Chapter 56
Leo
Some fucker is smoking a blunt on the seat behind me.
It’s making my head spin out. Making my chest itch. Would have got a cab but can’t fucking afford it, so bus it is.
I’m an honest man now, see. No running from cab drivers or hiding in the fuckin bogs. I never come into town anymore. Cos I fucking hate it.
I look out the window. See my reflection. Blonde hair. New hair, new me, ’n’ all that. I pull my hood over my head. Someone in the street said I looked like Eminem the other day, and I wasn’t mad about it.
Twitchy. Twitchy as fuck tonight.
Just gotta be quick. In and out.
Can see the lights of Soho through the glass. All the men getting ready to go out.
To dance.
To party.
These parts make me shudder. All the ghosts, lurking.
Don’t wanna be seen anymore. Invisible works for me.
The smell of the weed nearly makes me drool. I never even used to like weed.
I feel weird. Lean down and put my fingers in my sock.
Pull it out and hold it in the palm of my hand. Squeeze it.
Picked up my six-month chip at NA last night.
They made me a cake. Candles and all. I haven’t let go of it since.
It’s just a little piece of plastic but I dunno – I don’t fucking know – there’s something about it that makes me feel lighter.
Got it in my shoe right now. Dunno where else to put it.
Don’t wanna fucking lose it, so it stays in my sock. It’s working. For now.
Cos I want it to.
I think I could. Live a life. That’s what my sponsor said.
Her name’s Debbie. She’s sixty years old and fucking mental, but she said I could have a life if I wanted one. She said that no one is coming to save me. Not one fucker is coming and it’s time I realised that. And I think I did.
I was always waiting.
I was.
Waiting for someone to come.
But they fucking haven’t, and they fucking ain’t.
And now I’m here.
Six months is the longest I’ve done since I was thirteen years old.
I cry a lot now. Cry most days. Debbie says that’s about right. Fucking love it, to be honest.
She told me there are three rules. Make my bed every morning. Don’t use substances. Don’t call anyone a cunt. Managed to stick to it so far. I wake in the night, craving still. Bag of Haribos and full-fat Coke by your bed, she told me.
Think it’s working.
It’s weird though. It’s all very fucking new. Feel like I’m a tiny baby, wobbling through the streets. Like I don’t really know myself yet, and never have.
That’s the point, apparently.
But it scares me. Scare myself sometimes, still. Like I might do something. Something stupid.
But at least I feel it now, Debbie said. At least I fucking feel it.
It’s good to be alive.
The pain is a gift. It’s a window to yourself. I know how that sounds – I do – but I like it. There’s a destination.
That’s what Debbie said. ‘The destination is you, you nutter. Stop running. It won’t work.’
Talking of destinations, I’m nearly at my stop now. Piccadilly Circus.
Nearly there.
It’s good that I’m late.
I don’t want her to see me. Just wanna hear what she has to say, that’s all. And I wanna know how she ended it.
Not spoken to her since it happened. Since that letter she sent me.
Over a year now.
A long time.
A year is a very fucking long time.