Machi

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Dreams are all I have. They bring me back to her, to the good times, the happy times. I can see her face and hear the sound of her voice. I get to talk to her all over again and it's amazing, making me wish that my eyes would never open again.

But sometimes the dreams are nightmares.

They remind me of why I had become this man; the man who could kill without a second thought, regardless if I was doing it for a good reason.

I'd see their faces, I'd feel their life expel from their body and hit the ceiling. It was a rush, to have that much power and actually use it.

I should be ashamed of how the darkness had consumed me and the power turned me wicked. But I wasn't. That feeling. . . It was the fuel to help me keep going.

Because the deeper I got, the closer I felt to her and what she had lived through before it was all swept away.

The nightmares, those weren't dreams, they were memories that had decided to eat me alive.

And this one, it just wouldn't leave me alone.

* * *

“Where are you?” I asked, pressing the phone to my ear so I could hear her better. Wherever my sister was, she wasn't at work like she had told our mom.

Huffing under her breath, I could hear her roll her eyes at me through the phone. “Fuck, Machi, what are you now, my father? I don't need you doing fucking checks on me all the time.”

Turning off the engine, I sat back in my seat and rocked my jaw back and forth. “Someone has to keep an eye on you, you're not going to do it yourself.”

Megan hadn't exactly been the picture perfect daughter or sister since our father passed a few years back. She took it hard, but so did the rest of us.

Why can't she just see that? She's not the only one who's hurting.

“I'm eighteen now, Machi, you don't need to treat me like I'm a fucking kid anymore. I don't have to report to you or anyone else.”

Sighing, I held the phone away for a second, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I'm coming to get you, where are you?”

“It's none of your damn business, I'll be home later.”

“Megan?” The phone was silent, filling my head with empty air. “Megan?” She was gone. “Fuck!” Slamming my steering wheel with my fist, I threw my phone onto the passenger seat.

She didn't have to tell me where she was, I already knew.

It was a repeating cycle with her, the same shit as it had been for the past few years. She got in with the wrong crowd once she hit high school, and dug herself into a fucking ditch she just couldn't seem to climb out of.

Yanking on the shifter, I threw my car into drive and hit the gas hard. The tires squealed as white smoke billowed out from under the hot rubber.

I hit every red light, every single one. It was as if something was trying to stop me, like the world was saying just let her go. But she was my sister, I'd go to the end of the earth to make sure she was okay.

And right then, she was as far from okay as anyone could get.

Pulling up the street, I turned my lights off and rolled to a stop in front of where she was. The house was painted in graffiti, tagged all over the outside with gang symbols and obscene cock drawings.

Tasteful. . . Another fucking Monet right there.

It was the same scene as usual; people blazed out of their skulls were strewn around the front porch, already half dead. Stepping over a guy passed out in the doorway, my foot crunched down on a pipe and shattered it into pieces.

“Fuck man!” A guy yelled as he twisted in place on the floor. “That was mine, you fucking owe me now!” Reaching for my ankle, he tried to claw himself up my leg to stand.

Grunting, my fingers curled into my palms as I clenched my teeth. “Don't fucking touch me.” Kicking him off, he flopped onto his back like a limp piece of spaghetti.  Clamping my foot down on his throat, I pinned him in place. “Megan—where is she?”

“You a cop?” His arms popped up, hands fanning open like I was about to trap him with a pair of cuffs. “I. . . I don't know anyone named Megan. And this shit ain't mine, I don't know how it got here.”

Looking down on his scab-covered skin and open wounds from picking off his own flesh when his stash was dry, I pressed down a little harder on his neck. “I'm not playing games with you, where is she?”

As my weight cut off his air supply and his eyes snapped open on reflex, he nodded towards the stairs. “She's up there,” he said with the last of the oxygen he had inside his lungs.

Kicking an empty bottle out of my way, I stormed up the stairs and started throwing open the doors one by one.

She was here, I just to had to find her.

This place had taken her one too many times. Today it stopped, today she wasn't saying no anymore. I was done watching her waste her life and disintegrate in front of my eyes.

I had already lost my father, my mother was barely living as it was; I was not about to lose my sister too.

Megan needed a fucking wake up call, and I was going to give it to her.

Our mother couldn't do it, she couldn't handle her anymore than she could handle her own depression. I was done wondering if the phone ringing was the cops calling to say she had been arrested or the coroner calling for someone to come identify her body.

No more, it ends now.

Reaching for the handle, I twisted it hard and tossed the door open. The metal slammed against the drywall, leaving a giant hole where it had punctured clear through.

More people were laying on the ground, the bed, against the wall sitting up, but not one of them was actually functioning like a normal human being. They were all high as shit, clinging to the rush that consumed their entire world.

That was the hardest part about dealing with an addict. You had to take it day by day because the pull was just too strong. They would do and say anything just to get one more hit, one more line to blow, one more bump off a knuckle.

Scanning the room, my heart stood still inside my chest. I knew it! I fucking knew it!

Drawing my hand over my jaw, I scratched the back of my head. Standing by her side, she was so fucking toasted, she didn't even know I was there.

Megan was on the bed with her arms hanging by her sides, track lines running raw and still bleeding from the needle she had taken.

Shaking her shoulder, I tapped the side of her face. “Megan, Megan, let's go, wake up, we're leaving.”

“Mm, grrrr, noooo, Machi.” Mumbling, her head rolled around on her neck like there were no muscles left to control it. “I'm, noo, I'm not—” Trailing off, her eyes kept closing and partially opening.

But she wasn't focusing on me, she couldn't see me or even look up to acknowledge that she was actually registering what I was saying.

Looking around, I grabbed an empty burger wrapper from the off the floor and plucked the needle from her arm, placing it on the nightstand. It made me hurt so much to her see like that, to know that she had just shoved God knows how much junk into her arm.

And for what? To feel like she was flying?

It was fucking bullshit, that's what it was. That shit turned you into a living fucking zombie. You can't function, you're no longer human; you're just a hungry scavenger, destroying everything you touch.

She doesn't even realize how much I love her. That part, that was the hardest to deal with.

“Come on, time to go home.”

Wrapping a hand under her back and one under her legs, I lifted her up and carried her away. Away from the hell that had its grip around her, away from the assholes who convinced her that one more hit wouldn't hurt, away from the place that threatened to take her forever.

The car idled quietly in the parking lot of the coffee house, Megan was still asleep, going on three hours of pure unconsciousness.

I watched her for a few moments, remembering the sweet young girl that used to be my little sister. The way she used to get on my nerves when we were growing up, the way she used to flash her sad eyes at our father and get whatever the hell she wanted.

I wish we could go back in time.

Poking her arm, I nudged her hard. “Wake up, I got coffee.” Shoving her again, her head bounced against the window, finally rattling her enough to get a response.

“What? Machi?” Looking around, she groaned and gripped the sides of her head. “How the hell did I get here?”

“Me,” I said, holding out the hot cup towards her. “Here, take it, it'll help with the pounding in your skull.”

Reaching for the cup, her fingers shook wildly as she gripped the coffee. “Thanks.” Taking a small sip, she let her head fall back on the seat.

“You're using again.”

“Machi, don't.”

“How long? I thought you were going on a month of being sober, what happened to that?”

Shutting her eyes, her brows scrunched up tight. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Megan, you're eighteen, you're barely an adult, is this what you want for your life?”

“Since when did you grow up and become the fucking Pope? You're no angel either, we both know that.”

“I never said I was, but we're also not talking about me, are we?”

Rolling her eyes, Megan took another slow sip. “Does mom know? Did you run and tell her?”

Shaking my head no, I tapped my steering wheel. “And I'm not going to.”

“Seriously?” she asked, her eyes large and bloodshot, looking at me like I was someone she had never met before. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No, I'm serious. You're going to get help, you're going to go get clean for good. And I'm not going to tell her—because you are.”

“Oh, no, no, no. I'm not going to rehab, no fucking way.”

“Yes, you are.”

Cocking her head in my direction, Megan glared at me. “You can't make me do shit, I'm an adult now, I don't have to do anything I don't want to.”

“Megan—”

Cutting me off, she pointed her finger in my face. “I didn't ask you to come save me, I didn't ask you to rescue me like some superhero. I didn't ask you for anything. So don't ask me to do something that I don't want to do. I can get clean on my own, I don't need you or fucking rehab.”

“Megan, if you keep going like this, you won't make it to twenty. Is that what you want? Do you want to die before you ever had the chance to live?”

Her eyes began to well up, glossing over as she dipped her head into her chest. “How can you ask me that? We both know that the end result for all of us is death, we all have a death sentence the day we're born. So why shouldn't I do what makes me happy?”

Jetting my jaw out to the side, my nostrils flared. She was so frustrating, she wasn't listening. I knew exactly where she was going with her lines of bullshit, and I wasn't going to fall for it.

“Dad has nothing to do with this. He got into an accident, Megan, that doesn't mean you have to choose to live this way.”

“No? Then what does it mean? Does it mean I do what everyone else tells me I should? Do I wake up every single day and go to work in a place I hate for minimum wage and barely scrape by? Should I be miserable just because you don't approve of what I do with my life?”

“Stop, just stop.” Holding out my hand, I bounced it in the air. “None of that is true, I'm just not ready to bury my sister next to my father. Is that so bad? Is that such a horrible thing for me to want?”

“Did you ever ask me what I wanted, Machi?”

Thinning my lips, I watched her hands fiddle and tumble around the cup. She was coming down, her body was starting to feel the effects of withdrawl and it wouldn't be long before she tried to jump out my car and run back to the crack house.

“What do you want, Megan?” I wanted to keep her talking, I wanted her to see what she was doing to her family and to herself.

Because until she saw it, until she finally felt the pain she lived with, the pain she caused our mother and myself. . . She would be forever owned by drugs.

Strumming her thumb along the rim of her cup, she took in a deep breath. “I have an opportunity, Machi, and I'm going to take it.”

“Yes, yes you do. I'm handing it to you, I placing it on your fucking lap, so take it.”

Slouching her shoulders, her hair fell over her face as she shook her head. “No, it's not you. Someone else gave me an offer, and to be honest, I don't think I can turn it down.”

“What is it? Who gave it to you?”

“I met this guy at a party last weekend, and he, he says he can give me a job. It pays good, I'll have a roof over my head and anything else I could ever want.”

Laughing, I raked my hand through my hair and smirked. “Megan, come on. That guy was probably fucking with you, he probably just wants to get laid or something. No man out there, especially some asshole that hangs with druggies, is going to be able to give you that shit. He's full of it, Megan, you can't really be that stupid?”

Veering her stare, her lips went taut. “I'm done, I'm out of here.” Grabbing the handle, she started to open the door.

“Megan, come on, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that.” Reaching out, I held her arm, trying to keep her inside. “Don't run off, let me help you. You need help, you need serious help, and I'm here for you.”

Shrugging me off, she climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the coffee.” Holding the door in her hand, she leaned inside. “Not everything is smoke and mirrors, Machi. Maybe sometimes, things are exactly what you think they are. Have a nice fucking life, Asshole.”

Those were the last words she said to me, that was how we left it.

I was an asshole.

I never expected that I'd be making wishes for her to be right back where she was, with a needle in her arm and me holding her hand. What came after was far worse, it created who I was.

Megan made a choice, she followed the breadcrumbs that lead her into a world she could never handle. She was right, not everything was smoke and mirrors, but most things that sound too good to be true usually are.

And in the end. . . I buried my sister.