Chapter 8
Eight
Teddy
Even in the midst of one of the worst arguments Liam and I have ever had, he still can’t keep his hands off me.
He tries to handle me, pawing at my face, grabbing my arms, pushing his forehead to mine.
He does things aggressively; any onlooker wouldn’t think he’s being affectionate, just friendly.
But I feel the way his eyes burn into me with an intensity no one else could fathom.
How his fingertips dig into the skin of my cheeks, but his thumb only grazes my jaw softly.
It’s fucking confusing. I can’t make sense of it all.
Pain spears through my chest when I consider telling him my biggest secret, but I need to.
Right? Because how will he ever understand why I’m driving this wedge between us.
And on top of all the pain I’m experiencing, I know he’s hurting too.
He never displays this much emotion about anything.
Rarely ever raises his voice. But, because I’m such a shitty friend, he’s outside of someone’s house, shouting and losing his composure, where anyone could walk out and see him. I know that’s the last thing he wants.
He’s always had this thing about keeping a stoic, calm exterior. So everyone he’s ever met has no clue who he really is, he won’t let it show.
“Let’s go home… I’ll explain when we get there,” I whisper. A heavy weight settles in my gut as my mind plays the tape of what will happen later tonight. The story of how I’ll lose my best friend.
“No. You’re going to tell me right fucking now. I’m sick of this shit,” he says through clenched teeth.
I can’t take this anymore. I can’t keep this act up much longer. I take a breath, attempting to steady myself because I can feel bile rising in my throat.
“For fuck’s sake, Teddy. It can’t be that bad.”
“I’m fucking in love with you, Liam!” The words rip from my chest in a loud shout, spittle flying from my mouth. “Fuck,” I choke out on a sob. “How can you not tell? I can’t even look you in the eyes anymore because it hurts so fucking bad.”
“No fucking way, Teddy. There’s no way,” he says, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. “It’s a mistake. You’re just mixing up your feelings.”
“Really?! I’ve been mixing up my feelings since eighth grade? I know how I feel.” I laugh sarcastically. “Believe me, there’s no mistaking it.”
I didn’t know what to expect from this, but denial definitely wasn’t it. The expression on his face is agonizing. He looks like he might actually cry, and I’ve never seen him cry before. Ever.
I turn around, ready to flee from the worst moment of my life, when he attempts to grab my shoulder to stop me, but he quickly withdraws his hand. “Shit!” he yells.
My face crumbles. “Wow, see. You can’t even touch me?” I shake my head. I can’t stop the onslaught of tears anymore.
I’ve thought about this moment a million times over the years—the moment I finally tell him.
I’ve played it out with many different endings, but none of them even compared to the pain I feel right now.
They don’t come close to it. My chest is cracked open, my heart laid bare, and he’s repulsed by it. By me.
I start to back away. This is really it. Ten years of friendship down the drain because of my foolishly hopeless heart.
I skate away as fast as I can, the sole of my foot aching from pounding it into the ground so hard. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need something. Something to take all of this away.
Am I melting into this couch? It smells like old sweat and maybe semen?
The thought makes me shudder, so I try extra hard to make my brain communicate with my body in order to stand up.
Luckily, I’m not too fucked up yet. When you use acid as much as I do, you build a tolerance to the stuff.
So, a small dose of a couple tabs makes my vision wonky and sometimes is enough to make me forget I have a body. All good things.
Got my heart broken.
Lost my best friend.
Decided taking acid at a literal trap house was a good idea.
My life is a fucking joke at this point.
I know I’m out of place at this party, but it’s Mad’s house—one of my best friends ever.
That’s not his real name, but his real name doesn’t matter.
Everyone knows him as Mad. I’m not sure how I managed to get so close with a guy like him.
Most people see his face tattoos and crazy eyes and look the other way, but I saw him at a party one time.
He was sitting all alone on the cold steel of the train tracks.
Since I was so intoxicated, I thought it’d be a good idea to talk to the scary stranger.
I know what it feels like to always be around people and still feel alone.
We talked about so many things. He has two kids who he loves with everything in him. He sells a lot of drugs. Way more than anyone else I know, and he may or may not be in a gang.
But the conversation we had was intellectual. He’s a very spiritual guy and he saw the same thing in my eyes as I saw in his. He must’ve. That’s the only explanation for why he always invites me to his trap house and treats me like we’ve known each other our entire lives.
I navigate around all the scary looking dudes posted up around the room and make my way outside. Despite the overall air of impending danger, I always feel safe here. Everyone knows not to fuck with me because of my odd friendship with Mad.
I make it to the back door and step into his back yard. Every square inch of his fence is covered in graffiti, and it’s all done by Mad. It’s one of the most amazing things about him—his artwork.
The colors all swirl together into a satisfying pattern in my acid-laced vision.
A smile spreads across my face, and then I spot him.
He’s sitting on an office chair in the middle of the yard with a bunch of other guys sitting in odd chairs, too.
It seems like he’s miles away. Whenever I take a step, the ground seems much farther away than it actually is. My depth perception is all messed up.
Suddenly, I’m standing in front of him. “How was the acid?” he asks. His voice sounds different in my ears.
“It’s doing what it needs to,” I respond.
It’s making me numb.
I can’t feel my legs, but I’m still standing somehow. I can’t feel my chest, but I know it was aching.
“Wanna smoke?” He reaches out and grabs my shoulder.
I nod my head back at him. He doesn’t know what happened earlier, but he knows I’m not okay.
“Get him a chair.” I hear him tell someone, and before I know it, a chair appears in front of me.
Time is so weird when you’re tripping. I sink into the chair.
Mad’s on one side of me and some guy I’ve never met before is on the other.
When Mad hands me the tray, I immediately get to work.
He knows I love to roll weed, and even though I’m hallucinating, I can still roll a perfect blunt.
A pile of already grinded weed lies in one corner and there’s a tiny bag of white powder next to it.
I hold it up and show Mad. “You want me to lace it?” He usually likes to smoke coke-laced blunts, but I want to make sure before I go using up his stuff.
I don’t make a habit of doing coke, but I can’t find it in me to care about anything tonight.
“Of course. You know you don’t need to ask,” he rumbles. His voice is deep and gravelly. I think it’s because of an injury, but I never asked.
The sounds of their conversation fade into a distant hum as I lose myself in the precise art of blunt rolling.
It’s going to be the nicest one I’ve ever rolled with the amount of focus I have right now.
Soon enough, I’m putting the blunt to my lips and lighting it.
I take a few deep inhales and a zap runs through my body from the coke, immediately making things appear clearer.
I reach over and rest my arm on the arm of Mad’s office chair waiting for him to grab the blunt, but then I realize something.
His face is set in stone as he stares at some guy walking towards us. “Mad, who’s that?” I ask.
“Somebody who shouldn’t fucking be here.”
He takes the blunt from my fingers and hits it, and I focus my gaze on the guy again. “What’d he do?” The words barely leave my mouth when I see a flash of metal and Mad shoves my chest with the palm of his hand. My chair tips all the way back to the ground with a thud.
POP! POP! POP! The distinct sound of gunshots rings through the still night, followed by shouts and screams. I scramble from the chair staying low to the ground, and look over it, trying to make out what’s going on, but there’s too many people standing in front of me.
I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve seen him do something like this. That’s probably why they call him Mad.
I’m starting to come down from the acid, but things still look a little blurry around the edges and distorted.
Someone grabs my arm and pulls me up to stand.
“Go home, lil’ dude,” he says. He doesn’t need to tell me twice; I rush to the front yard, grab my board, and am skating away when I hear police sirens in the distance.
I decide to turn down a smaller street and take the longer way, so the cops don’t see me.
I didn’t do anything, but leaving from the direction of a crime scene is probably not smart.
I shake my head to myself as my foot pounds against the concrete.
Damn. I really hope he doesn’t get arrested tonight.
What will happen to his kids? I’m sure they’re at their mom’s house, but it’s my understanding that he supports them financially.
Sadness overwhelms me at the thought of them growing up without him.
I know he’s not perfect, but he really does love them.
They’re his whole world, and the only reason he hasn’t blown his own brains out—he told me so.
I force the thoughts from my head and pick up the pace.
The neon lights blur past me in colorful streaks and the breeze coming from the ocean assaults my skin.
I breathe it in deeply. Sometimes I do things on autopilot.
For weeks, I’ll make irrational decisions and then I’ll suddenly wake up.
I was never actually asleep, but that’s how it feels—like I mentally checked out.
I think I’m awake again.