Fallout: Part III of The Journal Series

Chapter Four: Breaking and Entering

November, 1996.

The night air was cool and crisp on my skin. The scratchy cement was smooth beneath my bike tires. I glided with no effort, my only real exertion to bring the bottle to my lips or scratch at the dried, pasty coke mine in my nose.

It was fall in L.A., I knew that much. Whether it be September, October, or November, I was unsure. Some trees were naked, massive sticks with no leaves while others were covered with bright orange and yellow, but all of them glowed eerily on the hazy light of the streetlamps, like they knew what I was up to. I ignored them, though. What fucking business was it of a tree to judge me?

I breathed deeply, hardly able to inhale at all through the blockage of cocaine in my nostrils. So I drew in through my mouth, the air frigid to my numb tongue and dead teeth, almost freezing my throat in the process.

It was refreshing to be away from that stuffy house, the dark prison where the walls threatened to collapse in on me. I was headed to a place I knew, to a place I loved, to a place I never went to when he was there.

Home.

For a while I'd been dropping by during times I knew it was vacant. I could spend time with Max, with Baby, and the dogs. I could sleep in my own bed, cuddling Duff's pillow, drifting off to a scent that I missed so intensely it invoked physical pain. I could soak in a bath that overflowed with memories, and it was the one place I could truly eat.

I knew Duff's habits and routines, and sneaking allowed me to get things I needed in a covert manner. It allowed me closeness without risking feared interaction or rejection.

He was out on the road for a handful shows with the Neurotic Outsiders, so I had plenty of time to myself, only returning to my home in the wee hours of the indigo morning when the glaring sun had not yet climbed above the hills.

My front tire bumped the lip of the curb because my bunny hop didn't quite clear it. I was distracted and excited, the coke in my system making me ecstatic. It didn't take me long to slip through the pedestrian gate in the walled fence, dragging my bike along with me up the steep incline of the driveway, my heart pounding wildly from drugs and emotions rather than actual exertion.

I grinned joyously as I reached the apex of the hill, the large, curved drive with the lamp lights shining like a homing beacon upon the bricks and concrete. I threw my bike over the tall privacy fence that blocked the backyard, pulled my keys from my pocket, and quickly shoved in the house key, unlocking the door before I remembered that I still had Duff's key to my place.

Upon removing the key from the lock I separated that one key, the stolen key, the one I'd taken to prevent Duff from seeing me in a way I didn't want him to.

I frowned down at it, rubbing it contemplatively between my thumb and index finger, a downtrodden pang in my chest as I studied its bronze sheen in the silvery moonlight. I wondered if I should return it...make it mysteriously show back up on a spare key ring or perhaps just drop it on the kitchen counter.

I was doing better, but I wasn't there yet. I had kicked, sure, but coke had taken the place of smack, and my liquor consumption was still sky high. I was up for days on end, drinking, snorting, hanging out with the snakes and trying to repair my disgusting house after months of heroin-induced neglect. I had appearances to make, and I made them, never talking to anyone, just showing up, playing, and leaving directly after, as per my seclusion. I still had to improve, and I knew it.