Elysian Fields (A Kyman Fanfiction)

Chapter 26: Rock & Roll Suicide

I swim in opiate-filled mindful ignorance of my parent's disgusting house, floating through the crusted carpet toward the knocking echoing from the front door.

"I brought a friend," is all Kyle says as an explanation for the faggy goth kid looming over him in my doorway. Pete's long black hair and thick soled boots seem to complement Kyle's army pack and Doc Martens, but what do I care. I swear they were just holding hands the moment I opened the door but I could be too high to notice.

"Whatever," I push the door open, some of the chipped paint falling as a welcome of them into my abode. Broken glass litters the walls and rugs, some new and some old. It smells of fermented rotting whiskey and the couch is torn in more places than not. Karen and Kenny II are playing something on the Xbox, long blonde straggly hair acknowledging their familial relation to me.

"Pretend we're not here," I state to Karen as we walk by.

"No problem," she says, continuing to button mash our much younger brother into oblivion.

We weave our way through the crack den I call home. Peeling wallpaper, tattered curtains, the works. Even the piping needs to be fixed but it's not like Dad will get off his lazy ass and do anything about it. Finally, we reach my room, the scratched door covered in "do not cross" police tape and stolen street signs, hiding my older brother's old Nirvana posters. I open the door and am greeted with the familiar smell of dank weed, acknowledging I am truly home.

In one fell swoop, I shove the huge amount of random shit (except the bong, grabbed that safely) off the desk and sit as it all clatters to the ground, while Kyle and Pete glance around timidly. Kyle closes the door behind them and awkwardly takes his place on the unmade bed. Pete glances around, through thick eyeliner and (I swear) mascara, and pushes his overly long scene bangs behind his ear before he finally takes a close seat next to Kyle.

"How was your lovely holiday?" I ask in complete sarcasm. They both grin as much as their sardonic tendencies will let them.

"Family always sucks," Kyle states honestly.

"So, what would make today better?" I smile, pulling open the bottom drawer of the old wooden desk. It catches but eventually reveals my proud plethora of good times. "Alcohol, coke, valium, pain killers, PCP, opium, DMT—

"No, no," Kyle cuts me off. "Nothing that hardcore, come on."

"What, you've never done coke before?" Pete asks Kyle. Kyle blushes slightly when he realizes just how close the goth is to his face. Ah, that kind of relationship. No wonder he brought him here.

"It's really not a big deal," I state to Kyle. Bad influence but who gives a fuck. Join the Dark Side, give in to your passion.

Kyle seems to mull it over in his head. "So what, I just snort it?"

"Basically," Pete swishes his bangs back. The goth leans back into my dirty bed, and I feel a little sorry it hasn't been washed in months. There are probably dried cum streaks visible, but fuck him. He's not my friend, just a possible client.

"Here," I state, pulling out the white baggie. I use my dirty trusty school ID card to separate the powder into three long lines atop a Geometry textbook. I fish for my lucky dollar bill, all ripped and broken, and roll it into a makeshift straw. I take the thickest line, long, and hard, pulling all the good into my right nostril. Then, back at the redhead, a big grin.

"See?" I say, wiping the excess white from my nostril and licking my finger.

"Easy." I hold the heavy textbook out to Kyle, but it's Pete who eagerly grabs it, taking the next line a little slower than I, but obviously he's done this before. Finally, the last little powder line is left for Kyle. Hesitation reflects my old toys and dirty room in his eyes, but eventually, he gives in and leans into the textbook, holding his left nostril closed to prepare the other.