| RUNNING ON EMPTY BY TORRI |
CHAPTER 30 |
It began normal enough, as normal as drug use could be anyway. "Recreational use" he called it...something to "take the edge off." But his edges were razor sharp, the kind that never dulled, in fact, his edges sharpened. Became so sharp that anyone who even thought about getting close to him was savagely sliced, sometimes without his intending to do so.
He eased into his highs, at first. Smoked one blount at a time, wrapped them himself, as tight as Cuban cigars. Used the same paper. Cut open a cigar; emptied the useless tobacco and refilled it with a special blend that J. had sold him. Didn't volunteer what it was, Todd didn't care much so long as it took his mind to another galaxy. Coughed a couple times with the first few puffs, but then it became easier, and natural.
A couple of times he left his apartment. Thought he was ready to assimilate back into society, felt that good, that normal. As his high faded, so did his confidence that he could be like everybody else. Depression set in, reminding him that no matter how hard he tried; he could never fit in anywhere.
It seemed like Misty was always there ready to attack him. Her persistence managed to gain her access into his "kingdom." He didn't invite her up; she just sort of hopped onto the elevator and bullied her way inside. That's the way he saw it, but his interpretation was a little skewed when he was high. He noticed that there were always blocks of time missing from his memory after she left his apartment. It was like he blacked out, and when he awakened he was left with the same dirty feeling. Certain parts he could remember, and eventually he began to fill in the holes.
It all became clear one night after she left. He woke up on the couch, in a sitting position. His legs were gapped open and the button on his pants was left unfastened. He couldn't figure out why, not until he went to the bathroom to wash the dirtiness from his body. He looked down at himself, not really to look at his member, more to look at his depleting stomach. When his eyes traveled downward, his stomach was practically nonexistent, and his eyes had nowhere to go but further down. In his mess of brown hair, he saw remnants of his tryst.
Sometimes, when he awakened from dreams of Tea, he would find that he ejaculated. It was embarrassing, something he thought only uncontrolled teenage boys did. But, it was only in his dreams where he could make love to her, to show her how much he loved her. After a few of those dreams, it didn't matter. He looked forward to them, loved the feeling they left him with. And he could always remember every detail, whether he was high or not. Somehow, when he looked at himself, he knew he hadn't dreamed of her. He would never have felt so dirty, or wanted so badly to scrub himself free of what he felt.
His mind began connecting events. It dawned on him what had really been going on, and where the feeling came from. It was exactly the way he felt after Peter kneeled in front of him. It was exactly the same way he felt when his head was pushed downward and his mouth was forced open. He leaned over the toilet and hurled violently, until there was nothing but blood and saliva dripping into the toilet.
From then on, all he wanted to do was stay in a state where he would not have to feel anything. He had allowed it to happen again, allowed himself to become someone's victim. Lost control. He had made a promise to himself, that if he ever made love to a living, breathing person again, it would be Tea. Nobody else would have the opportunity to possess his body, if he could only get himself together.
When Misty came into the picture, she ruined everything. Ruined every chance that he had to feel like a man. From then on, he tried to stay high all the time, but when he was falling, he often thought of what it would be like to kill her. It was the only way he could think to get her to stay away. Deep down, he knew he could never hurt another woman, but he couldn't stop himself from fantasizing about it. That served as his signal to light up again, the lows were just too much for him to take.
He could vaguely remember talking to Viki some days before, or it could have been just the day before. How she got his number, he'd never know, but it did feel good to hear a familiar voice. It took him a few minutes to figure out whom the voice on the other end belonged to, and once he did, he tried to sober up. She would have had a fit had she known the condition he was in.
The conversation was a blur. She spouted her usual "honeys" and "sweethearts" and "oh Todd's" to his chagrin and to his delight. Made him feel like he was somebody. A part of him wanted to climb through the phone and into her maternal arms for comfort. She had always been like a mother to him, never abandoning even when everyone else had long turned their backs. She worked by a different philosophy, figuring that if a person received enough love, they could change. She gave and gave and gave to him, yet he could not bring himself to change. It was often like someone else was in control of his body, forcing him to do bad, no matter how much he wanted to do the opposite.
Viki had a strong sense of faith. When in turmoil, she turned to a higher power, and he seemed to listen her. Not to Todd though. His childhood prayers went unanswered. His adulthood wishes fell on deaf ears, which was why his faith had died and his belief in a higher power right along with it. When he heard her speak of "The Power," she spoke with such passion that he could almost believe. Almost...but not quite.
He remembered her saying she would pray for him, right before they ended their conversation. Pray for me, he thought, but it won't do any good. Just like goodness was never supposed to happen to him, the prayers that were spoken on his behalf would never be answered.
God hears the name "Todd Manning" and turns his ear. What do they say? Unsalvageable? That's me...I'm unsalvageable.
He lay back on his couch...assumed his position. Feet up, ashtray within reach, beer bottle within reach, the remote on his stomach and his head resting on the arm. He spent all his days and most of his nights in that position, feeling sorry for himself and being mad at the world.
He could sense himself falling downward, emotionally as the memories were able to push into his cerebral cortex. They didn't have much strength while he was high, but as he fell, they gained momentum. When they found him vulnerable, they broke through the smoky barrier and forced him to take notice.
"Toddy, you little fuck, get your girlie ass over here," Peter said to the scared little boy shaking as he struggled with his Lincoln Logs.
"Dad, I was playing. Can I finish playing?"
"I said get over here!" Peter shouted. "You're gonna learn to respect me you sonofabitch. Your mama ain't here to protect your sorry ass this time." He violently yanked the young boy by the collar, choking him as he dragged him down the stairs.
"No, please. I didn't do nothin'."
"Don't give me that shit. You know what you did and you're gonna be punished." He threw him down the last couple of stairs, laughing maniacally as his head banged against the hard basement floor.
"I swear I didn't do nothin'. Please, don't hurt me."
"I wouldn't have to discipline you if you would do as I tell you. All I asked is that you clean up anything you mess up. Do you know what this is?" He asked, withdrawing a dirty fork from his breast pocket.
"A fork."
"And do you know where I found it?"
"No."
"In the goddamned sink, that's where I found it. How many times, Toddy, do I have to tell you to clean up your mess?"
"I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."
"Well, I'm going to give you something that will remind you every time you're about to forget to clean up something you dirty. Give me your hand." When the boy hesitated, Peter grabbed his hand and forced it against the wall. With the fork still in his hand, he reached back behind his ear and thrust it toward Todd's unmoving hand. When it pierced through the layers of skin and muscle, Todd didn't flinch. He knew if he so much as mad a sound, his punishment would be much worse. "Next time you are about to forget, look at your hand you little bastard."
"Yes sir."
"I think you deserve time in lockup. What do you think?"
"I was a bad boy sir. I deserve lockup."
Peter withdrew the pair of handcuffs that he kept in his back pocket. It had become a routine for him to cuff Todd to a pipe down in the basement, as part of his punishment. Todd watched the blood form a pool at his feet, and bit his lip to keep from wailing from the pain.
With his eyes nearly closed, squinting, he looked at his damaged hand and at the fork marks that were still visible. Could still see the five little indentations in the palm of his hand, and sometimes, he could feel the fork penetrating his skin. Peter had marked him in so many ways, so many scars; he could scarcely remember where some of them came from.
He felt so inhuman, like he didn't belong on the earth. He was too evil, like the devil. Didn't care about anyone, not even himself. Humans felt things. Let things touch them; people touch them, but he kept everyone at bay. As he lay alone on his couch, he wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Not to the life he had, if it could even be called that.
He didn't want to go out. Had caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, put his fist through it when he was the unrecognizable image staring back at him. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his cheeks were drawn, the whites of his eyes were more of shade of devil red, than the bright white they once were.
He had become an addict. J. told him it would happen eventually, now he could not see himself without it. It took all the pain away; it took him away. It was the only way he made it through the days without taking his gun and shooting the actual image, instead of the reflection.
At one time, he had a different addiction. Sort of. In high school and college, he messed around with the girls. Loved using their bodies as his personal ejaculation temple, leaving them as soon as he got what he wanted. He didn't just like sex, he had to have it, whether the girls wanted it or not. Learned that from his father. Peter used to bring home girls for him to fuck, watching as he uncomfortably did as he was told. It was just one way Peter got his jollies. The other was through Todd, abusing him in every way imaginable.
"Either you fuck them Toddy, or you're gonna get it. Got it?"
*****
He woke up in a panic, not knowing where he was. He sat straight up on the couch, turning his head in every direction, trying to figure out what was going on. His breathing was rapid and shallow, bordering on hyperventilation. It took awhile for his body to calm, and his heart rate to return to normal, but as always, it did.
Toddy, it's me, you pussy. Big bad world too tough for ya? Can't handle a cock suck? I always knew you weren't a man. A man would give anything for a woman to go down on her knees and suck him dry. I always said you were a girlie.
"I'm not a girlie."
Not a girlie? Couldn't fuck that spitfire Latin wife of yours. Shit, she was naked in front of you for crissakes and what do you do? You threw her out. You got it a little backwards, you're supposed to fuck her brains out first, or let her suck your dick, then you can get rid of her.
"You shut up about Delgado."
Oh, did I hit a nerve? Yeah, that cunt slept with a preacher while she was married to you and you took her back. Should have kicked her ass like I taught you.
Todd jumped up from the couch and stood in the face of the ghost in front him him...nose to nose. "You sonofabitch," he said, swinging at the air.
The ghost moved and laughing at him.
Told you, you weren't worth a goddamn thing. You even punch like a bitch. Your precious Delgado didn't waste any time fucking Barney Fife, or Bob Marley after you left. She was too much for you. You couldn't even get it up for her, could you?
"Leave me alone!" He shouted at the ghost as he threw an ashtray toward it.
Missed.
The voice moved behind him.
I would have thought you would have jumped at the chance to get some of that. I bet she would have sucked your dick. She would have done anything to feel that puny thing between your legs inside her. Now you're all alone 'cause you couldn't handle her. You are so pathetic.
Todd grabbed for everything within reach, tossing them at the ghost. He was fighting an ever-moving figment, becoming more frustrated with each miss.
I thought you said you would never be like me. Guess what, son? You are just like me. You don't love your daughter, just like I never loved you.
"You don't know anything about my daughter!" He screamed.
I know you left her. I know you didn't say goodbye to her face to face. No, you took the pussy's way out...made a tape. Nobody loves you Toddy. You're pathetic. You're a loser who can't love. Oh, is pussy boy going to cry?
"Shut up," a hoarse Todd replied. "I'm nothing like you," he cried, falling to his knees.
Are you assuming the position, Toddy? You know what I like. Are we going to do it again for old time's sake?
He couldn't say a word, just covered his eyes with his hands and willed the ghost to go away. He didn't believe in God, but he prayed to someone to take Peter away. His eyes were glued tightly shut as he rocked back and forth on his knees.
"Please," he said. "Please take him away," he begged. Prayer was his only hope, as his stash had run dry. When he could hear nothing but his own heart beating, he spread his fingers and peeked through the hole. There was nothing in front of him but the remnants of his rampage.
He was more lost than he had ever been. No direction. He had several episodes where "the ghost" would taunt him, but never that bad. Not to the point where he destroyed a room. He knew he had to make a change in his life, but there was no way he could do it alone.
When he took control of his emotions, he looked over at the phone. There was only one person who could help him, only one person he could trust. He picked up the phone and dialed the number that was permanently burned into his mind.
