in pieces

13. blackbirds

Asleep on the bed, Mike laid below me. I got up, putting my clothes on. I can't believe what happened last night was real. My body shivered at the thought of it. Then I remembered... I had also gotten drunk yesterday. He must've been so pissed at me. I sighed. It was so early... like three in the morning. Brad and Rob were asleep. I went downstairs and took a few shots of vodka to clear my head.

"I ain't a fag. I ain't a slut. How hard is it for you to shoot yourself in the head already?!"

"Faggot, don't touch my shit!"

"Kill yourself. Just get it over with. Or are you scared?! Little scared boy. Little scared boy got fucked in the ass by his dad a few too many times."

"I could never love you. I'm not a faggot. Everything between us was platonic. And you fucking ruined it!"

Tears sprung in my eyes as I tried to cover my ears. I wanted to block the sounds out. I wanted them gone.

"You should've finished it that night. You should've hung yourself. I should have never saved you."

Maybe he never changed. Maybe he's just trying to get me to trust him so he could rape me. Maybe he did actually rape me. I didn't know who to trust.

I started to cry. Maybe he was right... maybe I should've finished it that day. I shook my head. I needed something stronger than the alcohol. I grabbed my phone and sifted through 5 years of numbers. Had it really been that long since rehab? I honestly didn't care if this was relapsing. What was the point? It would just keep me calm during stressful days and keep me from having to see a doctor for my depression. I refused to go on antidepressants again.

•••

I trudged down the street and came to the agreed meeting spot. My eyes glanced to my dealer as we made the exchange. It was quick and painless, and I could get home soon. Everyone was still asleep, so I went into the bathroom and set out 3 clean lines of cocaine.

"Chester, if you ever feel like turning to them again, come to us, okay?"

I'd taken a line, not remembering how dangerous taking too much is at first. I cleaned up the rest of the drug, my thoughts clearing up. I remembered why I loved this stuff. It stopped the thoughts and memories. I made an extra line in the bathroom, knowing one line wouldn't last me. Quickly after I took the drug, I started to feel terrible... I tried to make it to Mike. I started to feel spiders crawling all over me. I couldn't breathe. My chest cavity felt like someone was shoving an ice pick into it.

"Chester?! Chester what's wrong buddy?!" I tried to keep him away from me. "Rob?! Brad?! Get in here!"

I couldn't keep still. My body was twitching. I didn't want him to hurt me... my head was swimming as my stomach lurched. I heard hurried footsteps. "Don't... get away..." I groaned, pushing people away as I attempted to feel safe. I couldn't feel safe. "GET AWAY!" I snapped, my body feeling strange.

"Mike, I know you want to avoid this, but bear hug him. Brad get his feet," Rob commanded orders, and I screamed as arms were wrapped around me. I couldn't move. I didn't like this at all. "Easy Chester, you're not in your right mind. We're just trying to help," I felt something on my finger and I tried to flail it off, trying to get the thing out from under my tongue as well. "Relax buddy we want to help."

"Kill the spiders... kill the spiders..." I whimpered. "Please kill the spiders!"

Mike whispered sweet things into my ears. I stopped fighting. He laid me onto my side. "He's in the recovery position, but I'm gonna wait for EMS to come to determine if he's safe enough to ride out this at home," Rob sighed. "They can do an EKG to make sure his heart is okay." Rob shined a light into my eyes. "He looks to be okay neurologically. He's fully aware now." I tried to sit up, looking at Mike.

I remember my first overdose when I was in the band. To be honest I don't know how I hadn't died from one yet. It was on the tour bus on the Meteora tour. To be honest, I couldn't remember what I took. Probably a cocktail.

My body was weak, and I felt sleepy. My body was so tired. I honestly thought I could just take a nap.

"Chester, get up we have a show. We gotta get to sound check or Brad's gonna be pissed," Mike laughed.

My response came out as mumbles and nonsense, my eyes feeling heavier.

"Chester? Buddy? Don't mess with me now. I know it's been an exhausting tour so far," he reached for the curtain. A little bit of fear struck. He was gonna see me like this... in this state. In the middle of my high of all things. "Ches?" the curtains opened and Mike let out a scream. It was a noise I had never heard before from him. "Rob get in here! Somethings wrong with Chester!"

I was still aware of what was happening. Rob turned the lights on and started to examine me. "Write this down, Shinoda. It will be important later. His skin is cold and clammy, he's weak, his lips are blue and his fingers look blue too, he can't speak, and he's breathing slow." His fingers were on my wrist, presumably taking my pulse as he dialed for someone.

"Buddy what did you take? We aren't gonna judge. I know you're still not as comfortable opening up to us than you are with Mike. But this is important, okay?" Rob looked at me.

"I... can't remember... they're in my bag..." I whispered. I could barely speak and it was barely intelligible.

It wasn't the last overdose I'd have with the guys. I would end up in rehab because I mixed cocaine, painkillers, and alcohol together. Mike never knew it was a suicide attempt, and it would stay that way.

That wasn't to be worried about at the moment. I had a lot of explaining to do with the guys.