Drugs & Candy

Chapter Ten

April 30th 2013.

I wake up and my head is pounding, I feel like shit, and I have no clue where I am.
I sit up in the unfamiliar house, noticing something on my forehead. 
I peel the paper off and read it.

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

Well fuck.
I have no clue what time it is, but Jack isn't here. I know for a fact he wouldn't just leave me here, so maybe he's still asleep.
All of me wants to get up and check, but I also don't want to invade his privacy, so here I sit. 
I get the bright idea to look at my phone. It's Monday and it's 6:49 AM.
Why I'm up this early, I don't fucking know.
I hear an alarm blare once the clock hits 7 AM, then I hear an irritated groan, shuffling feet, the closet door opening, a faucet turning on, finally the door opening.
I look up at him, and if my facial expression is showing how I feel, I look ashamed of myself.

"Good morning." Jack says quietly as he walks into his kitchen. I don't get up, again, I don't want to invade his home at all. It's bad enough that I'm here. I know that I told the police to call him, but the rest of my memory is so foggy. I recall smashing pills on a trash can and snorting them there. Not my finest moment. I remember hardly being able to walk, and I can envision the police car lights. I don't remember what surely must have happened. A mugshot, a lot of police chattering at me with shit I clearly couldn't bother to give a fuck about, and I remember asking to call Jack. The car ride here, I barely remember. I know that I recognized the fact that we were going to his house, since I didn't give him my home address. Everything else is gone though.
I sigh, "Not really a good morning Jack." I say quietly. 
"No, it's not. You're right. Can I ask what the hell you were thinking? Why didn't you call me if you were having trouble with this?" Jack sounds mad at me, yet gentle at the same time. I can't tell if the part of him that sounds mad is because he's no longer my therapist, or if it's really just because he's angry either way. Here, he doesn't have to be professional and I'm no longer his patient, so I guess I don't need to try to justify his angry tone. He's allowed to be angry.
I shake my head, "I didn't want to drag you down with me Jack. That's why I haven't called you either. I mean, what was I supposed to do? You have a boyfriend, you've got your job, you don't need to be anywhere near a junkie. You knew I'd fall off the rails again. You had to expect it." I dare to look up at him and he looks sad. Sad isn't a good look on Jack Barakat.

He stands silently until the coffee pot beeps, signifying that it's done. He pours me a cup and himself a cup. He joins me on the couch, handing my mug to me which I take gratefully. I need the caffeine. I'm a little shaky, and every part of me is begging to get right back to my routine of wake up, get high, maybe get food, piss, probably not shower, sleep, wake up, get high, the whole spiel. I need to get high. I know the police took my shit though, and my stuff is at my house. So I'm shaking as I sip my coffee.
"Calm down. You can hold off til I take you home at least." Jack mumbles, staring down into his cup.
"I'm really sorry..." I say sadly, feeling guilt as I impatiently bounce my knee and watch my shaky hands holding the mug.
"Don't be sorry. You're right. I expected it to happen. I don't have a boyfriend, though. He and I split up. You realize that it's my job to help people right?" He looks over at me.
I sigh "Yeah but you're not just a therapist Jack...You're someone I really like, someone that I don't want to disappoint, and I know that I did...I can't go back to sitting in sessions, letting you watch me withdraw from this shit, and god I don't want to feel that pain again Jack. I can't. I'm okay...I really am...Last night was just a bad night. That's all." I'm not only lying to him, but I'm lying to myself.
Jack scoffs at me, "It wasn't a bad night, Alex. I know how you feel, I've been nonstop thinking about you, wondering why you weren't calling me or texting me, anything. I started getting suspicions and I guess I got proven right. I don't like saying that I was right about this." He sighs and puts his hand on my knee and I feel my pulse get a little faster, "Alex, I want you to be better...You beat this last time. You did so great. Better than I even thought you would...I know you can do it again...Let me help you. Please. We can go right now. I have to work in an hour...We could get your stuff and I could bring you in...Please." He looks like he's about to cry.
I shake my head, "I can't Jack...I can't disappoint you again..." I bite my lip, and now I'm about to cry.
"Alex...Please. I'm begging you. I want a chance to know you outside of the center...Outside of sessions...I want to get to know you as me, not as your therapist...As you, not as my patient...Right now, all we have is that doctor patient thing with the confusing hook up mixed in, and it's got me fucked up. Beyond. You know how badly I wanted to do something more with you. We talked about it. You seemed like you wanted that too..." Now he's rambling, "And maybe we could have that, we could try, you know to get to know each other as ourselves, not as patient and doctor...We can't though unless you go back and get clean again...I know you can, Alex. I know you can." By now, he's set our coffee cups down and he's holding both of my hands tightly.
He looks like he's about to have a breakdown.
I squeeze his hands back, close my eyes and think it over. 
"Okay." I whisper.
"Okay? You'll go back?" He sounds almost excited.
I nod, "I'll go. On one condition." I look up at him nervously.
"Okay, maybe. What's the condition?" He looks hesitant.
I sigh, "You let me get my final high. I didn't get that last time and I've been mad about it ever since. Because last time, none of it was my choice. None of it was up to me. I was threatened if I didn't go, and then she divorced me anyway, which you know, is fine. She and I are okay, but still. I didn't get a choice in anything." I look at him praying that my tone and expression convey how serious I am about this.

Jack hesitates.
"You want me...Your therapist, or well, ex therapist, possibly still therapist if they assign you to me again, to actually take you home and let you get high again?" He looks like he thinks I'm crazy. I probably am. Still, I'm adamant.
I nod. 
"Yes."
Jack sighs "I'm calling out then. I'm not leaving you alone. Only if you swear you'll go with me tomorrow. You have to swear or you can just leave. I'm not going to do this if you're going to just lie to me and then not go." He folds his arms over his chest.
I nod, "I swear I'll go. You don't have to stay and watch me though..." That feels so uncomfortable.
Jack nodded, "Yeah, Alex. I actually do. I want to know if you'll actually go through with it when someone is watching you. That might help me gauge just how much extra help you need." I hate when he goes from man I have feelings for and who I've hooked up with to my therapist. 
I sit there defeated as he calls in.
"I'm eating before I take you to your house. Are you hungry?" He asks, and I want to say no because it's not food that I'm hungry for and the high is much better on an empty stomach. I'm not entirely sure why, and I don't care. 
"Sure. Whatever you're having." I answer quietly. 
He makes scrambled eggs and bacon, so we sit there in silence eating together. This is not the way I ever wanted to do this.

Then I find myself in my home, with Jack sitting on my couch next to me as I anxiously crush three pills and cut lines.
Three because it's what I had left, and if I'm going to get high one last time, I'm doing it big.
I'm at the point as I stare at the powder that I forget Jack is even there. 
It's just me and her.
I stare down at her with my rolled up $20.
I anticipate exactly how I'm going to feel.
I snort line one, and I take her in. I sit there with my eyes closed for a moment. Then line two. I feel her now. She's making me happy. Taking everything away. Lastly, line three.
I smile to myself, open my eyes, lick my finger and glide it through the leftover powder, licking it off. That last bit is pathetic, I know, but I need it. I'm not missing out on any of that sweet sweetness.
I lean back against the couch and glance at Jack, "See? No big deal." I close my eyes and smile into the euphoria. My body is tingling, and theres something wet on my face. I don't like that.
I open my eyes and reach up to wipe my nose, it's bleeding. Wonderful. I can't be bothered to care, though. I leave it alone and close my eyes again. I let myself feel everything going away. I can hear my heartbeat slowing down a bit the more that I relax, and I can feel it's familiar beat against my chest. Boom...Boom...Boom...Slowly, calmly.
I feel myself slipping and I welcome it. 
I smile again at the feeling I have in my brain, telling me that everything is okay, that she keeps me safe. She keeps me okay. She's my best friend. She's the one thing I'm in love with. She's everything. She's repeating that in my head over and over and over again, and I believe her.
She's always there for me.
I have to give you up though. For Jack.
I hate that thought, and so does she as I slip even further.
I think my eyes are open, but I have no idea. I can't tell if I'm seeing anything or not. 

I feel something damp on my face and try to focus on what it is.
"I'm just cleaning your nose up." Jack says sadly. It sounds like he's been crying.
"Awww...Jack don't cry...I feel good...It's okay." I'm not sure my words are coming out understandable, my tongue feels heavy as I try to speak.
Jack just gives me a look, but I can't focus on him anymore.
I slip again and I let her take me this time. 
My euphoric dreamland where I think I'm unconscious but I'm probably not, until I actually am unconscious and I wake up however many hours later.


*Jack's POV*

I can't believe I let him do this. Anything to get him to come back though, right? Anything.
When I watched him lose focus on anything around him completely and snort that disgusting drug, I wanted to just leave him here. Give up. Tell myself that he's not worth it, but he is. I don't care that it's unprofessional, I don't give a damn that I'm not supposed to feel this way. I do, though. He's Alex. He's wowed me since the minute I met him and he continued to win me over every single day. I've got to get him back, even if it's just to get him clean again and keep in touch so I can hold him accountable. Nothing even has to come of this. 
Still, I watch the way his eyes flutter closed after that first line, and the serene smile on his face as I can see his body relaxing...Then he took the second line, and he slipped more and more into this euphoric coma....Then the third. His nose started to bleed, and all he did was wipe it and go back to whatever the fuck was happening in his brain.
Right now, I think he's unconscious, and I have tears running down my cheeks from watching him destroy himself.
He told me that he feels good. That it's okay. This is the furthest thing from okay.
I can't leave him though, and I won't. I refuse to.
I look around the house for a linen closet or anywhere else he might store blankets. Finally I found a shelf of blankets in a little cupboard under the staircase that I didn't even notice.
I pull out a blue and grey plaid blanket and drape it over him, then I sit down by his feet and pull the blanket over my lap as well.
I won't leave his side until he wakes up, even if I'm here all day and all night.
I glance at him from time to time and he's occasionally smiling, twitching his fingers a little, mumbling things that I don't understand and won't try to. I still can't tell if he's asleep or not. Even if he is partially awake, he's nowhere near okay enough for me to actually check on him. So I let him ride out his final high that he just needed so desperately. 
Watching him get high is one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever seen though. It's like watching him die a little bit.

I watched my grandmother die. It was awful. One minute she was there, and she was speaking to me in the weakest voice, using all of the energy she could muster, and then she went quiet. She stopped focusing on anything, her eyes glazed over, her breathing went shallow and slow, and then she was gone. She just simply wasn't with me anymore.

That's how I feel watching Alex.
I watched him crush up the poison, I watched him delicately cut it in lines. 
I chewed my bottom lip raw as I saw him take that rolled up bill and snort the first line.
In my mental comparison to my grandma, that was his weakest moment when all energy he had started deflating. Just like hers.
Then he took the second line, and he went quiet. He started not focusing on anything. I watched his eyes glaze over with that stupid, content smile on his face.
That shattered me, how happy this shit made him.
Lastly, he took the third line and I watched him lay back, ignoring anything his body was telling him as a small amount of blood dripped from his nostril. I watched his breathing slow down, his head turning to the side a little bit. That was his final moment.

Sure, he's making occasional noises, but as far as I'm concerned that's not Alex. Alex died. This is the monster who lives inside of Alex. The monster that Alex needs serious help getting rid of.
I'm determined to do that. Maybe we didn't tackle enough of his issues last time. Maybe I didn't push him hard enough.
I will now though. I have to.
For now, I have to make sure he's okay, so I simply curl myself up there under the blanket that he and I are currently sharing. 
There's a feeling in my gut that tells me to be closer to him though.
With hesitation, I scoot myself behind him on his fairly large couch and let my arm fall over his waist, making him the little spoon. Maybe he'd hate this. Maybe he'd love it, but I need the comfort, and he needs someone to hold him for once. He's a mess and he's sarcastic, and he's good at hiding it, and he plays it off so well, but he is a mess. One of the biggest messes I've ever seen.
You'd think that my patients who literally just are unfixable would be my worst. The ones who live on the street, use dirty needles and whatever else they can find. The ones with no teeth, who can't speak, their skin sagging so far off their body it looks like it'll fall off any minute. The ones who look like they're already dead.
Those aren't my worst patients.
I know exactly what to expect out of them so I don't hold them to much.
Alex, however, is a different story. He's got a radiant personality, he's got sass and attitude, spunk and charisma. He's also got an anxiety ridden, angry, depressed, heartbroken and downright sadness to him. His sadness is almost childlike sometimes. At least what I noticed.
I know that he feels genuinely unloved and not at all cared about.
Maybe he is.
I don't know what's been going on with his parents, boss, friends, if he even has friends. He never mentioned any.
Maybe he is unloved by those around him.
Alex is my most difficult to help patient because of how aware he is when he's not high. He's smart and witty. He knows how to hide things that he wants to hide, how to compartmentalize his true feelings and instead tell people what they want to hear. He knows how to manipulate situations and conversations.
He's difficult to read, and difficult to help.
I do know one thing though.
Someone needs to love this man.
Hold him. Hug him. Sit with him. Hang out with him. Watch movies. Go to games. Anything. 
This man just needs any sort of affection.
No matter what else happens, I'll give that to him. 
I need affection too, and I'm craving his.