The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Five: Betrayal

[Gerard]

In my head, there was a lot of…noise. In my head, I could imagine what I would do if I was back in my apartment, alone. In my head, I was ripping apart everything I owned, throwing things, breaking things, yelling until someone called the cops or whoever and put me in an asylum.

In my head, I was screaming.

The smile slid off my face as I came to terms with what I'd let slip out of my mouth. I was glad that I could at least retain a neutral expression for the time being. I didn't want to worry him again, after I'd calmed him down. Like I'd said before, he'd already worried enough over me. There is no greater guilt than seeing the people you love in agony over something that you have done. It wasn't even like I'd kicked him, or shot him the foot or something. I'd hurt myself, yet he still acted as if I was holding the rope that kept the blade of the guillotine just above his throat.

So imagine how he would have reacted to, "I've been strung out on this shit for two weeks now."

I lied.

It wasn't once. It had never been once.

Two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks, I'd been using this, as well as the alcohol.

I loved it. I loved the high, I loved the fact that it made me forget everything I wanted to forget, I loved that it was just so simple to get what I wanted, those carefree hours where I felt like nothing and no one could stop me, the most memorable nights.

A friend had even kindly promised me that tonight he'd help me move on to the syringe.

As much as I loved Frank, I couldn't let go. I wanted this too much. I'd been using the word 'hate' so much lately; it'd lost its importance. It was just another adjective that had stopped meaning anything. But it was the only word I could think of to describe how I felt about this emotion. There was a part of me that really did want to let go. But even though that part cried and screamed and wailed for attention, it was trapped in a little cage inside my head that was overwhelmed by this burning desire to go out and get wasted every night.

But what Frank had said to me…his trust in me, the way he'd believed me when I'd said that it was only a one-time thing…it killed me. He was one of my best friends. I loved him.

Yet I was sitting here, convincing myself that I was too far gone to care anymore, while he wasted away worrying about me.

What kind of fuckup like me deserves a friend like him?

Already, it was starting to take effect. As soon as he'd made me promise to sober up and not relapse, my whole body had decided to work against me. My left hand was twitching now and it wouldn't be long before I was curled up on the floor, or wherever I'd be at that point, giving in to the wild convulsions that had taken over my body. Every little involuntary movement I made counted down the minutes to my breakdown.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I barely registered where we were going. I'd been expecting to pass some fast food place or something, because I really wasn't in the mood for anything else, but Frank surprised me as he always did.

"Alright. You can get out now," he said, pulling me away from my thoughts momentarily.

I blinked and looked around for the first time. This place looked strangely familiar. Although in the state I was in, I just couldn't understand why I could remember it, no matter how hard I tried.

"Gee," he said, louder this time, "Come on." I hadn't even heard him open the door; he was already standing outside, frowning at me to get my ass out of the car.

I sighed. Even though I'd wanted to stay here, where I could have a minute or two to think properly, there was no arguing with Frank if he decided he