Watermelon Sugar Die

Doormat

Louis lay on the cool tile floors of the bathroom with a blue plastic garbage can full of vomit in the crook of his arm. Six hours without the sting of skin breaking open. Six hours without the warm rush of heroin. Six hours of shaking. Six hours of purgatory. 

Harry gave a soft, rhythmic knock and let himself in. Louis wanted to tell him to leave. Leave now. Don't ever come back. Don't ever speak to me again. I never wanna see your face or say your name again. There was a lot he wanted to say, but every time he opened his mouth he was gagged by the bile that forced his way up his esophagus. 

"I brought you a cool towel for your head," said Harry. "It's just a kitchen towel with some ice in it, but I thought it might help a little bit." Louis accepted the chilled cloth gently pressed upon his temples. 

"You know there's a definite cure," said Harry with a dark giggle. "It will pick you up right now, man. You'll feel better in no time." Louis wouldn't consider it.  He shook his head as much as he was able. There was concealed desperation in Harry's voice. He knew that a clean Louis would be an estranged Louis. Harry became more desperate in his attempts to make everything OK between them again with grand gestures, compliments, jokes.

He lay on the floor with Louis matching the shape of his body, putting his arm around him. Louis wanted to push him away, but the world was spinning. The waves in his stomach were threatening monsoon. Harry kissed an earlobe, smoothed Louis's greasy hair. "I know something that will make you feel better," he purred and reached his hand into  Louis's pants. Louis elbowed Harry in the stomach before he was able to latch onto anything. Louis didn't want anything from him anymore. No touching in the darkness. No long talks. No witty texts. Not even a gracious word about one another in interviews. Louis. Was. Done. 

After a moment of stillness and silence between them, Harry said offhandedly, "Well, fine. I guess I'll leave you alone, man." Before long, Louis heard the electric kettle whistling from the kitchen. He felt steady enough to sit up and reach for his phone. How much longer could he resist on his own the call of the opiates? Really? How long before Harry wore him down, and they were kissing on the couch and banging heroin between one another's toes? He really fucking needed help. He didn't want to bring in his little sisters. He sure didn't want to tell some of his mates back home about where he'd been these long months. He hadn't really been able to process what had happened to describe it to them. First, he had to get out, to some place he could kick this. 

There was really only one person that came to his mind. One person he knew he could always count on. He reached for his phone and waited for that familiar voice. She picked up on the first ring. 

"I shouldn't even be talking to you," said Eleanor.

 "I'm really fucked up, and I need you," Louis said to her. "I need your help in a bad way."

 Eleanor scoffed.  "You must be drunk again. Great. Just go sleep it off. Call me tomorrow if you must."

 "No,  wait, please," he said. "I've got to tell you something, Eleanor. I'm not even sure if you're going to believe me because I can't believe this."

 "You've told me a lot of things I could barely believe," she said with an edge to her voice. 

"Eleanor, I'm gonna need you to call a rehab for me and have me booked in. Do you still have my insurance card in your lockbox?" he asked.

 "I think so," she said. "Rehab for what? Are you drinking that much?"

"Worse than that," he admitted. "Way worse than that.

"What do you mean? Like, are you on heroin or something?" she laughed nervously. 

"I seriously am. I am fucking on heroin."

There was a pause. "You're messing with me,."

 Louis pleaded, "I need you to do this for me. Call around some rehabs for me. I am trying to kick this shit on my own. I got this dope sickness, Eleanor. I'm regurgitating, can't stand up on my own two feet."

"People were saying you and Harry were holed up somewhere. He told his sister you two were writing songs. Is he there?" Eleanor asked.

"That's a whole different story," Louis said, "and I'm gonna tell you, but would you please come get me? please!"

"Louis, you better be thankful you're so fucking pathetic, and that I'm such a doormat."

"You're my person, Eleanor. I don't have anyone else."

"And for better or worse, you're mine. I'll get some info together, and I'll head your way. But for the record,  I don't think it's fair that I get your low moments and other people get you when you're soaring," Eleanor said with great drama.  

Louis swallowed down bile. "Yeah...I'm sorry for everything. The fact that you're even still talking to me... I'm going to get to rehab and straighten out my head. I'll make it up to you. Are you coming, right? Maybe put a towel on the seat because I have some terrible diarrhea I don't wanna fuck up your car. 

 "This isn't just some weird ploy you and Harry cooked up just to get me over there?" she asked

"Yeah, it's a fookin' surprise party," he mocked. "I wish I were kidding. You just won't believe the shit I've been going through. Please, are you on your way? Are you coming?"

" You know I am," she said. "I'm getting in the car right now."

 "Hey, do you think you can get your dad to come with you?" Louis asked, "Or maybe your friend Max?"  

Eleanor was quiet for a moment. "I'm not asking them," she said. "I'm just gonna come get you by myself."

Louis added, "Make sure you text somebody. You gotta make sure you tell somebody where you're going in case anything happens to you."

"OK," she said, but she was much too embarrassed to admit to anyone she was bailing out her cheating ex-boyfriend. Again.

Eleanor prepped her car with towels, the tea Louis liked, one of the sweatshirts he'd kept at her house in case he felt chilled. She smiled to herself just a little. Louis needed her. He would always need her.