Chapter 21

Darryl Nelson

I awoke with a smile on my lips for the first time in years. My lips still felt like I could feel the ghost of Stevie’s pressed against them, the taste of her still haunting my tongue.

My smile falters a little as my hand slides across my sheets and I find them cold next to me. Maybe she’s just in the bathroom? I strain my ears against the silence, trying to convince myself I can hear her, but I know she’s gone.

Maybe I was fucking deluded, but I felt like she was totally into me last night. Maybe she was a lot more fucked up than I thought, in which case it was definitely a good thing I stopped it going any further, but did that mean she didn’t remember it happening?

Or was she so repulsed by the idea of kissing me, let alone fucking me, that she snuck out as soon as she could.

Don’t blame her… I’m a fucking joke. I scrub my hands down my face, trying to block that loud voice which relished telling me I was a fuck up of the greatest degree.

The sound of a car pulling up outside pulls my interest from my internal beating, and I pad over to the window. Stevie skips down the driveway to a guy who was leaning against a new BMW smirking at her.

He was obviously a fan of the gym, his biceps bulging out of the tight t-shirt he was wearing, and his face was blessed with the dark features and strong bone structure that made women swoon.

And from the blush on her cheeks and the way she giggled as he squeezed her into a hug, Stevie was one of those fans. I knew she didn’t want me. I could never live up to her expectations if that was the kind of guy she liked.

Fuck this. Fuck my fucking life. The one girl I have craved since I was a kid, was the one girl who I would never have. Could never have. She had shown she didn’t want me. She had turned her back on me when I needed her most. When I was struggling with my demons.

Speaking of demons…mine were angry, and thirsty. Mostly thirsty. I head down to my dad’s stash, finding a new bottle of Sailor Jerry’s finest spiced rum. Yoink!

Cracking the seal as I make my way back to my den of angst, I take a big swig, relishing the warm burn as it slides down my throat.

As I walk past my desk to my bed, my elbow catches the bottle of anti-depressants Dr. Greene had prescribed me, knocking the orange bottle onto the carpet with a dull thud.

Snatching it up, I drop onto my bed, sinking another mouthful of rum as I look at the unopened bottle, the pills rattling as I roll it between my fingers.

The doc claimed these pills would help even out my mood swings and help me sleep a bit better too, but so far, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to take one.

Better late than never, I guess. I click the white cap off, and knock a few into the palm of my hand, dropping them onto my tongue and washing them down with another large mouthful of alcohol.

After half a bottle of rum and another few pills, I was feeling a fuzzy feeling all over, like my entire body had been wrapped in bubble wrap, not really in this world somehow.

I stumble a little, my foot catching the strap of my backpack, and I chuckle as I hit the deck. A baggie of pills drops out of the pocket – some molly Hunter had given to me a few weeks ago.

I wasn’t a fan of it and had meant to offload it to some other sucker, but I’d completely forgotten I had them. In for a penny, I guess…I tip a couple out and wash them down with more dark liquor.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed; all I knew was the bottle was empty and the world looked fucking weird. I felt like I was sinking into the floor. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that last pill.

My legs felt like dead weight as I tried to walk to my bathroom, deciding I should try and puke.

Yeah, I’d feel all better once I puked. All better…

***

I try to swallow but it feels like someone has shoved razor fucking blades down my throat. I crack my eyes open, flinching as the neon lights blaring down make my eyes burn.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake.” I roll my head towards the gravelly tones of my therapist and find him sitting in an armchair next to the bed I was in, his ankle propped up on one knee, flashing some snazzy looking socks.

“Where the fuck am I?” I croak, wincing as my throat screams in pain at me. Dr. Greene casually pushes out of his seat and picks up a brown plastic cup, holding a straw up to my mouth and I eagerly gulp down the cold water he was offering.

“You are at my in-patient treatment center.” He sets the cup down and retakes his seat, stroking his stubble-covered chin as he looks at me. “The hospital released you into my care to be assessed.”

“Assessed? Hospital?” I frown. “Where the fuck are my mom and dad?”

“Did you try to kill yourself, Darryl?”

“What?” I balk. “Kill myself? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You were found to be full of strong alcohol, strong antidepressants and MDMA. Unconscious and barely breathing. So, I ask you again, were you trying to kill yourself, Darryl.” I stare into his narrowing eyes for a beat.

“No,” I finally grit out. “I miscalculated maybe, but I wasn’t intentionally trying to kill myself.”

“It would be understandable in your circumstances…”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself!” I interrupt him with a snarl. I close my eyes again and he lets us sit in silence for a few minutes. “You know, I’ve always had this theory about suicide.”

“What theory is that, Darryl?”

“People kill themselves how they’ve lived their lives.”

I hear the chair creak as he moves his weight on it, but I keep my eyes closed. “What do you mean?”

“Like, if someone has been fucking awful in their life, like they feel they need punishing for the fucked-up things they’ve done, then they hang themselves.

“If someone has lived their lives in pain, if their demons have ruled their life and pushed them to the point of wanting to kill themselves just to escape, then they slit their wrists

“If someone is only flirting with the idea of offing themselves then they swallow down a three-course meal of barbiturates.”

I open my eyes and look at Dr. Greene, who is frowning at me. “So, believe me, doc…if I was really wanting to end this all, I would open my veins from wrist to elbow. I. Mis. Calculated.” I push the last few words from between gritted teeth.

Dr. Greene sits back, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he studies me again. “Who is Stevie?”

“What?” I scowl, his change in topic making my aching head spin. “Why?”

“She found you passed out next to a pool of your own puke and stayed with you all the way to the hospital, not leaving your bedside until your dad signed you into my care.” My fists clench at the mention of my dad sending me here. “So, who is Stevie? You’ve not mentioned her before.”

I sigh. “Stevie is…” complicated.

***

Dr. Greene decided I wasn’t a risk to myself, but I stayed at his clinic for a week to recuperate. My mom had been released from the hospital, and her specialist was pleased with the results of her last lot of tests.

Dad and Vinnie had visited me a couple of times, and I’d almost wanted to kill myself when I saw the frightened look in my little brother’s eyes as he walked into the clinic.

Most of Dr. Greene’s patients were seen in his normal clinic as outpatients—like me usually—but this place was for the ones who needed around-the-clock care. The proper crazies if you will. Some more so than others.

One or two I was sure should be in prison rather than a treatment center, mixed in with the usual eating disorders and actual suicidal teens.

I’d half expected—and fully hoped—that Stevie would have come to visit me, but she didn’t. The worst thing was, I couldn’t decide if I was happy or not about that.