Myocardium

Part 17

I am truthfully in agonizing pain. Before continuing my job as I'm intended to, I grab a syringe and squirt some of the heroin into my bloodstream to numb this pain. It helps, but only a bit. No amount could take all the pain away, unless I overdose on it. That's when I'd know it's enough to take all the suffering off my shoulders. Forever. 

 With all the fight I have left in me, I take off all of my clothes and take a shower. Tears resume streaming down my cheeks, I've quit sobbing by now. Yet the memories are still here, replaying over and over again in my mind like a broken record, begging to be fixed and sounding more and more distorted with every single time it rewinds back to the part you've already heard a thousand times and memorized when trying your hardest to forget about it. 

"I'm sorry, Elijah...your parents were shot by bad, bad people. They're...they're dead, darling."
These are the words that keep repeating in my head. Joe made sure to break the news to me before the police could get the chance. There was no sugar-coating, nothing. Those words ended my childhood. The pain in my heart is close to unbearable, I miss them so, so much.

This feeling, I usually push it down, don't want to face the fact that they are indeed never coming back into my life, that this big part of my reality is simply gone, dead, ripped out of my existence in the worst possible moment. Then again, is time ever right for losing your parents?

My shower lasts a lot longer than it should, regardless, I walk past the others, who give me concerned eyes from all angles. They know that death is a sensitive topic for me, but nobody really knows why. I guess nobody dares to ask me about it either. It's much too personal for us to talk about, but all of my co-workers can see that I'm suffering. I begin to wonder if there is anything I could have done to save her. Even if it was just for another two nights, she should have stayed until she didn't want to leave anymore.

How am I supposed to push those tears away when I'm with the clients? Hell, the smell of her cologne still lingers in the locker-room, how can she be dead?! Fuck, there return the tears. Fuck.
Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Eli, deep breaths. I get dressed, disregarding any makeup or other efforts completely. For those of the clients who really want it, I'm just a hole anyways, so why make myself more than I am?

With every single move I make reminding me of her, I'll never make it through the night. Damnit. The lounge I walk into is depressingly silent. Yes, music is playing and clients are chatting, but it is so painfully quiet. It's us workers who can tell how terrible the atmosphere is. Empathetic looks here, fake smiles there, it's tedious to experience. With tears dwelling to the corners of my red eyes, I walk straight to the bar and let myself sink onto a barstool, wiping the wetness off my cheeks aggressively.

"I am so sorry, Silver. Can I bring you something to make it better?", Bunny consoles me and gives me a sad smile. Vodka. I need vodka. Whatever it takes to get my parents out of my head. Fuck them, they left me alone with my siblings in this shitty world. I'm so mad at them and I miss them, so much. Mindlessly, I run my fingers across my bracelet, unsuccessfully thinking of Daisy's sweet words. Not even they can make me feel better. 

"Come on, you gotta get your shit together," I tell myself and force the tears to stop, downing a shot to make sure they stay where I bury them.
"Fuck, man...that's so tough", Bunny speaks and reaches over the counter to grab my arm and comfort me when she notices how much I struggle.
"It'll be fine", I respond through gritted teeth, not believing myself a single word. Nothing will ever be fine.

While focusing all my energy on not crying, I notice the feeling of a familiar pair of eyes lingering on me. Oh shit, right...he still exists. As if I expect anything other than this, he walks straight over to me and takes a seat, obviously looking right through the façade I've tried to set up so desperately.
"Hey, what's wrong?", he asks and scans me with concern written all over his face. With a pathetically weak and quivering voice, I speak up and look into his comforting eyes,
"Hey there. I'm doing fine, what about you?"