Keeping On Without You

It had been an entire twenty-four hours before I stepped out of my bedroom. Tom was still here. He hadn’t left since we arrived yesterday afternoon, crashed out on the couch with the remote to the television floating near his hand and crumbs down the front of his shirt.

At least I wasn’t the only one who looked slightly disheveled.

My stomach was growling like an asthmatic wolverine and I stumbled with outstretched hands into the kitchen, willing to consume anything my hands made contact with. Grabbing fingers led me to the cabinets filled with cereal and crisps, settling on the saltier and crunchier of the options. Not eating in over a day had put my stomach into a dither, and consuming large amounts of over processed potato crisps was probably not the best way to start. At least it was satisfying.

Loudly crunching on the addictive crisps had woken Tom up, his eyes searching around the room for the cause of the noise. They drifted towards the kitchen where they found me leaning against the counter and grabbing handfuls of the salt and vinegar goodness. He was slow to get up, shaking his head and brushing off the crumbs from his shirt where they made a nice pile on the rug.

He’d be cleaning that up later.

“You alright?” he questioned softly, walking towards me with what looked like hesitance. The question held enough hesitation as it was, because both of us knew the answer.

How in the world could I be alright?

I nodded my head with silent sarcasm as I swallowed and prepared to speak. “If the definition of ‘alright’ is ‘in pieces’, then yes, Tom, I’m fucking alright,” I spat, a bitter tone overtaking my voice while I took out my anger on the least deserving person of it. This was a natural reaction though, right? I was supposed to be bitter and acting like a hermit. Somehow I thought that maybe lashing out at Tom would make me feel better, but the apparent lack of control I had over my words only made things worse.

His eyebrows raised and I could tell he was fighting to roll his eyes. He knew there was nothing he could do.

“Maybe we should go over to mum and dad’s tonight. We can get dinner and stuff. And you can talk to them if you want,” he said, his tone of voice notably softer than it had been just a minute ago.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” I snapped, my eyes looking down at the floor as embarrassment washed over me. I couldn’t believe I was acting like this, especially towards my brother, who had decided to stay here with me to make sure I was getting along as best I could. And this is how I treated him. “I mean, I don’t know if I want to go anywhere, yet.”

“Alright,” he said, taking in a breath. “But let me know if you want to. Mum and dad don’t know you’re back yet, and I’m sure something other than crisps will be good for you. Mum can make your favorite, if you want.”

Both of us cracked a tiny smile at that. Every time either of us were upset, mum had always made our favorite in some hopes of consoling us, and it always worked.

But I wasn’t so sure I wanted to relay the story yet again to my parents. It was hard enough telling Tom. And then, at some point in the next few weeks, I was supposed to tell my family that I was an alcoholic, and I needed help. I think Tom already had some sort of feeling that something was going on, but he wasn’t going to nag me about it now. He knew just what I would do.

I would get upset, and then I would get drunk.

“I’ll let you know,” I said, my tone of voice slightly improved from the snapping.

“You know we’ll all be here for you, Oli,” he said, retreating back to the couch.

I knew he was trying to convince me to get out, to go see my family whom I needed so much right now. And I did need them more than anything, but facing them and admitting I needed them scared me. I didn’t want everyone to see what was happening, why I needed help and why I was falling apart.

The only thing telling them would bring would be lots of sympathy; a constant reminder of what I had lost.

I rolled up the bag of crisps and put them back in the cabinet, shutting it softly and retreating back to my room where I was likely to stay for another amount of hours. Being alone was all I could handle. It gave me the space I needed to think and sort everything out. It let me decide what was really important now and what I needed to deal with.

And the only thing that sounded good right now were the bottles of liquor sitting in the kitchen.

But Tom was here. And he would notice me carrying the large glass bottle back to my room, and he would know something was up. If he didn’t have an idea of what I faced, he certainly would see it clearly then.

I had to ask myself when I would tell him. When I would tell my parents and my friends. What they would say.

I had been dealing with this on my own for a year now, why shouldn’t I just keep on like that? Suddenly getting help just seemed like a waste of time. It seemed like a bad idea; I knew I would only end up failing. I could only come so far before I wanted to give in again, and I knew that I probably wouldn’t ever be strong enough to resist the urge.

If I didn’t have anyone to keep me from resisting, then I wouldn’t.

And I couldn’t see that I had good enough reasons all around me. I had my brother, and my parents, and my friends, and my band.

And somehow they hadn’t been enough all along. The only person who had ever been enough was the person who had left me behind.

She was free of any pain now, happy, wherever she was. I was jealous. I wanted to be with her, to be happy and not have to deal with all of this.

They say that when you lose someone, there’s nothing you can do but accept it and move on. I didn’t want either of those. I wanted the easy way out.

Laying in my bed had passed more time now than anything else ever had. Two hours had passed while I laid there and prayed I could just get out of here, just get out of life. I pondered what I was going to do. If I was going to keep the promise I wrote to Addie and left in her duffel bag. My conscience wouldn’t let me break that promise, but the alcoholic side of me didn’t have a conscience.

Tom’s footsteps were heard approaching my door again, and a soft knock preceded him opening the door without my permission. “Look Oliver, I’ll ask mum and dad to come over here if you won’t leave. You need to get out for just a bit, and get something to eat. You need us, Ol.”

He sighed when I didn’t reply, and shut the door, walking away, probably back to the couch. I wondered when he was going to leave, even if I did like having him here so I wasn’t completely alone as I felt.

He said I needed them. Maybe I did.

But I didn’t want[i/] anyone.

I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as it could go. I was a mess. I smelled. Everything was wrong.

The sensation of burning skin made it feel just a tiny bit better.

I decided I would go to dinner. Having my parents here was much worse than going to their house. Here, I couldn’t leave at any time if things got uncomfortable. If I was there, I could leave. I could walk out in the way I knew I would if things were going in the wrong direction.

Clean clothes and hair made some sort of dent on my continuing horrible mood, making me feel at least like I was resuming normal habits that a normal person would have.

Tom’s eyes flickered up once he heard my door open, cracking a small smirk that melted into a smile as he stood up. He walked towards the door as I did, slipping on his shoes as I slid into my Vans.

“When are you going back to your place?” I questioned, trying not to sound like I wanted him to leave. The only thing holding me back from getting blackout drunk was the fact that he was here. For that, I should have been grateful. But when the liquor cabinet called my name I wanted nothing more than to give into it.

“Once you can get along better,” he said simply. Looking up at me as he zipped up his hoodie, preparing for the frosty weather outside.

“Why? I’m gettin’ along just fine now,” I said, a clear lie on my teeth as we walked out of the door and I remembered my keys this time.

He stared at me, those blue eyes looking solemn and accusing at the same time. “Because I know you, Oliver.”

I didn’t say anything after that. His words sunk into me, and yet they held a different meaning to me. I felt like he wanted to say something else. It felt like he should have.

It felt like what he meant to say was, “Because, I know, Oliver.”

He knew. And I knew he knew.

He knew that the minute he left I would be pouring anything I could find into my mouth.

There was only a way my little brother could get the feeling that I had given into alcoholism. Perhaps it was because he was the only watchful one on tour, the only one who could see that I was diminishing before everyone’s eyes. And the way he could tell me he knew without even having to tell me somehow made me feel comforted.

And I would need as much comfort as I could get if I really was going to admit to everyone what I had become.