CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
" fuck, Dax!" Beck shouted as he slammed open the door to my office. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked as I looked over the books on my desk and compared them to the files on my computer. I kept several sets of books just in case something happened to one of them, and every week, I personally squared each of them to make sure that no one was cheating me. So far, so good, but I knew I couldn't ever drop my guard or they'd be at me like wolves on blood.
"I'm talking about the fact that you cut me off, big brother!" He was frantically pacing the floor in front of my desk. He was obviously in need of a fix, but not jonesing too hard yet. "You told all the street dealers not to sell to me! The fuck, man?"
"Beck, I've given you every opportunity to sober up and get clean," I repeated the same speech I'd been giving him for the past five years, knowing full well that it would do as much good as all the other speeches I'd given him. Beck hadn't yet hit bottom and until he did, he wasn't going to be motivated to get clean. My heart ached from wanting my little brother back, but I also knew that I couldn't do anything for him. He had to want it for himself.
"Fuck that clean shit, man," he waved at me as he paced restlessly. "Take your do-gooder bullshit to another audience, bro."
"It's not bullshit, Beck," I said as I watched him. He was deep in the grip of a heroin addiction, and I could see the effects. His skin was pocked and bleeding in places where he'd picked at it. He was wearing a long sleeved shirt covered by a sweatshirt and a hoodie even though it was ninety degrees outside. And, I could see that he still hadn't gone to see the dentist I'd found for him. He needed to get his teeth looked at, but he refused to go.
"It's absolute bullshit, Dax, and you know it," he said.
"Why do you say that? I'm doing everything I can to help you," I replied.
"Yeah, but you're still selling the shit," he shot back. "You're a fuckin' street dealer who counts on the junkies like me to need what you're selling. You feed on us, bro. You create the habit and then you keep us weak and enslaved so you can sit in your penthouse counting your cash."
"That's not fair, Beck," I said in a measured tone. "You know what I do. I provide a product to those who require it. It's as simple as that."
"Yeah, but it's not simple when you're sitting on your high horse preaching to your little brother who is a smack addict, now is it?" he said pointedly.
"You have a choice," I replied.
"And so do you, big brother," he said as he put his palms on my desk and leaned over to look me straight in the eye. "You've got a choice to hook me up with what I need or to face the consequences of your actions."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I said as I waved him off. "Get the fuck out of here!"
"I'm talking about what we both know," he said. His eyes were burning with a fevered light. "You know what I'm talking about. If you don't hook me up, I'm gonna go down to the precinct and tell them everything I know about this business."
"Beck," I warned. He'd threatened this a hundred times, and every single time I'd explained how it would work if he did that. Somehow the fact that he was a junkie didn't quite sink in and the fact that I'd worked hard to keep the business buried deep underneath a number of legitimate businesses buried under a number of other legitimate businesses didn't seem to register. "You don't want to do that."
"No, you don't want to do that!" he yelled. "Give me my stuff! Dammit, Dax! Give me my stuff!"
He was dangerously close to a total meltdown, but we'd been to this edge many times before. I watched him as he spun further and further out of control, hoping that this time would be the time he realized that he needed help. He stomped and screamed and threatened me with every violent act he could think of before he turned and looked at me and screamed, "I hate you!"
"I know you do," I said. "But I love you enough to let you hate me if it means you'll get help and come back and be my brother again."
"Fuck that shit, man," he scoffed. "Why the fuck would I want to be your brother? A fuckin' loser like you? Hell no, motherfucker!"
"Beck, please," I said quietly.
"Fuck you, man," he said as he stalked to the door and flung it open. "You're so fucking selfish, Dax. Always have been and always will be. No wonder everyone we love is dead. They couldn't compete with your self-centered need to be the focus of the universe. Don't worry, I'm next up!"
He turned and raced down the stairs and tore across the dance floor to the exit. I could tell he was crying and it killed me. The hateful things he said to me when he was in desperate need of a fix tore me up and left a gaping wound that took a long time to scab over. Unfortunately, every time I thought maybe it would get the chance to heal, Beck would tear the scab off and thrust a knife deep into the tender part.
I rested my elbows on my desk and dropped my head into my hands as I breathed through the pain and vowed never to let him flay me like that again.