For A While

I sat in my flat smelling strongly of stale cigarettes. Before, I would have retched at the smell, feeling ashamed of this filthy habit that was so obvious by the stench it left behind. I used to hire carpet cleaners to get rid of it. I didn't notice it now. I brought the cigarette to my dry lips, the long ash falling carelessly on my bare legs as I inhaled. Coffee and cigarettes were the only vices I was allowed now. When I craved the rush of coke shooting into my grey brain – spreading and pulsing like some sort of marvellous heavy drum beat – sticking to the snot inside of my nostrils, all I could do was drink another pot of coffee, smoke another pack, and cart myself off to another meeting where overused people nothing like me but all too similar whined and pleaded for change. People outside of those meetings carried on with their lives, responsible people who were trusted not to burn their lives down , people with children and jobs and consciences. I would feel as though my heart were being pushed down toward my spine, a heavy dead-weight on it, breaking.

A sound like a door opening came from the corner of the room but I did not look up, too preoccupied with watching the ash on my cigarette grow longer and longer as I left it burning. I didn't really want it but it was almost second nature to me now. A voice that was painfully recognisable filled my apartment, thoughts pouring out of her head without a filter, “Jesus fucking Christ, Alice.”

“Hi, Ollie,” I muttered, looking up to meet a familiar face, tight tan flesh and rosy cheeks.

Absentmindedly, I touched my own face, pulling at my sallow cheeks but finding only sharp bones. I was once strong, maybe even what I would have considered beautiful. Tan, fit, with hips to grab hold of and limbs that appeared attached to my body. I was yellow and hollow now, taking in only a pinch more air than what I needed to survive. Ollie sank down against the wall next to me throwing her arm across my shoulders. I winced.

“What are you doing, Alice? It smells like a goddamn ashtray in here, look at yourself. Her words were edged sharp, but her tone was gentle as if to make up for it.

“I'm fine.” The forgotten ash gives up once more and falls to the carpet this time. I blow on it lightly and toss it aside, making a mental note to throw it away later.

“Clearly.” She stands very suddenly causing me to flinch. She picks up my discarded cigarette and tosses it in the sink, letting the tap run over it. “Fire hazard.” Oliver disappears behind a half wall and after a number of minutes I start to worry that she wasn't actually here in the first place. Merely a mirage of a person, almost an exact copy of the original, to taunt me. But I feel relaxed now and I slump against the wall, posture less than perfect. My sticky lids slide over my eyes, but the harsh glare streaming in from the window slices through. No peace for Alice.

Something falls into my lap with an impact so unsuspected, I was sure it would have knocked the wind out of me had it been an ounce heavier. “Put some pants on.”

“Ollie, when'd you get here?”

“You kidding me?” She glared at me, expression blurred with concern.

“Oh,” I mumbled, voice husky and dry. I could never seem to get rid of the thick film blocking my vocal chords since I began smoking, no matter how many times I cleared my throat. “I'm tired,” I offered this excuse, hoping to get out of this sudden outing.

“Great. Let's go get coffee.” She forced a smile.

I exhaled as if a cigarette was still poised between my knobby fingers, pulling away from my lips. The jeans were an old pair and after I slid them passed my hips and buttoned them, they inched down. Ollie picked up a belt tossed carelessly on my floor by the coat closet, as if I thought about placing it back in its proper place but decided against the extra effort. She threw it at me, the buckle knocking against my chest. As she rambled about a great place she'd found on second, I pulled the belt through the loops and cinched it tight, the pants still sagging beneath the band of my underwear.

“2nd Street is so posh, Ollie, I can't afford that.”

Oliver ignored my complaints as she examined my flat, confused. “Where's Charlotte, shouldn't she be home by now?” Immediately, something like bile rose in my chest, threatening to burst through my ribs and the thin skin stretched over them. I gave no answer but walked past Oliver and out of the open door.

“Close it behind you.”

The coffee shop was narrow and long, stuck between a “vintage” designer clothes shop and a baby clothing store for hip rich Mothers. There was once a time before we'd decided that kids wouldn't reallybe possible when Charlotte and I would scoff at it, promising that when we were mothers, we wouldn't bind our kids in fifty dollar pressed pants or put ridiculous sunglasses atop their heads. The bile – or maybe it was regret – threatened to push through again.

Once inside, I glared at Oliver before ordering a double shot of espresso and taking a seat in one of the uncomfortably modern plastic chairs.

“You haven't answered my question, about Charlotte,” Oliver pointed out, sucking frozen coffee and processed sugar from her straw. I took a long, slow gulp from my cup, the bitter coffee sticking to my insides.

“Why are we here?”

“I want to know how you're doing and that's part of it, isn't it? How's Charlotte?” She followed this up with more obnoxious sucking.

“Actually,” I began slowly, “How Charlotte is doing is not how I am doing,” I paused, picking at a loose piece of skin around my cuticles, watching as blood immediately filled my nail bed. “I wouldn't know though. I...uh, I haven't seen her in a few days.” My resolve was easily chipped away, due to the fact that my head was still murky with the early hour and the confusion of Oliver having dropped back into my life.

Oliver's jaw dropped and I searched her face for any sign of fake shock. I was confused when I found none. “She dumped you?”

“Oh, fuck you!” I shouted all too loudly, soccer mums and suited men looking up from their scones and frappucino's to scold me with their eyes.

“What?”

“She did not dump me. She's just away. We're fine.” I took a deep breath before echoing myself, “we're fine.”

“Oh really?” She tilted her head down towards her beverage and looked up at me, disappointment filling her gaze.

“You know what, Oliver? Maybe we aren't. Maybe she's staying with her brother a million fucking miles away right now because she's tired of me. Or maybe she's just visiting her family in West because she misses them. But it's really none of your goddamn business if we're fine, is it?” I look down, surprised at the words that could bellow out of me when I needed to create some defence.

“Alice,” she began slowly, calming herself down, “I just want to know how you're doing – talk to you.”

“You've never wanted to talk to me before,” I spat, venom curling around my tongue, lashing at her, my best friend. My band-mate. My ex. Perfect, holy, intrinsically mine.

“Bullshit, we used to talk all of the time.”

“I know, but now I'm used up. No good. Too hard to deal with.”

“No need to be dramatic.” And then a silence settled over the room, it seemed, because she was right. I was being dramatic. But I was also right, she hadn't seen me since I checked into rehab. We were both right and yet we were at a crossroads.

“I want you to come on tour with the band.” The sounds of the café resumed and it seemed too loud now, with her sudden intrusion. I opened my mouth to object but was cut off before any words came out. “We've been planning a tour, starting in nine months. And I know what you're thinking but I think that after you have some time to settle, this could really be good for you. I told the boys that I'm not going without you, and we need your word to finalise it. I know the fans miss us and I don't want to disappoint them.”

“Fuck our fans.” Venom increasing as my heart grew heavy, as though my blood were replaced with lead.

“You don't mean that.” No, I didn't.

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Too much temptation. But see, I couldn't reveal that. I had this carefully constructed and quite deceitful façade. It put off a message that I was okay, strong, and through with unhealthy coping and tempting vices. But a craving was always there. They could take away the coke but I could see, right in front of me as I stared at that white wall and sat on those crisp white sheets at Aeschbach Rehabilitation Centre, that even if I could control myself and beat back my need for this sharp white powder, that it would be replaced. That when life got heavy and when my skin got too itchy, I would do anything to to distract my head. When I went days with a grey film over my eyes, trying to see things in crisp focus, squinting to get to full colour. When I felt the wind might push me over and the heat might kill me, I could feel an urge pulsing in my body, feral and relentless. And when I couldn't remember the week or why I wasn't feeling down, almost riding on a placebo happiness, I'd do anything to feel, to restore myself back to the raw sinewy creature I was. No shiny surfaces or pretty crystal white lines, definitely not, because I am New Alice and New Alice is healthy and pink. But I still managed to silence the screaming in head, the slow blood flow in my veins. And I marvelled at how I could hardly feel the impact.

“Alice, are you even listening?”

“I am, but I can't. I haven't even practised in months. I don't think I remember how to play my songs.” Like a spiteful sponge, the cocaine had lashed at my mind, stealing away the things that used to come easy to me.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.