When I'd left, I'd gone back to my dealer's place. I didn't want to stay with Kyle, and I didn't want to be at home. It was the only place left that I could go to.
I went round to Kyle's looking for him later on. I still didn't really want to go home. But he wasn't there. Not a sign.
Dejected, I trudged back home. It didn't take a genius to figure out where he was. He was with Danny, right?
Mom was already out somewhere by the time I got there, but apparently she already knew I'd discharged myself from hospital. There was this note by the phone.
Campbell called to let me know you're out of hospital. He says you didn't take any of your meds with you, so I'm going back this morning to get them for you. I've got some other things to do too, so I won't be back before midday, just in case you come home while I'm out.
Love you, honey.
PS: Dad's coming home for the weekend. Apparently his business deal went well, and he's coming home to celebrate as a family. Please be nice.
I grit my teeth. It's not that I hate my dad, he just irritates me. We used to get on so well when I was younger, but his business has taken over his life and eclipsed us altogether. I guess the other stuff she's out doing involves buying welcome home stuff. I slope off into the kitchen and look for something to eat, but there's still just a load of healthy crap here. I guess she wasn't expecting me home, so I'll forgive her this time. Maybe.
I sit down on the sofa and watch TV, vaguely considering having a dose of methadone. But that involves moving. And there's still the warm fuzzy feeling left over from last night's.
In fact, I don't move til the phone rings. Groaning, I pull myself up and answer it.
"Damien?" Campbell's voice echoes down the line and I close my eyes, gently thumping my head forward into the wall in front of me.
"Where did you go? I was trying to get hold of you all night," he does sound tired, now I think about it.
"I went to Kyle's."
"Okay," he took a breath and sounded like he was trying to calm down. Like my fucking off yesterday had pissed him off. I guess I must be a pretty difficult patient at the best of times. "Are you going to stay at home now? Or with friends?"
"I haven't got any friends to stay with," I mutter. There's a pause.
"What about Kyle?"
"He fucked off with that faggot Danny and abandoned me. I'm on my own. Again."
"You're not alone, Damien, you know th-"
"I am alone, Campbell, I'm always fucking alone."
"I haven't fucking got anyone," my voice has risen without me even noticing. I'm almost shouting, "and don't pretend like you give a shit, Campbell, ‘cause you're paid to care!"
"Fuck off!" I yell, throwing the phone down the hallway, angrier than I realised. But I'm right. I haven't got anyone.
Don't say I didn't warn you, heart. I told you not to get attached.
That night, I sit at the end of the dining table, picking at my food. My mom forced me to take the citalopram when I got home, apologised to Campbell when she'd fixed the phone while I sat in the kitchen on the floor, my hands shaking too much to get the methadone in the needle, let alone getting the needle into a vein. Mom couldn't help me. She'd never even touched a syringe before, and dad was hardly going to be sympathetic.
Oh yeah. Forgot to mention. He has absolutely no sympathy for my drug addiction. "You got yourself into it, son, you get yourself out." Cheers, dad. You're so helpful.
So here I am, sitting at the table, picking miserably at my food, while mom and dad catch up. Suddenly all eyes on me. What did I miss? I look up and my dad sort of gives me this disapproving look.
"I asked how school was going, Damien," he says. I shrug.
"As good as it can when you're me," I mumble.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I've spent the last week and a half in hospital because I nearly tried to kill myself again. There. Happy?"
He looks at my mom, his eyes saying it all. He didn't know. Mom bites her lip.
I use the argument that follows as an opportunity to hide in my room. I lock the door and lie down on my bed, wondering if my hands have stopped shaking enough to shoot up yet.
I don't know how long I spend in my room. The hours just sort of became one big blob. It was long enough for Kyle to decide he wants to see me, at any rate. I hear my mom tell him to come straight up to my room. I shuffle over to the door and lock it, settling back on my bed.
He knocks on my door. I ignore him.
He knocks again.
"What d'you want?"
"To see you."
"Sure," I say sarcastically. You never want to see me, Kyle, you just want a kiss and a cuddle when you're feeling like shit because Danny can't make up his mind if he wants you or not.
"You don't want to see me, Kyle, you want a hug and maybe another kiss because, let me guess, Danny's fucked you over again."
"Yeah, he has. But I'm done crying."
"Why should I let you in? I think I preferred you when you called me a fag and laughed when Jason tripped me in the hall."
"Please, Damien." I sigh. And unlock the door. I notice him glancing around at my room. Yeah, I know it's more like a drug den than a room. Whatcha gonna do about it? I roll onto my side and pick at my scabs, picking them more when he tells me to leave them alone. "Damien, leave it," he tries again. I pick more, ignoring as blood wells up. He tuts. "Got any bandages?"
"Nope," I tell him.
"Dude, you fail." I glare at him. Yeah, thanks for that, mate. "Glaring at me won't stop you bleeding." Yeah? Well I'm quite happy just ignoring it. Apparently, he isn't. He comes over and looks at it, hesitantly pressing his sleeve down over it. I can't be bothered to argue, just staring at the ceiling and he keeps it there til I stop bleeding. "That's better," he says, kind of to himself.
There's an awkward silence between us, and while I glare a bit less at the ceiling - because let's face it, what's the ceiling ever done to me? - I don't have anything to say. So I stay quiet. He looks down at his feet, and my mouth grows a mind of its own.
"Why're you here, Kyle?"
"I came to see you." Clearly.
"Do I need a reason?"
"You usually seem to." He shrugs. Yeah, real helpful Kyle. I don't say anything. What is there to say?
"Damien, how... How do you feel... about me?" There we go.
"I like you. I wish I didn't."
"I... I think..."
"You think what?"
"I think I might like you too." My heart leaps, but my face twists into a sort of sneer.
"Oh, good. I get to be your rebound." He gives me a hurt look. "You can't pretend like I wouldn't be, Kyle. Maybe if I wasn't such a wreck, I'd be able to deal with it." But I am a wreck, and I don't think that being someone's rebound is really what I need right now.
"You wouldn't be," he says. I don't believe him. Why should I? "You wouldn't because I kind of liked you ever since we kissed at the hospital."
"And what about Danny?" I ask, ignoring his blush.
"What if he came back, though? What if he wanted you back?"
"That depends on where we are." I arch my eyebrow slightly, and he pulls me up into a hug. I sort of half hug back. I don't know whether to listen to my head and tell him to fuck off, or whether I should listen to the part of me that desperately needs someone to be there for me. "Can we at least try?" he mumbles into my neck. I close my eyes, doing my best to stop myself from blurting out a ‘yes' straight away.
"I swear to god, if I'm just a rebound, I'm going to kill you, Kyle."