Hold Me Now - Alive and Kicking

I couldn't sleep! I just couldn't fucking sleep! And I didn't want to sleep with Skinner. I texted Derek, but it was 2am on a Sunday. HE was asleep. I called him anyway. Sensible guy, his phone was off. Gah. I actually, honestly just needed something to get to sleep. This wasn't like my other wild eyes times when I needed to break out of my skin. This was just pure fucking logic. I couldn't actually get properly sober if I was an insomniac. If people thought I was in trouble before well... it would be a million times worse with no sleep right?

I was already gently turning the kitchen inside out. Those bastards had even hidden the over the counter drugs. Assholes! Was I meant to beg for a Panadol every time I had a headache? Anyway, Skinner hadn't put my emergency stash in here. I sifted through the living room, cautiously, upturning everything but putting it back. I looked through the hallway, and the bathroom.

Ok. No luck. So we start with the kitchen again. A touch more frantically perhaps. They had to be SOMEWHERE? And I moved through the house, again, a little less carefully. Stuff spilled out of drawers and fell to the ground and I told myself I'd clean it up later, once I'd managed to alleviate this pressure... And by the time I was back in the kitchen I could feel something snapping.

I started sobbing. Violent, wretched, angry howls. I tried to keep it quiet but it was overwhelming. I was just so ashamed. I was so ashamed at what I'd been trying to do, and that I failed anyway, and now I had to clean this fucking mess up and any second someone would wake up and see me and maybe it was easier to just.... My eyes alighted on the kitchen knives. Maybe. I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. I found myself holding a knife and staring at it. I raised it to my neck. That felt cathartic. Was I actually going to...? My breathing calmed down as I thought clinically about it. Best case scenario I ended up in hospital and was forced into a fucking clinic. Worst case I really fucking nailed it. Which I was starting to think was going to be way easier for me than actually having to keep waking up every day, but I knew that even if I was the shittiest person on planet earth, that still wouldn't make it pleasant for any of my flatmates to come across my body bleeding out in the morning.

I cut my arm... like a practise. I went pretty deep. I could see my fat poking out. I picked at it, kind of fascinated. My stomach did a huge flip without me realising and I suddenly realised I was...

My eyes blinked open after what felt like hours. I groaned and tried to sit up, finding someone was stopping me.

"Here." I felt a glass pressed into my hand and I slowly sipped on it. The room started to clear up. I watched as Fox dabbed at my arm with Dettol, pressing fabric to it to stop the bleeding. He glanced at me. "Well either you're more of a fucking idiot then I realised or you were aiming to maim, not kill." He said flatly. "Veins are on the other side of your wrists for next time."

"I wasn't trying to..."

"Good." Fox said flatly. "This needs stitches by the way."

"Band-aid might be all good?"

"Infection is a nasty way to go." Fox sighed and had me hold the slowly dampening cloth against my arm as he tore open a bandage. "I'll take you to A and E."

"But..." I glanced guiltily around the room.

"We can do this when you're patched up." He said.

"But the others..."

"Harrison." Fox gently wrapped my arm up in a temporary fix. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

"Ok." I hung my head. Maybe I could just do what I was told.

I needed 14 stitches. I fainted again as I watched the nurse push the needle through my skin. It's funny, even before the anaesthetic the pain was nothing- but I guess I'm hella squeamish about certain things. I was all patched up within a few hours, and Fox was driving me home. I stared out the window, watching the scenery.

"Is this the rest of my life?" I asked out loud, although I wasn't really asking him. He sighed.

"Is it?"

-------- What you gonna do when the flames burn up? -----

The stupidest three months of my life followed. But they followed a pattern. I did ok, for a bit. Like I could manage a few days sober. Then I got overconfident because when I did a few days I felt so fucking awesome and over it; like I didn't need to worry about anything. We recorded- and I definitely did THAT sober because I'd heard myself play when high now, and Skinner was, to my eternal shame, right.

I started hooking up with my drug dealer. I told you I'm not a hook up kind of guy... but I just... I just needed someone. Even if I felt bad about it afterwards. Derek had always liked me a bit more than he should have, I could see that from a mile away. No one gives you so many freebies and a leash as long as mine with repaying debt if they don't like you a little bit.

I didn't really intend to seduce him- I was just having a joint with him on my roof one day when it went out and I asked him to relight me. He leant over and I accidentally looked into his eyes as he held his lighter up to my face. I think I'd just gone crazy from everything. Our eyes met and I suddenly was like... aching for a connection. I pushed his hand away, and discarded the joint, and leant up- glancing at his face as I made my intention to kiss him clear.

I think if I hadn't caught him so off guard he would have stopped me. He didn't manage it though. He cradled me. His arms wrapped around me. We pressed our bodies firmly against each other. It wasn't love, or anything like it. It was lonely desperation on both sides- and that sustained us pretty well.

We hooked up a couple of times after I bought off him, and the second time he held me close in bed, running his fingers through my hair.

"Harrison..." He sighed. "I can't deal to you if I'm fucking you, it makes me too sad. Or I can't fuck you if I'm dealing to you. Which way do you wanna go?" I was blissed out from the sex, so I blinked at him.

"I can find a new dealer." I decided.

----

I, like so many before me, had found a thing of beauty called functioning addiction.

It's actually worse than crippling addiction- because if you're not actively working on appearing functioning you can at least wallow in your misery. Instead I was lying to everyone, obsessively managing my substance schedule, watching my weight go down and my stress go up except for when I could get a hit and everything seemed ok again.

But... I reminded myself often- it was none of the drama; because I was holding my job down and applying myself in a way I never imagined I could. TRYING to be good at my job for the first time in years kept my mind off thinking about scraping enough money and time together to get fucked up. I was excelling at the WSET training I ended up in- it was actually the only time I felt safe with alcohol. I could taste wine and talk about it without the same panicky feeling I had when I drank anything else. There was no little voice telling me if I had one sip I might as well drink the whole bottle- and I usually spat out the wine anyway.

The band was gearing up for an amazing album release, and I stayed 90% sober for all events involving us as a unit. I couldn't bear it if I fucked up with the cameras and papers watching us. I wore cool oversized woollen jerseys and baggy pants so you couldn't see I hadn't really been eating. I washed my hair almost as obsessively as I planned my stimulant schedule- I had this weird idea that if it started to look like shit again everyone would know I was still a junkie.

And I guess, given that he wasn't my dealer anymore and I was still seeing him... you could almost say Derek was my boyfriend. I don't think he ever loved me. He did like how I looked, which I guess was enough for me. I definitely didn't love him, but he made me cum, so what are you gonna do?

Basically; I had it all figured out. I would never fail a drug test at work because I knew the schedule they were on. My band mates would never know because they didn't want to know. Derek probably knew, I was usually high when he fucked me, but I think as long as he wasn't responsible he didn't feel like he needed to save me. I was making money, about to release a fucking amazing record, and going steady with a guy. I was basically nailing life. There's no way my recipe could ever fuck up.

------

"Dude." Joanna sighed. "You owe me $200 and you're $20 short again." I sighed and opened my wallet, scrabbling desperately in case there was a random $200 I'd forgotten about. Mmm. That cash flow problem was starting up again. "Nope." She folded her arms as she caught my eye. I was trying to put on that beguiling face that ALWAYS used to work on Derek... but Joanna was made of stone. I sighed, my eyes locked on the bag she was about to deny me.

"Fuck me and call it even?" I joked hopelessly. Her face stretched into a thin, wry, almost smile.

"Fuck a little gay junkie who's dick probably doesn't work?"

"Ouch!" I rubbed my chest in pain. "Jesus." Were all women that mean?

"You should try Grindr." She folded her arms as she looked me over. "Plenty of men who'll give you coke for your ass."

"Probably not quite that desperate." I sighed. "Uh. IOU...."

"We're done here, Harrison." She tucked the package away. Dammit. "Call me when you have cash." She walked away.

'You get me high, I get you off' was verging on too extremely fucking degrading. But I thought about it. The cost of living was high! Bills had all gone up. I made ends meet but my party money was spread thinner and thinner, not helped by getting myself in debt here and there. Debt which I'd have to pay. I was adamant I wouldn't start stealing from my bandmates again to keep me above the red.

Which didn't mean I had a problem with stealing. My moral compass hadn't been functioning in a while. I never set out with any evil intentions, but my impulse control was practically decimated, and sometimes I did things like a toddler- taking what I wanted with no real understanding of the consequences. I stole from work- never money. Just bottles of the cheap spirits we used for cocktails. We bought them in bulk so no one would notice if they ended up missing for weeks on end. I'd have to drink them basically all at once, which meant I couldn't really be home because I'd reek. Derek didn't seem to mind. He liked me when I was drunk because I told him I loved him. Who really gave a shit that my dick didn't work? Drunk or sober actually- I think too much coke and alcohol does that. Thank fuck I was a bottom.

I woke up in Derek's arms one night and tucked myself closer to him. I didn't LOVE him, but I did like his warmth. It dulled certain old familiar uncomfortable feelings flitting around in my head. I glanced at the scar on my arm. You know what's terrible? It did feel really good to do that. Like it released some pressure. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to fall asleep, using Derek's soft rising and falling chest to rock me into dreamland....

But the buzzing in my brain and the itching under my skin was growing worse and worse. Ugh. Deal with this or stab myself? I giggled weakly. I never knew I'd be a stab myself kind of guy. It reminded me of Chris Knox, a kiwi musician who used to cut his arms live on stage. Like an art piece. Exactly the kind of art piece I'd be doing if I didn't have a band to stop me.

I slipped out of Derek's arms and walked around his room. I was honestly just trying to distract myself. Or maybe find something sharp. Or maybe wear myself out so I could fall asleep again. I smiled as I looked at his books. Fantasy, fantasy, fantasy.... That was kind of cute. My heart melted a bit as I flicked through a stack of records and saw two of ours in the scant pile. Aw. Wonder if he'd been into us before or after he started dealing to me? I opened a drawer- expecting socks, maybe... and I audibly gasped. I slammed my hand over my mouth. I glanced at Derek- who was fast asleep. What kind of trusting moron leaves his... unbelievable stash... in a drawer, completely unlocked when his user fuck buddy comes over? It had actually been at least two weeks since I'd had anything other than alcohol but I didn't even have the briefest of internal debates. I just took as much as I thought I could hide- then put half of that back realising I could probably milk this for longer if he didn't realise I was taking anything. I browsed his collection, watching him over my shoulder in case he stirred. Hmmm. Coke wouldn't help tonight, I wanted a nice sleep, not a party. I twisted my lips as I read the names of his pills. Jesus where did he GET these? I didn't recognise the name of anything- prescription meds had never been my drug of choice, really, although I'd never said no. I think I just knew where I stood with coke to bring me up, weed to bring me down, and alcohol to level me out. I found I was yawning unassisted. Maybe the adrenaline of doing something so awful and illicit has suddenly drained me. I crawled back into bed with Derek and wrapped myself around him.

"You're magnificent." I whispered to him.

------ Who is gonna come and turn the tide? -----

He had work early the next morning, and left me in his house. Idiot. Very sweet, very dumb, idiot. I liberated some vodka from his flatmate's liquor cabinet. I considered a few lines but if I started before I got home there was a very good chance I'd put on a record and never leave and Derek's flatmates would come home to me draped in a dressing gown smoking inside. I looked forward to getting home instead, lining my pockets with anything that looked interesting. By the time I was leaving the alcohol had kicked in and that impulse control I barely had to begin with was totally gone. I stole way too much. He would know as soon as he came home. But WHO CARED? I had a PARTY in my pockets, and I always wanted that more than Derek anyway.

It was a super sunny day, matching my mood perfectly. I made it about a block back to mine, nodding at randos and smiling to myself when suddenly I found myself awkwardly sandwiched between two guys.

"Oops. Sorry." I squeaked.

"Na uh." I felt a hand on my waist. Ohhhhhh fuck. That was a very firm, do whatever I'm about to tell you kind of grip. I allowed them to hustle me into the corner of a side street, my eyes searching for a bar or anything that might be open. Someone I could call for help. I wasn't quite sure I knew what was happening but I knew it was BAD. The smaller of the two kept a lookout as the larger sized me up and motioned for my wallet. I almost laughed. Enjoy the mothballs, baby. I handed it over and he rifled through it, sighing. He took my debit card and grunted.

"Phone." He gestured. I swallowed. Dammit. I really didn't have the money for a new phone. Eh. Maybe he'd take one look and realise the resale value on my six year old android was pretty low. I reached into my pocket, and the little parcels of treats I'd nicked fell on the ground. Nooooo. Not that! I tried to distract him with my phone, pretty eager to hand it over now my drugs were on the line. Maybe he'd think that was just rubbish, or something. But his eyes widened. "What's that?" He grinned at me.

"Trash?" I shrugged.

"Give it here." I sighed and reached for it. I glanced at him and his partner. Yes, they would take me in a fight. Yes, I was drunk. Yes, I might very well be about to turn a mugging into a stabbing. But I did it anyway. I grabbed the package and ran like my life depended on it.

And actually, I ended up having a really good chance of getting away with it. I was way faster than them. The only reason I didn't is because those assholes started yelling 'Thief!' as they chased me. I was running past a line of Italian restaurants on Lygon St when an old lady put her bloody foot out and tripped me up. My face hit the concrete and I groaned as I heard something crack. Please say that wasn't my fucking nose. She yelled for back up, which came in the form of a burly Italian looking man who looked like he was about to pound me into sand. And now the two muggers were puffing before me. I stared at the scene.

You know, I heard a little voice in my head start talking to me, at a certain point Harrison, you just gotta walk away.

I wiped my face- great, blood, DEFINITELY my nose then. And I sighed and threw the package back at the idiots who'd mugged me.

"You know what?" I mumbled. "You actually deserve that." I got up and drew myself as tall as I could to look in Italian macho man's eye. "Really great work, you saved the day, sovereign citizen." I narrowed my eyes at him. He frowned as the two guys scarpered.

"Well." He cleared his throat, turning a little pink as he took in whatever had just happened. The fact that I was sticking around and the others had vanished into thin air made it start to look a bit obvious I wasn't the criminal here. Well not in that sense. "Nonna tripped you up." Oh yeah. I glanced at her. Well you can't be mad at an old lady who's just trying to do the right thing, can you? I sighed and started to limp away, cursing my luck. "Hold on!" He called out to me. "Can I... patch you up?" I frowned. Something strange was happening in my chest. Probably having a fucking seizure. I wiped my face again and shook my head. There was a weird fuzzy glow to everything and I realised I was staring at him. I had this strange, otherworldly flash of recognition. Oh. This guy was like... a... The One type guy. I don't know why I saw it so clearly, and in retrospect, I firmly blame the adrenaline from both natural and external forces. But at the time it was like a little choose your own adventure book opening up in front of me. His path looked all shiny and golden- I could almost see flashes of us making pasta and going fishing... but I had a strange urge to reject that. There were other paths. Other The Ones. They all seemed charming. But they all had something in common...

I just didn't believe that was my future.

Because they...

They weren't Bailey.

----

Skinner was home when I opened the door. He took one look at me and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dare I ask?" He said flatly.

"I got mugged." I said. "I'm going outside to play guitar." I had a corny love song that had been bubbling up on the walk home. I had no idea who it was about. Well. I haven't had a lot of lovers. I had some idea who it was about.

"Ok." I heard him mutter under his breath. He followed me with some iced tea and we sat companionably in the sun together, as I fiddled around. My phone, which I'd managed to hold on to after all, was on the table and at some point it lit up and we both glanced at it.

>> My bad. I am an idiot. But consider yourself well and truly cut off.

Skinner frowned. I don't think he meant to read over my shoulder. But once you've read it, you can't really pretend you haven't. Especially when it's compelling evidence your best friend is, once again, high as a kite and lying about it. Skinner and I looked at each other. His eyes scanned my puffy and still probably slightly bloody face bit my lip.

"That's not what it looks like?" Skinner asked slowly.

"Well that's Derek breaking up with me." I said, wincing.

"Yeah." Skinner stared at me. "Are you using again?" He asked. I opened my mouth to spin a stupid lie that he may or may not believe.

"I never really stopped." I said instead. "Just got way better at hiding it."

"Oh."

We sat in in silence. I was so tense I thought I might actually burst at the seams. I wanted him to yell at me, or tell it it was ok and he still loved me. Or even just tell me he was disappointed so I could tell him I'd change and make amends.

"Can you... give me some space?" Skinner said out of the blue. I flinched.

"Sure. Should we talk about..."

"What's the point?" Skinner shook his head slowly as he looked at me. His eyes were kind of hollow.