’ve become a moody asshole to be around, and to be honest with you, you can barely play guitar right now.” Skinner glanced at me as I sat bolt upright.
“Fuck off.” I folded my arms. “I’m the best guitarist you ever met.”
“Agreed.” Skinner raised his eyebrows at me. “Which is why it’s a real shame you suck so hard when you’re high.”
“Fuck you.” I glared at him.
“You know, it wasn’t easy getting everyone together.” Skinner yawned. “But when we told them it was because we were worried about you and the drugs and the booze, literally everyone you’ve ever met wanted to come. The only reason we didn’t have to rent out a conference room is because Lando suggested we capped the numbers.”
“You literally did this speech 24 hours ago.” I sighed. “I was listening. Everyone cares about me yada, yada, yada….”
“It went in one ear and out the other so I’m doing it again.” Skinner sat up and folded his arms as he looked at me. “Ernie. You need to get your shit together.”
“My shit is together.” I glared at him. “If Jake hadn’t decided I needed to pass a drug test without any warning there would be NO ISSUE with my job. And you’re full of shit. I play fine, always. More than fine. Even my worst nights are…”
“They’re not.” Skinner interrupted me. “You show up late, you can’t stay in time, your stage presence is embarrassing to be honest.” His lips tightened. “I can’t say I get it. I can’t understand the reason you decided you can’t do life sober. You have everything you ever wanted. You’ve been working on guitar since you were a kid, and you’re so good now! You’re considered one the the best guitarists in the antipodes! You’re like a fucking gay icon!”
“See my prior statement.” I said flatly. “Got that reputation half chopped, Skinner, and you know it.”
“Nope.” He glared at me. “You got it back when you still just smoked a joint every now and then. We’re about to record an album.” He took a deep breath. “We’re looking at session guitarists.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
“Uh. Really?” My voice sounded small and far away. Skinner caught my eye and sighed, pulling me in for a hug.
“Yes, really,” He nudged my shoulder. “Good news is- they all suck compared to sober Harrison.” I smiled a little. “Bad news is they all sound better than wasted Harrison.”
“I thought I’d try it for a month.” I said quietly. “After you guys and Jake this morning… Like a month off sounds doable? And then we go from there?”
“You wanna try a day first?” Skinner asked gently. I felt my chest tighten. Ah. I see how it is. A month sounds so easy! But the second I had to consider doing like… tomorrow… sober… suddenly my breath was getting short and I could almost feel myself start to sweat. Huh.
“Ok. A day first.” I said slowly. “Right on. Easy.” I swallowed and stretched out, launching myself off the bed. I winced as I looked over my room. I’ve never been particularly bothered with keeping it in check. Ok, well, there was a project for tomorrow. I could blast music and tidy my room. I could probably manage to do that sober.
“You want dinner?” Skinner asked as he took my cue to leave.
“I’m ok.”
“You sure?” Skinner casually ran his eyes over me and I felt my stomach drop a little more. He didn’t have to say it. I looked like shit. I used to just be like, nicely toned. I don’t ever feel like eating these days though. I didn’t feel like eating right now. But the look on everyone’s face when they sat me down yesterday suddenly crossed my mind. My gut churned. The last thing I wanted to do was worry everyone. If I could help them feel ok again, even if it was just by shuffling around some food and expressing my gratitude… I should get out of my room. I should show face.
“Ok.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. Ew. Greasy. “I can wash up after?” I suggested.
“That would be really nice.” Skinner said. He paused as he reached for the door handle. “I didn’t tell anyone what happened this morning.” And this afternoon, I thought silently. “How do you want to approach that?”
“Will the other guys kick me out for being honest?” I asked quietly.
“Not right yet.” Skinner smiled thinly. “If there’s no progress in two weeks and our money starts going missing again though, feelings might get pretty sour.” I hung my head. Ah. They had noticed the cash flow problem I was having. “But take advantage of us for now, Harrison. We all agreed to be the most supportive loving cunts while you were finding your feet again.” He took a deep breath and I could feel his eyes scanning me again. I looked up at him. He’d moved on to looking thoroughly over my room; with the same pursed lips and slightly pained expression. “Part of me thinks maybe you just need to hit rock bottom to understand everything you have.” He sighed. “But part of me thinks none of us will be around by the time you get there.”
“Ok, ouch.”
“Well ouch for dragging us through this.” Skinner snorted. “At some point we have to let you go, Harrison.”
——– What you gonna do when it all cracks up? ——
I sat at the kitchen table making jokes and being useless while the guys made dinner. There was a box of Coke Zero on the table, which was a pretty poor and pretty lame substitute for beer, but I appreciated the attempt as I reached for one. I always seem to need to keep my hands busy. It’s why I still smoke. I think that actually slows down my drinking. I grinned as I cracked it open. This had a sweet nostalgic feel to it; just hanging out in the kitchen, taking turns to cook and wash up, with soda on the table. I felt like I was at Camp or something. I tucked my knees under my chin. With two weeks off- if that actually ended up working and I hadn’t lost my job for good- I was almost starting to feel like this was an undeserved little Summer Holiday. We didn’t hang out as a flat very often these days- everyone’s always on a different schedule. That’s life I guess. I smiled to myself. I should really spend more time here. Like… here. In the present. This wasn’t going to last forever. Nat and Gill were going to get married and move in together any day now. Lando also had a long term girlfriend. Skinner would probably like his own space. They’d all leave me soon enough.
I clutched my soda as the thought hit me like a ton of bricks. God. How the fuck was I going to survive? I could barely feed myself! I didn’t see mess and dirt the same way other people did, so give me like a week and I’d probably be knee deep in rats and debris. I ran my fingers through my hair. Ugh. When was the last time I washed my hair properly? I twisted it up onto the top of my head and grabbed a rubber band off the kitchen table. Maybe I should shave it all off. Maybe that would be a good fresh start. I giggled as I imagined it, distracting myself from the thoughts of eternal filth and loneliness that I foresaw for myself.
“What’s so funny?” Skinner glanced over his shoulder.
“My hair was annoying me and I thought maybe I’d shave it.” I laughed. “But then I realised I’d look like a bald hobbit.”
“Oh you are WAY too vain to lose your hair.” Lando laughed. “I swear you care more about your hair than anything else.”
“Possibly true.” I wrinkled my nose. Which said a lot really, if my hair was in this bad of a state. Ok, maybe I’d treat myself to like, a really long shower after dinner. A really long shower or even a bath… with like… a candle and… well. I wanted a joint but I guess I could stick with… more Coke Zero.
“Ok, would you rather lose all your hair, or all your fingernails?” Nat sat down heavily next to me and grinned.
“Uh….” I looked at my fingers. “Are fingernails useful for anything?”
“Scratching your ass, thought you’d know that one Harrison.” Fox called over his shoulder as he checked on the vegetables.
“Ok. That’s cool, I can buy an ass scratcher.” I laughed. “I guess I keep my beautiful shining locks.”
“Yeah that one was too easy.” Lando sighed. “Hair, or ability to play guitar?”
“Moot point, my guitar strength is in my hair.” I grinned. “Like a Dethclock version of Samson.”
“That’s so sick.” Skinner laughed. “Concept album?”
“Yeah let’s fucking bang out a Symphonic Power Metal EP, that’s gonna sell.” I joked.
“EVERYONE will DESPISE it.” Nat groaned. “Off the back of like the most successful rock album anyone in the Southern Hemisphere has released in years as well!”
“Ugh, I want to.” Lando started laughing.
“I have some time off.” I shrugged. “I can try writing something.”
“Nice, I’ve missed your lyrics.” Lando nodded at me.
“Only one of us with a poetic bone in their body for sure.” Fox said. “Ok! Harrison, set the table. Dinner is almost up.”
I saluted him and scrambled to obey. Least I could do. Act normal and be grateful that everyone cares. That’s not a very high bar. Even I could probably clear that one. We ate dinner, and then I cleaned up- supervised because everyone had lived with me for long enough now to know my ability to clean was limited. I excused myself to wash my hair once I’d passed everyone else’s standards and thanked them graciously for dinner- of which I’d eaten like 3 mouthfuls- but that was better than nothing. I closed the door to the kitchen in the big old house behind me and leant against it, just to catch my breath and check in on myself.
“He seems good?” I heard Fox say.
“Yeah but he does sometimes, doesn’t he?” Nat sighed. “He hits on the right mix of whatever he’s doing for like a week and it’s smooth sailing until….”
“Mmm, true. Maybe he needs to get laid.”
“The answer to everything in life isn’t to get laid!” I heard Skinner snort. “Harrison doesn’t do hook ups anyway. If he finds a guy he likes then that’s great, but believe me, adding a guy to the mix when we’re trying to get him sober is NOT a solution.” I sighed and walked away.
I ran the bath, sitting in the windowsill and leaning out so I could smoke, dipping my toes in every now and then to make sure the temperature was ok. I could feel myself getting itchy under my skin. It’s not like an actual itch you can fix, or anything as visceral as bugs crawling around- it’s more like a deep uncomfortable tightness where my flesh is pulled over me in a way that doesn’t fit. I feel constricted, restrained… I feel like I want to peel my skin away and free the… whatever it is inside of me. But then, I hardly feel free in my own head either. That’s filled with buzzing. It’s so loud in there. Stupid thoughts about nothing serious, and then about the planet dying, and I didn’t really feel equipped to do anything about any of that. I took a deep inhale on my cigarette and searched my pockets slowly. I knew I didn’t have anything on me… but… maybe? I sighed in frustration as I, as expected, turned up nothing. I looked at the bath. Still two thirds to go. I pursed my lips and looked at the door. Well. I could just go get something. I mean, I already royally fucked up today right? This could be like, a gentle little send off before tomorrow. I didn’t need like, to get fucked. I just needed something to help switch my brain off again.
I slipped down the corridor and grabbed a bottle of whatever from my bedroom, pausing only to roll my eyes at myself and my clumsy obviousness when I almost walked out of the room with the bottle dangling from my mouth. I grabbed a hoodie from the sea of damp fabric on the ground. That would do.
I crept back to the bathroom and sighed with relief as I locked the door behind me and took a sip, lighting another cigarette and launching myself back on the window. Oh fuck, that was so much better. I could feel the weird vibrations in my body start to calm down and fade. I let myself have a good fifth of the bottle before slipping into the bath with my eyes closed. This was the perfect level of not sober, I decided. The room wasn’t spinning, I didn’t feel out of control, but I HAD managed to stop the thoughts that make me want to carve myself up and the shaky sweatiness that seemed to start up every now and then.
I lay back and let my hair get wet. Ok. Let’s make a little plan, Harrison. Things are never as bad with a To Do List. And since you currently don’t have a job, it’s a really good time to fill your days with something. So I’d clean my room. That would take like all day. I’d clean my room first, have a little nap… I could go for a walk, that might be nice. And I could write some music. Proper music I mean. Not the shitty short poetry with no real beat that I’d been scribbling for six months. I took a deep breath and sat up, reaching for the shampoo. There you go. That’s an easy, full day planned. I reached for the bottle of liquor and gulped some more down. Oops. That was half of it gone. But maybe I should finish it. That way it wouldn’t be sitting around, gleaming in the light if I opened my curtains. Hmm. And I should probably flush my haul from Derek. And whatever other pills I had lying around.
Although, maybe it was good to have a little safety net. Like one day sober was fine, but I probably would be getting withdrawals. Whatever nightmare that would feel like… I snorted to myself. Yeah, a month was real ambitious. I should do this sensibly. Not cold turkey. Just- cut down. Cut down and be sociable. And by the time I returned to work be like… what do they call that? Cali sober. Some alcohol, some weed, and that would be it. That’s rational. That’s super sensible. That’s normal.
——–
I brushed my teeth and combed coconut oil through my hair. It felt… lovely. It felt really wholesome looking after myself like that. I’ve never been one for indulging myself in little treats or self care. If you ignored the fact I had a quarter of a bottle of whiskey I was trying to hide in my armful of clothes when I stepped out of the bathroom, you know, like this could be a lovely new thing I did for myself every now and then. Just Harrison time.
I made a little good night to the others and plodded to my room. I yawned. The whiskey had really dulled my brain, and part of me was suggesting, almost desperately, that I should finish the bottle. And maybe I would. Like I said, to remove temptation tomorrow. But first I’d just lie down for a second and…
I woke up with a smile on my face, and reached for it. Mmmm. I was still slightly drunk, I could feel it. I was all cosy and relaxed. Maybe if I finished the bottle it would mean I woke up feeling like this in the morning. Just all soft, and sleepy, and like… like everything was gonna be ok. I opened the cap and glanced at my phone. My chest sank.
It was 1am. That meant it was already tomorrow. That meant I was officially- for at least a day- sober. I groaned. That was SO UNFAIR. How was I meant to do this one day at a time if the days were all fucked up like this?! No! No, this is fine. I recapped the bottle. It’s a DAY. Harrison, the bottle will still be there in 24 hours.
I turned over and tried to get back to sleep. But. But I was itchy again. I shouldn’t have looked at my phone, it woke me up. Now I was too awake to stop thinking. Thinking about how embarrassing I was. Thinking about how shit I felt. Thinking about how to hide it if I did drink, right now. Or fuck it- what if I just had the best night ever and blew my whole stash? I’d probably have the best sleep of my life.
I grinned and sat up, uncapping the bottle again. Morning doesn’t start till 7am. I decided. 7 am to 7pm. That’s basically a day. Anything before or after that didn’t count. And I had a rock solid game plan anyway, I’d be too busy cleaning, and walking, and writing, to crave anything….
NO. This is how it got so bad in the first place! It’s not all or nothing! I had a plan! To limit myself! Dose out my stash in healthy amounts! I couldn’t take everything now. I’d go to sleep now.
I set an alarm for 6am, so that I could wake up and finish the whiskey before the day started. Then I groaned and turned it off, falling back into my pillows. Why are you lying to yourself dude? A day is NOT 7am to 7pm. You said you’d honestly try for a day. Fine. Well, I would finish the bottle then. Now. That’s not really breaking any self imposed rules. People were way more worried about the drugs anyway. Alcohol is normal. Everyone drinks. Frankly, everyone would be stoked if you could give up drugs but still drank.
I reached for the bottle and it was on my lips when I managed to turn my hand. I watched myself pour it out, all over my carpet. Well. All over the clothes that were on my carpet. That’s fine, they needed a wash anyway. I sighed. Well that was dumb. Maybe less dumb than drinking it though. Or maybe on par. Whatever. It was gone.
I closed my eyes and lay back. Ok. Sleep now. Just go to sleep. Count sheep. Or continents. Or states in America. Or get up because you have weed. Actually, you have coke. Real coke, not Coke Zero. Nothing zero about this kind of coke.
I groaned and launched myself out of bed and started tidying my room.
Clothes in one pile. That would be a week of laundry. Dishes in another. That would be a week of dishes. Oh crap, mould in my wardrobe. Unsurprising. We can change that. Maybe tomorrow I’ll raid our cleaning closet. And there was a pill here, and some random unlabelled powder there, and I was putting it all in a stack to inventory it, so I could ration it out properly. I lit a cigarette. Not allowed. No one smokes indoors, that is utterly disgusting. But it was smoke indoors at 1am or start snorting… I told you. I need to do something with my hands.
And when my room was carefully rearranged into various piles of disgusting I grabbed every single random opiate or bottle I’d found and put it all in a shopping bag. I was out of my mind. I left my room and stumbled down the hallway. I knocked on Skinner’s door frantically as I opened it. I was in no state to give a proper warning. He sat bolt upright as I sank onto his bed, holding out the bag.
“Fucking hell!” He launched himself against the bedpost with a screech. His hand slammed on the bedside light “Oh it’s you.” He sighed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Harrison.” He glanced at his phone. “It’s 3AM!” He whined. I threw the bag at him. He glanced inside and his eyes widened a fraction.
“Take it.” My voice was hoarse. “Take it. Don’t flush it, major waste. Just take, smoke it, snort it, hide it. I don’t care. It’s everything I have and I can’t trust myself.”
“Oh… dude.” Skinner bit his lip and sank down into the bed. “Woah. Big step, bro.” He smiled at me. “Man. You’re a pretty amazing dude sometimes.”
“I am definitely not.” I sighed and flopped on his bed. “Ok. Good. That’s done.” I stood up blearily. “Goodnight.”
“Wait.” Skinner stopped me. “You wanna… crash here?”
“Sleep with you?” I snorted. “Don’t sleep with straight guys.”
“I thought it might be easier if you weren’t alone.” He said quietly. “Just for now. While you’re working through it.” I started at him. I sat on his bed and closed my eyes.
“Hide it.” I said through gritted teeth. “Somewhere I absolutely won’t look. Right now.”
“Ok.” He grabbed the bag and got up. I heard the door close and I blinked my eyes open to an empty room. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
—-
I woke up to Skinner spooning me, and I leapt up out of his arms. He woke up with a jolt and started laughing.
“Oh. Sorry.” He yawned. “Mmm. That was nice though.” He laughed. “I haven’t slept that well in years.”
“Actually me too.” I grinned at him. Once I’d managed to actually GET to sleep, with Skinner snoring beside me like a giant bear, I’d fallen into something akin to peace. The first time I’d slept properly without nightmares in ages. I sighed. I guess we all crave human touch. Even people like Skinner who’s never really got the whole sex and relationship thing.
“Lucky you’re ace.” I yawned. “You’re comfortable but has anyone ever told you that you snore like a fucking truck?”
“Huh.” Skinner shrugged. “Not since I was in the Boy Scouts.” I widened my eyes and Skinner hit me with a pillow as I opened my mouth. “NOT what I meant you horny bastard.” He grumbled as he started to get up.
“I guess we had different Boy Scout experiences.” I giggled. “Oh man, Tony Jackson. My first love. Major, major shame he was born into a conservative family.” I sighed.
“Mmm.” Skinner started to shoo me off the bed and pull the sheets up. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hey bud. Just while you’re… you know. Swing by anytime. 3am. Whenever. I’d rather you were here.”
“Thanks.” I rubbed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. Oooh. That was better. Silky smooth. “You’re ah.” I bit my lip. “Um. You’re a real one, Skins.”
“I know.” He smiled at me. “You need breakfast? I’ll make you some if we’re both getting up.”
“Yeah, I’ll get up.” I shook myself, trying to wake myself up properly. “I was thinking I’d clean my room today.”
“Miracles do happen.” Skinner beamed at me.
“Hope so.” I muttered as we headed to the kitchen.
—–
We were joined by Lando, who was also holding down an office job, and we talked amicably over breakfast about their days, our album, the political climate back home… I felt a sinking in my chest as the two of them started to get ready to shower and prepare properly for the day. It was weird. Not the awful itchiness and sweat I’m used to. Just… a sadness.
I didn’t want to put anyone out though, so I put on a smile and tided up again, wishing them a good day and pretending this was normal.
The click as the door closed was deafening. The silence was unbelievable in its intensity. I looked at my phone. 9 am. Ok. Like… if I was sober from… well, maybe like 10pm last night? That’s when I fell asleep… I was almost halfway done. Only. For some reason 10pm at night till 10am in the morning felt like way less work than till 10pm rolled around again. I groaned. Dammit. If I’d at least had work to go to I’d be relatively distracted. Well. I said I’d clean my room.
I walked back into it and recoiled a little at the scent of whiskey and sweat and cigarettes. Ew, Harrison. I opened the curtains- to my shame they squeaked. I guess they’re so rarely open they were getting rusty. Ew, Harrison. I opened the window to let some air in and twisted my lips as I surveyed my kingdom.
Well. Gotta start somewhere.
My flurry from last night made it easier. I picked up all I could manage from the clothes pile, and tried not to vomit at the smell as I carried it to the washing machine. Oh god DAMMIT. Someone else had their damp laundry sitting in it. I sniffed it. Mmmmm. I think it was ok? I put on some music and hung it out on the wire frame. I should get like, a million points, I thought to myself. Doing the hard part of someone else’s laundry is GOD TIER. Eh. I rethought that. I might owe everyone in the flat a few chores. More than a few. I’d been incredibly lovely in the last 12 hours with the dishes but before that when was the last time I….
Ok. Fair play if I was on laundry for the foreseeable. I dumped my stuff in and dowsed it heavily with the laundry liquid, feeling a little twinge of shame. I definitely hadn’t contributed to buying that. And I didn’t have my own. I sighed and grabbed a piece of paper. I started a list. Shit I need to buy for the flat. Laundry liquid. Well. I had the money for that. I put my clothes on the most intense cycle I could find, hoping maybe, I’d I washed them hard enough, I would wash out the horrible stench of myself.
And then the dishes were next. I filled the dishwasher and decided to do the rest by hand. I added dishwashing liquid, and dishwashing tablets to my list. I filled the sink and sighed as I looked over the kitchen. There was no where to PUT the dishes. I stacked up everything else in the kitchen and put it by the bench. I emptied the dish rack, remembering where everything lives as I put it away slowly. Huh. When was the last time I did this? I felt my cheeks grow hot.
Well. You’re doing it now. I told myself. I cleaned the kitchen to within an inch of its life, which took my way past 10am to my delight. I only started the dishes properly once everything was sparkling, and then I washed a load, dried it, put it away, and went to wash more. That took me to the afternoon. I grinned in delight as I stepped back from everything. I did it. And now my washing was done.
Whoever’s laundry it was was still damp on the frame inside, but it was sunny, so I loaded up the first bundle and hung it outside. It was sunny and still- just like Melbourne. In Wellington you get the sun when you’re lucky, but you have 75km/h winds that kind of negate that as often as not. I let the sun pierce my skin and lingered as I hung my laundry out, enjoying the birds, even the crows, and felt myself feel a little more… whole. Funny. Humans are more like plants than we realise. We need sun and water to function. I guess plants don’t know how amazing it can feel to have alcohol though, so they’re kind of cheating.
I put on another load.
And then it started.
The twitchy, itchy, oh fuck my skin isn’t really part of me, stress and sweat. I ignored it for as long as I could… I cleaned my room, using various products which I glanced at and grumbled and added to the list of shit I needed to buy for the flat. I knocked on Fox’s door, then Nat’s, hoping someone would be home and could distract me… but Fox was either out last night or gone to work at a weird hour- I mean, he worked security, He could literally be in or out at any time. And Nat, now that I thought about it, would be out to work as well, he was probably up before we were. I felt panic rise up inside me. Are you fucking kidding me? Everyone had ABANDONED ME?! They knew I was in a vulnerable state? They didn’t seriously leave me Iike…
Ah. Maybe they didn’t know quite how bad it was. I mean. They knew. They probably just didn’t realise that if they really wanted me fixed then probably everyone I ever knew needed to pause their lives for a month and literally hold my hands. I took a deep breath. Ok. Laundry needed to finish. So I’d go for a walk. That was part of the plan, right? A walk.
————–
“Fu-cking hell.” I woke up to Skinner’s voice. I stretched out on the couch. I smiled at him.
“Turns out I’m like, super productive when I’m bored.” I grinned. He looked around the room and shook his head.
“Damn. Get semi fired more often.” He laughed and sat beside me. “You alright?” He asked. I stared at him.
“Well, no. But what are you asking?”
“Did you… go ok today?” He asked quietly.
“Yeah I went ok.” I stretched out. “Tired though. Cool if I skip dinner and go to bed?”
“Course man.” Skinner smiled. “Damn dude. You don’t need to play housekeeper. But the house looks great.”
“Thanks.” I smiled.
Probably because I went to Derek’s on my walk, and after giving me shit for showing up at his house he invited me on and we did lines. I was slightly manic when I returned and finished cleaning.
But let’s pretend that didn’t happen.
—- What you gonna do when the love burns down? —-
I managed a new schedule. One where I spent like, 80% of my day kind of out of it, but I also did chores, and wrote weird rambling songs, and made sure I wasn’t OBVIOUS about it when my flatmates were home. I was kind of limited in what I could get my hands on anyway- I mean. I was out of work, so pretty cash poor- and I was already in crazy debt to Derek who was still dealing to me, but on his terms. We met, he gave me less than I wanted, I took it because what choice did I have?
“God, what did I ever do to you?” I whined as we met up and he held out a measly package yet again.
“Chronically or alphabetically?” Derek rolled his his. “Be grateful I’m not cutting you off.”
“You’re so good to me, baby.” I grumbled.
“I am, actually.” Derek grinned at me. “Didn’t you want to take a break at some point? I’m weaning you off.”
“That’s my choice to make!” My face grew hot.
“And you were making the wrong choice.” Derek waved at me, his feet starting to head away from me.
“Wait a fucking minute, hold up!” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare pretend to be noble here! You’re a drug dealer! You so do not have the moral high ground.”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged me off him. “But you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. I’d take what I get if I were you. Have a good day.” He walked away and I grumbled to myself as I headed home.
I made dinner, stir fry, and we all sat around the table drinking Fanta and talking about our days. Conversation swung round to me which always made my heart race a little fast as I lied to their faces about the boring, sober, predictable days I had. I think some wires crossed in my brain though. I think I was too comfortable, enjoying the company too much. I pushed my hair off my face, noting that it was starting to feel limp and stringy again.
“Mmm other than having a massive argument with Derek because he’s being a cheap asshole, same old.” I said. Then I heard what I said. I stared at my plate and felt my food sit heavily in my mouth.
“Who’s Derek?” Lando asked. I coughed.
“Some…. Guy… I’ve been…” My whole face was red. Lucky I actually would be really fucking awkward about seeing a guy because there was no way to hide my shame at practically outing myself.
“No way.” Nat grinned at me.
“We uh… met at…. a meeting…” God, I made myself sick. “NA.” I muttered quietly, grossing myself out with my own saccharine lie.
“Aw dude, nice.” Lando grinned at me. “You never mentioned anything.”
“Early days.” I mumbled. Fox and Nat and Lando made some random jokes which I shrugged off. Skinner said nothing. I didn’t look at him. He knew me too well.
I ran myself a bath while the others washed up. I sat on the windowsill smoking when the door handle rattled.
“Occupied!” I yelled at whoever it was. Skinner ignored me, stepping into the room and coming to sit next to me.
“We haven’t talked properly all week.” He took my pack and helped himself to a cigarette. “Guess not.” I sighed. “Shoot.”
“You seem more alive.” Skinner said. “Nice to see you eating.”
“Thanks, Mum.” I rolled my eyes.
“But I did wonder if there was anything that would make it easier for you that like I, or we, could be doing?” He nudged my knee. “I promise I won’t be mad if you fucked up this week. I just want to know what happened, so I can help it not happen again.”
“Dickhead.” I growled at him. “You’re so sure I fucked up.”
“Well. No.” Skinner sighed. “I thought this Derek guy sounded like a load of bullshit. But then I realised I had no idea if you’d been to a meeting. And I realised that I said I’d be supportive but then I kind of just left you to it, which isn’t very supportive at all. I think it’s a little unfair for any of us to expect you to have turned your life around without anyone being there for you. We wanted to give you a bit of space, to come to terms with how we were feeling… but giving you nothing but space right off the bat was shitty of us.” Skinner took a puff of his cigarette. “So. I am pretty sure you fucked up. But I’m pretty sure I don’t blame you.” He smiled at me. “How was your week?”
“I…” I felt my eyes close as I tried to come up with a lie. Ugh. What kind of lame lie could I tell though? He obviously already knew. There’s a point when denying things is so much more embarrassing than owning up to them. I didn’t want to see the ‘you’re full of shit’ look in his eyes. “Well. I haven’t been drinking.” Which was true. Unlike Derek, liquor stores don’t usually give you booze when you bat your eyelashes and say ‘I’ll get you back next time, promise.”
“That’s great!” Skinner patted my back. I snorted and caught his eyes.
“Sure.” I said.
“No, really, Harrison.” Skinner said. “That’s huge! I thought we’d actually have to physically drag you away from a vodka bottle and into rehab one day.”
“Never say never.” I muttered. “Uh. I Uh. Uh.” I closed my mouth. Spit it out, you embarrassing little shit. Just tell him. You couldn’t do a single day sober. You kept putting it off till tomorrow. Skinner sighed and put his arm over me.
“I’m taking a week off.” He put me out of my stammering misery and I glanced up at him. My heart sank. Fuck, if he was babysitting me all week there was no way I could get away. I should have pushed Derek harder to get my stash up to healthy levels again. Hmmm. I know Skinner didn’t believe it but… I had said I was kind of dating Derek. Maybe I should keep that in my back pocket.
“Neat.” I swallowed. “Like school holidays. I bet you have loads of projects up your sleeve to distract your little drug addict band mate.”
“Yep.” Skinner grinned. “We’re gonna have a great time, sport.”
“Can’t wait.” I mumbled. “Are baths ok unsupervised?” I asked as the water reached the top and I jumped back into the room to turn the taps off.
“If we get to the point of supervising your baths, it really is rehab.” Skinner sighed.
“Ugh, none of us can afford rehab.” I started to shoo him out the door.
“Maybe you can see if they do an influencer discount.” Skinner suggested.
—–
I woke up late, curled into a little cocoon with my hair wrapped around me. Oh man. Why couldn’t I stay asleep? I was having the most wonderful dream. About a boy. I smiled. God, I missed having a guy around. The thing is, Skinner’s right. I’m not into hookups. I get in my own head about it too much to enjoy anything. I think I only really like… can be intimate with a guy when I know he likes me back. I hadn’t really dated properly in a while. There was Tommo, who I saw briefly before he wanted to ‘open up the relationship’, which was cool for him but an absolute no from me. That was over six months ago, and I hadn’t even kissed anyone since. I sighed. Unfortunately I’d been exposed to delight incarnate in the form of Bailey; so other dudes never had much of a chance to measure up.
Anyway. Wonderful dreams aside, it was the weekend. That meant everyone was home. That meant I was under a microscope.
I got up and pursed my lips as I looked in the mirror. Actually. Mildly better than I’d been expecting. My hair looked healthy. My skin didn’t look tooooo awful… I mean. It was pretty bad- but I think it was mostly scarring, not anything worse than last time I looked at myself and freaked out about the fact that apparently I was going through puberty again.
I rubbed my eyes and a little twinge in my neck. God, this was getting boring. Gearing myself up everyday with only one stupid goal in mind: get high without anyone noticing. I can’t believe I’d warped my whole world around it. This was easier two weeks ago when I was as kind of ashamed but didn’t have to actively hide anything. I swear I used to have like, hobbies. Passions. Any of that was really just a distraction right now. It kind of did my head in.
Ohhhkay. Well. I had to start my day at some point.
—-
The weekend actually, to my disbelief, was ok. The guys and I went out of the city to Healesville Sanctuary for a day. That was stupid and fun. My forced… cutting back… at the hands of Derek meant I made the long car trip both ways with only like… a headache to show for it. I awkwardly showed up in Skinner’s room again at some ungodly hour of the morning. He let me in without a word.
We spent the next day mostly just mooching on the couch and jamming- I think we all wanted a break from the album we were recording. Almost as a joke, but one that we went all in on, we were starting to write that fantasy concept album about a hero who had magical fingers and saved villages and seduced stable boys as he roamed across the country with his guitar. I could hear it as the words poured out of me. A clumsy allegory about someone who’s blessed with a charming life. Who, for whatever reason, was about to fuck everything up. I think we could all hear the chords changing. The darkness invading. We fiddled around until someone ordered pizza and I put my guitar down with a tiny bit of relief. I can’t hide myself when I write in the way I do in everyday life. I was scared I’d end up telling them just how confused and hopeless I was. I don’t think I was even fighting a dragon anymore. I think I had decided the dragon was easier to live with. As long as no one ever found out. As long as no one was ever worried about me, or disappointed in me.
—–
I had nothing, and the house was devoid as well, unless I wanted to go ransacking peoples rooms. But I KNEW Skinner had hidden my stash somewhere. I KNEW there a whole fucking PILE of WHATEVER I WANTED. SOMEWHERE.
I couldn’t sleep! I just couldn’t fucking sleep! And I didn’t want to sleep with Skinner. I texted Derek, but it was 2am on a Sunday. HE was asleep. I called him anyway. Sensible guy, his phone was off. Gah. I actually, honestly just needed something to get to sleep. This wasn’t like my other wild eyes times when I needed to break out of my skin. This was just pure fucking logic. I couldn’t actually get properly sober if I was an insomniac. If people thought I was in trouble before well… it would be a million times worse with no sleep right?
I was already gently turning the kitchen inside out. Those bastards had even hidden the over the counter drugs. Assholes! Was I meant to beg for a Panadol every time I had a headache? Anyway, Skinner hadn’t put my emergency stash in here. I sifted through the living room, cautiously, upturning everything but putting it back. I looked through the hallway, and the bathroom.
Ok. No luck. So we start with the kitchen again. A touch more frantically perhaps. They had to be SOMEWHERE? And I moved through the house, again, a little less carefully. Stuff spilled out of drawers and fell to the ground and I told myself I’d clean it up later, once I’d managed to alleviate this pressure… And by the time I was back in the kitchen I could feel something snapping.
I started sobbing. Violent, wretched, angry howls. I tried to keep it quiet but it was overwhelming. I was just so ashamed. I was so ashamed at what I’d been trying to do, and that I failed anyway, and now I had to clean this fucking mess up and any second someone would wake up and see me and maybe it was easier to just…. My eyes alighted on the kitchen knives. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I found myself holding a knife and staring at it. I raised it to my neck. That felt cathartic. Was I actually going to…? My breathing calmed down as I thought clinically about it. Best case scenario I ended up in hospital and was forced into a fucking clinic. Worst case I really fucking nailed it. Which I was starting to think was going to be way easier for me than actually having to keep waking up every day, but I knew that even if I was the shittiest person on planet earth, that still wouldn’t make it pleasant for any of my flatmates to come across my body bleeding out in the morning.
I cut my arm… like a practise. I went pretty deep. I could see my fat poking out. I picked at it, kind of fascinated. My stomach did a huge flip without me realising and I suddenly realised I was…
My eyes blinked open after what felt like hours. I groaned and tried to sit up, finding someone was stopping me.
“Here.” I felt a glass pressed into my hand and I slowly sipped on it. The room started to clear up. I watched as Fox dabbed at my arm with Dettol, pressing fabric to it to stop the bleeding. He glanced at me. “Well either you’re more of a fucking idiot then I realised or you were aiming to maim, not kill.” He said flatly. “Veins are on the other side of your wrists for next time.”
“I wasn’t trying to…”
“Good.” Fox said flatly. “This needs stitches by the way.”
“Band-aid might be all good?”
“Infection is a nasty way to go.” Fox sighed and had me hold the slowly dampening cloth against my arm as he tore open a bandage. “I’ll take you to A and E.”
“But…” I glanced guiltily around the room.
“We can do this when you’re patched up.” He said.
“But the others…”
“Harrison.” Fox gently wrapped my arm up in a temporary fix. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
“Ok.” I hung my head. Maybe I could just do what I was told.
I needed 14 stitches. I fainted again as I watched the nurse push the needle through my skin. It’s funny, even before the anaesthetic the pain was nothing- but I guess I’m hella squeamish about certain things. I was all patched up within a few hours, and Fox was driving me home. I stared out the window, watching the scenery.
“Is this the rest of my life?” I asked out loud, although I wasn’t really asking him. He sighed.
“Is it?”
——– What you gonna do when the flames burn up? —–
The stupidest three months of my life followed. But they followed a pattern. I did ok, for a bit. Like I could manage a few days sober. Then I got overconfident because when I did a few days I felt so fucking awesome and over it; like I didn’t need to worry about anything. We recorded- and I definitely did THAT sober because I’d heard myself play when high now, and Skinner was, to my eternal shame, right.
I started hooking up with my drug dealer. I told you I’m not a hook up kind of guy… but I just… I just needed someone. Even if I felt bad about it afterwards. Derek had always liked me a bit more than he should have, I could see that from a mile away. No one gives you so many freebies and a leash as long as mine with repaying debt if they don’t like you a little bit.
I didn’t really intend to seduce him- I was just having a joint with him on my roof one day when it went out and I asked him to relight me. He leant over and I accidentally looked into his eyes as he held his lighter up to my face. I think I’d just gone crazy from everything. Our eyes met and I suddenly was like… aching for a connection. I pushed his hand away, and discarded the joint, and leant up- glancing at his face as I made my intention to kiss him clear.
I think if I hadn’t caught him so off guard he would have stopped me. He didn’t manage it though. He cradled me. His arms wrapped around me. We pressed our bodies firmly against each other. It wasn’t love, or anything like it. It was lonely desperation on both sides- and that sustained us pretty well.
We hooked up a couple of times after I bought off him, and the second time he held me close in bed, running his fingers through my hair.
“Harrison…” He sighed. “I can’t deal to you if I’m fucking you, it makes me too sad. Or I can’t fuck you if I’m dealing to you. Which way do you wanna go?” I was blissed out from the sex, so I blinked at him.
“I can find a new dealer.” I decided.
—-
I, like so many before me, had found a thing of beauty called functioning addiction.
It’s actually worse than crippling addiction- because if you’re not actively working on appearing functioning you can at least wallow in your misery. Instead I was lying to everyone, obsessively managing my substance schedule, watching my weight go down and my stress go up except for when I could get a hit and everything seemed ok again.
But… I reminded myself often- it was none of the drama; because I was holding my job down and applying myself in a way I never imagined I could. TRYING to be good at my job for the first time in years kept my mind off thinking about scraping enough money and time together to get fucked up. I was excelling at the WSET training I ended up in- it was actually the only time I felt safe with alcohol. I could taste wine and talk about it without the same panicky feeling I had when I drank anything else. There was no little voice telling me if I had one sip I might as well drink the whole bottle- and I usually spat out the wine anyway.
The band was gearing up for an amazing album release, and I stayed 90% sober for all events involving us as a unit. I couldn’t bear it if I fucked up with the cameras and papers watching us. I wore cool oversized woollen jerseys and baggy pants so you couldn’t see I hadn’t really been eating. I washed my hair almost as obsessively as I planned my stimulant schedule- I had this weird idea that if it started to look like shit again everyone would know I was still a junkie.
And I guess, given that he wasn’t my dealer anymore and I was still seeing him… you could almost say Derek was my boyfriend. I don’t think he ever loved me. He did like how I looked, which I guess was enough for me. I definitely didn’t love him, but he made me cum, so what are you gonna do?
Basically; I had it all figured out. I would never fail a drug test at work because I knew the schedule they were on. My band mates would never know because they didn’t want to know. Derek probably knew, I was usually high when he fucked me, but I think as long as he wasn’t responsible he didn’t feel like he needed to save me. I was making money, about to release a fucking amazing record, and going steady with a guy. I was basically nailing life. There’s no way my recipe could ever fuck up.
——
“Dude.” Joanna sighed. “You owe me $200 and you’re $20 short again.” I sighed and opened my wallet, scrabbling desperately in case there was a random $200 I’d forgotten about. Mmm. That cash flow problem was starting up again. “Nope.” She folded her arms as she caught my eye. I was trying to put on that beguiling face that ALWAYS used to work on Derek… but Joanna was made of stone. I sighed, my eyes locked on the bag she was about to deny me.
“Fuck me and call it even?” I joked hopelessly. Her face stretched into a thin, wry, almost smile.
“Fuck a little gay junkie who’s dick probably doesn’t work?”
“Ouch!” I rubbed my chest in pain. “Jesus.” Were all women that mean?
“You should try Grindr.” She folded her arms as she looked me over. “Plenty of men who’ll give you coke for your ass.”
“Probably not quite that desperate.” I sighed. “Uh. IOU….”
“We’re done here, Harrison.” She tucked the package away. Dammit. “Call me when you have cash.” She walked away.
‘You get me high, I get you off’ was verging on too extremely fucking degrading. But I thought about it. The cost of living was high! Bills had all gone up. I made ends meet but my party money was spread thinner and thinner, not helped by getting myself in debt here and there. Debt which I’d have to pay. I was adamant I wouldn’t start stealing from my bandmates again to keep me above the red.
Which didn’t mean I had a problem with stealing. My moral compass hadn’t been functioning in a while. I never set out with any evil intentions, but my impulse control was practically decimated, and sometimes I did things like a toddler- taking what I wanted with no real understanding of the consequences. I stole from work- never money. Just bottles of the cheap spirits we used for cocktails. We bought them in bulk so no one would notice if they ended up missing for weeks on end. I’d have to drink them basically all at once, which meant I couldn’t really be home because I’d reek. Derek didn’t seem to mind. He liked me when I was drunk because I told him I loved him. Who really gave a shit that my dick didn’t work? Drunk or sober actually- I think too much coke and alcohol does that. Thank fuck I was a bottom.
I woke up in Derek’s arms one night and tucked myself closer to him. I didn’t LOVE him, but I did like his warmth. It dulled certain old familiar uncomfortable feelings flitting around in my head. I glanced at the scar on my arm. You know what’s terrible? It did feel really good to do that. Like it released some pressure. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to fall asleep, using Derek’s soft rising and falling chest to rock me into dreamland….
But the buzzing in my brain and the itching under my skin was growing worse and worse. Ugh. Deal with this or stab myself? I giggled weakly. I never knew I’d be a stab myself kind of guy. It reminded me of Chris Knox, a kiwi musician who used to cut his arms live on stage. Like an art piece. Exactly the kind of art piece I’d be doing if I didn’t have a band to stop me.
I slipped out of Derek’s arms and walked around his room. I was honestly just trying to distract myself. Or maybe find something sharp. Or maybe wear myself out so I could fall asleep again. I smiled as I looked at his books. Fantasy, fantasy, fantasy…. That was kind of cute. My heart melted a bit as I flicked through a stack of records and saw two of ours in the scant pile. Aw. Wonder if he’d been into us before or after he started dealing to me? I opened a drawer- expecting socks, maybe… and I audibly gasped. I slammed my hand over my mouth. I glanced at Derek- who was fast asleep. What kind of trusting moron leaves his… unbelievable stash… in a drawer, completely unlocked when his user fuck buddy comes over? It had actually been at least two weeks since I’d had anything other than alcohol but I didn’t even have the briefest of internal debates. I just took as much as I thought I could hide- then put half of that back realising I could probably milk this for longer if he didn’t realise I was taking anything. I browsed his collection, watching him over my shoulder in case he stirred. Hmmm. Coke wouldn’t help tonight, I wanted a nice sleep, not a party. I twisted my lips as I read the names of his pills. Jesus where did he GET these? I didn’t recognise the name of anything- prescription meds had never been my drug of choice, really, although I’d never said no. I think I just knew where I stood with coke to bring me up, weed to bring me down, and alcohol to level me out. I found I was yawning unassisted. Maybe the adrenaline of doing something so awful and illicit has suddenly drained me. I crawled back into bed with Derek and wrapped myself around him.
“You’re magnificent.” I whispered to him.
—— Who is gonna come and turn the tide? —–
He had work early the next morning, and left me in his house. Idiot. Very sweet, very dumb, idiot. I liberated some vodka from his flatmate’s liquor cabinet. I considered a few lines but if I started before I got home there was a very good chance I’d put on a record and never leave and Derek’s flatmates would come home to me draped in a dressing gown smoking inside. I looked forward to getting home instead, lining my pockets with anything that looked interesting. By the time I was leaving the alcohol had kicked in and that impulse control I barely had to begin with was totally gone. I stole way too much. He would know as soon as he came home. But WHO CARED? I had a PARTY in my pockets, and I always wanted that more than Derek anyway.
It was a super sunny day, matching my mood perfectly. I made it about a block back to mine, nodding at randos and smiling to myself when suddenly I found myself awkwardly sandwiched between two guys.
“Oops. Sorry.” I squeaked.
“Na uh.” I felt a hand on my waist. Ohhhhhh fuck. That was a very firm, do whatever I’m about to tell you kind of grip. I allowed them to hustle me into the corner of a side street, my eyes searching for a bar or anything that might be open. Someone I could call for help. I wasn’t quite sure I knew what was happening but I knew it was BAD. The smaller of the two kept a lookout as the larger sized me up and motioned for my wallet. I almost laughed. Enjoy the mothballs, baby. I handed it over and he rifled through it, sighing. He took my debit card and grunted.
“Phone.” He gestured. I swallowed. Dammit. I really didn’t have the money for a new phone. Eh. Maybe he’d take one look and realise the resale value on my six year old android was pretty low. I reached into my pocket, and the little parcels of treats I’d nicked fell on the ground. Nooooo. Not that! I tried to distract him with my phone, pretty eager to hand it over now my drugs were on the line. Maybe he’d think that was just rubbish, or something. But his eyes widened. “What’s that?” He grinned at me.
“Trash?” I shrugged.
“Give it here.” I sighed and reached for it. I glanced at him and his partner. Yes, they would take me in a fight. Yes, I was drunk. Yes, I might very well be about to turn a mugging into a stabbing. But I did it anyway. I grabbed the package and ran like my life depended on it.
And actually, I ended up having a really good chance of getting away with it. I was way faster than them. The only reason I didn’t is because those assholes started yelling ‘Thief!’ as they chased me. I was running past a line of Italian restaurants on Lygon St when an old lady put her bloody foot out and tripped me up. My face hit the concrete and I groaned as I heard something crack. Please say that wasn’t my fucking nose. She yelled for back up, which came in the form of a burly Italian looking man who looked like he was about to pound me into sand. And now the two muggers were puffing before me. I stared at the scene.
You know, I heard a little voice in my head start talking to me, at a certain point Harrison, you just gotta walk away.
I wiped my face- great, blood, DEFINITELY my nose then. And I sighed and threw the package back at the idiots who’d mugged me.
“You know what?” I mumbled. “You actually deserve that.” I got up and drew myself as tall as I could to look in Italian macho man’s eye. “Really great work, you saved the day, sovereign citizen.” I narrowed my eyes at him. He frowned as the two guys scarpered.
“Well.” He cleared his throat, turning a little pink as he took in whatever had just happened. The fact that I was sticking around and the others had vanished into thin air made it start to look a bit obvious I wasn’t the criminal here. Well not in that sense. “Nonna tripped you up.” Oh yeah. I glanced at her. Well you can’t be mad at an old lady who’s just trying to do the right thing, can you? I sighed and started to limp away, cursing my luck. “Hold on!” He called out to me. “Can I… patch you up?” I frowned. Something strange was happening in my chest. Probably having a fucking seizure. I wiped my face again and shook my head. There was a weird fuzzy glow to everything and I realised I was staring at him. I had this strange, otherworldly flash of recognition. Oh. This guy was like… a… The One type guy. I don’t know why I saw it so clearly, and in retrospect, I firmly blame the adrenaline from both natural and external forces. But at the time it was like a little choose your own adventure book opening up in front of me. His path looked all shiny and golden- I could almost see flashes of us making pasta and going fishing… but I had a strange urge to reject that. There were other paths. Other The Ones. They all seemed charming. But they all had something in common…
I just didn’t believe that was my future.
Because they…
They weren’t Bailey.
—-
Skinner was home when I opened the door. He took one look at me and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Dare I ask?” He said flatly.
“I got mugged.” I said. “I’m going outside to play guitar.” I had a corny love song that had been bubbling up on the walk home. I had no idea who it was about. Well. I haven’t had a lot of lovers. I had some idea who it was about.
“Ok.” I heard him mutter under his breath. He followed me with some iced tea and we sat companionably in the sun together, as I fiddled around. My phone, which I’d managed to hold on to after all, was on the table and at some point it lit up and we both glanced at it.