H: Chapter Nine

What’s strange about addiction, is that it essentially functions like a glitch in the brain. Supposedly, our brains exist to keep us alive. So, why is it possible to be so addicted to something, that it kills you? Is this God’s mistake? According to new-age spiritual philosophy, we come here to learn. What is there to learn about addiction?

It seems that most people equate addiction to that of heroin, or alcohol. But this could not be further from the truth. We are addicted to entertainment, scrolling on our phones til three-in-the-morning. We are addicted to sugar, and polluting our bodies with is. Everyone is addicted to something, and this addiction functions as your very own idol.

When I think about this too much, I realize just how little we know. We’re tossed into the cosmic void without any reason. We crawl on our knees for some purpose, when there is none.

There have been several times in my life where I have made a decision without thinking. And after making that decision, I then think about what made me do it. If things didn’t go exactly the way they went, I would not have made that decision.

Perhaps we have no free will after all. Everything is up to factors outside of our control. If this is the case, then, what exactly is the point?

And so, now the actors in this divine play enter the scene. Jack and Travis, you may now walk across the stage.

* * *

They had made their way through traffic, and were now cruising down the highway at a moderate speed. A Ford Bronco was in front of them, going about eighty. On the back window of the Ford Bronco, was a faded, “Baby on Board” sticker. When Travis saw it, he made the age old joke: “If the Baby on Board sticker is faded, you know it’s safe to ram.” This made Jack laugh. But they were soon hit with the reality of the situation they found themselves in, Travis especially.

“Pull over, man. Pull! Over!” Travis cried out.

Jack slowed the van to a crawl and pulled it over to the side of the highway. “Either you get the fuck out, or you stay quiet and come with me. What are you gonna do?”

Travis sighed and slumped down in his seat. “Fine, I’ll come with. You’re gonna end up killing yourself, you know.”

Jack scoffed and said, “Says the guy who smokes a pack of cigarettes a day.”

“Yeah, because heroin is so similar to cigarettes. Right.”

“Fuck off.”

Travis mumbled something inaudibly that sounded like the word, “vacuum.” He remained quiet for the rest of the car ride.

During the silent ride, Travis fidgeted with a cigarette in his hands. Jack listened to the radio and sang along in a deep, and out of tune, voice.

Travis debated

Eventually they came a turnpike, to which Jack mumbled under his breath, “We’re almost there.” It wasn’t clear if Jack meant for Travis to hear that, or if he was just talking to himself. You know how some people have an inner monologue that makes absolutely zero sense? Yeah.

Up ahead, was an old abandoned Walmart. To any unsuspecting person who is not into illicit substances, (either snorted, rubbed on the gums, intravenously consumed, boofed, etc.) it seemed that the only business taking place there was rats scurrying around for bits of food. But this could not be any further from the case: In a parking space right smack-down in the middle of the area, was an old 2003 Volkswagen Beetle. A man sat in the front-seat, blasting music while the hydraulics made the car bounce.

“This is the guy. Wait here.” Jack said, turning his head over to Travis as he opened the driver’s side door.

“Where the hell do you even find these guys?” Travis asked. Though his words were in vain, as Jack had already closed the door. If he even could hear the question, it would not have mattered to him in the slightest.

Jack waltzed over to the beetle and stuck his head through the window. “Are you Marco?”

“Yeah, hop in.” Marco said with a cigarette dangling from his lips. The dealer was a tall and gangly man who had a red bandanna wrapped around his greasy forehead. It covered up a myriad of pimples and boils. But it couldn’t distract from his yellowed and fucked-up teeth.

Jack did as instructed and walked around the beetle to the passenger-side door. He opened it and hopped in, immediately noticing the piles of trash. Now, there was absolutely no way the guy had a title or a license. The front bumper was completely missing a headlight, and the right-side mirror was shattered. The back row of seats had seemingly been completely gutted out. Whatever leather was left on the remaining seats was withered and torn. It also seemed that somebody had taken a sharpie to the windows as , “deja de traducir y lee!” was written on the passenger-side window.

“Buckle up,” Marco said, “I drive pretty fast.” He put in the car drive, and slammed on the gas pedal. The car nearly smashed into a wall, but Marco twisted the steering wheel to the left, missing almost certain doom.

Back in the van, Jack watched the car take off as he anxiously nibbled at his finger-nails. He thought about possibly following them. I mean, why shouldn’t he? Jack was his friend, and what was the worst that could happen?

As Marco’s car turned right down a street, Travis made his decision. He hopped into the driver’s seat and started the van.

* * *

“So what do you need, amigo?” Marco asked as he twisted the steering wheel to the left. His sleeve slid slightly upwards, revealing a stick-and-poke tattoo. It was a circle with an arrow flying through it.

“H.” Jack said without any inflection. Jack had this thing where he became very quiet while nervous. His eyes pointed to the ground, and his heart beat at a rapid pace.

“H? I can get you that. But what about tranqs?” Marco glanced at Jack with those stereotypical blue, manipulator, eyes.

Jack suddenly began to wonder what would happen if Marco got pulled over right then and there. Considering that Marco most definitely had drugs on them, they would both go to jail. Jack felt the need to escape, but realized this might be the last time in a while, that he gets H. Running away was simply not worth it.

“I just want H, man.”

“Really? Not even fent?”

“I just want clean, H. Not anything that has fent, or any of that bullshit in it. What is it with dealers trying to get me to buy more shit?”

Marco laughed and said, “It’s cuz’ I’m a merchant.”

“A merchant?” Jack said with a dry tone, half-giggling.

“Yeah, a merchant… of sorts. But, I can get you some H.”

“Really? How much for it?”

“For two grams I’ll need one-fifty.”

“Okay, first of all: one-fifty is way too high. What about one-thirty?”

“Alright.” Marco said. “One-thirty it is.”

Jack gazed in the right-side mirror and saw the van trailing behind them. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. Jack uttered a single, “Motherfucker…” which Marco did not seem to notice.

Marco twisted his head behind him to move to the left lane. Jack was surprised that, considering the state of the car, that Marco would even bother to check behind him. “I’m taking you to a place.”

Jack squinted and said, “What place?”

“To do the deal, you know.”

“Why can’t we just do it right now?”
Marco chuckled and said, “Your hastiness is a welcome-sight, amigo. You see, my compañero, just got busted cuz’ the feds put a mic in his car. So we gotta go some place, secret.”

Somehow it seemed Marco had completely ignored the fact that they were talking about the deal in the car. If the feds had bugged him, they surely would’ve caught on by now.

Jack swallowed a lump in his throat. This was the final nail in the coffin for him, he was not safe in this car. His mind began to be filled with thoughts of what would happen to him in prison. Everything depended on whether or not he would be tried as an adult. Surely, the judicial system would take mercy on him, right?

“Isn’t that illegal without a warrant?” Jack asked.

Marco smiled and laughed again. “For us, yeah. But not for them.”

Up ahead on the road, was an empty field of grass. Nestled in the middle of the field was a small brick building used for going to the bathroom. Marco pulled into the parking lot of the park. “We’re here, come on.”

Marco stepped out of the car and Jack followed. They went into the bathroom area and switched on the lights. Each stall had graffiti written on it, ranging from, “LUKOS,” to, “Call Connor (928)-555-1234 For a Good Time.”

“Check the stalls.” Marco commanded.

“For what?” Jack groaned.

“For the cameras and microphones. I just found one in my ceiling-fan this morning, the pig-fuckers are putting em’ in everything.”

Jack sighed and went into the stall. There was nothing showing a possible camera and microphone. As Jack continued, effortlessly, checking the stalls, Marco kept talking. “You wanna know something, ese?”

Jack rolled his eyes, “What is it?” He said with a monotone expression.

“I’ve been on a meth-binge for the past five days.” That explains it, Jack thought. “And, you wanna know what? My sister was replaced, man. Fucking replaced. Like, you see in those terminator movies, her eyes are different, ese. D, I, F, F, E, R, E, N, T. They don’t got that same blue charm.”

Jack peeked his head out from the stall and saw Marco pulling the diaper-changing station down. Marco used a credit card on a clump of coke to spread it out into a line. He then leaned his head down and snorted the entire bump.

“And then, that stupid fucking bitch, sprinkled little micro-chips in my food. I almost killed that cunt, I had a knife and everything. Tell me something friend…”

Jack had long ago tuned out anything Marco was saying. “Tell me friend, should I just kill her now? Cuz’ she’s a fucking robot, she ain’t the same Juliana I know. She ain’t.”

Jack stepped out of the stall and said, “There’s no cameras or microphones, anywhere. Can I get the H now?”

Marco seemingly ignored Jack. “I know what I’m gonna do…” He started.

For the past three minutes, the two grams of H had been sitting on top of the sink. Marco was facing the diaper-changing station, so it’d be easy for Jack to steal the H.

“I’m gonna kill that bitch. Put a gun to her head, and bang!”

Jack walked behind Marco and grabbed the two grams of H. While Marco chatted away, Jack moved for the door. He stepped outside the bathroom and took a deep breath. Jack began to wonder if he could’ve been killed by Marco. He did seem insane enough to do that.

Travis had parked the van on the other-side of the road, which Jack spotted. Without taking another look back, Jack sprinted to the van. Travis unlocked the doors, quickly hopped to the passenger-seat, and Jack climbed in.

“Alright, Jack, what you’re gonna do—“ Travis started.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jack said as he climbed into the van. “I’m gonna flush this fucking thing down a toilet. I’m done buying this shit from dealers. I’m done.”

* * *

As I followed Thomas down the highway, a certain memory began to take it’s hold in my mind:

It had been—I think—two months after I graduated high school. I woke up in my bed to the sound of glass shattering. I rubbed my eyes and shifted my gaze to the alarm clock. It was four-in-the-afternoon. With a heavy sigh, I tossed my blankets off my bed and stood up.

Truth be told, I have no clue how I got through high-school. My GPA was only one-point-four. I mean, I knew that I was smart. I can easily do algebra and trigonometry, and I can read three-hundred pages of a book in a single day. I guess when you’re told that your trash your entire life, you start to believe it.

I had also just quit my job as a gas-station cashier by telling my boss to go fuck himself. I had no money for gas, so my friend Robert and I either siphoned it out of cars, or just straight-up stole it from people’s garages. The things you have to do to survive in a world like this would make any good man turn bad.

I stretched my arms out and yawned. I rolled over onto my side to try to go back to sleep, but the incessant sound of glass being thrown against the wall never ceased. I sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my eyes. When I had enough, I opened my door and peaked my head out. My mother was standing in her white night-gown throwing dishes against the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Everything’s contaminated!” She shrieked. “The booze, the cups, the plates, everything, Payte, everything!”

I walked over to my mom and took the plate from her hands. “For the love of God, stop this shit!”

A single tear rolled down my mother’s eye and she sat down on the couch. “I’m sorry.” She said. “I’m sorry.”

I sighed and clenched jaw. “I-It’s fine, really.” I turned around and went for the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” My mother cried out.

I sighed and turned back around. “I’m gonna go see what Robert is up too. Why’re you asking?” My mother grabbed her tattered, leather, purse and grabbed twenty-five dollars from it. She stood up and handed it to me, “Get me a six-pack and some cigarettes, alright?”

“Fine.” I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. When I heard the sound of glass being shattered again, I started walking.

The trailer-park I lived in was, at it’s core, a maze. Each dirt road connected to each other, creating a windy mess of rundown buildings, used needles, and potholes. The only road I can remember is Sparrow Street, and that is because, it’s where Robert lived.

Robert’s trailer was a messed-up little cabin. His father was an agoraphobic shut-in who had served in the Iraqi War, and had covered up every window with plywood. Robert’s mother had been out of the picture since he was five-years-old. I never learned why though.

When I got to Robert’s trailer on Sparrow Street, I noticed a peculiar white van parked in the driveway. I had never seen it before, and it was way too clean to be from around there. Curious, I opened the gate and walked up the steps to the door. I wrapped my fist against the thin wood, and I heard Robert’s father yell, “God damn it Robbie, get the fuckin’ door!”

I heard three deadbolts being slid open and Robert peaked his head out. “Y-y-yeah, Payte? W-what is it?” He said. Robert was a skinny little kid with his head shaved down to stubble, just like Jack. He always wore the same clothes: a pair of tattered blue-jeans and a white wife-beater.

“Why the hell is there a van in your driveway?” I asked. “Your father doesn’t even leave the house.”

Robert sighed and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “It’s cuz’ I’m m-m-m-moving.”

“Your… moving?”

“Y-yeah. Someone called the cops on my d-d-dad, and now they be sayin’ that I’m going to some place in Oregon.”

I squinted and my jaw dropped. “Wait, wait, you can’t move! Who’s gonna help me steal gas?”

Robert shrugged. “S-sorry, man. I can’t do anything a-about it.”

This was it. I was losing my only friend. Robert was one year younger than me. If he had been eighteen like I was, he wouldn’t have to go through with all that stupid shit. Sometimes I still wonder what Robert is up too in Oregon. I can imagine him having a hot girlfriend and spending his time at a nice job. Maybe on the weekends he hangs out and gets drunk with friends at sleazy dive-bars. Or, at least I hope that’s what happened to him.

I looked down at the ground and bit my lip. “Well, do you wanna hang out for one last time? I gotta pick up a six-pack anyway.”

A warm, yet tragic, smile crossed over Robert’s face. “S-sure.”

We started walking down Sparrow Street. Apparently it was the neighbor, Michelle, that called the cops. It was hard for me not to be angry at her for taking part in sending my friend away. The stupid old bitch!

Robert tried to speak very lightly about why the cops were called. But I’m great at reading between the lines. When people are constantly out to manipulate and lie to you, you start to know when they’re hiding things.

I supposed that his father, Richard, had gotten drunk one night and became belligerent. I could imagine him throwing dishes and kicking the walls. Or maybe hiding under a table from enemy fire. PTSD will do that to someone, you know. I’ve seen my mom in her PTSD episodes, it’s like a total disconnect from reality. It’s terrifying.

We got to the gas station and went inside. This was the same place I had just quit, and the inside seemed even worse than before. Rats scurried about in the ceiling, the hot dogs had bites taken out of them, and the floor was weirdly sticky. You know that type of sticky floor where your shoes create that horrible tearing sound when you step? Yeah, it was pretty bad.

Robert grabbed the six-pack from the liquor aisle and I walked up to the counter. “A pack of Marlboro Greens, please.”

Jamie, my ex-coworker rolled his eyes. “Payte, I can’t let you buy anything from this store. You gotta leave. Plus, you’re not even twenty-one.”

Just as I was about to speak Robert came by and placed the six-pack on the counter. “Jamie, come on…” I said. “We were best friends, we smoked weed in the backroom together every night for fuck’s sake!”

Jamie let out a horrible groan. “Alright fine. But if Matthew sees the camera footage, he’ll fucking kill me, and then I’ll blame you.”
I nodded. “Alright, alright, I get it. How much do I owe you?”
Jamie scratched at his hair-line and fidgeted with the cash-register. “Twenty-three dollars.”

I handed Jamie the money. As we gathered our things we walked to the door, but just as we were about to leave, Jamie called out, “Don’t let Matthew catch you here, man. He told me that he’ll kill you if he ever sees you again.”

I nodded, “Got it.” My boss’s unbridled rage towards me was nothing new. I’d been annoying people since the day I was born. Many people have wanted to kill me. Eventually, you get used to it.

And, besides, Matthew was thirty-four-years-old and he wanted to kill me, a brand new eighteen-year-old. How much of a loser do you gotta be to want to kill a kid? I mean, sure, I did leave the slushie machine running and I took the cash from the register. But, that’s no reason to kill someone. Murder should only be a last resort, in my opinion.

Behind the gas-station was a hill that overlooked almost all of Seattle. Some guy had planted maple trees on it, which were now twenty-feet tall. It was a special hangout place that Robert and I went too a lot. So when we exited the gas-station Robert decided that we would go up there and drink together.

The dirt-road leading up to the hill was hell on our knees. I remember it being so steep that we were nearly falling down every time we climbed up it. But nevertheless, we pushed through the pain like we always did, and made it to the top.

Just as we had set down the beer and opened them up, we heard a familiar voice call out to us. Their tone was fierce and spiteful. “Hey, Payte!” We recognized the voice immediately. It was Thomas Gunn (Not to be confused with Thomas Malik, the token black character of this autobiographical novel). He went by the nickname, “Tommy.” Funny, I know. The thing is, I owed money to him. Think like—uhh, five-hundred-dollars.

Now, Tommy made me of all people, look like a goddamn saint. The fuckin’ psychopath had just been sent to juvenile detention for sodomizing his neighbor’s chickens right before strangling them. I can understand being angry about not getting laid, but taking your sexual frustrations out on chickens is a whole ‘nother level of fucked up. I really hope the guy’s in jail now.

“Oh, s-s-shit dude, that’s Tommy!” Robert cried.

I turned around and gave a mock smile at Tommy. I waved and said, “Hey, man! How’s it going?”

“Don’t play stupid, dipshit.” Tommy said as he twirled his switch-blade in-between his fingers. “Where’s my money? Where is it? Where the fuck is it, retard?”
I raised an eyebrow, “Do I owe you money? Is that right?” I glanced at Robert who was staring at me with pure fright emblazoned on his face.

Tommy grabbed me by the neck and pressed me up against a maple tree. He pressed the switch-blade against my neck. “Yeah, you do. So where is it? Where’s my fucking money? Where’s my money?”

I squinted and gave another Payte-brand (trademarked) smile. “Doesn’t your mom get enough money from guys blowing their loads in her?” This singular sentence set Tommy off for good. But Tommy must’ve been pretty dumb to come after me like that with Robert standing there. Now, Robert was… slow in the mind, alright? But he could fight, and fight good he did.

Tommy punched me in the stomach and I fell to the ground. But Robert came behind Tommy and began punching him as fast as he could. I joined in, and soon we were wailing on him. But Tommy did get a few good swipes in.

By the end of it Tommy was on the ground, bleeding and whimpering. And Robert and I were slumped against trees, hyperventilating as we wiped blood from our mouths. Tommy stood up and began to walk back. “I’ll be back, with some of my guys, and we’ll fuck you up! You hear that, Payte? We’ll fuck you up!”

I spat out blood onto the grass and said, “Alright, then. Bring it you… fucking pussy!”

Tommy walked down the path to the hill, leaving Robert and I alone. With our lips cut, our eyes blackened, and our bodies bruised, we relaxed against the maple trees with beers in our hand, and cigarettes dangling from our lips.

Robert took a swig of his beer and said, “W-w-what are you gonna be doin’ while I’m gawn?”

I shrugged and tilted my head back, chugging the beer. “Probably get killed by Tommy.”

Robert’s face dropped, “Really?”

I smiled and exhaled smoke. “No, man, I’m just joking. You don’t gotta worry about me, okay? Tomorrow I’m gonna gather all the money I have, and pick a direction and start driving. Who knows where I’ll go.”

Robert raised his glass in the air. We clinked our beers together, and then laughed.

* * *

Jack stands over the toilet. People come and go out of the restroom. There was one man talking to another guy while they both used a urinal. A cardinal sin. Then there was a woman who promptly cursed after realizing that she walked into the wrong bathroom. And finally, there was a dad with his baby-son. Not much to talk about there.

Jack knows that Travis is waiting for him in the van, so he better make his decision quick. Will he flush me? His greatest love? Or will he keep me and let me love him?

Now, Jack is staring down into the toilet, fidgeting with the two-gram baggie of me in his hands. I can do this. I can flush this H. He thinks to himself. I don’t need it, so why haven’t I flushed it yet? I don’t want to go through this whole shebang again. You need me, Jack. Don’t get rid of me, don’t get rid of your first love. I can cuddle you, I can kiss you. Just don’t get rid of me.

Get the fuck out of my head.

I won’t let go, Jack. I’ll always be here for you.

Stop lying to me, you’re wrong.

I’m not lying to you, I’ve never lied to you. You remember Payte? How he always treats you like shit? Manipulates you?

Yeah, I do. But that’s all fake. He does care, he just doesn’t know how to show it.

That’s wrong, Jack. No one understands you and no one cares about you, except me. Really, I do. I promise. Every-fucking-time you’ve had a bad day, I’ve always been here for you. So why get rid of me? Why break up with me? I’m here for you. I’ve always loved you, Jack, always. No one loves you as much as I do. Get rid of your friends, your bullshit, fake, friends, and stay with me forever.

That’s a lie.

Why would I lie to you?

I’m getting rid of you. You’re not gonna control me anymore.

Please, Jack. I need you. Remember all the good times we had? I can help you, Jack. I can build you up and make you stronger. Then I can tear you down and leave you wanting more. If anything, you deserve this. You’re a piece of shit, and you deserve every bad thing that’s ever happened to you. Don’t leave me, Jack. Don’t leave me. Don’t get rid of me.

Alright… I won’t.

* * *

“Did you flush it?” Travis asked, leaning his head against the window.

Jack climbed into the driver’s seat and nodded. “Yeah, I did. Wasn’t so hard.”

A warm smile traveled across Travis’s face. “That’s good man. Today marks a new day! Am I right?”

Jack nodded and gave a fake smile. “Yeah. Today’s a new day.”

Travis stretched his arms out and yawned. He unbuckled himself and rested his legs on the dashboard. He reached down and grabbed the lever, tilting the seat back. “Wake me up when we get back, okay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

The sky was covered in a dark blanket of stars. The little dipper was just above us, shimmering in it’s light. Past the hills, and down the dirt roads, were little abandoned huts where vagabonds slept in. And then, at the highway, was where we were at.

“I don’t think I can walk anymore.” I said. I slumped down at the edge of a wash. My head was up against a boulder.

Earlier in the day we had found a pint of warm vodka laying on the road. Thomas took a swig of it and sat down beside me. “Yeah, I’m pretty exhausted too.”

I turned to him. “Why do you talk like that?”

Thomas took another swig and passed it to me. I grabbed it, took a drink, and passed it back to him. “Talk like what? I have a pretty normal vernacular.”

I shook my head. “Nevermind. You think Jack and Travis are back at the gas station?”

Thomas shrugged and gulped down warm vodka. His face contorted into a mixture of disgust and pleasure as chills ran down his spine. “I don’t know. Think we should head back?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. What do you think the point of all this was?”
“The point of what?”

“Just… everything. Walking along the highway, trying to find Jack and Travis, and finding vodka. What was the point?”

Thomas giggled and a warm smile crossed his face. “Maybe things in life don’t have points. Maybe things just happen.”
Suddenly, there was a light facing my direction. I heard the sound of a car horn and turned my head to the direction of it. “Holy shit.” I said. “That’s the fucking van.”

We bounced up off the ground and started running. Jack was sitting in the driver’s seat, gazing down on us. The both of us reached the van and climbed inside. “Where the fuck were you too?” I shouted.

Travis turned to me and said, “I had to chase this fucker down.”
Jack shoved Travis lightly in the shoulder. “Shut up, we’re not talking about that.” He said, giggling.