Lost and Found

INTRO

         Me:

         The thing is, I can’t explain what I feel towards you. Every logical bone in my body is screaming for me to stay the hell away from you. I know I can’t trust you. I know you’re bad news. I know you’re a monster. But most of all, I know you’re not him. Nonetheless, I would love nothing more than to follow you wherever you go.

         Maybe it’s just jealousy’s intuition. Maybe it’s just my selfish mind unconsciously using you to get my revenge.  It’s not anything he wouldn’t deserve. Not that he would care anyway, even if you are his best friend.

         Besides, I don’t affect him; he told me so himself.  I am so insignificant that I don’t even cross his mind.  To him, I don’t exist.  So who cares if I start seeing his friend? It’s my decision.

         Madan:

         Well, I’m already going to hell, anyways, right? Fuck it.



CHAPTER ONE

Me:

December 31, 2009



         I love you.



         I quickly read the three little words from the text. When they didn’t sink in, I did a double take back at my cell. It was hard to read through the glare the bedside lamp cast across the worn screen of my phone, so I pulled the words closer to my face.  I was extremely irritated that I had to remove myself from such a comfortable position; I was just on the brink of sleep. My fingers gripped the phone at an awkward angle so the light was just so. There rested the words, clear as day, “I love you.” The three syllables refused to register in my sleep-deprived mind.           

                Though I thought I wasn’t in any state to comprehend the silly words, a stupid smile involuntarily spread across my face. As soon as I realized my ridiculous satisfaction, I quickly shut the tight-lipped smile away. I nervously darted my sleepy eyes around the room.  I knew my paranoia was unreasonable.  No one saw my foolish reaction.  No one was going to interrogate me of my idiotic smirk or of the spastic race of my heart.

         After a few seconds, I regained my composure and tried to logically assess the situation.  The text was received at 2:35 AM.. Yes, he was most likely completely and entirely trashed. Hell, it was New Years Eve! Yes, he probably wasn’t even fully sure who he was talking to. And, yes, he was no where near knowing me well enough to feel any sort of affection toward me, much less love. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help my selfish heart from skipping a beat. I especially could not help the warm, disgusting, body-ailing discomfort from escaping the pit of my stomach. It shot straight through my heart, making it grow about ten times larger, and then climbed on to catch itself in my throat where it successfully cut my breath short. Yup, it’s going to be a good run.

         How does one respond to a drunken text as such? Should one assume any true meaning behind it? The answer to that is an obvious one: no. Hell no, to be exact.  Too bad my naïve nature had already taken the words to heart.

         How to respond to that. . . Well, I couldn’t cut him off and say no; it might hurt his feelings. Wait, I forget he doesn’t have feelings.

         Haha, I love you too.

         Failure.

         Sober up, deary. :)

         I added the last bit to lighten it up. I sincerely doubt he took any of this is as seriously as I did, but I couldn’t let him in on that.

         I waited nervously for his reply. I hadn’t seen those words in so long. Not since. . . I didn’t even want to think his name. I couldn’t think his name; I wouldn’t allow myself to suffer that pain. Just concentrate on Madan, I told myself. I tried to force my mind to rest on Madan, just Madan, and everything that was Madan. The only bad thing about that is that every one of my memories of Madan included Brayden.

         Ouch… I couldn’t believe I let it slip. The name cracked open my heart, again exposing it like an open flame to gasoline. I caught my failing breath and heaved against the repressed memories that instantly boiled at the surface. Long hidden emotions raced throughout my entire entity: pain, anger, depression, more pain, love, and most of all, fear.

         I had opened my torture. I had welcomed my true demise, Brayden. I pled for mercy, but as always, I received none. I lie in bed, preparing for the oncoming pain that would surely ensue. I remembered why I was talking to Madan in the first place. He was the closest thing in this world to Brayden I could have; he was his best friend. Madan made Brayden. Everything that was Brayden was Madan, if not more. It was sick and twisted, but Madan was my only hope to ever feel alive again.

         This realization sent a wave of desperation throughout my wasted body and tore an entirely new hole in my tattered heart.  My brain felt instantly worn out, fried.  It took all I could to just stay conscious.  Then again, sleep doesn’t come easy to the broken hearted; I moreover turned into a state of numb, shaking from my chest to my fingertips.  Numb.  It was again time to face my hell. Just as I was about to beg for the oncoming tears to arrive and put out the fire, I saw my phone light up from underneath the striped sheets of my bed. I reached toward the light with a half-alive hand, still crushed by the pain of memory. I unsteadily gripped the phone in my shaky fingers and hit “Read”.

         Come see me.



Madan:

December 31, 2009

         Even when I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but black.  I groaned and blinked my eyes against the startling pain of my headache.  A moan escaped my cracked lips.  I tried opening my eyes again.  When the dark didn’t change, I spread my eyelids as far apart as they would go to make sure they were truly open.  The black started to annoy me.  Where the hell was the light?

         I rolled over and laid on my side.  The ground smelt like musty, cold air.  Cool concrete found my face, and I exhaled at how good it felt on my cheek.  My headache slowed for a few heartbeats.  I closed my eyes against the pounding and tried to drift back to my uncomfortable sleep.  God I needed a cigarette, but I was too lazy to get up and go outside.  It was freezing.

         After a few more moments of painful silence, I heard little feet race across the floor overhead.

         “Shut up, Nicole!” My voice was nothing more than a feebly groggy complaint.  I barely recognized the sound of it.  It sounded foreign; it wasn’t me.  Who was I now?

         One thing was for sure, I was hungover.  How bad, I wasn’t sure.  Bad enough, I thought.  What the hell happened last night. . . Then again, who cares?  If I didn’t remember, I sure as hell must have had a fuck-tastic time.

         Though I hated to admit the truth, drinking each night after getting off work at 3 AM was beginning to wreak havoc on my body.  I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.  I was also sure that the numbing monotony of my self-inflicting abuse night after night was also hurting my already damaged mental state.  But I couldn’t help myself now.  I was hooked.

         In the beginning, every drink was her.  Each and every swallow led me from her; it helped me forget.  It made me forget how to feel.  After months of her rotting away, the drinking never subsided, and neither did the pain.  In fact, it increased substantially.  The only difference was that now, every drink was me trying to erase the world, not just her.  I was a monster, and I had no one to blame but myself.

         If I thought any more about this, my head was going to explode.  I was already involuntarily reaching for my arms, rubbing the raised scars on the insides of my wrists.  I couldn’t take this right now, and my headache was not helping my mood.

         I attempted to jump to my feet in one swift motion, but I ended up just awkwardly lunging my body up into the air.  I’m sure I looked stupid, but I didn’t care.  Ugh. . . too quickly.  My head spun in circles.  I blindly walked on unsteady feet with my hands spread out in front of me until a wall hit my fingertips.  I used the wall to guide myself out of my laundry room.  Why I decided to crash there last night, I had no idea.

         The big room in my basement wasn’t much brighter than the dark dungeon I’d just escaped.  The only lights in the room shone from the doorway at the top of the stairs and from the clock that read 6:32.  PM, I was sure.

         Next step, phone.  I was thankful to find that it had managed to remain in my jeans pocket the entire night.  1 New Message.

         Heyyyyy. :) Are you coming out tonight?

         It was from Kristine.  Did she really have to ask?

         Yup.  When are you getting me?

         I put my phone on the charger and headed for the shower.  I could hear my stomach gurgle angrily, even above the sound of water hitting the plastic tub.  When was the last time I ate something?  The loud water angered my headache to no avail; it was now a blistering pulse against the inside of my skull.

         After taking care of basic hygiene needs, I threw back on my jeans from last night and put on a T-shirt I found lying on the floor.  I shot a look at the mirror before I headed upstairs.  That’s when I noticed the black eye.  A faded blue dominated my right eyelid and the skin underneath was puffy and pale.  I had no recollection of this whatsoever.

         Leaning closer to the mirror, I raised my eyebrows to better examine the wound.  I could also depict purple and gray hues mixed into the scheme of exotic colors that played across the lid of my eye.  I let out a whistle as I studied it further.  Delibrately, I stabbed my finger into the darkest part of the mix.  Hard.

         “Fuck,” I whispered with a hiss.  The pain throbbed throughout my entire eye and pissed off my headache even more.  I looked back up to find myself laughing, an open smile spread wide across my face.  I was so mentally unstable.

         I heard honking from outside.  Grabbing my phone off the charger in the process, I jogged up the stairs, humming the tune to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana.  My dad was passed out on the couch, a bottle of liquor at his side.  Mom was no where to be found.  In the kitchen, my little sister was scavenging the cupboards for junk food.  My three-year-old brother was crying in his playpen.  How could my dad sleep through that, ten feet away from him?

         “Lazy sack of shit,” I muttered under my breath as I went to console Tyler.  He cried harder when I picked him up.  I shushed him under my breath and carried him to the kitchen.

         “Where’s mom?” I asked my sister.

         “Room,” was all she replied, her mouth stuffed with cheese puffs.  I heard honking again.

         “Thanks, slut,” I shouted over my shoulder as I headed to my parents’ room.  I heard Nicole throw something behind me and it slammed into the wall.  Good thing she was an awful shot.

         My mother was passed out on the bed, flopped in an unusual position.  Her right arm and head laid off the side of the bed.

         “Good morning, sunshine,” I blurted as loud and annoyingly as possibly, “Time to take care of your child, today.”  I set him down on the bed and turned to go.

         “Fuck off. . . ” was all I could hear her murmur as I walked out of the room.

         “I am!” I shouted as I slipped on my shoes and swung open the door.  I let it slam back with a bang.  The cold stung my bare arms as the snow fell against my exposed skin.  I never wore a coat anymore.

         I heard the car before I walked out of the house; the music was already making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.  I climbed into the backseat of the already crowded car and felt immediately at home.  This was my home; the blaring music, girls, cigarettes, and alcohol made me feel at ease.  Comfortable.  Someone handed me a bottle of vodka and I instantly began to chug.  I was immune to the burn of alcohol by now; it could have been water.          

         The vehicle spun out my driveway and peeled out down the street.  After quite a few gulps of hard liquor, the scene outside my window began to misshape.  The white snow blended together into one bright stripe, and the laughing faces in the car began to fall away.  I leaned my head back against the headrest, closed my eyes, and exhaled.  Home.  The rest of the night was an absolute blur.