Chapter 13 #2
I begin to pace, back and forth, wall to wall, looking out of the window.
Trying to ward off the spindly witch fingers that are currently attempting to infuse my every pore with their poison.
She’s my oldest friend – this witch-woman.
Been with me since way before Tina and G and Molly and Charlie ever came along.
Our co-dependency goes back as far as I can remember.
I need her, and she needs me. I feed her.
She feeds me. Cos I do stuff when I’m like this.
In her grip. Either do stupid shit, or try and sort myself out.
Wonder which will happen today.
I’ve always preferred female company.
Gotta get Kerry on side. Manipulate the hell out of her so she doesn’t stick that fucking breathalyser in my mouth and send me packing.
‘Leo?’
Speak of the devil. ‘Yeah, yeah.’
She’s brought the whole bloody treatment room with her. Gauze and swabs and saline and those little steri-strips that I wouldn’t mind her putting on my face, so people can see how bad it is. Oh, my God, what happened? Did someone hit you? Can I help you?
‘Are you stupid, Leo?’
‘Huh?’
She points to my face. ‘I said, are you stupid?’
I smile. Cheeky. Cheeky works. ‘I got ten GCSEs. Mostly As. Was dead good in school. So, no.’ That’s a lie, but people like to think fucked-up clever is better than just fucked up. It’s more romantic. So much promise ruined, etc.
‘You can’t smoke in here.’
‘I’ve not—’
She folds her arms. ‘Don’t try it with me today, Leo. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Fine.’
She breathes deep, like she is trying to inhale patience through the whisps of fag smoke that linger around us. ‘So what happened?’
‘Got mugged on my way back from the cinema.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘I did, Kerry.’
She shakes her head again – her favourite thing. ‘Sit.’ She points to the bed.
I don’t protest because I want her to think she’s in control. But she’s not. She can’t be. I try not to groan as I lower my arse onto the bed because I don’t want her to check my chest. I think a rib might be fucked, but right now I’d rather not know.
‘Take your top off. I need to look at your chest,’ Kerry says. Told you she fancies me.
‘Oh, go on, Kez, I bet you do,’ I reply. I would wink but I can’t.
‘I know you think I fancy you – but funnily enough Leo, not everyone does.’
I shrug. ‘Fine.’
She helps lift the T-shirt off over my head. ‘This thing stinks.’
‘In a kind of sexy sweaty way?’
‘No, in a you’ve-pissed-yourself way.’ Once it’s off she throws it in the corner of the room and starts pressing my ribs. I don’t dare look down. ‘You’re bruised pretty badly. So how many of them were there?’
‘I’d say like four. Couldn’t see them. Little chavvy scrotes.’
‘Mmhmm,’ she says, in a way that feels a little like Takes one to know one, but I don’t question her, just let her tear open a wipe packet with her teeth, then pull on a pair of blue gloves.
‘Sexy.’
‘You’re lucky to be alive, I assume?’
That’s an annoying thing to say. ‘I am.’ It’s true though, and not just cos of last night. I am lucky, and she knows it. She’s annoying me with her tone. Don’t like it. Her being smart with me. ‘Why are you being shady?’
‘I’m not being shady, Leo, I just don’t believe you.’
She’s definitely been through the system herself, Kerry.
Most mental health nurses have. All of them with their tattoos and dyed hair.
Hers is black with pink ends (standard), and she has some scars on her arms, all on the top – the wrong bit.
If they wanted to top themselves they would have tried an actual artery.
I know what that’s like and there’s nothing romantic about it.
It’s just painful and actually a real let down.
No one comes. Until they have to. Then you meet the nurses who do this job cos they think they can relate, but end up hating everyone and themselves even more.
‘That’s shit, that. You’re supposed to be on my side.’
‘Close your eyes, this might sting.’
She doesn’t wait for me to close them. Just takes the wipe and starts rubbing it over my forehead.
‘Jesus Christ—!’
‘It’s got dirt in it. Probably from sleeping in the bush.’
‘What?’
‘You have sick and chewing gum in your hair. Did you know that?’
Smart arse. ‘Yes. I did, actually.’
My mind isn’t working as fast as it should, damn it.
She’s sharper than me today. I can feel her picking bits out of my face – sometimes making noises like Hmm, and muttering OK and Well that looks a little better.
Next she’s sticking those strips above my eye, which I’m actually chuffed about but I make out like I don’t want them, and then pressing my ribs again.
I keep my eyes shut for the whole thing cos it’s just easier not to hate her this way.
‘I can’t tell if you’ve broken anything. I’m going to give you painkillers with your meds.’
‘Which painkillers?’
‘Paracetamol.’
‘Eugh. Rubbish.’ I was hooked on Pregabalin for a bit. Loved that stuff. It’s hard to find though when you need it, especially when the pharmacies keep them behind the counter and there are only so many old people’s hand bags you can look through.
‘Right, one last thing...’
I open my eyes to see her holding the breathalyser.
‘Come on, Kerry. Don’t be daft.’
‘It’s protocol.’
‘Do you not trust me or summat?’
‘No,’ she says.
‘Can we do it later? I feel si—’
‘No.’
I look at it, and pray to no one that somehow it’s broken. I’ve tried sucking a penny before and it doesn’t work – that was a crock of shit. ‘Isn’t this a two-way street? I trust you, you trust me...’
She shakes her head, pushing the mouthpiece towards my lips. I keep my lips closed. She knows I’m fucked and so do I. I just want to see if that will give her some kind of impulsive change of heart.
‘Please, Kerry.’
She looks at the time on her little nurses’ watch, like I’m taking up far too much of it.
‘Fine,’ I say. I put it into my mouth, and blow.
When Kerry takes it out, stands away from me and holds it in front of her – while she waits for my doom to be confirmed – I try to find something to distract her, or make her empathise, or even cry.
A story, perhaps... about my childhood? But then I remember she’s told me she likes my poetry, and loads of the nurses do actually because it makes them think I have something to offer the world, that I have something to live for.
I wrack my mangled brain for something deep, a phrase or a verse – the stuff that gets the most likes on Instagram.
The really sad shit. I post it there occasionally because it makes me feel good when I see the likes go up and up, even though it’s mostly lies.
I remember something someone commented once under a post, saying: That is the bleakest shit I’ve ever heard mate – hope you’re OK.
It’s the perfect one.
I begin. ‘In the haze of the blackness of my soul—’
‘Point three zero.’
Bollocks.
She shakes her head.
‘Listen, Kez—’
‘Don’t Kez me – that’s over ten pints. Did you use?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Leo. Tell me, it’s important.’
‘I didn’t, Kerry.’
‘Then let me drug test you.’
I’m now standing. ‘Are you determined to get me out of here?’
‘No, Leo. This is my job.’
I step towards her. She doesn’t move. Begging’s gonna be next.
‘Just let me stay – I promise, this is the last time. I want to get clean. I do. I fucking...’ My voice wobbles.
Dunno if it’s real or not but I let it happen – go with it.
‘I promise. I want to be here. I want to follow my treatment plan. This was only a slip.’
She’s not even looking at me. ‘You know the rules. You’re out.’
‘I promise, Kerry—’
‘It’s not my choice.’
‘I can’t go back out there. People are looking for me. And don’t you have to send me on to a fixed address? I haven’t got one.’
‘Use your benefits. Get a hostel.’
‘They all do gear in them. Is that what you want?’
‘Sadly, Leo – that’s the reality you have to face. Go to A&E, you might have broken a bone.’
‘Will you come with me?’
‘What? No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I work here, with people who want to stay sober.’
‘I want to stay sober!’
‘It doesn’t appear that way.’
‘You know I don’t wanna be like this.’
‘Have you been taking your PrEP?’
‘Don’t act like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re my fucking mother.’
She turns to me, shocked. ‘Excuse me? I care about you, Leo. I care enough to ask if you have taken the drugs you need so you stay safe during sex—’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Don’t speak to me like that. I know your risk profile. It’s important.’
‘Just get out.’
‘Sadly, Leo, it’s you who has to get out. You know the—’
‘Rules! Yeah, fucking rules. None of you give a shit, do you? Not really. I’m just another number to you. I work fucking hard at this!’
‘Do you?’
‘Fuck you, Kerry.’
‘Sobriety isn’t going to land in your lap, Leo, however much you want it to. And don’t give me your poetry or your hard life stuff, we’ve all had it hard. This is on you.’
‘Please, Kerry...’
‘Go to the hospital, get your face scanned and ask for some emergency PEP.’
‘Fuck.’
She shrugs, and I hate it. She won’t budge. Won’t do what she’s supposed to. Empathise. Feel fucking sorry for me.
‘Will you come with me?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, Kez. We’ll have a laugh. Then come back, make a brew... It’ll all be grand—’
‘Pack your bag, Leo.’
I pause, weighing up which way to take this. I resolve she’s not coming. ‘Can you lend me a tenner to get there?’
She picks up the bloody wipes and gauze and turns to the door. ‘The script for all your meds will be ready by twelve. This room needs to be cleared out for someone who wants it.’
She leaves. She’s back out in the corridor. But before she is out of earshot, I smash my fist into the mirror, shattering it. I hope she fucking heard. It’s her fault.
It’s her fucking fault.