Two Sides Of A Coin

1~Charles

The voices don't give up. They don't let go. Only I can shut them out, I just have to tell them 'no'.

My eyes open, but the light forces them to close.  I try again a few seconds later, and haltingly succeed. The night hadn't been rough; it was like any other night. I reach over to the table adjacent to my creaky bed and pull open the top drawer. Inside, a needle rolls forward from the back and is quickly in my grasp. I had prepared it the previous afternoon, when I took the evening injection.

I grab the long elastic I use, and bind it around my upper arm with my right hand and teeth. The constriction of it used to hurt. Back when I used to feel pain. When it is satisfactory, I pass the needle to my right hand and insert it into my left arm at the designated site. I feel a pinch that doesn't hurt, and the process is complete.

After I remove the binding, I refill the needle with one of the multitudes of bottles filled with the medication that gives me use of my legs and shuts out my power. I'll have to make more soon. I pull myself out of the stained sheets and shakily stand. For the first few minutes, my legs are wobbly, but soon become strong. I shuffle to my black bedpost to grab my robe. I put it on over my white tank top and grey pants and work my way downstairs.

There is a constant buzzing in my head I have grown used to. If that is all I hear, rather than the hundreds of voices all at once, I am content-- or as close to content I can be. The buzzing is caused by the alcohol, not only when I'm drinking, but also when I'm not.

In the kitchen, light manages to seep in through the closed drapes, though there is no warmth in it. I clench some stale bread off the counter and shove half the piece into my mouth. There is no taste, only a rough texture. I walk slowly into the sitting room, where two couches lay ripped and torn. On the little brown table in front of one couch is several decounters and glasses. I assault the liquid and let it run down my throat. The buzzing goes away for an instant, then returns with the same ferocity. My thoughts are not affected with the first glass. They are still drawn to the inconceivable thoughts and memories I try so hard to ignore. The serum, the drinking, solves the problem for the majority of my waking hours. But the handful of hours spent sober reminds me why I have to do it all again.

My mind fades to her. She who caused me this pain. She who pushed me over the edge. She who didn't love me for who I was until I was made to feel the same. She who thought that my powers of mind reading could be turned on and off like a tap. They are now. Now that she's gone. I grimace and press my nails into my palms, which breaks the scabs that were already formed. This sends blood down my wrists as I try to get her off my mind. I'm not drunk enough yet to keep problems like her off my mind.

I pour another glass. The scotch that took so long to mature and gain flavor is flavorless to me. I hardly notice the burning of my throat anymore. There is not much that I feel, actually. The temperature of my mansion does not interest me, the state of my mansion does not cross my mind, and one even might go as far as to say I know longer care about my own wellbeing. All I feel is nothingness, emptiness.

Empty describes the state of my glass, and I fill it once again with some difficulty. I fall back on the couch with my hand holding the glass in front of me. I raise it to no one in particular, then tipped it back to drink. My thoughts were strung loosely together and my eyes fluttered. Sleep... save me, sleep...

I demand for sleep to save me. I surprise myself: it had taken many years for the voices of pain and sadness to drive the power from my desire, but only a couple to be driven away by my own mind. In my fractured vision I glimpse a stray bullet standing up on the table. I am reminded of Erik, and consider the possibility of him ever returning. It is a chance I have debated many times, and each time I recognize with absolute certainty that he is never coming back. I surrender myself to the knowledge he has given up on me, which causes another glass to be filled and consumed.

I no longer perceive anything to come of my life, and I have resigned myself to a lifestyle sure to shorten my life expectancy. I am not needed by anyone, and after the measures I have taken against my health I will surely be of no use should anyone come asking for me. There is no one left to do that. 

I decide to grab another piece of bread. It was too tempting because of its lack of mold. I resituate, putting my feet on the floor. I try to get through my mind the act of standing up, but it doesn't make sense to me. I decide to wing it and put weight on my feet to stand, only to fall back again. Not discouraged, I try again, and I succeed. I stay still to catch my balance, then look up to walk. I see a man with long, scraggled hair and beard, with sunken eyes that have lost their color.

"Oi!" I shout, before realizing I see only a reflection of myself. Forgot that was there. I begin walking into the kitchen, with surprising balance. I stop so suddenly I almost fall when I hear an engine coming in the drive. I growl as I go towards the window and lean against it. Erik.

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Sincerely,
Lorna and Samantha