Playing With Puppets
Chapter Six
I wake up on Matts couch, he’s no where to be seen so I take the small liberty of puking into his toilet and stealing some of the aspirin he keeps in the cupboard above the sink.
Sometimes I think I’ve passed out here too often.
I down the pills with a glass of water, stumbling back into the sitting room and slumping onto the couch, waiting for the pills to kick in.
“Where did the bruises come from?”
I turn around, blinking stupidly at Valerie who stands in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a spatula at my arm.
“Bruises?”
She rolls her eyes. “How hung over are you, Zac? Look at your fucking arm.”
I look down and wait for my arm to come into focus. When it does I notice the ugly purple marks on my forearm and I immediately wish I’d had the sense to keep my hoodie on.
“I fell over.”
“They look like finger marks.” She walks over, eyes fixed on the fucking bruises and puts pale fingers against the ugly purple.
I shake her off.
“I’m fine, Val. I tripped and fell against the radiator, it’s no big deal.”
I leave, head still spinning.
And now that,
They all seem to know,
Is there any point hiding,
But I’ve no place to go.
So what if I tell,
What would you do,
They might believe me,
But could I leave you?
Jimmy phones later.
“Val called me.”
“And?”
“We’re worried, Zacky, look, is anything going on with you and Syn that we need to know about?”
“No.”
“Zac, Val’s fucking sick with worry, he’s not… you know, hurting you?”
“Fuck off.”
I hang up and put my head in my hands, why is everything crashing?
Wasn’t I good enough? Didn’t I try hard enough?
Why?
I head to the bathroom and dry-swallow three of the pills straight from the bottle, letting the shudder run through my body as I stow the pills away back in the cupboard and I head to bed, stripping clumsily and curling in between the sheets.
Drowning again,
Pulled under the tide,
Pills keep it numb,
Pills let me hide.
You’re not there when I wake up, so I make myself breakfast, suddenly ravenous, realising that I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime and even that was just a cheese sandwich I threw together.
I’m still buttering three slices of toast (yes, three, it would have been more but we’re out of bread) when someone knocks on the door.
I check the sleeves on my hoodie before answering, seeing Val standing there, little and pale and twisting her fingers into knots.
“Is Syn here?” She peeks in cautiously, as if expecting him to jump out of the cupboard under the stairs and shout ‘boo!’.
“Nope, he’s out.” I show her in, like any gracious host should. “I was just making breakfast, you want any coffee or anything?”
“I’m fine.” She eyes the sleeves on my hoodie. “Jimmy phoned last night.”
“Funny, he phoned me too, maybe he’s trying to be sneaky and ninja.”
“Zac, this isn’t funny, we’re worried about you.”
I laugh and go to the kitchen, in dire need of food, and return with my plate of toast. “And like I already told Jimmy, I’m fine.”
“Actually you told him to ‘fuck off’.” She makes these little quotation marks in the air with her fingers.
God, women are annoying, how Matt stands them is beyond me.
“He was annoying me and I was tired.”
She sighs over-dramatically. “God you have an answer already prepared for everything I say, don’t you?”
I grin and lean back into the comfort of the cushions. “Pretty much.”
Sometimes I think I’ve passed out here too often.
I down the pills with a glass of water, stumbling back into the sitting room and slumping onto the couch, waiting for the pills to kick in.
“Where did the bruises come from?”
I turn around, blinking stupidly at Valerie who stands in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a spatula at my arm.
“Bruises?”
She rolls her eyes. “How hung over are you, Zac? Look at your fucking arm.”
I look down and wait for my arm to come into focus. When it does I notice the ugly purple marks on my forearm and I immediately wish I’d had the sense to keep my hoodie on.
“I fell over.”
“They look like finger marks.” She walks over, eyes fixed on the fucking bruises and puts pale fingers against the ugly purple.
I shake her off.
“I’m fine, Val. I tripped and fell against the radiator, it’s no big deal.”
I leave, head still spinning.
And now that,
They all seem to know,
Is there any point hiding,
But I’ve no place to go.
So what if I tell,
What would you do,
They might believe me,
But could I leave you?
Jimmy phones later.
“Val called me.”
“And?”
“We’re worried, Zacky, look, is anything going on with you and Syn that we need to know about?”
“No.”
“Zac, Val’s fucking sick with worry, he’s not… you know, hurting you?”
“Fuck off.”
I hang up and put my head in my hands, why is everything crashing?
Wasn’t I good enough? Didn’t I try hard enough?
Why?
I head to the bathroom and dry-swallow three of the pills straight from the bottle, letting the shudder run through my body as I stow the pills away back in the cupboard and I head to bed, stripping clumsily and curling in between the sheets.
Drowning again,
Pulled under the tide,
Pills keep it numb,
Pills let me hide.
You’re not there when I wake up, so I make myself breakfast, suddenly ravenous, realising that I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime and even that was just a cheese sandwich I threw together.
I’m still buttering three slices of toast (yes, three, it would have been more but we’re out of bread) when someone knocks on the door.
I check the sleeves on my hoodie before answering, seeing Val standing there, little and pale and twisting her fingers into knots.
“Is Syn here?” She peeks in cautiously, as if expecting him to jump out of the cupboard under the stairs and shout ‘boo!’.
“Nope, he’s out.” I show her in, like any gracious host should. “I was just making breakfast, you want any coffee or anything?”
“I’m fine.” She eyes the sleeves on my hoodie. “Jimmy phoned last night.”
“Funny, he phoned me too, maybe he’s trying to be sneaky and ninja.”
“Zac, this isn’t funny, we’re worried about you.”
I laugh and go to the kitchen, in dire need of food, and return with my plate of toast. “And like I already told Jimmy, I’m fine.”
“Actually you told him to ‘fuck off’.” She makes these little quotation marks in the air with her fingers.
God, women are annoying, how Matt stands them is beyond me.
“He was annoying me and I was tired.”
She sighs over-dramatically. “God you have an answer already prepared for everything I say, don’t you?”
I grin and lean back into the comfort of the cushions. “Pretty much.”