Chapter 4

Nox

The sharp bite of the needle as it pierces my skin is a rush in and of itself. My body buzzes in anticipation of the endorphins I’m about to receive. I draw back, heart hammering as a flash of blood appears in the syringe. Then I push the plunger all the way down, my head lolling back as euphoria hits me with the force of a thousand orgasms.

I live for this moment. The one shining second when my brain floods with feel good chemicals. Everything else in my life fades away, if only briefly.

I lay back on my threadbare mattress and let the sensation of floating carry me away. Peaceful waves of ecstasy wash me to a different world. One where I’ve never used my body to pay for an addiction. A world where I’ve never had to live in a car and beg for food. A world where I’m someone rather than something. It’s funny how drugs can give you such crazy ideas.

 

 

“Why isn’t there ever any goddamn food in this house?” Harrison gripes, opening the shutting each cabinet forcefully, as though punishing them for being empty. He goes to the refrigerator next and does the same thing.

The reason for the lack of food is inside the baggies on our coffee table. By coffee table I mean milk crate in the middle of our living room.

“You got any money?” He demands, eyeing me with speculation. I force myself not to cringe under his gaze. There was a time I thought Harrison was handsome. When we first met I was convinced he could be my ticket to a better life.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sixteen and living on the streets. My mother had died six months prior and I’d been doing everything I could to simply survive.

 

 

I folded my arms over my torso to block some of the frigid November air. A silver BMW slowed to a stop and my heart leapt with hope. If he’s driving a BMW there was a good chance I’d be able to afford something to eat after giving him what he wanted. That wasn’t always a given.

The passenger window rolled down and I did my best to look enticing as I sauntered up to the window.

“Hey handsome, is there something I can help you with tonight?”

That was my first glimpse at Harrison’s dark eyes and firm jaw. His wolfish expression should have frightened me, but instead it sent a thrill of excitement through me.

“I think I could find a use for a man like yourself.”

Man was a stretch, even I knew at sixteen I was barely more than a child, while he appeared to be more than twice my age. 

I opened the car door and slid into the heated leather seat. My ass warmed instantly.

“Heated seats? How fancy.”

“How much for the rest of the night?”

“Two hundred.”

He reached into his pocket and flung a stack of bills into my lap. I counted it with shaky hands, having to go back and re-count twice before I was able to believe what I held in my fist. Three thousand dollars.

“You’re mine until morning. You’re going to enjoy yourself.” It wasn’t a promise, it was a demand. I refused to think about what he might expect for so much money. “I had a bad day at work and I want to get fucked up first so we’re going to a party.”

 

 

After that night Harrison became a regular. I didn’t see him every week, and sometimes he’d go months at a time without showing up. But he always came back. He told me I was his favorite toy.

A year ago, after a long stretch of not seeing him, Harrison showed up seeming to have something different in mind. Instead of picking me up for a night of sex and drugs, he suddenly wanted to wine and dine me, buy me lavish gifts, and treat me like I mattered. It worked in his favor that I was at the lowest point I’d ever been in my life, contemplating suicide daily.

A few weeks before Harrison showed back up in my life, my best friend Amanda Viecelli was murdered.

I met Amanda when we were both fourteen working the same corner to pay for food or, more often, drugs. She understood what it was like to have been dealt a shitty hand at life and have to do anything necessary to survive. When my mom overdosed and I was all alone Amanda took me in, showed me the safest places to bunk down for the night and which soup kitchens had the best food. She was like the sister I never had.

I knew something was up when I didn’t see her around her usual spots as often. Then, the rumors started that she’d been spotted with a rich new boyfriend and didn’t have to sell her ass for dope anymore. I’ll admit, I was more than a little jealous.

Less than a month later I heard that they’d found her body floating in the Chicago River. Rumors ran rampant all over the street from strangulation to accidental overdose to decapitation. The last one made no sense to me, because how would anyone have known it was her if she didn’t have her head? People don’t always use common sense when they’re making shit up. However it happened, my best friend was dead. And as soon as the police found out she was a working girl they didn’t put so much effort into finding out who killed her.

So, when Harrison showed up and swept me off my feet I was in desperate need of comfort and willing to do anything for him.

It wasn’t long before he was paying me enough that I didn’t need to work the corner to support my habit. I even lived nicely for the first time in my life. I started spinning a fairy tale in my mind with Harrison the Edward Lewis to my Vivian Ward- if Julia Roberts had been played by a man, obviously. I missed all the signs of Harrison falling into the same drug laced trap I’d been in since the age of twelve. At the end of six months we were living in my apartment together, selling our furniture for drug money.

I went back to selling my dignity for dope.

My phone pings with an app alert.

“That’s why we don’t have food, because you spent the money on a phone to call your fuck buddies,” Harrison sneers.

“At least my asshole is a source of income,” I mutter under my breath.

I don’t see Harrison’s fist coming until it’s too late to duck.

“Worthless fucking whore,” he spits as I pick myself up off the floor, right eye already starting to swell. “I’m going out.” He stuffs the baggie of dope in his pocket and storms out the front door. Fuck, there goes my fix.

I don’t dare open my mouth. If he goes out I might have peace for the night. Slinking onto the couch I check my phone. My heart flutters when I see it’s the nice guy I talked to the other night on the Confessions app.

 

 

Inked: hey, how’s your week going?

Phoenix: fucking peachy :/ you?

Inked: meh, can’t complain. Been thinking about you .

Phoenix: lol, what were you thinking about me?

Inked: That I told you about me, but you didn’t tell me anything about yourself

Phoenix: I draw

Inked: sweet! Can I see?

 

 

Warmth spreads through me. No one has ever asked to see my art. I get to my feet and take my phone with me to my bedroom closet. I sift past the pile of clean clothes, behind a few boxes full of random junk we picked up to sell, and grab my sketchbook. I snap a picture of a cherry blossom tree I drew last week. Then I take a picture of my ‘Real Life in Chicago’ series, a drawing of a cold homeless man. I attach both pictures in a message and hit send. As soon as it’s done my stomach roils. I’ve never shared my art before and I don’t know why I did now.

When my phone pings with his next message I’m almost too afraid to look. I’m sure he thinks my art is shit. How could he not?

 

 

Inked: Holy fuck, those are amazing. I’m speechless right now.

Phoenix: thank you *blushing*

Inked: Just putting it out there that if someone showed up at my shop with these sketches looking for a job, I’d hire them as an apprentice in a hot second.

Phoenix: *rolls eyes* Not if they were a junkie

Inked: wouldn’t be the first time. If you ever change your mind it’s Heathens Ink in Seattle, WA

 

 

I allow myself to dream for a second about a life where I create permanent art instead of...whatever this is.

 

 

Adam

“Hurry up, man,” Gage calls through my door.

“I’m coming,” I grumble as I tug on a pair of jeans.

I’ve been dreading this all week. And dreading it makes me feel guilty. It’s not that I don’t want to remember Johnny on his birthday. And it’s not that I wouldn’t do anything to help Gage cope. The problem and the thing I dread is my parents.

I step out of my room and find Gage leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door, waiting for me.

Gage is holding a bouquet of wildflowers exactly like he had every March 28th for the past eight years.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” I agree.

Gage frowns.

“You could show a little more respect for his memory.”

“Jesus, I think I show proper deference for my dead brother. Excuse the fuck out of me for hating these awkward goddamn dinners with my alcoholic mother and emotionally absent father. Fuck,” I snap and then feel immediately shameful for it. “I’m sorry, I know this sucks for you too. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s okay, I get it.”

We ride in silence to my parents place and when we get there Gage goes around the back, to the gazebo in the backyard, while I head to the front door. I don’t know what the significance of the gazebo was to Gage and Johnny, I’ve never asked. But every year he goes back there and leaves the flowers before joining us inside.

The front door swings open before I reach it and my mother stands there looking pale and thin.

“You’re late,” she accuses, a slight slur in her words.

“Sorry, mom. We hit traffic.”

“Some way to honor your dead brother.”

I clench my jaw. I want to yell at her that I honor Johnny every damn day. I commemorate him by helping others avoid the path he traveled down.

“Sorry, mom.”

She nods, seemingly appeased, and then steps aside to let me in.

I step into the living room where my dad is watching a basketball game and notice the shrine they’ve built to Johnny has expanded. Every time I visit there seems to be a new picture or item displayed.

“Hi, dad.”

He grunts but doesn’t bother to look in my direction. My heart aches for the father I lost the day Johnny died. For the mother I lost too for that matter. In one fell swoop I lost my entire family and my best friend. Could Johnny have had any idea how far his choice would reverberate in our lives? Did he even once think of what it would do to us?

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out, my heart leaping when I see it’s a message from Phoenix.

 

 

Phoenix: Hey, whatcha up to?

Inked: Visiting my parents...it would’ve been Johnny’s 24 b-day today :(

Phoenix: I’m so sorry.

Inked: thanks. The worst part is how my parents are now. We used to be close. They were so great when we were growing up. Now They’re like empty shells. Gage is too. And then I wonder if there’s something wrong with me that I managed to keep living when Johnny died and they couldn’t. And sometimes I hate him for what he did to us. I feel bad, I shouldn’t hate him.

Phoenix: I think he would understand your anger. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re all doing your best to deal with it. Everyone handles these things differently.

Inked: Thank you. It feels good just to have someone to blurt that stuff out to. I can’t tell anyone else I feel that way sometimes. No one else would understand.

Phoenix: I bet they’d understand more than you realize. But I’m glad to be here for you to word vomit on too.

Inked: Lol. Gross. I better go before my mother decides texting is a blight on Johnny’s memory. Talk to you later.