“Just turn around now, cuz you’re not welcome anymore,” I sang, jumping to the punked up beat. I’d taken like thirty (not really) Aleve before going on stage, and so I wasn’t feeling much pain yet. It was pretty cool. During this gig, I hardly looked at Dave when I sang, unlike the usual antics we pulled. I was still kind of mad at him. I know he’d meant well, but he was the one who hated people that told him not to do drugs and constantly raved about everyone being his mom. He didn’t need to be the one giving out any advice. I hadn’t told him about Taylor. I was trying not to think about it at all. I sang on the stage, more harsh and angry than usual. I’d embraced my nervousness. I was happy to feel anything other than pain and anguish. I don’t know what we sang or how we sang or anything like that. I don’t know if the audience loved it, or even if there was an audience. I was just happy to be out of my house, away from those feelings for a while. No one could bother me while I was on stage.
Afterward, Muf grabbed me and swung me around, telling me that I was “so hardcore I put the rest of them to shame.” I thanked him and then found a place to sit. The medicine wasn’t working so well anymore. Dave came in and sat by me, not speaking.
“Were we good?” I asked.
“You were.”
“Thanks.”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
“Uh huh.”
“I know I was being hypocritical, but I was really worried.”
“It’s okay.”
“Wanna go to a party?” he smiled.
I was so glad that he was asking me like I was normal again. I jumped on him, and we made out until Oscar pried us apart to drive us to the party.
I’d never been happier to be at someone’s packed ass house, people everywhere, being loud and causing problems.
“Want something to drink?” he asked.
“Hell yes,” I smiled.
He went away for a second and returned with two plastic cups. I took a huge swig, and was disappointed by what I got, “This isn’t alcohol.”
“Neither is this,” he held up his cup.
I smiled, and then told him I was going to go to the bathroom. I lied though. I went into the kitchen and filled my cup to the brim with whatever alcohol looked to be the most potent. I downed the whole cup, paused to cough and wheeze, and then filled it again.
I returned to Dave, “Have you talked to D.C.?” I asked.
“Yea, but I didn’t say anything about what you said.”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I asked, taking a swig of the burning, foul tasting liquor. He was silent, sipping his innocent liquid. “It’s all right if you don’t want to accept it. But really, Dave… She’s in love with you.”
“She said that you two had a fight because I said we had sex.”
“That’s how it started.”
“You know I didn’t say that, right?”
“I know.”
He kissed my forehead. I chugged some more of the nasty drink.
“I can’t believe you drank all that,” Dave was saying, helping me walk.
“I just wanted to forget,” I stuttered and slurred.
He carried me up the stairs like he did the last time, and brought me into the bathroom.
“I didn’t drink the whole bottle,” I groaned.
“Yes, you did.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re going to get alcohol poisoning,” he said, trying to stand me upright.
“Noooooooo,” I laughed.
“Come on,” he sat me up.
“You’re gonna make me throw up.”
“Yes, let’s go.”
“Last time, D.C. helped me throw up. She pierced my tongue,” I held my tongue out for him to see.
“I know,” he tried to lean me over. I fell asleep or passed out or something. Things went black and woozy, and all I could hear was a rushing sound.
I had a dream. I was sitting there on the floor of the bathroom, and Dave leaned me over so that I could throw up. I did so, not being able to hold in all the liquid I’d consumed. Then, I began to cry, telling him that I was bulimic, and that I couldn’t throw up anymore. I then proceeded to vomit all over myself. Dave left the room to get me some towels. I took off my wet and gooey clothes, and lay on the bathroom floor. The ceiling was whirling around like a whirlpool, and it was frightening. I sat up to look in the mirror. The mirror looked like liquid mercury from a broken thermometer. I started to freak out. It was spreading all over the walls, looking like it was spinning out of control. I was going to get mercury poisoning. I started searching through drawers for something to protect myself with. I pulled out a blue comb and someone’s razor. I was dizzy and swirling, and fell on my butt. I looked down at my knee, which was bare since I’d taken off my pants. There was a fine, thin little scar. It was from my first date with Taylor, when I’d fallen and skinned my knee. I couldn’t believe he had a girlfriend. I felt so lonely, so unloved… I fiddled with the razor in my hand, and then just as Dave reentered, I pressed the blade into my skin.
I woke up from the horrific dream with a start, almost happy to feel the roaring ache in my head. I was in a big bed in a stranger’s house, and when I realized this, I could ignore my aching body long enough to panic. Where the hell was I? Who was I with?
“It’s okay,” Dave said. He was sitting across the room by the window, staring out.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately could tell something was bothering him. Most likely the fact that I’d gotten so drunk without telling him…
He lit up a cigarette, “How do you feel?”
“What happened after I passed out?”
He turned to me, looking shocked that I didn’t remember, but also that he kind of expected it, “You should never get drunk again.”
“I had the weirdest dream,” I reached my right hand up to rub my dry eyes. I stopped halfway through the gesture. There was a white gauze bandage wrapped around my right wrist.
