Chapter Five
Nate
My body felt heavy and useless as I tried to wake up. I felt like I was awake already, but I couldn't move. I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it.
I was on the bed. On it, like on top. I had never made it under the covers the night before. I was covered in sweat and my head was pounding. I had to squint my eyes to keep them open because it was so brought in the room. Who the fuck turned on so many lights? What time was it?
I groaned and struggled into an upright sitting position. My eyes adjusted a little letting me see that no, the lights were not on, it was just daylight. Bright, sunny daylight. I had no idea what time it was or when I had even gotten to sleep. I couldn't really even remember leaving the room yesterday once I had gotten here.
All right, I had had nights like this before. First thing I had to do was figure out what time it was. I patted my pants pockets, finding my phone in the back. Thank God I hadn't been robbed since I'd obviously gone out. My eyes squinted at the lit phone screen. Twelve o’clock on a Monday afternoon.
I flopped backward back onto the bed. The action made my head hurt. So last night had been a big night, huh? Obviously because now I could hardly see three feet ahead of me, and I felt like I had a boulder inside my fucking skull.
I unzipped my hoodie and peeled it off of me since I was sweating so much. I touched my forehead. It was cool, but still wet with sweat. Hangovers didn't do that to you.
Fuck, I felt sick. My stomach turned and I felt dizzy. I got up slowly to my feet and peeled my shirt off, leaving it on the floor with my hoodie. I staggered around the room, looking for that mini kitchen refreshment center the girl, what was her name, had told me about. There had to be water in there. It was just the more expensive version of a minibar. I yanked the fridge open and looked inside.
Wow, she hadn't been kidding; they really had hooked me up. Ace of Spades, Hennessey, Patron…all my biggest mistakes.
I spotted the bottled water and reached for one, wrestling the cap off before I downed nearly the whole thing at one go. I finished it and tried to get the cap back on. Couldn't. Shaky hands. Awesome.
How long had it been since I'd had any heroin because my body was telling me it had been too long?
That was the other reason why this shit was so fucked up. Right then, I felt like shit. My head was pounding. I couldn't remember anything, and I felt like I'd probably made some terrible decisions the night before, but I didn't want to use. I wasn't anxious and panicky. I didn't feel like I was drowning. My body was just so used to having that fucking poison in it all the time that it was getting dope sick.
It wasn't just me that was addicted, like the me who could control the shit I did and didn't do. I needed the stuff. I'd trained my body to need it like I needed food. Like I needed water.
I knew how this went. The longer I took before I shot up again, the worse it would get. I'd start sweating more, and then I'd get queasy. I'd throw up even though I was certain I hadn't had anything to eat since I'd gotten here yesterday. I'd get sicker and sicker till it eventually passed and I stopped withdrawing which could take days, or I'd cave and shoot up so I wouldn't feel like I was dying.
I already knew which one was going to happen. I chucked the empty bottle in the trash with its bottle cap and staggered back to the bed. I leaned over to my backpack, which was where I knew my kit was. I tried the zipper, getting frustrated and nearly breaking it, trying to open it up. I pulled my kit out and put it on the bed in front of me.
I was starting to get anxious now that I knew what was coming. I knew I just had to get this stupid thing open, stick the needle in me, and I'd be fine.
My hands felt like they weren't mine trying to get a hold on the zipper. I got it open a little, then shoved my fingers in the hole, pulling the zipper teeth apart. My stuff flew out of the bag, landing on the bed and the floor.
"Fuck," I swore, managing to get one bottle before it rolled off the bed and smashed on the floor. Syringes were all over the ground. I got down on my hands and knees to grab one. I wasn't gentle enough trying to get its plastic wrapping off. It snapped into two pieces in my hands.
"Shit." I threw the pieces across the room and searched the floor for the closest one to me. I spotted one peeking out from under the couch at the foot of the bed and angrily shoved it out of the way. I dropped to my knees, getting the syringe out. I lugged my suitcase out of my way, making all my luggage fall out across the floor.
I climbed back onto the bed and tried to pierce the vial to fill the syringe. My hands were shaking and sweaty. I wiped them off on my jeans and tried again, gritting my teeth. I got it filled and swore again, remembering my belt was still somewhere on the floor.
Fuck it. I needed this now before it got any worse. I flexed my arm, clenching my fist to find somewhere to stick it. I got it inside, feeling the little bit of pain when the needle stuck. I pulled some blood out and carefully emptied the syringe.
I fell back on the bed, exhausted. The high crept up on me. It felt like being filled up with warm air. I started feeling better immediately, but it only lasted until I realized what I had done again.
What I was still doing.
Was it even worth getting mad about anymore? I was sick. I had gone, what? Twelve or so hours without my stuff and my body told me no way.
I lay there for a while, waiting to feel well enough to get up again. The drug made my headache disappear, but I knew I was still technically hungover. I got up and walked around the room, finally able to take it in since I'd woken up. The sliding double doors onto the terrace were open and I wondered whether I had done it or housekeeping had come through when I was passed out.
I walked back inside. I needed more water. And food probably; had I eaten since I'd gotten here? I wasn't really that hungry, but it would probably help me with my hangover when I'd come down enough to feel it again.
I walked through the living area to get another water when I stopped. The piano. It was there. The girl who'd brought me up to my suite had told me they'd gotten me one, but I was just then really looking at it.
I walked over. It was nice. White instead of traditional black, probably so it didn't clash with the way the rest of the room was decorated. They'd had to move some of the furniture around to make it, fit but it wasn't that obvious if you didn't know it wasn't technically supposed to be there. I ran a hand over the smooth, painted wood before I lifted the cover to look at the keys.
The piano was always my favorite. Ever since I used to sit on the bench with my mother as a kid, obstructing her while she tried to play. She was a classically trained pianist, but hadn't gone into a musical career, making it her hobby instead.
I still had her piano. It was an antique grand piano that my father had gotten her, which he had refused to give me many times before he finally let me have it. Rumor was she used to play when she was pregnant with me, so I'd been listening to classical music since before I was born. I didn't know whether that was true, but it wasn't a bad thing to imagine.
I sat down, ghosting my fingers over the keys. She could play anything. I remembered being so impressed by how well she knew all the dead masters' music. She was my piano teacher until I started going to school and it became too inconvenient for her to do it anymore.
I played a couple keys. Then a couple more. My fingers knew where to go. Chopin. “Nocturne number one.” B flat major. My dad would listen to classical music sometimes when he worked, too. Neither of them had ever drilled me to practice. I always loved it. It had always been one thing I knew they were happy that I did, and that just made me love it more.
I knew the piece by heart. I didn't need any sheet music. I used to be able to lose hours sat at the piano. Something about it was so calming to me.
Not just the sound of the music, but the action, too. It felt so productive, like the music was inside of me, and the piano was just the way it got out. At some point, my headache dulled a little, and I felt myself get lost in the rhythm of playing – remembering the song, hearing it inside my head before I played the keys.
By the time I was done, it was already past one. I decided to take a shower. I needed one. I grabbed a Snickers bar from the refreshment center, too, since I hadn't eaten anything since I'd gotten here. I was doing this wrong. This wasn't how you had a vacation. Whatever, I could just start today. Today was my real first day.
After the shower, I looked at the in-room dining menu before I stopped. What was I doing? Why was I still hiding? It was safe here. I didn't need to hide out. Nobody had recognized me, and if they had, they didn't care. I was just another guy here. I went down to the first floor.
Last night was foggy at best, but I had definitely gotten drunk, so I had definitely gone to a bar. Did they also serve food? Where had it been? Definitely not in here; it was outside somewhere. I left the main building looking around like I was seeing everything for the first time. People were laid out in their swimsuits by the pool. Yeah, the place might have been near the pool, I kind of remembered almost falling into it.
I looked around and spotted it, separated from the pool by a small, palm-covered lawn. It was open air with a palm leaf thatched roof. I grabbed a stool and sat down.
"Hey. You made it through the night," the bartender said, coming up to me. I looked at him and when he didn't look away, I realized he was talking to me.
"Sorry. You might think I'm someone else," I told him. Fuck, did he know who I was? Why was I so popular with bartenders?
"Nate?" he asked. "Hulopoe suite? You're here from LA?" I nodded slowly.
Clearly, this guy knew who I was. I tried, I really did, to remember this guy, but I couldn't. I was hungover when I'd woken up so I had been drinking, apparently here, but this guy? Couldn't pick him out of a lineup. He had black hair that was cropped really close to his scalp. We could have been the same age. Hawai'ian. Pretty strong accent.
"What'd you put in that Fireball last night?" I asked jokingly.
"Are you okay? I had to cut you off last night when you wouldn't leave. You closed the bar down."
"Hey, whatever I did, I'm sorry. I was blacked out. I don't remember anything."
"I can see that," he said, laughing. "I'm Keno.”
“Do I have to write someone a check? Did I fight someone?”
“No, you were just very thirsty. Hey, sorry about your ex-wife.” I cringed. I had told him about Kirsten? Oh God. Had I started crying or something? Fuck, I couldn’t believe it.
“Listen, whatever I said, let’s just call it drunken ramblings and start over,” I offered hopefully.
“You want it stricken from the record, consider it gone,” Keno said with an easy smile. “How’s your head?”
“Pounding.”
“You really put it away last night. I practically had to carry you back to the suite.”
“You took me upstairs? God, I hope you bought me dinner first,” I joked. He laughed. He seemed like a cool guy. I could deal with a blackout. At least no one was suing me.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet. I’m trying to get rid of this hangover. I feel like shit.”
“Here, try some of this,” he said. He poured a cloudy liquid into a glass and topped it off with something clear. He slid it over to me.
“What is it?”
“Hangover cure.” I picked up the glass and brought it cautiously to my mouth. It smelled sweet. I took a sip. There was coconut in there and something acidic, but I couldn’t place it.
“Drink, drink. All of it,” he urged. I frowned and downed the liquid. It burned slightly, making me think there might have been a little alcohol in there. I finished it and put the glass down.
“You’ll be good as new in no time,” he told me.
“Thanks. I’ll see you around,” I said, leaving before I started drinking and we had a repeat of the night before. I still hadn’t found anywhere to eat. I walked back to the main building, actually feeling a little better. Whatever island potion Keno gave me worked, I thought. I thought vaguely about going back to the suite and just ordering in-room again.
“Oh, Mr. Stone,” I heard someone say, stopping me in my tracks. In front of me was the front desk girl. What was her name? Abby.
“Hey,” I said.
“How is everything? How was your morning?” she asked. My morning? I slept through it because I had gotten blackout drunk the night before. Oh, and then I’d gotten up and shot heroin in my veins.
“Fine,” I said to her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. My headache was finally gone, but no, everything was pretty fucked up. Standing there with her looking at me I felt like she knew somehow, and it felt like shit. I nodded and turned my back to her, heading for the elevator to take me up to my room.
Once I got inside, I went straight for the bed where I had my kit. I picked it up, suddenly torn about shooting up again. I was in such an awesome hotel, this place was way too nice to come and do shit like this. The staff seemed like really good people. They deserved guests who weren’t coming here to get high.
I started opening it up before I stopped and dropped it on the bed again. I left the room. If it was far away from me, I wouldn’t feel like using. I tried to look for that menu to make a food order to the room. I felt like the drugs were loud in the other room. I could feel them in there.
I shut my eyes knowing I’d already lost. I was flat on my back on the bed with a needle in my arm before I even made my food order.