Drugs & Candy

Chapter Nine

My stay was honestly a blur at this point. 
I wrote in my journal daily, just like I told Jack that I would.
Sessions were the same as usual, apart from the days where my anxiety took over completely and all I could do was melt down in Jack's office, and he did his best to help me. He's good at helping me. Then again, it's his job.
The phone call with my parents went fine, better than expected actually. They told me they were proud of me and I lost it right there. A lot of other people in the room stared, but it didn't matter. My parents were proud of me. They are proud of me. 
I am actually making them proud, not disappointing them for once in too many years.
They're visiting tomorrow.


January 29th 2013.

"Hi mom" I speak quietly, my voice shaky and timid. I feel really small right now and I don't like it, but I'm excited to see my mom and my dad.
"Hi sweetheart." She smiles at me, giving me the tight, warm, hug that only she can give that I haven't felt in a long time.
I cling onto her like a toddler who just found his mommy after being lost in the store.
My father puts his hand on my shoulder and pats it with a small smile on his face.
I can't imagine what they're feeling, after all, this isn't a place you want to be at all. It's definitely not a place you want to see your son in.
We sit down and we talk for a while, about everything really. My job and the fact that it's still waiting for me, the fact that Elaina and I seem to be okay, or as okay as we can possibly be despite the resentment I still hold towards her. I understand that my resentment isn't fair to her in the slightest bit, but I can't help it. She dragged me here. She didn't give me a choice. I also understand that I wouldn't have agreed to this on my own if she hadn't practically forced it down my throat, but still...The resentment is there.
Mom, dad and I finish our visit with hugs and a new understanding of each other. They told me they'd call me again when they can, and they'd write letters.

They held true to their promise.


February 20th 2013.

I get out today. I get to go home. It's an empty home, but a home nonetheless. 
I look back at the doors of this place as I walk towards them with my bags.
Jack is there waiting for me with a big, proud smile on his face.
I put my bags down and give him a tight hug, "Thank you for everything Jack...Really. I'm going to miss you." 
Jack hugs me back tightly, "Check your duffel bag when you get home. I left something in there for you. It's small, tucked into the pocket of a pair of your jeans. The light blue pair. I hope I get to see you again, just not here, okay?" He smiles at me.
I return the smile and leave the place that broke me, made me sick, made me hate myself, made me want to die, and ultimately saved me.
The Uber ride back to my house was anxiety inducing to say the least.
I thought about my options that I'd been given.
One was to continue therapy, but I really don't feel like I need it. So I won't.

I look around my house that looks like mine, feels like mine, but feels so incredibly different at the same time.
I feel awkward as I sit on my sofa, duffel bag on the cushion next to me.
Remembering what Jack said, I open the bag and find the pair of jeans, shuffling through the pockets until I find a small, folded up piece of paper.
I open it up to a little note.

'Alex, 

I obviously can't say this to you out loud or anything so I'm just gonna sneak it in your bag.
I want to keep talking to you and seeing you! Not even as your therapist. As your friend. Just someone who you know.

Here's my number.
Call me. Text me. Whatever you want to do.

-Jack'

Attached underneath is his phone number.
I smile a little bit, take my phone out of my pocket and put it in.
I don't call though.
He's dating someone, at least last I heard he was.
I don't call because I like to keep what I had with him safe in my mind.
If I let it out, and I fuck it up, it'll destroy me and I can't have that.
I'll just stay alone because alone is safer than with him.
I'll destroy him too and I can't do that.


I go back to work tomorrow.
It's quick and I was offered more time, but I can't have more time.
I don't want more time.
I want to be back doing what I love in a new state of mind that hopefully branches out into some form of creativity.



March 24th 2013.

I'm not good again.
I haven't used yet, and I'm really trying not to but where I am, in this industry, there's something every single day. Something that I haven't had in months. Something that I crave beyond anything.
I'm always tempted to call Jack, to get his advice, his help, his anything but I can't do that. I can't ruin him.
I can ruin myself and be fine. I was fine before, I'll be fine now, but I will not drag him down with me. I refuse. He's too good.
It's been hard, though. I'm alone constantly. No one checks in on me. My parents have called and visited here and there, but it's still awkward for all of us, and I understand why. It doesn't make it hurt any less.
There it is. The hurt.
Elaina hasn't checked in, although I in no way, shape or form expect her to.
My boss doesn't check in so much as just expect things of me. He talks to me like nothing even happened, which was okay for a little while.
I hate myself as I give in.
I hate being another statistic.
I take the pill handed to me by the artist that I'm working with, we're at my house now, finished for the day in the studio, but he wanted to keep working with me on separate projects. He says he uses them to relax.
I did, or I guess do, too.
I crush it up with the bottom of a glass that once held my water, staring at the devilish powder.
I know this guy didn't get this shit legally and I know it's not prescription strength, it's street oxy. I can tell because of the pill color and size. 
He smirks at me as he hands me a rolled up dollar bill.
I line the godforsaken drug up, hating myself as my heart is pounding and my blood is rushing.
I close my eyes and I snort the beautiful powder, taking her all in with one big breath.
I lick my finger to get any excess powder and lick it off.
"That's some good shit, man." He says with a relaxed smile on his face.
I lean back against my couch and nod, waiting for it to kick in.
I feel it slowly taking me.
I'm fucking euphoric in a matter of minutes.
Everything is gone.
Everything doesn't matter.
I don't matter.
She doesn't matter.
Mom and dad don't matter.
Jack doesn't matter.
My sobriety that I just gave up doesn't matter.
Nothing fucking matters.
This is the feeling I've craved and this feeling right here, is one that I don't want to give up again.
So I ask him for his dealer's info.
Best and worst mistake of my life.


April 29th 2013.

I don't know where the fuck I am, and I don't give a flying fuck.
I feel like I'm fucking flying.
I'm on cloud fucking nine.
I just scored and the first thing I did was crush two pills up against a trash can outside the trashy building I'd scored from and snorted it right then and there.
I feel so fucking good as I stumble way back to wherever the fuck back is.
I hardly know my own fucking name.
I've been endlessly high for a week now.
I wake up. Get high. Pass out for a while. Wake up. Find food, piss, maybe shower, probably not, get high, pass out, wake up, the cycle repeats itself.
I've missed work three days in a row now, and I don't give a fuck.
Nothing matters.
She matters. That pretty, pretty pill. She matters. I love her. I'm in love with her.
My eyes flutter a bit, I have to steady myself by placing my hand against a brick wall.
I giggle a tiny bit at how good I feel. 
I take a deep breath and keep walking.
Until I fall flat on my face in the middle of the road after stumbling off the curb.
I see blue and red lights flashing and I laugh at that too, as I sit up and just wait for them to come get me.
Sure enough, I find myself in a jail cell with a bunch of other idiots, but I'm too high to give a fuck so I ignore them.
"Alexander Gaskarth?" I hear my name called, so I open my eyes and stand up.
"Hm?" I respond sleepily. I can feel my best friend taking her full effect. I'm so tired now I can hardly keep myself upright.
"You're free to go, but we can't release you onto the streets like this. Is there anyone you can call?" The officer asks me with an annoyed look on his face.
I think about it for a moment "Jack Barakat. Please call him, he's the best. He's my drug counselor or therapist or whatever ya know. He's just my Jack. Call Jack Barakat." I say matter of factly, as if Jack is my best friend and he'll surely get me out of this, "He's in my phone under Jack Barakat obviously." I giggle a little at my own stupidity, gripping the cell bar to keep myself up as I feel myself slipping.
I fight it until Jack actually gets here.

The fact that Jack is standing here at all, watching me sloppily sign my forms that say I'll come to my court date and pay my fines is astounding to me.
"Hiiiii." I slur out at him with a grin.
Jack looks disappointed, "Alex...You didn't." 
I nod, "I did! I'm so tired." I yawn and grab his hand without thinking about it. I'm not thinking about anything other than passing out.
Jack sighs and drags me to his car.
I don't know where the fuck the road went, because the next thing I knew, we were at his place.
Not mine. His.
I didn't tell him my address though, so maybe that's why.
Oh well.
I hardly feel him as he lugs me up the stairs to his second floor apartment.
"Okay, you just lay down and pass out. We're gonna talk in the morning."


*Jack's POV*

Today has not been my fucking day.
I just got the rest of Paul's things out of my apartment. He and I decided to see other people. Or should I say, he decided to see other people. I didn't decide shit.
It's not that he had much here, we certainly weren't living together and we hardly had sleepovers, so it's not a huge loss really. Still. It hurts.
This is exactly why I hate putting myself out there.
It doesn't help that all I've been doing is thinking about Alex since he left. Maybe that's another reason Paul didn't want to be around.
He knew what happened, I told him the truth about Alex and I sleeping together the one time, but I kept talking about him. Wondering how he's doing, why he hasn't called me, if he's still sober or not, how things are with his family...Just endless talk about Alex.
I suppose if I was Paul, I'd be annoyed too.
Oh well.
The phone call I got was insane.
"Is this Jack Barakat?" A voice asked me.
"Yes...Who's calling?" I recognized the number of course, plenty of my patients had wound up back there and needed to call anyone. I just never bailed them out before. 
"Alexander Gaskarth is here, and he's telling us that you're the one who can pick him up? We arrested him down on Orange and Hollywood. He's high on some pills, oxy I think, but I'm not too sure. He fell in the street and just laid there, before he was stumbling around on the sidewalk. We couldn't let him stay out there like that." The voice sounded exhausted.
I sighed, god damn it Alex, "Yeah. I can come get him, and you can tell whoever's in charge of his court whatever that it is in fact Oxycontin. Probably not legal oxy either." I'll go get him, but I'm not going to cover for him. He has to learn the hard way, even if the hard way is only a few hours in jail and a court date to pay fines for being a douchebag out in the street.

When I get Alex from the police station, his eyes are hardly open and they keep rolling back into his head. I can see that he's fighting tooth and nail to stay awake.
That only lasted until we were in my car. He's mumbling incoherent words here and there that I don't try to make out, let alone respond to. His head is falling and he'd snap back up again. 
Once I park in the lot for my apartment complex, I drag him up the stairs to my apartment and sort of flop him there on the couch, making sure he's at least safe if he rolls off of it, but I don't think he will. He's too far gone.
I wonder how long this has been going on.
It's not like I didn't expect it. In all honesty, I fully expected it.
Alex may be a favorite of mine, but he's still a drug addict, and I know how drug addicts operate all too well.

I decide to write him a note, because I know for a fact that he won't have any idea where he is when he wakes up, although I'm not sure if that's become a familiar thing for him or not these days.
I grab the magnetic notepad off of my fridge and jot down:

'Alex, you're at my house. We need to talk. -Jack'

I stick it to his forehead so he can't miss it and go to my room to sleep.
Today has been pure shit, and this was not the thing I needed to top it off.
I've been wanting to see Alex for a little over two months now, and this is the way the universe let me?
Not fucking cool.