Ecstasy

Chapter 68

Tyson:

  The train station was near empty at this time of night. I almost fell down the stairs – unsteady on my feet. The people walking past looked down at the floor. Avoiding eye contact. I stared at the walls. Dirty white tiles covered the walls of the ticket office and the rotten smell of damp concrete and mould hovered in the waiting space. The fluorescent white lights caught my attention. They squeaked and rocked from their hinges on the ceiling. A whistling of wind came through the station. I stepped up from my seat. The train squealed. Its doors coughed people on to the platform.

"Please mind the gap."

I stumbled past people and stepped up into the carriage. The lights flickered. My head was swimming. I felt sick but in satisfying way, like when you spin around so fast while dancing and you feel dizzy. The train rocked as it started moving. I fell into a seat.

My grip tightened on the strap of my old backpack. The contents were heavy and valuable. The train trembled. I braced myself. The train brakes shuddered.

"Please mind the gap." Another stop. A few more people got on.

I stood up and walked through the train, the people were making me uneasy. I lit a cigarette on the third carriage, and waited, my fingers tapped on the metal railing. A woman was shooting daggers at me with her eyes. The flat line of her mouth silently shouting her disapproval of the lit cigarette. My eyes flickered around the carriage. I stepped off at the next station.

"Please mind the gap."

It was colder. Puffs of steam clouded the air. Up the stairs to the street level. Yellow lights stained the black bitumen darkness and I moved through it with confidence. I made my way up the alleyways I knew too well. I ditched the smoke and took a deep breath and tried desperately to calm the erratic beating of my heart. I hadn't been here in so long–too long. I was itching. My eyeballs felt like they were full of raging bees. I needed a fix. Desperately. The anticipation was the only thing keeping me upright. Keeping me sane. Soon.

I hadn't seen Sarah in weeks, Frank had changed his hiding place from his desk, and I wasn't going to Sean, that was for sure. I was out of money. But I had something to trade.

It had rained earlier. My hair was still damp, and the gutters were still running with water. The reflection of colours on the pavement sent me mad. Only a few more streets.

I turned into the alleyway. The men stood against the brick walls. Statues of life. Coils of smoke slowly rose from the ends of their cigarettes and they flicked hot ash onto the concrete. Sirens blared in the distance, more than likely an ambulance, the hospital only across the highway.
There were four of them. Two of them looked more like muscle than who I needed to talk to. One with a goatee stepped up off the wall.

"You have something for us, kid?" he said, and threw his cigarette on the ground. He left it smoking. I had a compulsion to step on it and put it out. I didn't.

"Yes." I pulled my backpack from my shoulder. I waited before opening it. "Do you have what I asked for?"

"Do you?" He twisted his head, and nodded to one of his men. I suddenly I felt uneasy. One of the big ones stepped forward and snatched the bag roughly out of my hands. He ripped open the zip and fingered the plastic bags of pills.

"Yes. It's all Mikey's product. I promise." I lifted a hand to my head. It was shaking. I pushed my fingers through my hair.

"How did you get it?" Goatee asked. He was the one running the show, I realised. The others were just decoration.

"Does it matter?"

He smirked. "I like you kid. You seem to know what you want."

I just stared at him.

His mouth split into a smile. His front teeth were nicotine stained. "Okay then." He motioned to one of the men holding a duffle bag. He took it from him and opened the top zip. He pulled out a small package. He motioned to throw it towards me, I panicked and his mouth smiled that rotten smile. He laughed. "Here." He stepped forward and gently placed the paper bag in my hand. Glass vials clinked when I shifted it between my hands.

They had only just finished stuffing the plastic bags from my backpack into theirs when headlights swung into the small alley. Spooked, the man threw my empty backpack at me and they all scattered. I grabbed my bag, stuffed the paper package into it and ran. I had to jump over rubbish bags and squeeze past the industrial bin to make my way out of the alley but I made it. My feet pounded the pavement as I ran down the street. The car had already turned out of the alley by this time and it was following my progress down the street. People across the road turned their heads as I went passed, and I realised I was drawing more attention to myself by running. I slowed and shot a look at the car driving beside me. The window rolled down.

"Get in or I'll call the police."

I knew the voice. My feet slowed to a stop, so did the car. I turned and looked into the window.

"Get in Tyson. Now!" he growled.

I groaned and opened the passenger door. I slung myself into the seat and slammed the door.

"What do you want?" I turned to look at Dr Walter.

He was still in hospital scrubs, and he looked tired. He had obviously just gotten off a shift.

"Give me your bag." He looked at me with determination.

I shook my head. "No." I brought the bag closer to me.

"Give me your bag."

"Fuck off!"

He reached over and delved his hand into the open bag. I had left the zip undone in the panic. I tried to tug away but he pulled the paper bag out.

"Hey!" I started.

He pulled the bundle of vials out. They were tied together with a thick rubber band. Six small injection vials clinked together in his hand. He stared down at them, voiceless.

My protests died in my throat. He was motionless. He looked shocked.

"Tyson. Do you know what this is?" his voice was low.

"Yes." I reached for the vials. He moved his hand out of reach.

"This is pharmaceutical grade cocaine. It has epinephrine in it. This could kill you."

"Exactly why I wouldn't OD." I reached for his hand again, but he pushed me back with his spare arm.

"Oh, come on!" I thumped my head back on the head rest.

He looked at me. "How did they get this? They would have had to steal this."

I sighed. "I don't know. I'm just the one that bought it. And it cost me a lot. Can I have it back now?"

He looked at me with wild eyes. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

I didn't answer him. I didn't care. I just wanted it back. I wanted to be in Thomas's living room shooting up.

He put the car into gear, and pulled away from the curb. "Seat belt," he barked.

I didn't move. He just grumbled and shook his head. I eyed the vials in his right hand. He turned into a small street. Before I could stop it happening, he had rolled down his window and thrown the bundle of vials out into the street. I heard them smash on the concrete, along with any control I was still harbouring.

"What the hell!" I twisted in my seat.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" he shouted over me.

"It's none of your fucking business." I pressed my hand against the window to steady myself in the rapidly turning car. He was taking a u–turn.

"That stuff could have killed you." His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"So? Who cares?" My voice was still hard. I swallowed. "Nobody cares."

Walter shot me a stern look before pulling up at a red light. He looked at me again when we were stationary.

"What are you talking about? What about Sarah? Your sister?" He thought for a moment, "–No, aunt?"

I looked out the opposite window. Anything to avoid the pity in his eyes. "She's got her own family to worry about now."

The light turned green and we took off quickly. "Your mother wouldn't want this for you, you know."

I felt my anger building up. Egged on by the withdrawal. It was like the devil sitting on your shoulder. Whispering words in your ear.

"My mother killed herself. She doesn't want anything anymore."

He was silent for a good long moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought–I thought it was a car crash."

I sank down in my seat, sullenly. "Well, yeah, me too."

The car was silent for a good few minutes. I realised he was heading in the direction of my suburb.

"No. I'm not going home. Stop the car." When nothing happened I started to shout. I thumped my fist on the dashboard. "Stop. Stop the car!"

He didn't. But he slowed down. His voice was quiet. "Why? Why do you do this to yourself? You could be so much better. You could–"

"Do what?" I interjected. "I'm not good at school. I've got no interest in anything. I break everything I touch. The only thing I am good at is that." I pointed to behind us. To back there.

"What about your music? You used to busk outside the hospital when you were younger."

I scratched my arm. The old tracks were starting to scab over. I didn't respond to him.

"I'm not leaving you on the street. I'm taking you home."

I looked out the window. It had started to rain again. I watched the water droplets race each other down to the bottom of the window.

"Why don't you want to go home Tyson?"

I exhaled and ignored him.

"Tyson? Answer me," he demanded.

I turned to him. "Why? What do you care?"

He sighed. "I just do." His voice was gentle, and we were silent again.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I hesitated. Finally my voice had lowered a few octaves, and I managed to keep it miraculously calm. "I can't be at home because my Dad is always hitting the bottle, and then he's hitting me. You should know, you've put enough stitches in my skin. Set enough broken bones. Where did you think they came from?"

He opened his mouth to say something but all of a sudden he had lost his voice. I had made him uncomfortable. I smiled ruefully.

He stared at the road. "Why don't you just leave?"

I watched the pavement disappear under the bonnet of the car. "And go where?" My voice cracked. "Nobody wants me. I've got nowhere to go."

"I'm sorry."

I scoffed. "Yeah. Sure you are." I roughly pushed my hands through my hair.

We had been driving for more than half an hour now. We turned onto my road and I looked at my house. There were no lights on. It looked abandoned. It was abandoned, by anyone that mattered.

He pulled into the gravel driveway, and put the car in park. He didn't drive all the way in. I could feel his anxiousness to get me out of his car.

"I am sorry, Tyson."

I screwed my face up. I couldn't cry. "No you're not." I wouldn't cry. "I thought you were different. But you know what? You're all the same. You were in the position to help. You could have done something. But you're just like everyone else. You just watch and do nothing."

I opened the car door and stepped out.

"Tyson!" he called. I slammed the door and walked up to the front porch. The car sat there for a minute longer before it pulled out and made its way down the road. The tail lights glaring red in the rain.