My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 18: The Fool

I arrived home to an empty house, the smell of marijuana lingering, but not as potent as it had been some nights. In the kitchen, there was a note from Linda saying that she and Paul went out with Keith and Anita for dinner. After reading it over twice, I tore it up into as many pieces as I could and threw them in the trash.

Never, in my most twisted nightmares, could I have imagined that the four of them would get together without me. It made logical sense, Linda and Paul were the ones who introduced me to the Rolling Stone and his girlfriend, not the other way around. But it hurt in an unexpected way, very sharp and small, like a sewing needle between the ribs: probably not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to be incredibly unpleasant. 

Nothing could distract me, not the TV or a book or music. I just wondered in and out of rooms, feeling useless. Eventually, I ended up in my stepparents' room. Paul's room.

Rarely did I get an opportunity like this, alone in the house, left to my own devices. I couldn't remember if I'd ever been left alone after Jackson left, or since I'd been hospitalized. Even Mary was gone, probably Linda had taken her along with them, and the house was almost eerily silent. I peeked into Paul's closet, which smelled more like mothballs, mildew, and laundry detergent than anything else. I don't know what I'd been expecting; that distinctive Paul smell that made my brain turn to mush? 

Against even my own better judgment, I laid down in the bed. First I settled in the center, and then I scooched over to what I knew was Linda's side. I turned my head, pictured him lying next to me, face relaxed in sleep, chest bare. What a trip it would be to be married to Paul McCartney. I wondered if that's what Linda thought every morning. As weird as it may sound, I'd almost been a touch too young for Beatlemania. Unlike my brother, who had Herculean expectations when meeting the fab four, after the shock of seeing their faces in real life had worn off, most of my interest in them had grown from personal experience. When Paul and I had had sex, I wasn't thinking I was bedding a Beatle, I thought I was sleeping with him, a man who, for better or worst, had been my real-life childhood crush.

Laying there for too long was starting to make me nauseous, so I switched to Paul's side and started rifling through the things on his nightstand. Beneath the cigarettes, rolling papers, and a novelty Mickey Mouse flask that was mostly empty, were some men's magazines. By men's magazines, I mean porn magazines. Highballs, Jems, and, of course, Playboy. The covers all featured busty blondes with broad, white-toothed smiles. Exactly the opposite of me.

My investigation was cut short by the phone ringing. I ran down to answer it, the more distance I put between myself and that room, the clearer my head became.

"Hello, Eastman residence," I said a bit breathlessly.

"Rainy?"

Only one person called me that. "Yoko, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me." Her voice brought me comfort, even though it shouldn't, and I wished it didn't. "I needed to know how you are doing."

"I'm fine, but you shouldn't be calling here, what if Paul had answered?"

"To hell with Paul." She didn't sound angry, despite her words, more like she was desperate for something. "I'm sorry that I lead you astray, that what I did ended up hurting you, it was never my intention. But to not let me see you, to not let John and I see you when they knew how close we were to you..."

My eyes watered, but I forced myself not to let it show in my voice. "I miss you guys too, but sometimes we have to let go of people we want for the sake of our family. And Paul's my family now." I couldn't help but think of that Stones song, which made me think of Keith, which made me think of my "family" going out with him while I was stuck in detention, and, suddenly, giving up people who cared about me for the sake of Linda and Paul seemed silly and frivolous.

"As usual, you are wise far beyond your years, but I deeply wish you didn't have to be."

Before I could respond, I heard the door opening, so I merely whispered, "I have to go, love you," before hanging up.

Footsteps started in the foyer, a jacket was removed, and then they continued into the living room. I followed like I was an investigator about to capture their prime suspect. If this was a crime drama, the culprit would slowly turn to face me, and the audience would all gasp at the dramatic reveal. But, of course, I knew who it was from the very first step they took.

"Hi Paul," I said, standing in the entryway.

He was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, looking purposefully aloof. "Who was that on the phone?" he asked, voice so neutral it felt threatening. "The person you said 'I love you' to, was it Brandon?"

"What? No, of course not." Of all the things I might've worried he'd think after hearing that phone call, me talking to Brandon was the very last on my list.

"If he contacts you, you need to tell us."

I sat down on the loveseat across from him, sighing as I settled into the cushions. "Of course I'd tell you, but he's not going to call."

Paul seemed to consider saying something more- maybe he was thinking about the passion with which I'd defended him just a year ago, how unwilling he was to leave me, the way I'd professed my love to him through the haze of morphine- but decided against it. Instead he asked, quite blandly, "How was detention?"

"It was normal." Amazing how such a simple statement could be a lie. "How was dinner?"

"Fine, Anita is always charming," he said. "I'm just sort of sick of people who always know the right thing to say."

"Well, I never know the right thing to say, so you're in good company," I said with a small smile.

He raised an eyebrow, moving towards the edge of his seat. "Am I, Lorraine?" When I didn't respond, he rolled his eyes patronizingly and stood up, headed to the stairs. Probably going to wank off in his room to those fucking magazines.

"Are you going to come to my room tonight for another blow job?" I spat over my shoulder at his retreating form. "I'd like to know just so I can wait up for you; I don't like being bothered once I've gone to sleep."

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, audibly sighed, and then continued on, leaving me to feel like a fool, desperate for attention.

My self-hate headache was just starting to build when the phone rang again, the sound splitting the air like an icepick. I walked over to answer, decided less enthusiastic than I was the last time. "Who is this?" I barked into the mouthpiece.

"Lorraine?"

"Yes, who am I speaking to?"

"It's me, don't you remember what I sound like?"

My heart stopped, froze right in my chest, because of course I remembered his voice, it was one I'd known my whole life. "Jack, is that you?"

After a brief pause where I worried he'd hung up, he said, quietly, "I'm sorry it's late, but happy birthday Lo, wish I could've been there." Then the line went dead.

Really proud of this chapter, hope you all enjoyed it. I took my time writing it, so I think turned out pretty good. I know what I'm going to write for the next one, and it will be up within the week, thanks for reading!!