Everything I Used to be is Coming Back to Torture Me
Caught Red-Handed
Brian sat amongst his best friends, listening to their conversation without offering to join in. He wondered what they would think if they knew what he knew. He didn’t just wonder; he worried.
He worried about what the others would think, once they learned that Clover had moved on from alcohol to drugs. A few days earlier, Matt had pulled him aside and said, with relief evident in both his voice and his expression, that he thought Clover had stopped drinking alcohol. I always knew she’d make the right decision, Matt had said, I think she understands what’s at stake here. Brian had just forced a grin and a nod of agreement. Matt was right. She’d stopped the alcohol. But she’d moved on to something much more dangerous. Much more illegal.
It’d been a full week since Brian followed Clover to that drug deal; a week since he’d caught her hiding in the alleyway like a criminal, making her joint dandy as you please. The band was now in Sioux City, Iowa, and Clover had left about ten minutes before, announcing that she needed some fresh air. Brian hadn’t even bothered to follow her; he knew what she was doing. He preferred to not witness her degenerate herself right before his eyes.
The band continued with their conversation, but Brian just stared off into space, deep in his own thoughts. He dreaded telling the band about Clover’s addiction. His fear that they would do something drastic, like kick her off the tour, kick her out of the family, and leave her to fend on her own, kept him from telling them anything. Let Matt think what he thought; maybe the less they knew, the better.
Brian knew that Clover knew he hadn’t let it slip to anyone. Often when he met her eyes, she’d shoot him one single look of gratitude before looking away. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be able to tell the band the truth while they were on tour. Emotions ran high during tours, and they might jump to drastic solutions if he told them. It was best, probably, to just keep it from them until they were back in Huntington. He’d wait a few days, let everyone catch up on their sleep, and then let the cat out of the bag. At least, if Clover never made a mistake and got caught by someone else.
“Ah, shit, man,” Matt groaned, dragging Brian from his thoughts. He looked around to see Matt leaning forward in his seat, staring down between his feet. Brian looked down to see Matt’s bottle of beer lying, shattered, on the floor. Beside him, Johnny’s cheeks flamed red.
“Short Shit, now you’ve done it,” Zacky commented with a sigh and a shake of his head.
“What happened?” Brian asked.
“Johnny here got too exuberant in his waving of the arms and smacked my beer right of my hand,” Matt answered, shooting a glare at Johnny.
“Well, you two kick his ass, I’ll go get a mop and bucket for our wittle Messykins to clean up with,” Brian said, rising to his feet. He walked out of the room to Johnny’s protesting squawks.
He stopped at the first custodial closet he found and pulled the door open. Inside, Clover sat cross-legged in front of an overturned bucket. With a credit card in one hand, and her cell phone as a light source in the other, she neatly spread out a line of cocaine on the bottom of the bucket. Her hands stalled as she stared up at Brian, squinting into the light flowing into the little closet from the hall. She looked absolutely terrified.
Brian kicked out his foot, and Clover flinched away, but the toe of his shoe only connected with the bucket, sending it across the closet. It slammed into one of the shelves lining the walls and landed on its side. The powder was successfully knocked off. Brian stepped over Clover, leaning down to pick up the bucket. He looked around for a mop and a bottle of cleaning stuff; once located, he put the bottle in the bucket. He held the mop and bucket in one hand and offered his other to Clover.
She rose from the floor and took his hand, allowing him to lead the way out of the closet. As he went towards the unisex bathroom, Clover followed along beside him, her head down and her feet shuffling like a kid being taken to the principal’s office. They stepped into the unisex bathroom, which consisted of a toilet and a sink set up side-by-side in a cramped little room. He closed the door behind them and Clover seated herself on top of the closed toilet seat.
Brian washed off any white residue on the bottom of the bucket and then flipped it over to fill it with water. He poured in some of the cleaner, and soon the bucket was full of water and suds. Clover just sat on the toilet seat, staring at her hands.
“Why do you keep getting deeper and deeper into this drug addiction?” Brian asked, turning the water off. He set the bucket on the floor and leaned the mop against the door. Clover said exactly nothing, just staring at her neatly folded hands. “Okay, why did you start drugs in the first place?”
“Because alcohol stopped helping me forget,” Clover whispered, her voice almost too quiet for Brian to hear. Yet he caught every word in this tiny space.
“Forget what?”
Clover didn’t answer immediately.
“Forget what happened to your mom?” Brian pushed.
“I don’t like talking about it,” Clover deflected instantly, shooting up that defense.
“Too damn bad!” Brian retorted, not letting the defense work this time. “You think I want to be here right now, watching my friend kill herself with drugs?”
Clover didn’t respond; she just stared at her hands.
“Tell me the whole story, Clover,” Brian wheedled.
Clover raised her head and looked up at Brian. Her eyes glimmered with something like ferocity, something like pain, but still neither. With most girls, tears would accompany a look like that, but Clover’s eyes were completely dry. It intensified and strengthened the expression in her eyes.
“Okay,” Clover said. “I’ll tell you.”
He worried about what the others would think, once they learned that Clover had moved on from alcohol to drugs. A few days earlier, Matt had pulled him aside and said, with relief evident in both his voice and his expression, that he thought Clover had stopped drinking alcohol. I always knew she’d make the right decision, Matt had said, I think she understands what’s at stake here. Brian had just forced a grin and a nod of agreement. Matt was right. She’d stopped the alcohol. But she’d moved on to something much more dangerous. Much more illegal.
It’d been a full week since Brian followed Clover to that drug deal; a week since he’d caught her hiding in the alleyway like a criminal, making her joint dandy as you please. The band was now in Sioux City, Iowa, and Clover had left about ten minutes before, announcing that she needed some fresh air. Brian hadn’t even bothered to follow her; he knew what she was doing. He preferred to not witness her degenerate herself right before his eyes.
The band continued with their conversation, but Brian just stared off into space, deep in his own thoughts. He dreaded telling the band about Clover’s addiction. His fear that they would do something drastic, like kick her off the tour, kick her out of the family, and leave her to fend on her own, kept him from telling them anything. Let Matt think what he thought; maybe the less they knew, the better.
Brian knew that Clover knew he hadn’t let it slip to anyone. Often when he met her eyes, she’d shoot him one single look of gratitude before looking away. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be able to tell the band the truth while they were on tour. Emotions ran high during tours, and they might jump to drastic solutions if he told them. It was best, probably, to just keep it from them until they were back in Huntington. He’d wait a few days, let everyone catch up on their sleep, and then let the cat out of the bag. At least, if Clover never made a mistake and got caught by someone else.
“Ah, shit, man,” Matt groaned, dragging Brian from his thoughts. He looked around to see Matt leaning forward in his seat, staring down between his feet. Brian looked down to see Matt’s bottle of beer lying, shattered, on the floor. Beside him, Johnny’s cheeks flamed red.
“Short Shit, now you’ve done it,” Zacky commented with a sigh and a shake of his head.
“What happened?” Brian asked.
“Johnny here got too exuberant in his waving of the arms and smacked my beer right of my hand,” Matt answered, shooting a glare at Johnny.
“Well, you two kick his ass, I’ll go get a mop and bucket for our wittle Messykins to clean up with,” Brian said, rising to his feet. He walked out of the room to Johnny’s protesting squawks.
He stopped at the first custodial closet he found and pulled the door open. Inside, Clover sat cross-legged in front of an overturned bucket. With a credit card in one hand, and her cell phone as a light source in the other, she neatly spread out a line of cocaine on the bottom of the bucket. Her hands stalled as she stared up at Brian, squinting into the light flowing into the little closet from the hall. She looked absolutely terrified.
Brian kicked out his foot, and Clover flinched away, but the toe of his shoe only connected with the bucket, sending it across the closet. It slammed into one of the shelves lining the walls and landed on its side. The powder was successfully knocked off. Brian stepped over Clover, leaning down to pick up the bucket. He looked around for a mop and a bottle of cleaning stuff; once located, he put the bottle in the bucket. He held the mop and bucket in one hand and offered his other to Clover.
She rose from the floor and took his hand, allowing him to lead the way out of the closet. As he went towards the unisex bathroom, Clover followed along beside him, her head down and her feet shuffling like a kid being taken to the principal’s office. They stepped into the unisex bathroom, which consisted of a toilet and a sink set up side-by-side in a cramped little room. He closed the door behind them and Clover seated herself on top of the closed toilet seat.
Brian washed off any white residue on the bottom of the bucket and then flipped it over to fill it with water. He poured in some of the cleaner, and soon the bucket was full of water and suds. Clover just sat on the toilet seat, staring at her hands.
“Why do you keep getting deeper and deeper into this drug addiction?” Brian asked, turning the water off. He set the bucket on the floor and leaned the mop against the door. Clover said exactly nothing, just staring at her neatly folded hands. “Okay, why did you start drugs in the first place?”
“Because alcohol stopped helping me forget,” Clover whispered, her voice almost too quiet for Brian to hear. Yet he caught every word in this tiny space.
“Forget what?”
Clover didn’t answer immediately.
“Forget what happened to your mom?” Brian pushed.
“I don’t like talking about it,” Clover deflected instantly, shooting up that defense.
“Too damn bad!” Brian retorted, not letting the defense work this time. “You think I want to be here right now, watching my friend kill herself with drugs?”
Clover didn’t respond; she just stared at her hands.
“Tell me the whole story, Clover,” Brian wheedled.
Clover raised her head and looked up at Brian. Her eyes glimmered with something like ferocity, something like pain, but still neither. With most girls, tears would accompany a look like that, but Clover’s eyes were completely dry. It intensified and strengthened the expression in her eyes.
“Okay,” Clover said. “I’ll tell you.”