Chapter 5 Jesse
Jesse
It was more like I’d been lying to myself than lying to Rico earlier. I really had wanted to try and be better for Adam. Also a little bit for Rico as well. He’d driven all the way to LA for me and was giving me free food and board even though I kept being an asshole.
The truth is, I’m the kind of tired that you can’t fix in a day.
I’d depleted my energy to fight when he’d asked me to keep booze out of the house, and seeing as I barely have a dollar to my name right now, it’s not like I’m going to be taking myself down to the liquor store and stocking up.
In the throes of my hangover, it seemed like a reasonable proposal.
But after spending most of the day alternating between napping and being fed by him, my gremlin brain woke up some time around eight o’clock this evening. I was climbing the walls by ten. It’s past midnight now.
Why should I stick around somewhere I’m clearly not wanted? He can’t tell me what to do. Life is short and fucking hard. Why can’t I enjoy the ride as long as I’m on it?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the several very nice meals he’s filled my belly with and the fresh sheets on the soft bed.
I probably haven’t slept that well in years.
But I’m scrappy. I’ve survived all this time on my own and I’ll continue to do so.
Now I’ve been refueled, it’s time to get back out there and start making money again.
No way I’m sticking around this Podunk town.
Nah, I’ll head back to LA where I bet I can get a new job fast. I’ll trawl around every bar in West Hollywood if I have to.
Rico was true to his word and left me alone most of the day, so when I wasn’t napping, I’ve been thinking. Biding my time until he goes to bed and I can be sure he’s asleep.
Because I’m about to do something really shitty.
What choice do I really have, though? I can’t stay here and burden him.
How long can his goodwill realistically last?
He might have control issues, but I can admit that his heart is in the right place.
I need to leave now before I piss him off any more than I already have and cost him any more money.
I’ve got it in my head that I can pay him back for the tequila at least when I start earning again, so the sooner I leave and do that, the better.
The idea of hanging around just to disappoint him again makes my guts twist. A part of me is still that little kid who was always so desperate to impress him.
When he realizes I’ve done what I’m about to do, I’m sure he’s going to be way more than disappointed.
He’s going to be furious. He’s never going to want to see or speak to me again. But that’s okay. It’s not like we were ever going to be friends anyway.
It’s not like he’s ever going to look at a washed-up loser like me and feel anything other than pity.
Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I angrily scrub them away. I don’t really still have a crush on him. It’s just a reaction to the first person who’s been nice to me since Adam left. In fact, if I discount Adam, he’s the first person who’s shown me any kindness in years.
How pathetic is that?
I meant it. I have no intention of being his charity case. And, yeah, he’s going to curse my name, but I really hope he won’t call the cops. I just need his help one last time.
I haven’t been evicted yet, so my plan is to go back to my shitty apartment and hustle my ass off until I can make rent, then start paying back my debts. If that means I have to resort to drastic measures…so be it. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now, I just need to get back to LA.
And that means transportation.
The place is completely still and quiet as I creep over to the front door where Rico leaves his keys. Making as little noise as possible, I ease the car fob off the bunch and let myself out, my heart hammering in my chest.
Once I get back to the city, I’ll park it up somewhere and tell Rico the location. He’s probably got a ton of friends who’d give him a ride to pick it up again. Other than gas money (which I totally intend to send him along with the tequila money) he shouldn’t be too inconvenienced. It’ll be fine.
I sprint down the several flights of stairs into the parking garage, clicking the fob to see which car lights up. A silver Toyota the row over comes to life, and my heart skips a beat. This is going to work.
First, I check there’s no one around to witness me getting into a car I don’t own without a valid license. Then I run to it, throwing my bag onto the passenger seat and dropping into the driver’s side, closing the door and gripping the wheel.
Rico’s car is way nicer than I remember from the hazy drive yesterday.
It still has that new car smell from the buttery leather upholstery, and the dash looks more like a starship than a hatchback.
When I start it up, the display tells me it’s got less than twenty thousand miles on it. That’s good, isn’t it?
An idea springs to life like a thorny, poisonous weed.
If I sold this thing, that would give me a ton of cash immediately to get back on my feet.
That’s what Rico wanted, wasn’t it? I know a guy.
He’d give me a fair price, no questions asked.
I could pay my rent for a whole month and buy whatever I needed and then while I’m looking for a new job, I could just fucking breathe.
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t constantly stressing about bills and how to afford my next fix.
The idea of having that relief makes a sob escape from my chest.
Yes, this is a good idea. Rico will be fine. That’s what insurance is for. He’ll understand. I check my mirror so I can reverse out of the space.
When I catch my reflection, I stop.
I look gaunt. Like a zombie, mindlessly shuffling toward his own destruction.
Again.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. I’m just tired. Once I get a good chunk of change back in hand, so many of these problems will be gone. Life will be back to normal. Sure, I was hardly happy before, but what more can I expect?
I don’t deserve anything more.
But…Rico seemed to think I do. His face swims in my mind, the anguished expression he wore when he talked about having to be the one to tell my brother that I’m dead.
I have no intention of dying, though. I want to feel alive, not cooped up in Redwood fucking Cove or whatever this place is called. Rico would be sick of me in a matter of days, and that more than anything else would drive me to drink anyway. No, I need to go, now, and…
And be on my own again. That way no one can be disappointed in me. I need to get out of my head. I can’t stand it in here any longer. I’m so sick of myself. Numb is better, and if I can’t have numb…
I’ll take nothing.
I was so close before.
My lip trembles as another sob fights its way free. Rico said Adam would be devastated if I wasn’t around anymore, but would he really? He’s already on the other side of the planet. He’d eventually just forget about his loser, fucked up brother. I’d be doing him a favor.
Rico would gladly be rid of me, I’m sure. I’ve caused him more than enough trouble in only thirty-six hours.
No one will miss me. Why am I even trying? What’s there worth sticking around for?
Why am I still fighting? What’s the point in making plans I’m just going to break or fall short on? All I do is let people down.
Including myself.
My eyes are bloodshot when I confront my reflection again. How long have I been avoiding this? Stepping back and taking an honest look at who I am and what I’m doing with my life. Years. Because I don’t like what I see.
Maybe my brother would miss me if I was gone, and I’d hate to do that to him.
But do I even want me around anymore? How much longer can I keep forcing myself to lurch around in this body when all I do is spend my time thinking of ways to escape it?
I’m just existing between one high to the next, desperately hoping that this time, it’ll be enough.
That I’ll eventually find the euphoria that makes all this pain worthwhile.
It’s too much effort. I’m not worth it. If I don’t want to be a burden, I should just give up.
End it all for real this time. Do it properly.
But I don’t want to disappear. A small, pitiful part of me is still clinging onto a hope of better days to come. If I haven’t found them by now, though, will I ever?
It just feels easier to be numb. To stop these thoughts swirling like a fucking tempest. If I drown them out, I don’t have to make any more decisions. But I have no money to do that, and around and around I go again.
What’s the point? I just want it to all stop.
I drop my head onto the steering wheel and give up holding onto what little dignity I had left. I wail like a child, tears and snot streaming down my face as I howl.
I have nothing. I am nothing. And when I’m gone, I’ll leave nothing behind other than a hundred and twenty episodes of a TV show no one even remembers anymore.
What a waste of a life.
I don’t even hear the car door open. I’m still hysterical as strong hands slip over my knee and around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug.
“No, go away,” I moan, trying to push him off. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
“It’s okay, Jay,” Rico murmurs into my ear, squeezing me to him despite the awkward angle. “It’s okay. I promise. I’m here.”
Who am I kidding? I haven’t got any fight left in me. So I give in and let myself be held as I sob.
“Shh, Jay,” Rico says. “You’re all right.”
No, I’m not.
“Jesse,” I gasp, my face mashed up against his neck. I don’t want him to use that fake name I hid behind for so long. If there’s anyone I want to know me even just a fraction, it’s Rico Flores.
Damn, he smells good. He’s so warm and solid that it brings me back to reality just a little, allowing me to keep circling the drain instead of being sucked in just yet.
“Jesse,” he says, sounding relieved.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, pulling back and hastily wiping my gross face. “Rico, I’m so fucking sorry. I was going to…I thought…if you want to take me to the police, I’d understand.”
With him there now, my plan doesn’t just seem ridiculous but morally fucking bankrupt. I was really going to screw him over like that when he’s been nothing but kind and patient with me? Fresh sobs wrack my chest, and I try and turn in the seat so I can hide from him. I’m so ashamed.
But he cups the side of my face like he did before, encouraging me to look at him. His expression is kind, and that makes this all so much worse.
“You haven’t committed a crime, have you?”
I blink at him. Surely it’s obvious what I was planning. Even if I didn’t go through with selling his car, I was at least intending to borrow it without asking. “I was going to—” I start spluttering indignantly.
“I think,” he interrupts, “you needed some fresh air after being inside for a couple of days. You needed somewhere to let it all out and you didn’t want to wake me up.
So that’s why you came down to sit in my car for a while.
But you’re not bothering me, Jesse. You’re not an inconvenience.
I’m happy to let you stay with me. Why don’t we get you back upstairs.
This will all feel better in the morning. ”
For several seconds, I just stare at him. How can he be real? I was fully intending to rip him off, and he’s giving me a way out. Pretending like it never happened, even though we both know it did. Still acting like a big damn hero.
Because that’s what he is. It’s who he is.
And the last of my resistance washes away as I realize it’s about time I admit that I need saving. I don’t think I could do that with anyone else. But despite the way I’ve treated him, Rico makes me feel like I can trust him.
I want that more than anything. Just because I’ve survived this far on my own doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate someone around to lighten the load. If there’s a person I hope won’t judge or shame me other than my brother, it’s Rico Flores.
If I keep fighting him, I’m going to lose him, too.
Because this right here? This is rock bottom.
“Rico,” I gasp, my whole body shaking as I cry what few tears I have left in me. “Rico…I…I need help. Oh, god. I need help.”
I collapse back into his arms, and he holds me like he never plans on letting me go.
“It’s okay, Jesse,” he says urgently. “I’m here. I want to help. I’ll get you whatever you need.”
I shake my head against his shoulder. “Don’t want to be a burden, you’ve already done so much.” I hiccup and clench my fists against his back. “I should…rehab. But no money…no insurance. I need help. I’m so sorry.”
By this point, I’m just babbling, not even sure what I want or what I’m trying to say.
But I think deep down I know that the thing I really need is professional help again.
Somewhere I can’t be tempted to numb the pain with the first thing I can get my hands on.
I’ve tried it before and always relapsed.
But if the alternative is taking my own life, maybe this time would be different?
Except I’ve used up all my chances already. My insurance covered the first round of rehab, Mom and Dad paid for the second, and Adam the third.
No one is going to step up for a fourth time. Why would they? That would be stupid. So I have to do this on my own, with no money for therapy or any medication that might actually help me kick this.
I wish I could say I had Rico, but no matter what he says, I can’t put this on him.
Just him being here in this moment has made all the difference, though. This is the second time he’s been my guardian angel and swooped in to the rescue at exactly the right time, snatching me back from the edge of the metaphorical cliff.
Perhaps I do have something to live for? The idea of making him proud, of seeing him smile at me again…that might just be enough to stop me doing something entirely reckless.
Will it be enough to keep me sober? I doubt it. Past experience is stacked against me. But for the first time in forever, I honestly do want to try.
He’s right. It’ll be better in the morning.
I can wake up without a hangover for the first time in weeks and use a clearer head to attempt to see a way out of my troubles that doesn’t involve hurting myself any further.
The idea that Rico might even be there to talk to…
to share coffee and eggs with and maybe even another hug… I can work toward that.
I can live long enough to get myself to the morning, right?
After that, all bets are off.