The Brink of Destruction

Mike looked confused as I pulled the car door shut.

"Where is it we're going again?" he asked. The evening had turned out chilly, and Wynn was fiddling with the heater as he pulled away from the curb.

"I don't know the name of the place, but I can show you how to get there," I told him. "At least, I think I can find it in the dark."

He glanced up at me in the rear view mirror and raised his eyebrows. "I sure hope so."

Switching on the radio, he found some alternative station that wasn't too distracting, and we sat silently as the Camaro blended into the highway traffic. A few miles outside town, I showed him the exit and had him drive slowly so I could find the dirt road again. Everything looked so different at night, and as hard as I was looking, I still missed the turn and had to make him back up. He eased the car almost silently between the trees until his headlights glinted off the bumper of the old Ford. He shut them off and left the parking lights on, casting an odd golden glow over the grass.

We all sighed in relief. At least we'd found him. Now the question was, what kind of shape was he in?

"Mike, how about if I go check on him?" I suggested. "I don't think he'll still be on a hair trigger like before, but let's not take any chances." Wynn nodded agreement; she had seen the bruises and scratches on Mike's body, and was feeling understandably protective of him.
He was already opening his door. "Gen, I'd feel better if I was there, too. Just in case."

Tre slid out of the back seat and joined him. "Yeah, we should be with you until we find out what's going on." He slung his arm around me and tapped the tip of my nose. "Let Uncle Mikey and Uncle Tre take care of you, okay?"

I was outnumbered. How could I refuse friends like these?

"Sure. Let's just go easy and let him do the talking," I said.

Mike nodded solemnly, and we started toward the car. Further away, I could hear the soft lapping of water as the lake snuggled against the shore, and a splash as a fish broke the surface and fell back.

A battered pair of sneakers were propped up in the driver's window, and as we got closer, I saw Billie stretched out across the front seat. The smell of bourbon was strong, and the half-empty bottle sat in the floor beside him. He looked asleep, but his breathing was thick and slow, and he moaned once as his head rolled from side to side.

I looked back at Mike and Tre. "If you can help me move him, I'll drive him home," I offered. "I don't think there's much chance of waking him up, do you?" A part of me wanted to be angry with him for scaring us so badly and then turning up drunk, but after all he'd been through, it seemed a small thing. I was just so grateful that he was here, that I could see him and touch him, and that he was okay.

"Wow, he's heavier than he looks!" Tre grunted, leaning over the back seat to loop his arms under Billie's and hoist him up. Mike lifted his feet and set them on the floor, taking the bottle out and throwing it in the back seat. I took off my hoodie and rolled it into a makeshift pillow and tucked it beside his head. He never woke up through all we did.

Wynn had gotten a blanket from Mike's trunk. "It's got some grass on it from when we took it to the gardens, but it'll keep him warm until you get him home."

"Thanks, I know he'd appreciate it," I said, spreading it over his limp body. I turned and hugged all three of them. "You guys are amazing. I've never had friends like you." Now that my worst fears had been put to rest, all I could feel was gratitude.

"No problem," Mike and Tre said in unison, and I had to laugh at them.

"You guys want to follow me back out of here?" I asked.

"Sure," Mike said. "I can find the way, but who knows if that old rust bucket piece of shit will make it home?"

******************

Amazingly, he was able to stagger from the car into the apartment, though it took both Mike and Tre to support him. It looked almost as if they'd rehearsed, it was so smoothly choreographed, and I realized they'd been down this road with him more than once before. Together, we got him to his room and helped him lie down before Mike headed off to the dorm with Wynn and Tre.

She leaned over to hug me as she got to the front door. Whispering in my ear, she asked, "Are you absolutely sure you don't want Mike to stay here with you? He's kind of worried, you know."

I put my forehead against hers and whispered back. "I don't think there's anything to worry about. He's going to be sleeping for a good while, I think. But I'll call you if anything happens, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay, then," she said, squeezing me extra tight. "You take care of yourself, and tell him we're really glad he's alright."

I waved as they backed out of the driveway. "Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow."

Closing the door, I headed back down the hall and into the bathroom. There were a few clean washcloths in the linen closet, and I wrung one out in warm water and got a cup of water and a couple of Tylenol before going back into Billie's room.

He hadn't moved since we brought him in. I slid his sneakers and socks off, and then after a moment's debate, managed to get his jeans and shirt off as well. I rolled him on his side to pull the sheet and blankets out from under him, and covered him up.

Sitting beside him, I gently wiped his face with the wet cloth. He'd feel like hammered shit tomorrow morning, for sure. My heart felt hollow, aching with the need to help him somehow. I stroked his sleeping face, ran my fingers through the soft blond curls, caressed the muscles in his arms and shoulders. If all I could do was be there when he woke up, then that's what I would do.

We'd get through this together.

"Ooooohhhhhh....my fuckin' head." The groan of pain woke me up from a strange dream about finding goldfish in the bathtub.

His arm rested across his forehead, trying to keep his skull from splitting. His lips were pale, and his fingers trembled against the pillow.

I turned over gingerly, trying not to shake the bed, and picked up the water and Tylenol.
"Billie," I said in a near whisper, "if you think you can hold a sip of water down, these will help your head." His misery was hard to watch, but at least a hangover was temporary--and treatable.

He looked at me in disbelief. "I don't want anything to drink, Gen."

Nodding sympathetically, I agreed. "I know the thought of it probably makes you want to hurl. But dehydration is what's making you feel so bad. If you can keep even a little of it down, it should help."

He closed his eyes and panted. "It's no good, I'm gonna be sick." Suddenly he staggered to his feet and made a beeline for the bathroom across the hall. His face was ashen, his hand pressed to his mouth in desperation.

Several minutes later, he shuffled slowly back into the room. He was pale, trembling, but he didn't look as deathly ill as he had a minute before.

He sank down onto the bed again, curling up in a fetal position next to me, his arm and leg draped over me. "I think I could try that drink of water now," he mumbled. I laid the tablets on his tongue, and he took a tentative gulp of water to wash them down, his face screwing up into a mask of disgust.

"Tastes like a chemical factory," he said. "Water is really shit to drink when you're sick."

"Would you prefer a hair of the dog?" I asked with a gentle smile.

"Fuck no," he groaned. "I'm never drinking bourbon again."

The alcohol was coming through his pores, a sour, stale smell. I'd try to get him into the shower soon, but for now he just needed to be still and rest.

He looked up at me slowly, trying to avoid bed spins. "How did I get back home?" he asked, brows knitted in confusion.

"I finally figured out where you were, and Wynn and the guys helped me get you home," I explained. "We were really worried about you when you disappeared for so long, but I'm glad you were okay. Were you planning on sleeping there all night?"

He looked thoughtful. "I have no idea what I was thinking. I barely remember driving out there and cracking the seal on the bottle. And everything after that is blank. I just wanted it all to stop, to make my brain shut the fuck up for a while."

"Did it work?" I asked. He was telling me in his roundabout way that he wasn't ready to talk about everything that had happened yet.

"If it didn't, I don't remember," he said, and the first hint of a smile played across his lips. "Thanks for everything."

"Anytime," I said. I slid over on the bed until I could cradle his aching head on my chest, and wrapped my arms around him as he drifted back to sleep. What was going through my mind was what Mike had said about Billie being like a tornado, fascinating to watch but deadly if you got sucked in.

If this was danger, then I was happy to risk it. I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be than with him.