Gargle, spit into the sink, hear a
clink and look down from the grimy mirror looking me in the eye. I see someone
in it, but I look only at the mirror then glance down to the bowl. A red
stream, unusually thick runs down the curve. That’s ironic, if I hadn’t of
lingered around for so long, neither would it. I looked across and saw a jagged
pearl dully shining against the even duller sink. Sigh. I clasp it between my
index finger and thumb and sit it beside the tube of paste and brush that
caressed it only hours ago. Preparation is everything.
I look down at my body, draped with
the remains of my grey-was-white shirt. Whilst scanning the reckless tears and
blood patches my eyes pin to the spit stain which I couldn't abstain from
receiving whilst on the floor, before he turned and walked away. I need to
change.
Turning away from the mirror, whose
stare I could face no longer, I walk towards our bedroom. With a slight tug and
shake I remove the shirt and place it on your bed, next to your Fred Perry polo
which was waiting for me to dress you in. The stabbing wails of close sirens
puncture and slash at my ears. Spritely I duck down and snap at your polo with
my hand, vigorously pulling it over my head, trying to breathe calmly.
The sirens fade towards the city centre. Taking a deep breath to settle myself I get to my feet and turn towards the main living room, holding my old t-shirt to throw away. You’re there sitting in your green arm chair, shaking. Your arms resting either side of you are shaking, noticeable tremors shaking you violently. You look peaceful, well, and as peaceful as you could possibly be. Your feet are raised, all comfy like, but you’re not held up by a poof. I measure my controlled movements trying ever so carefully not to wake you, leave you to rest whilst you can, you’re drained, and it’d only hurt us both if you awoke. I notice a few of the bright white boxes of your Clonazepam piled up on the table. I cradle them in my arms and let them drop into the bin below. They’ve done nothing but make you depressed, they’re shit. I sink into the corner of the room and sit down amongst the boxes. They’re starting to collect dust since I placed them there months before, when I moved in. I lift the lid from one, look inside and take out a book. It’s not that thick but it carries weight, I open the cover and turn a couple of pages. As I glance by, each one feels heavier, and although my eyes just feel numb like the rest of my face, they too feel like they are sinking, being dragged from my control. You’ve lost control of your body, isn’t it ironic that I’m losing control of mine?
The sirens fade towards the city centre. Taking a deep breath to settle myself I get to my feet and turn towards the main living room, holding my old t-shirt to throw away. You’re there sitting in your green arm chair, shaking. Your arms resting either side of you are shaking, noticeable tremors shaking you violently. You look peaceful, well, and as peaceful as you could possibly be. Your feet are raised, all comfy like, but you’re not held up by a poof. I measure my controlled movements trying ever so carefully not to wake you, leave you to rest whilst you can, you’re drained, and it’d only hurt us both if you awoke. I notice a few of the bright white boxes of your Clonazepam piled up on the table. I cradle them in my arms and let them drop into the bin below. They’ve done nothing but make you depressed, they’re shit. I sink into the corner of the room and sit down amongst the boxes. They’re starting to collect dust since I placed them there months before, when I moved in. I lift the lid from one, look inside and take out a book. It’s not that thick but it carries weight, I open the cover and turn a couple of pages. As I glance by, each one feels heavier, and although my eyes just feel numb like the rest of my face, they too feel like they are sinking, being dragged from my control. You’ve lost control of your body, isn’t it ironic that I’m losing control of mine?
I see your smile, a sepia Polaroid
through the embossed page in which you’re sank into. In it our arms are wrapped
around each other’s torsos. It was the beach at Blue Anchor, whilst on holiday
at Watchet. “No you Watch-it” – the thought of the joke cracks more than a
smile. Warm trickles descend from my eye and by the side of my eye, meeting
like tributaries, anchoring trenches into my cheek. I wouldn’t say I’m
impressionable, but I guess, that’s what the problem was.
I turn the page to see another pair
of smiles. We were both covered in mud, holding spades in our old garden. It
was a big hole we dug that day but I guess now I’m digging them alone, and yet
it’ll be both of us lying in them. You see that’s the thing, no matter how hard
you run, or hide, someone has got you. someone requires you, and you require
them. This past year since you’ve deteriorated
and chosen to reside in here I’ve came to terms with the fact you are born
alone, and you die alone. It’s ironic since we are twins, but like a self-fulfilling
prophecy it’ll end up that way. It breaks my heart and I cannot live without
you. I’ve stood up and stood face to face with Smethwick’s biggest and hardest
blokes, but without you I’m just sat here amongst these boxes, failing to
contain my poleaxed heart that is cracking with every thought, every memory.
I knew you could only trust
yourself. I forgot that earlier. I’d do anything for you, but obviously just
wanting it bad enough is not enough. And when you do all in your power and are
mugged off by your brother’s best mate, to help his best mate, it just hurts. “No
way, I don’t care if it’s for Mike, you still owe me for the past 5 bags...I’m
no charity.” He made me snap.
I’ve never dwelt on the past. There
is no point, just plan for the future, just like moving in here, getting away.
Even if the plan has a few deviations; a few eradications of the devious, don’t
let anything stop you. But how, after a day so thought after, a day with little
thought, can I think of a future when the future is now very uncertain? How
will you get your weed now? How will you lock out the pain and escape when we can’t
even afford an eighth never mind plane tickets to Switzerland. I don’t see an
end.
“What are you doing wearing my Fred
Perry?” I look over to the chair immediately, I stutter over my words “I, I was
going to ask you but you were asleep, can I borrow it?” I’m almost astonished;
recently it’s you that has had difficulty with your words, not me. “Ha, I know
I got the style but why do you want to borrow it?” he retorts with a shaky
smile, “got a date?” my face swells and cracks at his warmth, I turn away so he
can’t see my stinging cuts and gashes, although his vision is blurred I’m
taking no chances, he noticed the polo. “Yes, yes, Matter of fact I do, you
don’t mind me going out for a few hours do you?” I blag. Amongst the waves of
trembling he chuckles to himself, “not at all, just can you change my sodding
commode?”
I get to my feet and pick up the
shirt I left by my side and walk towards the kitchen. I hear a stern wrap of
knocking on the door. I immediately look down at the shirt in my hand, and then
sharply look at the commode next to Mike. I forcefully lift the lid and stuff
the shirt into it. “What are you d-“I cut him off with“shhhh.”The same stern
knock repeats. I turn to walk towards the door. “What’s with your face bro?”
Mikey calls. I ignore him and unlock the door. Two large men stand in front of
me, fluorescent vests, showing badges. “Mr Daniels, we need you to come with
us, we have some questions about the ware bouts of Luke Jacobs.”
I turn to Mike and am met by his
solemn face, I look into his eyes, and he doesn’t say a word. “I’ll be back
soon” I assure him.
