Chapter 2
Edward
Baron’s jaw hardens. He grabs my shoulder, hauls me up. My head lolls. My back feels too disjointed to hold me up, and I slump back onto the floor.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." I hear Baron swearing above me as he grabs my shoulders and yanks me up to my feet. My knees buckle and I lean into him. He throws his arm around me, props me up. "What did you take, Ed?" he growls. "What have you shot yourself up with this time?"
"What the hell does it matter to you?"
"It shouldn’t, you piece of crap," Baron snarls, "but unfortunately, I found you and if I let you die, I may never forgive myself."
"So, you’re doing this for yourself?" I taunt.
"I’m doing this because you don’t get to take the easy way out, you tosser."
"Trust me, nothing easy about it," I mutter.
"Trust me, from where I am, I am tempted join you down there in your haze of forgetfulness."
"But you won’t."
"Drugs are not my style," he declares as he begins to drag me toward the doorway of the room. "When I decide to go, it’ll be in a blaze of glory."
"A-n-d, there you have it," I mutter to an imaginary audience, "the difference between this mofo here and me. I am willing to chase the high; you seek a high from the chase."
"What’s the difference?" Baron scowls as he yanks me out of the room, down the steps, and away from the space where I’d hoped to end my life.
Shit, one lousy thing I’d hope to accomplish and I’ve screwed that up too.
I’d set myself one task. To shoot up enough that I wouldn’t live to face the light again, and I hadn’t managed to complete it. Why the hell am I so useless?
"The difference, Ed..." Baron’s voice cuts through the thoughts rolling in my head.
"What?" I swallow, "What are you talking about?"
"The difference between chasing the high and seeking a high from the chase," he says patiently. "You were going to tell me the difference?"
What the hell is he talking about? Or is he talking just to keep me awake so I don’t lapse into a sleep that I don’t come back from? And would that be so bad?
He reaches the front door of the building, kicks it open, and yanks me out into the fresh air.
Sunshine. Brightness. Argh. I throw up my arm…
Or at least, I try to. Sadly, my body is still not responding to my instructions.
What’s the point of having arms and legs if they simply dangle at my sides, huh?
Maybe if I simply stay still, try not to move, close my eyes and—
"Edward, wake the hell up."
Something connects with my cheek. The haziness in my head thins. I open my eyes to find I am on the sidewalk, on my back, Baron leaning over me.
"You slapped me, asshole?" I slur. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What’s wrong with you?" he growls. "Why the hell are you trying to kill yourself."
"You know why," I mutter, "you were there too."
"That’s the point, you douchebag." His jaw tics. "I was there too. I went through what you did too. I live through every harrowing second of those hours, but I am not here trying to shoot myself up with poison."
"No," I chuckle, "you’re out chasing a different kind of high. The kind that comes with putting your life on the line with extreme sports."
"At least if I go, it will be mid-jump, or on my way to the bottom of the sea, or climbing a mountain. I’ll be in full command of my senses and aware of what I am doing."
"You mean, unlike me?"
"You weren’t like this Ed. You were never a coward."
"I’m not a hero either." My lips quirk. "I am not as strong as you, Baron."
"You’re wrong. I am not bloody strong. I am broken inside, same as you Ed. I wake up every day, not sure if I can face the day. Not sure if I can look another person in the eye, and see the reflection of the horror that crawls inside of me. But I do it anyway."
"Well, good for you." I grimace. "Baron, the brave. Baron, the two-faced bastard who is so good at projecting a brave front to the world."
"If you think you can bait me, you’re wrong." He grabs the front of my shirt, pulls me up to my feet. "If you think you can push me away, you’re mistaken," he snaps.
I stumble then manage to find my balance. "What-bloody-ever." I smirk. The world spins around me and my knees buckle. He reaches for me and I lurch back.
"Leave, asshole," I mutter. "Why the hell are you here, in the first place? Didn’t you get the memo? I am not interested in exchanging sob stories. I don’t bloody care about what happened to you. I just want to be left alone, okay?"
I sway, try to brush past him, but he steps in my path.
"Where the hell are you going?"
"Inside." I take a sideways step and he mirrors my move. I scowl at him, "Get out of my way, you bastard."
"Not happening," he says in a calm voice. "If you think I’m going to let you go back in there and shoot up until you’re dead, you have another think coming."
I sway, right myself. Focus on his face and his features split into two, then four. Oops. This can’t be good. Or maybe it is. Maybe this is exactly how it should all go down.
"You’re right." I smile. Darkness dots the edges of my vision.
Sweat beads my brow and my shirt sticks to my back.
I am burning up and cold. So cold. All at the same time.
My thigh muscles spasm; my arms and legs tremble.
I tuck my elbows close to my sides, draw myself up to my full height. "You’re abso-bloody-right." I swallow.
"I am?" He scowls.
I nod. "I don’t need to go back in there and shoot up until I am dead because I am on my way there now."
The blackness pulls me under.
I am floating…floating. I kick out, aim for the light that glimmers in the distance.
If I can only make it there, I will be all right.
If I reach that shining orb, things will sort themselves out.
I will become whole again. I can fill this emptiness inside of me, rid myself of the anguish that festers inside of me.
I can peel off the desolation that clings to me, and finally allow myself to be.
I can rid myself of the story I have carried inside for so long, and revel in not being me.
I push forward, zero in on that luminescence. Closer, closer. The warmth intensifies as I get nearer. A sensation of being supported, held.
It’s…a strange feeling to not be threatened.
To be understood. To be allowed to experience every single emotion and none of it, at the same time.
To not be judged. To be… Absolved of my guilt.
My suffering. My misery. For the distress to fade away and be replaced by…
Quiet. Peace. Living in the moment. Not yesterday, not tomorrow.
Just the here and now. This, as I am, so it will be.
This is me. This—suspended between death and life, between hell and heaven, between feeling too much and not feeling anything.
This midway point is where everything begins and ends.
This…is where I am supposed to be. This…
is purity and profanity. Birth and leaving your body behind.
This...is where you take your first breath.
Your first step, that defines you all over again.
This is where you start, for as you are, so you will be.
The light flickers, grows more distant. I pump my legs, shoot forward, but to no avail.
The separation increases and I know I want to get closer.
Feel those few seconds of how it had been to be one with myself.
With the presence that had filled me, engulfed me, shown me the way.
If I can only experience that moment of completeness again…
One more time. Just one more time. That’s all I seek.
I reach out with my hand, and someone grasps it. I try to open my eyes, blink, and shut them again.
"He’s awake."
There’s movement above me, and someone speaking. The words fade in and out of my consciousness. Bright light overwhelms me.
When I open my eyes again, it’s to face those same cold blue ones. "You?" I groan, "Why the hell can’t I get rid of you?"
"The bastard saved your life. You could try to be a bit more grateful," a familiar voice drawls.
I turn my head, groan when I take in the man on the couch in the far corner of the room.
Next to him, Saint glowers at me. Arpad, Damian and Weston, the rest of the Seven are sprawled around the space.
All of them meet my gaze with varying expressions of hurt and anger.
So much anger. Shit, they are not going to let this pass.
"Have I died and gone to hell?" I finally venture.
"You wish," Sinclair drawls as he leans forward, "that would have made things so much easier."
"Unfortunately for us, you are very much alive, pisstard," Saint growls.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Damian demands. "Shooting yourself up with enough substances to floor an elephant? Seriously, Ed?" He slams his fist into the palm of his hand, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"He’s a bloody coward, that’s what he is." Arpad growls. "Asshole, wants to take the easy way out."
"Is that right?" Saint scowls. "You want to check out, is that right, Ed?
You want to give up and stop fighting? You think you are the only one in pain, asshole?
Well, you are wrong." Saint gets to his feet and stalks over to me.
"You think Baron, here, has had it easier?
You think any of us here have managed to have a normal life after the bloody incident? "
I hold his gaze, take in his flushed features. "I, uh, didn’t expect any of you guys to take it this personally."