Come to Me Quietly(131)

The only reality that remained was the spoils of what I’d taken.

I strode down the sidewalk, ducking my head between my hunched shoulders, doing my best to avoid all the stares, the taunts, and the pleas. It was impossible. Voices swarmed, filled my ears, fueling this foreboding that fried every last one of my nerves. I was on the f*cking edge. I knew it.

If there was any way to end it, I would. But fate was never my friend. No doubt, it’d intervene and once again condemn me to live out this life.

I just didn’t know how to endure as I paid out this debt.

I headed down the wrong street I’d been down every night. When I got here, it’d taken me about an hour to figure this shit out. All I’d had to do was look for the right dead end.

Tonight, Keith was exactly where I knew I would find him.

I bought a bag, balled the poison up in my fist, and crammed it back down deep in my pocket, f*cking hating myself more than I ever had.

The easy way out.

I knew I didn’t get the easy way out. I’d accepted that the day they sent me away. There was no escape from this truth. Even if I touched on oblivion, reality always came back. Still I tried. I f*cking tried because I couldn’t do anything but run from the pictures of Aly’s face that constantly assaulted my mind. The sick part was how badly I wanted to hang on to them, too, the way she’d made me actually feel, as if I were almost alive.

I jogged across the street toward the dump that I called home. The red VACANCY sign flashed near the front of the destitute lot, like this eternal beacon for the damned, because I couldn’t imagine a soul saved in this infernal place.

Hell.

No question, that’s where I’d found myself.

I let myself into the isolation of the motel room. I flipped the light switch. A dull bulb blinked to life in the corner of the room, illuminating the hollow space.

Never before had I felt so alone.

Wandering in, I let the door latch shut behind me, rubbing a hand down my face and over my jaw.

I looked around.

God, I missed her more than I had any right to.

Slowly, I crossed the room. Springs squeaked as I sat down on the edge of the worn-out bed. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack from the floor by the neck, I unscrewed the cap and lifted it to my lips. Welcomed the burn. Wanted it. I lifted it again and again, swallowing down the fuel that fed the fire that continuously raged.

How much time passed while I sat there, I didn’t know. Time no longer mattered. Numbness crawled out along my limbs, not enough to erase, just enough to distort, to cloud the f*cking unbearable ache that had bound itself to my heart and mind.

My head spun and the bag burned in my pocket.

Climbing to my feet, I stumbled toward the dingy porcelain sink mounted against the far wall. I pulled my shirt over my head and worked loose the bandage from my chest. Heavily, I leaned on the sink, staring at myself in the mirror, unable to look away from the eyes staring back.

Sickness seethed in the pit of my stomach, stretching out, clawing at my insides, which seemed to be fighting for a way out of this body, like they, too, wished for an escape. I pulled the bag from my pocket. Sweat beaded up on my forehead, hatred pouring free.

I clenched my hand around it, knowing it wasn’t the drug, but Aly that had a hold on me.

Motherf*cking trigger.

It burned against my flesh, and I squeezed it tighter, felt the anxiety wind me tight. Every damned day, it was this way. I was like this f*cking disaster because I didn’t want anything but to be free, but there was no freedom for the condemned.

And I hated.

I hated.

I hated.