We went to some party not even close at all to my house. We drove for a really long time, but I didn’t care. We came up to an old, gross, trashy house, but I didn’t care. All I cared is that there was alcohol and a bathroom.
We went inside and there were all sorts of people there, looking dirty and stoned. I didn’t care. GET ME TO THE ALCOHOL. Dave high-fived some people and kept his hand on the small of my back, which I appreciated because I felt wretched. Even though he was part of the reason I was so confused about life, he was also my best friend, and I felt like I needed his support. I found the alcohol. Dave tried to stop me once, but I asked him if he was my mother, and so he dropped it.
“But don’t get all sloppy drunk again, huh?”
“F*ck you… honey.”
They seemed to have only beer, which was gross, and so I searched around the house until I found a bottle of wine randomly on the dining room table. I chugged it as fast as possible, nothing the odd and nasty aftertaste. I meandered back to Dave, setting the bottle back down on the table.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
He shrugged, sipping his beer.
“Where’s the hard liquor?” I asked, whispering seductively in his ear.
“I dunno.”
“Who would?”
“Do you remember what happened the last time you got drunk?”
I was beginning to feel a little warm and woozy, “I got smart.”
He shook his head, almost laughing, “What the f*ck?” He sighed, half-slamming his cup down, “Do we need to talk about this here?”
I took his cup and downed the whole thing, swallowing emphatically in his face and then walking away. It had been maybe ten minutes since the wine, and I was getting fuzzy. I went back into the dining room, and noticed a liquor cabinet. Someone had smashed the glass through and taken some bottles, but there were a few left. I sat down on the floor with them and tested each.
If Taylor was single, then that meant that he was free… and so was I. Aw, dammit, no I wasn’t. I agreed- albeit reluctantly- to going out with Dave again. It was weird, like I was forced into it. But I wasn’t. I wanted to be going out with him. Why? Because he was dangerous and caused problems. Because I needed things to be going on in my life so that I wouldn’t dwell on my real problems. Because he liked to party, and that left me excuses to get drunk to forget all the problems that I had gotten into. Because he really liked me, and I really liked him, and so it just made sense and it fit and it was right. We were both messed up, both had no parents around, both were messed up, both needed someone.
The bottle was empty. All of it. I don’t know how much time had passed…. Maybe a half an hour? I got up to go see where Dave was, but when I stood, I realized just how drunk I was. I fell and knocked one of the chairs over. My wrist, which I had covered with some bracelets, somehow slid up against the bottom of the chair where there was a protruding piece of metal. My flesh was ripped open once again. Blood spewed out. I screamed. Someone came in the room in slow motion. The room was spinning and I was bleeding… spinning and bleeding, spinning and bleeding. I thought I might pass out, but Dave came in and lifted me up. He brought me into the kitchen and sat me on the sink.
“Are you okay?” he asked, “Does it hurt?”
“Everything hurts.”
“Are you okay?”
“I feel weird.”
“I think there was something in my drink.”
“You drank a whole bottle.”
“No, the other one,” my speech was slow and slurred.
“Other one?” He mopped at my wrist with a damp paper towel.
“The wine on the table.” Things went black, and I fell limp.
I could feel Dave shaking me, and I could hear him, and so I opened my eyes again. My eyelids were so heavy, though. So heavy I could hardly do it. “I’m okay,” I tried to assure him. I don’t even know if it came out as words.
I fell into a sleeplike state, seeing weird shapes and colors in the darkness of my brain. I got flashed of pictures. Taylor in the rain that day… Jeremiah’s pink cheeks as he slept… Me taking the razor and sliding it across my skin, pressing down and not feeling it. I felt Zac’s hand as it brushed up against my leg and the feel of an old man sticking a dollar in my leather shorts ad the cold metal pole at the strip club. I could hear the band pumping out, and I tried to sing. D.C. was sitting on the edge of the bed telling me not to move away. I was in New York on the subway train with Janelle after buying Christmas presents. I massaged Taylor’s hands on the balcony. At the picnic, he was twining his fingers through my hair. He loved my hair… and then I dyed it black. Black like my stripper outfit. Black like Oscar’s drums. Black like Jeremiah’s eyelashes. Black like my slumber. Black like my heart.
I woke up on my stomach. Before I opened my eyes, I cursed myself for drinking my life into oblivion once again. Upon opening my eyes, I realized I had no idea where I was. It was dark out. The alarm clock right next to the bed read 3:24. AM or PM? I assumed it was AM since it was still dark outside. I still felt amazingly drunk when I sat up. I stumbled out of bed, noticing blood on the blanket on which I had been sleeping. My whole arm was coated in a thin coat of dark red dried blood. How long had it been? We’d only gotten there at like eight.
I crawled on my hands and knees backwards down the stairs, feeling far more than drunk… superdrunk maybe. I got up, using the wall for support as I made my way into the kitchen. I was going to wash the blood off. I stopped before I got there because I forgot where I was going. I saw Dave in the corner of the room, talking with a boy I’d never seen before. Dave handed the guy some money, and the guy handed him a bag of weed. I remembered where I was headed and continued on to the kitchen. A boy there handed me a beer. “Are you the chick that drank the GHB?” he laughed.
“Huh?”
“The GHB on the dining room table?”
“What?” I panicked.
“Someone drank the GHB some guy was gonna give his girlfriend. You look kinda trippy.”
I snatched the beer from his hand, drank it, and then took another. I forgot about washing the blood off, and went back into the living room. The boy was still whispering to Dave, and then he put a small, white bag in Dave’s palm. I waited for the boy to walk away as I drank the second beer, and then threw the cup on the floor.
“What do you need me for?” I asked, the words coming out much different-sounding than they were supposed to.
“Tayler!” he reached out to help me up.
“If you’re gonna buy f*cking drugs, what do you need me for?!” I yelled. The people around us got quiet.
“Shh…”
“I’m gonna call the cops,” I said, dizzily and moronically fumbling toward the kitchen where the phone was.
The boy that sold Dave the drugs stepped in my way, “Like hell you’re gonna call the cops.”
“F*ck off.”
“Bitch.”
“Eat me,” I pushed past him. He grabbed my arm, pressing his fingers into my wound.
“D*ckhead!” I yelped, pulling my bloodstained and newly bleeding arm close to my chest.
“B*tch!” he repeated as I pushed him with my good arm. He swung at me, and despite the fact that I tried to duck, he hit me hardcore, right in the face. I fell down, my drunkenness not having anything to do with it.
Dave lunged at him, shoving him over into the wall and bent down over me, “Tay?” I was holding my face, rage boiling up inside me. What was happening to me? What was going on in my life? Dave reached down and tried to pry my hand off my face too see how hurt I was. I wriggled away from him and dashed out the front door. I was drunk as funk, and I fell down on the pavement, ripping my knees open. Blood was everywhere. My wrist was covered in blood and still bleeding, my knees were leaking as well, and I was pretty sure that my face was cut where the boy’s hand had made contact with my skin.
Dave came out of the house after me, “Tayler, stop!”
“Leave me alone.”
“There was GHB in your drink,” he grabbed my elbow to keep me from running away.
“I know.”
“Come on,” he pleaded, trying to pull me to him.
“Do some lines,” I spit when I talked because I had little control over my senses.
“Tay,” he was all soft and apologetic and I really wanted to just jump on him, but I also hated him.
“I’m bleeding.”
“I know, come inside.”
“F*ck that.”
“Come on.”
I pulled my arm free, leaving some blood on his shirt, and walked down the road, staggering horribly, I’m sure.
“Tay,” he called after me, jogging to catch up. “You need to throw up. You’re going to get alcohol poisoning.”
“I’m not f*cking bulimic.”
“It has nothing to do with-”
“I’m going.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“F*ck off. If you follow me, I’ll kill myself.”
“Please, Tayler, just let me take care of you.”
I laughed at him and kept walking. Take care of me? How about taking care of his son? How about taking care of himself?
“Tayler!”
“I will seriously kill myself,” I stumbled, falling onto my knees again, “if you follow me,” I got myself up and kept walking.
