Eli Constant writing as
Eli Grace
Verse 1.
I ain’t got the words no more
To talk it out, to scream and shout
You want to yell my name and curse
Only god, the father, can reverse
The mess I am and what I’ve done
No room in heaven for this son
Can’t take it back, can’t make him live
The devil take me for my sins
‘You can’t save a man who’s drowning
When land’s within reach
And he ain’t swimming
I lost a friend; I lost my soul
Nothing left to fill that hole’
The great and broken I am
I woke up drenched in sweat, still feeling the itch of that need under my skin— the desire to shoot up and let the world fall away. It made me want to claw at my arm, rip out the hurt, but it was all memory. Lodged in my brain. A scalpel couldn’t cut it out.
Even now, I’m an addict. If you put me in a room with heroin, I’d use. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. It hits you seconds, just seconds, after you push. The relaxation, the feeling of floating, the warmth. I dream about it- choosing the vein, tapping the needle, watching the liquid leave the syringe as I push the stopper.
Sinking into water.
Floating.
Freedom.
I threw off the covers and got out of bed, my sweaty bare skin instantly sprouting goosebumps against the chill of the fast-moving fan above. Even the sheets were soaked. I pulled them off to find the mattress underneath only a little damp. Gathering up the bed things, I walked out to the closet that housed the washer and dryer. I stuffed everything in, closed the door, started the machine, and realized I’d forgotten the soap.
“Whatever,” I muttered, walking towards the kitchen. The green glow of the clock mounted next to the fridge taunted me. 3:45 AM. I always woke up at the same damn time. Too late in the morning to go back to sleep—because the extra hour and fifteen I might get would only make me more exhausted—and too early to accomplish any errands before work.
I never used to be an ultra-morning person. Once, I could sleep until two or three in the afternoon and not bat an eye at the time. But now…
And it had to be this exact time, every night, like I didn’t remember what the hell happened.
Like I don’t remember that Asher’s dead and jack shit can bring him back.
Him dying sent me spiraling. I should have run away from the crap that killed him, but instead, I ran full-out towards it. Using every night until my feet looked like I’d been attacked by a prickle of porcupines. My family tried to reach me, tried to intervene. Shit, I didn’t even go to his funeral. I didn’t even go to Asher’s damn funeral. I hated myself for that.
My phone pinged. I didn’t bother looking at it. Only one person texted me at this time of night to check on me—my partner Tanner. He didn’t do it all the time now, not since he met Laurie and decided to give love a try. I thought he was crazy. Love was what ruined a person, beyond repair. There’s no other drug like it.
At 4 AM, my phone pinged again. I walked over to where it was charging by the antiquated, banged-up tin bread box left by the last tenant. It wasn’t Tanner. It was mom.
M: Had you on my mind. Can’t sleep. You?
M: Are you awake?
I knew if I didn’t respond, she’d just keep texting. She got in these obsessive moods. At least I could say I got my talent for addiction honestly.
I’m fine. Doing laundry.
M: At 4 in the morning? Is everything okay?
Yep. Early shift today.
M: I’m so proud of you, Johnathan.
Mom.
M: Yeah, I know. It’s Silas now. Can’t you go by your middle name? I’ve always loved Thaddeus.
Thaddeus Thatcher? I think I’ll pass.
M: It’s a good name.
Sure mom. Love you. Got to get ready.
M: Be safe.
Always am.
Johnathan Thaddeus Thatcher. Talk about saddling a kid with a name. I’d gone by J.T. for a while. The record company thought it had a good sound. Stage presence. Headlining act—J.T. Thatcher! *canned applause* I couldn’t face that name now though. Silas had been the name of my childhood dog. Mom didn’t think it was appropriate, but the change was legal now. My driver’s license could attest to that.
Looking back at the clock, I sighed. I was actually working the late shift today. Gobs of time to fill. And I needed to fill it, so my mind wasn’t in overdrive. Heading back to the bedroom, I put on a tank and shorts, then grabbed my wallet and keys. The gym always helped. It got the ‘need’ out and gave me a bit of the euphoria I missed.
Not enough of it though.
Just enough to curb the bitter edge.
Ping.
M: Forgot to say I love you. So, anyways, I love you.
This time, I didn’t respond. I’d already written ‘love you’. That’s all I could manage. Once. And it felt false. I didn’t love anybody. Not my mom. My dad. My sister.
Not myself.
Because watching someone you love die, shaking and foaming at the mouth and there not being a chance in hell that help would arrive in time, changes you. It kills the love in you.
It killed the love in me.
*Heart Beat, coming 2018*