Storymania - The Masochist Boy by Pearl S

The Masochist Boy (9)
Pearl S

He shook his head, thinking. Maybe…it was true; she’d said so herself. He’d treated her like a jerk and she’d hit a low. But he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice-and it wasn’t like she had OxyContin lying around the house; even if she had formed some kind of addiction off of two little pills, which was unlikely enough already. It was Vivien…she’d come to her senses…

Rob said: "How do you know?"

For a moment, he was just quiet. His eyes were far away.

He said slowly: "I’ve been on drugs for so long, kid. So long. Eight years, I think. And I’m only eighteen. I think I’ve been through most of it." He looked at him sideways then. "My little brother started on Ecstasy last year. That kid is fourteen years old. He walks around like a zombie. He does all the things I used to do. My parents don’t care. My parents would take it with us if they knew where we kept it."

He hung his head, his voice quiet. "But you know something? I care. It hurts, man. My little brother-he wouldn’t have even known where to get the darned stuff if I hadn’t taken it. My little brother. The kid who used to build block towers and paper airplanes. He’s on Ecstasy. He’s as addicted as I am in less time. I go home everyday and he’s passed out on his bed. If I could go back in time-but I can’t. I know now that for myself, for myself I can’t go on living off an artificial happiness that kills my body and my brain. I’m gonna quit, man, and I know I’m doing the right thing. But it took me so many years to come to the conclusion I did-so many years, so much pain, when only little things stopped me from doing something I’d regret. And you know, my little brother, I wanted to spare him all of this. I didn’t want him to be hooked. But he was. And it was my fault. It’s all my stupid fault. And it’s too late for me to do anything about it. The kid might even kill himself."

He hid his face in his hands. "This girl-trust me. She’ll be fine. My brother never will be again."

Robby sank back into the chair heavily. An image of Jenny with a pill bottle flitted across his mind.

It was, he realized, one of the worst kinds of hell.

"I’m sorry," he said. There were no other words to say.

"Don’t be," said Twister, shaking his head. He straightened. "Like you said. It’s my own fault. I made a mistake, you make a mistake; I hate to break it to you, kid, but people, they make mistakes. I believe in G-d, man. I believe that He built people in a way that they would make mistakes. But I also think He built them in a way that they could fix them. I’m not taking as much as I used to. I-I’m going to be a better brother. I’m going to be a better kid. You’re sitting in these classes-you aren’t a total jerk."

"I guess."

The room was empty now, and dark. They stood. Robby said: "Listen, thanks for sticking around and telling me this. Why did you?"

"You’re a good kid," replied Twister, his hand on the door handle. "And I had a couple things I actually cared enough to say. Don’t happen often, man."

Rob smiled.

"Listen, kid, where you live?"

"Sixtieth and North. You?"

"Way on the other side of town. ‘Tsalright; I got a car. Well, I know a car I could drive. Maybe I’ll drop by. How will I know your house?"

"It’s the one with a car with one wheel in the front."

Twister laughed: "Aw, man, I pity you."

"Don’t," Rob said dryly. "You haven’t seen the rest of my house yet."

He went home that night, and wrote:

It died tonight, the innocence

It died and I watched it go.

It died tonight, the ignorance

It died and I watched it go.

I saw the horror and I saw the pain

As the last traces of it drained

Away from her face, left pale and cold

And I stood there, and I watched it go.

And I know now why I’ve done what I have

And why it can never be again,

I’ve learned a lesson

Here today, and I think I can say

That the innocence is dead, and I watched it die,

But everyone’s does at some point at their life

Bitterness is different

And she’ll be alright.

She’ll be alright.

The world was spinning.

She was so afraid. It was dark-midnight-she was on the living room couch. It was dark…she sat up suddenly and blinked disconcertedly. "Robby? Robby?"

Her voice sounded strange…the world was turning up side down…her heart was beating and she couldn’t make it stop. Dread filtered through her mind. She didn’t know-there was a bucket by the couch half full of vomit. Was she sick? She didn’t remember-she was scared-

She pulled her knees up to her chest, let her head fall back against the couch and sobbed.

"So…" he began.

She folded her arms against her chest and turned her head away.

They were sitting on the bed in the room that wasn’t hers. Her parents were both at work, now…they’d appointed Penny to look after her. She’d told Penny he was coming to study with her-Penny didn’t care. Penny was too enthralled in her law books. She’d never felt more helpless in her life.

She wasn’t sure she could look him in the face. She wasn’t sure she could look anyone in the face. She’d woken up in the middle of the night, confused, she hadn’t remembered-and her mother had told her, and she hadn’t believed. She’d been tired and sick, and her mother’s eyes had been red and puffy.

She had skipped school today. She’d spent eleven hours lying on her bed, looking up at the sky. As she did, little bits and pieces of the scene began to float back to her.

She didn’t know her own self.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He leaned forward, arms folded across his knees, looking at her.

She turned to face the wall.

"Vivien…you have to talk to me. Please. I told you I was sorry."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, then, looking down at her hands, mumbled: "I threw up."

He nodded. "Yes. You weren’t sick."

"I was sick."

"Not before you took the pills, I meant. That’s what happens, with drugs."

"I threw up."

"Yes."

"I hate throwing up."

He sighed. "I know. So do I."

She turned then, eyes wide with curiosity. "But you…you always did…I thought you liked it."

He shook his head. "I never liked it. I accepted it as part of drugs, but I didn’t like it."

There was a small pause of silence. She wiped her eyes, and then whispered: "It’s ok, Robby. I’m sorry."

"That’s alright." He stopped himself short, and then said: "What happened?"

"I’m not…not sure," she began slowly. "I…remember a little bit…I remember being very angry. I was very angry and frustrated. And I remember seeing Jason, and you…" She turned her head sideways and looked at him. "I was so angry at you, Robby. I was so angry. I hated you."

"You had every right," he nodded.

"I guess. I remember I felt funny, and I sat down by the lightpole." She paused. "I…I don’t remember anything else."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I don’t," she shrugged. "The next thing I knew it was the middle of the night and I was throwing up and my head was spinning. My…my parents…" she shook her head. "I don’t think they even understand. They were yelling at me and crying and my mother says she’s finding support groups for me and I don’t-"

"Support groups? You don’t need a support group. You’re not-you’re not addicted, are you?"

She shook her head, dazed.

He felt his pulse pounding in his head.

"Vivien-if I gave the pill to you, would you take it again?"

She said firmly: "No. I hated it. I felt so strange."

He let out a breath. "Then you’re fine."

"Am I?"

He looked up.

Her face was pale; her eyes were ringed in black circles. Her lip was cracked and bleeding. The black hair that she’d kept so neatly was knotted and stuffed into a messy ponytail that spilled everywhere. The green eyes were tired and dilated.

"I don’t know," he said helplessly. "I…Vivien…why?"

"You asked me already. I told you."

"No. I mean…why did it have to be like this. I don’t…"

He took a breath, and looked away.

"Do you think I’m alright, Robby?"

"I don’t know. I don’t know. Why couldn’t you be?"

"What do you mean, why does it have to this way?"

"I mean-why couldn’t you just-just stay the way you were? You were-you are-wonderful. Why couldn’t you just stay that way? You’re the only person, Vivien, I like you so much…but if it’s true, that I’m having a bad influence on you…if your parents are right."

She shook her head. "No."

"But they are. It’s true. There’s no denying it now. You wouldn’t have dreamed of doing drugs until you met me. I’m sinking and dragging you down with me."

"No. Robby-don’t give yourself such a hard time. It was my mistake, not yours. Anyway…I’d rather not talk about it." Then, suddenly, bitterly: "I was so tired of being the goody-goody. I was so sick of it, you understand."

He looked at her and frowned.

"Vivien…the girl who gets A’s in every class and listens to her parents. Vivien the know-it-all. Vivien the geeky girl. Vivien the accessory! I was so tired of it. I thought about killing myself."

"No!"

"No, not like you, because I wouldn’t have gone through with it. But that’s not what matters, Robby. What matters was that I was tired with my life and I was thinking about doing something stupid, and I did it, and all it was was two pills."

He shook his head, stunned, got up and walked to the window. It was wretched out; the sky was the color of coal, and the mid-afternoon light fell hazily through the room.

The entire house was quiet. The only sound was Penny’s fingers clicking away importantly from her room down the hall.

She got up slowly from the bed, went and stood next to him by the window. He didn’t move and he didn’t look her in the eye.

She said, not looking at him: "How are your drug meetings going?"

"They’re alright."

"Are they helping?"

"I think so. I met this nice kid there…he plays guitar. We’re talking about maybe starting a band."

"That would be cool."

"Yeah."

"You don’t play anything, Robby."

"No…he wants me for the lyrics."

"Oh."

Silence.

"How’s your sister?"

"She’s alright."

"Well, good."

She tilted her head forward, watching him curiously, and then sighed.

She felt odd. Her head was light and her consciousness was an overtired drift of air.

She wondered.

"Robby…"

"What?"

She paused for a moment, and then hugged him.

"I’m alright," she said. "It’s going to be ok."

He hugged her back, and said: "I’m glad."

They started walking to the park after school again. The afternoon air was deathly cold, but it was worth the walk and it was worth the time away from their families. All Robby had to protect himself from the cold was a thin and too-small jacket from the Salvation Army that he’d been wearing since he was eight; Vivien once tried to sneak him one of her father’s older coats, but her mother, as always, caught her in the act, and rejected it with a horrified gasp.

He’d applied for an after-school job to make a little more money, but had been disappointed in almost every field he searched; they wanted some one with more experience, a car, a future. In short: not Robby. But he’d been getting together with Twister and one of his stranger friends, a kid with a shaved head and the nickname "Proxy", and they were close to getting a paying gig.

As for the heroin, well…he still took it. How could he not? He tried not to take as much. He really thought he might get along without it. But it hurt so much without it…he had twice been so miserable without the heroin to comfort him that he’d almost killed himself. According to Jeff, though, he was one of the more remarkable addicts in that he was still making progress; so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when, one evening in March, Jeff stopped him after class, and said:

"Robby, I think you're really sincere about quitting; you’re putting a lot of effort into this. Robby," he said, "I think you’re ready for detoxication."

Robby took a step back. "What?"

"Detoxication," explained Twister, getting his coat from the table. "You know, dude. You don’t take heroin for a week. Get it out of your system."

"That’s right," Jeff nodded.

Robby blinked.

"A week?" he said.

"Yes," Jeff said. "A week. Now, I know that may sound like a long time to you, but I assure you that with your amount of determination it’ll be nothing. I’m going to need you to report at a methadone clinic every day; they’ll test you and make sure you don’t have any of the drug in your system, and they’ll give you a little tablet of methadone to ease the withdrawal symptoms."

"The-the withdrawal symptoms," Robby repeated. The blood drained from his face.

"Oh, yes," nodded Jeff. "Heroin is a little hard. You might feel a little bit low…you might be tired, nauseous, head aches. You know. Your body will need to readjust itself to the way it was before it became addicted to heroin. I guess you might want to take it easy during that week. Um, your nose might run-"

"No. Listen, Jeff, I think you’re wrong. I’m-I’m not ready for this. I’m not-no-"

He shook his head, tried to catch his breath.

"You can do it, man," said Twister.

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