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(Narrator: David)
I stood up, hyper focused for a brief moment after winning the struggle. I was angry, but I knew I shouldn’t be. Daren was a selfish little shit and he did what he pleased, but.. I could remember how it felt to be him and I knew he was troubled. He was a fucked up kid and I shouldn’t be angry.
But goddammit I was sick, and starving, and I could feel our body trembling, and I knew he did that, and I was angry. He ate nothing, and got drunk, and forgot our homework and our class the next day— today.
I felt like I was spinning. The first thing I did was attempt to asses wether I could manage going to class in this condition. I drank pickle juice. Electrolytes, you know. Salt. Sugar. Minerals.
I felt marginally better almost immediately, but my head was still pounding. I could feel my breathing was strained and heavy. My body hurt. Skin, joints, muscle, especially the side of my body that had been pressed to the hard bathroom floor all night.
Our phone buzzed and I fetched it from the middle of the living room floor. It was Kate. I ignored our collective phobia of speaking on the phone, and answered it.
She was calling to say that she and Susan would meet me after class and come home with me. The only reason they weren’t here now was because they had cats that needed food and attention. I don’t remember why we didn’t go with them. Probably we had wanted to finish our homework.
I paused before saying, “Okay.”
Kate asked if I was alright. I grunted. She asked me what happened.
I said, “Daren.”
She pressed, and I told Kate what happened. She said that she and Susan would be there in about forty minutes.
I relaxed and let myself stop trying to decide things. We trusted Susan and Kate. They took good care of us. They would know if I should go to class.
In the meantime I tried to get dressed. I looked at our cloths. Nothing looked right or felt right. Nothing here was mine.
But who was I?
Shit.
I was tired and hungover, and that made it hard to tell. I sat on the floor and stared, thinking slowly, laying my eyes on different colors and considering how I felt.
Mostly I felt nauseous.
When they arrived I still hadn’t dressed. I was starting to feel anxious again about class and the work we had to finish. Kate and Susan assured me that everything would be fine whether or not I went to class.
That was a relief. I felt like shit, and I could still feel Daren somewhere inside. He wasn’t happy either, but for separate reasons.
“It’s like he leaves a stain every time he’s here,” I said, and Susan asked me what I meant. “Its.. I don’t know. Like a taste in my mouth, or.. an image in my head? The kind you get when you’ve been dreaming but can’t quite remember about what. It makes me feel tight, right here.” I placed a hand in the center of my chest. “Almost like I can’t breathe.”
(Narrator: Daren)
I pushed the door open, just barely at first. I stumbled onto the street, disoriented by the sunlight. It was morning, and the sky was a blinding shade of pale blue. "Fuck, how long was I..?" I clung to the wall as I edged my way toward the street. About halfway there I doubled over to vomit, then moved on as though that were totally normal.
I pulled up the hood of my sweater and shivered as I looked up and down the street. I knew Brooklyn like the back of my hand, but right this second I was having trouble orienting myself. "Shit," I muttered, and checked my pockets. "Nuthin'. That's great. That's fuckin' perfect.”
I suppressed the cold stab of panic that lurched in my stomach. I stood at the corner and willed myself not to freak out. Most of this feeling was just withdrawal, I told himself. I could get home and fix that problem. It would be fine. But why couldn’t I remember what happened? My head was so thick with pain that I couldn’t even remember coming here in the first place. Did I have nothing on my person because I arrived empty handed, or was I robbed? Did somebody dose me? Is that why my head was stuffed full of goddamn hornets? Is that why there was a gaping hole in my memory?
I closed my eyes and forced myself to stop thinking. I was nauseous already, I didn’t need to think about what happens to a person when they get drugged at a club. So, even though the light shot pain through my head, I looked up in an attempt to recognize a street sign or landmark that I could use to get home.
Endless walking..
“Daren!” I looked up at the sound of my name and saw Tank walking briskly toward me. I started to forget the outside world almost imediately. When Tank was upset I knew shit was hitting the fan.
”Oh my god, what now?” I asked, irritated.
“Sharon is destroying your apartment. I tried to calm her down but she threw a chair at me! Where have you been?”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I put my hands on my head and tried to think. “I don’t remember. I got fucking dosed at the club.”
“Shit, man. You ok?”
“I don’t fucking know, Tank! I don’t remember!” I wasn’t ok. I’d lived this part of the story before and deep down I knew what happened. But regardless of any of that, I knew what happened when you got dosed at a club. I couldn’t remember what happened or who I’d been there with.
But I knew I was there with someone. Which was weird. I was a loner. I did my work by myself.
“Whatever,” I said as I brushed past Tank and to the door of my building. “Let’s get this over with.”
The apartment I shared with Sharon was number 1 on the first floor. When I tried to go in the appartment door was stopped almost immediately by the couch which had been turned over.
“Oh my god, Sharon! What the fuck!” I shouted into our home.
“Daren!?” I heard Sharon‘s voice from inside. “Daren where have you been? It’s been days! I was so worried!”
“I got dosed, now let me in!”
I heard Sharon’s feet quickly cross the apartment and she hauled the overturned couch out of the way. I shoved the door open and looked around.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
The apartment was destroyed. All the furniture was overturned. The TV was broken on the floor. There were dents in the walls where she’d thrown things. In the kitchen I could see broken plates and glasses and the silverware drawer was scattered across the floor.
“Sharon what the fuck?!”
“I’m sorry!” She whined like a child. She was twenty-four. I sighed, exasperated. “I got upset! I thought you left!”
“Where the fuck would I go, Sharon!? You know what? Nevermind, just clean this shit up! I can’t fucking believe you!”
I stalked through the apartment and went to my bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and took stock of my things. The light wouldn’t turn on and I looked up. The bulb was shattered. Fucking perfect. There was glass in my carpet. I opened the curtains over my windows to let in some light, then went to my bed and reached under the mattress.
I was starting to feel shakey and there was no way I was dealing with this stone cold sober.
The needle sank into my vein and I drew blood back into the vile just to be sure I had it. A calm came over me in anticipation. I liked the sight of my own blood for some reason. Maybe it was just the visual afermation that it was blood pumping through my veins and not toxic waist. I felt so drained and sick so often that sometimes I wasn’t sure that my own blood wasn’t turning into black sludge. But it was red. Bright, beautiful red. I pushed down on the plunger and closed my eyes.
It came quick and I fell into my bed. The rush flowed over and through me and I rode it as long as it would let me. During these times I breathed deeper than I ever could sober. I could feel the oxygen filling every part of my lungs and spreading through my body. Every part of my body was hugged in the soft, tingling comfort of heroin, but the rush was shortened incramentally every time I used it.
I sat up and tucked away my drugs. I knew what I had to do.
“Sharon,” I said, exeting my room and scanning the apartment.
She was just now righting our couch and it crashed noisily into its proper upright position. She crossed her arms and pouted at me.
“I’m sorry, Sharon,” I said. “It’s been a rough day.”
“I know,” she cried,” I’m sorry I fucked up our house!”
“It’s ok,” I said and moved through the mess to get to her. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.” I was using my placating voice. I didn’t mean the words I was saying. I absolutely meant to yell at her. I was fed up with her childish, selfish bullshit, but I also knew what happened if I didn’t do something to calm her down. Sure she was doing what I said now, but later...
I wrapped my arms around her even though physical touch made my insides squirm. I knew what happened to me. I knew what happened while I was drugged. I didn’t remember it, but I fucking knew and I didn’t want to be touched. But that didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered except keeping Sharon in check.
Keeping her balanced.
Keeping her calm.
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