Determination (13 page)

“We need to get you cleaned up,” Alex said quietly, and for a minute, I thought Brian might hang up to give them privacy, but then Mike spoke again.

“Brian, I wanted to tell you, he knew about the oxy. I don’t know how, but he said that if I didn’t get out of his way that I would need it next.” Mike’s voice sounded strong, but shaken.

“Do you think he’s watching the apartment or something?” Brian asked, and I looked over at the curtains covering the window.

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“No, he kept asking where Jamie was. He couldn’t know that he’s there, but you guys need to be careful.”

“We will,” Brian assured him. “Go get cleaned up, and I’ll call you tomorrow. Give Alex and Em hugs for me.”

“We’ll come by in a couple of days; we miss you, Brian. Stay safe,” Mike said, sounding drained.

“Yeah, you too.” He hit the button to disconnect and set his phone on the counter next to the dish full of assembled enchiladas. I could see the guilt in his downcast eyes, the flush of his face, and the way he curled in on himself. Pulling him against my chest, I held him.

“They went in with their eyes open, Brian. It isn’t your fault,” I told him as he shook slightly in my arms. Though Mike and I weren’t exactly friends, I felt remorse over his injuries. The blame could never be Brian’s because it would always be mine. After a minute, he started to shake his head.

“What?” I tried to make my voice as soothing as I could.

“He beat Mike enough that he’s not going to be able to shoot. He could have hurt Em and Brandon, too, and we just don’t know. And…

and… my first thought was, thank God it wasn’t you. They risked themselves to protect us…. I’m so selfish.” Brian’s voice broke, and I could say nothing to console him because, if I were completely honest with myself, that was my first thought too. I’d said a silent word of thanks to Nick for letting Brian finish early so he wasn’t there.

We stood like that for a long time, just holding each other in the kitchen until Brian grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and went to sit in the living room while I put the food in the oven. Though I was sorry that Mike was hurt, especially since it made Alex worry, I was thankful the circumstances distracted Brian from the fact that I wasn’t suffering anymore, even though the guilt and the fear still ate at me. I couldn’t understand how Steven knew about the oxy. I hated the thought that he’d beat someone up at the studio to get information about me, or that he’d been watching Leo. The dealer I scored from couldn’t have known anything because I had never mentioned my name or anything.

Brian didn’t really talk during dinner, his mind miles away with Mike and Alex. I wanted to tell him to get on the bus and go stay the 80

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night at the boardinghouse so he could see Mike’s injuries for himself, but I couldn’t force myself to be so selfless. I didn’t want Brian anywhere near the boardinghouse now that Steven had gone on the offensive. The thought scared the hell out of me. If Steven knew about the oxy, he might also know about Brian.

Goddamn it, I was sick of being scared all the time.

MIKE’S injuries ended up being worse than he’d thought, and during the night Alex took him to an emergency care center. They didn’t keep him, probably because—like the rest of us—he had no insurance, but they did put six stitches in his face. Alex wanted him to stay with us or with Brandon, but he refused to leave. Leo installed a deadbolt on the door leading to the second floor, as well as on the back door of the building, because he was sure Steven would think they’d hidden me there.

Brian and Alex canceled their shoots with Hartley for the next month, picking up work with other studios. It disappointed Mike that Alex had booked a few out-of-town shoots, but he knew it would be better for Alex. He diligently drove Alex back and forth to the airport whenever he needed to go.

I’d managed to make the pills last for almost two weeks by taking only one a day, but whenever I tried to stretch it to more than one day between pills, I felt just like I had that very first day of withdrawal. If I went into withdrawal again, Brian would know I’d been using. He’d been so proud of me for “beating my addiction.” Of course, he had no idea I hadn’t beaten it at all. With everything else he’d gone through over Steven, I couldn’t lay that on him too.

We hadn’t had sex since the night we’d celebrated his birthday. I couldn’t even look him in the eye, much less make love to him. He hadn’t mentioned it, but I knew it bothered him. It felt like things were closing in on me. Brian knew something was bothering me. I’d run out of pills the day before, and if I didn’t go back to the dealer, Brian would know he still slept every night with a junkie. Saint Brian was so Determination

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brave and noble, he wouldn’t understand just how much of a coward
his
Jamie had become.

“Babe, it’s seven. Don’t you have a shoot today?” I asked as I shook Brian awake the next morning. My pulse raced because without the hit of oxy I normally had every morning, the withdrawal symptoms would start again. I should have gone downtown yesterday to make sure I didn’t run out, but I knew it would be safer for me to go when Brian had a shoot.

“Oh, hey, Trevor called last night from Lawnboys.com. They had to cancel,” Brian said and rolled over to pull me into bed with him. I couldn’t think for the panic. Without that pill, I’d be very sick soon, and Brian would know. My brain worked furiously as he began to kiss my neck. He moaned softly against my skin.

“I missed this,” he whispered, moving down my bare chest. The kiss of his warm breath against my skin made me shiver as cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I tried to focus on the feeling of his lips, but the nausea, which had started with my guilt, grew as he licked a line across my abs just above my scarring navel. I sat up quickly and moved back to sit against the headboard, out of his reach. The look of hurt on his face took my guilt to a completely new level.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t feel well,” I explained, and for the first time in nearly a month, my excuse happened to be true. “My stomach is killing me.”

“Sure.” He picked at a loose thread on the comforter to avoid my eyes. When I didn’t move or speak, he looked up. At the sadness in his face, I nearly confessed. I couldn’t stand seeing that devastated expression. Then I thought about what kind of expression he would wear if I told him I was still an addict and I’d gone downtown just a few blocks from Steven’s apartment to score, and I stayed quiet.

“Honestly, Brian—” I started, but he cut me off.

“Is it because I’m still doing porn?” he asked in a small voice. “Is that why you don’t want me?” My stomach lurched painfully before I could answer him, and I jumped off the bed and ran for the bathroom. I didn’t even have time to close the door before I threw up violently. A 82

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hand rubbed my back as I bent over the bowl and waited to see if anything else would come up.

“Oh God, Jamie, I’m sorry,” Brian said as he stepped out of the tiny bathroom. I heard the hall closet open, and he came back with a washrag, which he wet in the sink and then laid on the back of my neck. It felt good, and I stayed hunched for several minutes until I felt confident the worst had passed. First, he took the rag off my neck, and then I wiped my face and sat on the bathroom floor with my back against the wall.

“We’ve talked about the porn, Brian. I accept that you have to do it so that we can survive. I’d be pretty stupid to hold that over you when it feeds me and keeps a roof over my head,” I said as I rocked lightly and held my stomach. The cramps were worse than they had been the last time. Sweat poured down my face, and I wiped it away with the rag still clutched in my hand.

“I’m sorry,” Brian whispered.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I know I haven’t been myself lately. I’m just working out some stuff in my head. It’s not your fault I’m so messed up, Brian.”

“Any idea what made you so sick?” he asked as he sat on the floor with his back against the small tub. I put my arms around my knees and then rested my forehead on them. Of course, I knew exactly what had made me sick, but I had no idea what to tell him. It couldn’t be food poisoning because we’d eaten the exact same thing for dinner last night.

“Maybe you have the stomach flu. I should call my dad and see if there’s anything we can do,” he said. When I finally looked up at him, he watched me with careful eyes. I didn’t know what he suspected, but without the pills, he couldn’t prove anything. When he went out tomorrow to work, I’d go see the dealer and get another dozen pills and finish weaning myself off the drugs. If I could just get down to half a pill a day, that would make it easier.

“I think I’m going to lie down for a while.” My voice sounded loud in the small room. I thought I might vomit again as I struggled to get to my feet.

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“I’m going down to the gas station on the corner to pick up some of those fruit punch sports drinks you like.” He stood up, too, and put a hand on my back as I stumbled to the bed.

It turned out to be a really long day.

THE next day, I rose before the sun as I had done so often. Sitting on the living room couch with the rest of my savings stashed in my pocket, I cradled an untouched cup of coffee in my cold hands. My stomach rolled and my hands shook as I waited for Brian to get up and leave for his shoot. I didn’t have the energy to get off the couch and take a shower. The dealer would have to take me unshaven and unwashed, though I’m sure he’d seen much worse.

Around nine thirty, just when I’d given up hope of Brian ever getting up, he rolled over and patted my side of the bed. I loved that he was looking for me even though I wasn’t there. After a few minutes of disorientation, he sat up, looked at me, and flopped back down onto his pillow.

“Why are you all the way over there?” he asked. Sleep muffled his voice, and I had to smile at how sweet and sexy he sounded.

Despite how awful I felt, I went to him and sat on the side of the bed.

He sighed—a happy, relaxed sound—as he ran his hand up and down my back.

“Is this better?” I rested a hand on his chest.

“Much better,” he admitted. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“Better,” I lied. “While you’re at your shoot, I think I’ll just hang out on the couch and maybe try to eat some soup.” My stomach lurched both at the guilt of lying to Brian and the thought of food. When my hand started to shake on his chest, I stood up. “It’s almost ten. What time do you have to be at the studio?”

“Uh, I think I have to be there by eleven thirty. Can you hand me my phone?”

I looked around for a minute and then spotted the smartphone sitting on the table in front of the couch. I weaved drunkenly as I 84

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maneuvered around the end of the bed but found my balance on the way to the living room. I didn’t think Brian noticed since he’d buried his head in the blankets.

“Yeah, I have to be there at eleven thirty. They want to get some stills before the shoot,” he said with a yawn after I handed him the phone. “I should get up. Did you have breakfast?”

“Mmhmm,” I said, trying not to completely lie to him.

“Okay, I’ll throw something together and then get in the shower,”

he decided aloud. I went into the living room and tried to think of how I could avoid the smell of food.

An hour later, Brian mercifully left for his shoot, and I followed about twenty minutes later so we didn’t run into each other at the bus stop. The ride downtown felt longer than it had the last time, maybe because I had a better idea of what to expect, and I just wanted to get it over with. The bus didn’t have a bathroom, so I had to force myself to wait until I found a convenience store downtown in order to throw up.

Things couldn’t go on as they were. I could not come back downtown for drugs again. With every bit of will I could muster, I promised myself these last pills would be enough to break my addiction.

I reached the deli behind which the dealer did his business. At first, I panicked because I didn’t see any sign of him, but then I turned the corner into the alley and watched as he fought with some other poor soul who had no money for the stuff that he needed. The junkie wore jeans that had to be at least three sizes too big, probably from the weight he’d lost to the drugs. A peeling, undecipherable design covered his ratty black tank top. The dirt caked into it made me think maybe he’d been rolling around on the ground, and bruises on his arms lent credence to the idea. Grease coated his unkempt black hair, and it was obvious he hadn’t seen a razor in quite a while. I wondered, if Brian hadn’t saved me, would I have turned out like that battered man?

The dealer barely looked up from his phone as he pushed the junkie and told him to get lost. My heart ached a little for the man, who begged for something, anything, to get him through the day. When the dealer pulled his arm back to punch the guy, the junkie cowered away from the blow and scampered out of the alley.

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“What do you want?” the dealer asked, and I took a step closer.

“Do you still have sixty-milligram tabs of oxy?” I tried to stop my voice from cracking as I asked, but was unsuccessful. He looked me up and down for a minute.

“No, I have eighties,” he replied, looking bored. He started playing on his phone again, as if I weren’t standing in front of him trying to conduct business. Damn it, the eighty-milligram pills would be more expensive, and I didn’t have a lot of cash as it was.

“How much?”

“They’re a buck per milligram,” he said as his phone dinged, and he finally put it back in his pocket. At eighty dollars a pill, I’d only be able to afford four pills. They were a higher dosage, but I’d planned to leave with ten. My breathing accelerated, and I felt the rolling in my stomach start again. I did a little mental math and took a deep breath, hoping the focus would keep my voice from shaking.

“A couple weeks ago, they were fifty cents per milligram. What happened since then?” I asked, stalling for time so that I could think. I still had my key to Steven’s apartment. I could get in there and get my stuff to try to sell, but I’d be dead if he caught me.