Desolation Row [MxM]

Chapter 16

Two months later, in October, Joel and I hardly spoke. We said hi in the halls between classes, and occasionally Joel would wander into the apartment and just sit with me for a little while, but that was the extent of it. We didn't even text, after I got a new phone and gave him the number.

I wondered if maybe leaving behind the drugs and the alcohol meant leaving Joel behind, too. I didn't like that idea though, and tried not to think about it too much.

One night, while Charlie was off, we were sitting in the living room, watching TV. I'd given up on my chemistry homework for the time being, and arguing over characters in a stupid cartoon was more appealing anyway.

“No way, Patrick is way cooler than SpongeBob.”

“They're both stupid. I like Squidward. He doesn't get enough recognition.” Charlie argued.

“Because he's boring. All he does is complain about how he's the greatest artist in the world,” I snorted.

“In Bikini Bottom, not the world, and why the hell are we arguing over this? What are we, five? Don't you have homework to do?”

“Yeah, but I've given up on it for right now. I'll have to ask Mr. Larson tomorrow for help, all this stuff makes no sense,” I sighed, glancing down at the worksheets on the coffee table. Charlie hummed, leaning over to glance at them before he snorted loudly, sitting back in his seat.

“There's a reason I went to culinary school instead of becoming a scientist,” he muttered. I laughed at that, but paused when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, pulling it out. I expected it to be a call or text from Sophie, possibly, but instead, Joel's number showed up. It was weird, because he never called, it was always a text. Plus, the whole two months without talking thing. I frowned as I answered it, putting the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

Immediately I could hear the sounds of heavy music, and some people yelling in the background as I tried to make sense of what Joel was saying. Most of it was just incoherent mumbling, and I figured he must've been drunk. It wouldn't be anything unusual though. Right before I moved to hang up though, he spoke clearly, and I froze.

“Victor, I fucked up, I fuck—I fucked up so bad.”

My heart wrenched a little in my chest as I felt Charlie watching me. “You—Joel, where are you? Tell me where you are.”

“I'm—the little white...the white house. You know, the one...the white one.”

I struggled for a second to remember the white house. What white house? There wasn't a white house. The closest thing to white was that ugly beige colored one. I assumed, and hoped, that was the one Joel meant. “Okay, stay there, and stay awake,” I tried to tell him, but the line went dead and I groaned in aggravation before looking over to Charlie.

He was already sitting up, pulling his shoes on and nodding at me. I moved to grab my jacket off the back of one of the dining chairs before I followed him to the door, both of us walking quickly to the car. I had to give him directions to the house I assumed Joel was at, but when we reached it and I was immediately assaulted with loud music and the smell of marijuana, I knew that had to be it.

Charlie followed me in, both of us floundering for a second in the crowded heat before I started upstairs for where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. I figured Charlie was checking the rooms downstairs as I looked in each bedroom, one of which housing a couple that I got to see entirely too much of. At the last bathroom, it was dark, and I was about to go and search downstairs when I heard a quiet groan. I reached over to flip the lights on, freezing when I noticed Joel huddled in a corner by the bathtub. I didn't even think before I screamed Charlie's name as loud as I could, trying to be heard over the music from upstairs.

I moved over to kneel by Joel, trying to restrain myself from panicking. “Joel? Joel, look at me,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He only groaned again, and his eyes looked glazed over, like he wasn't even there. I moved my hand up to his head, running my fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm myself down. Just as I was about to yell for Charlie again, there were rapid footsteps coming up the stairs, and then to the door of the bathroom. “What do we do?” I asked quickly.

Charlie came over, kneeling down as well and looking at Joel for a second before shaking his head. “We gotta get him to a hospital,” he answered, moving to grab Joel's arm. “Come on, help me get him up. Doesn't look like he weighs that much.”

And he was right, Joel really wasn't that heavy. I didn't like that. We did manage to get him downstairs and into the back seat of the car though, before we drove him over to the hospital. The nurses said we weren't allowed into his room, when we got there. We had to stay in the waiting area. There was also something about needing Joel's stomach pumped. One of them mentioned that it looked like he overdosed.

I couldn't sit down. I had to pace back and forth in the small area, rubbing my hands together anxiously and looking at the clock every now and then. After a while it got to Charlie, who was sitting in one of the chairs as he looked at me. “Vic, kid, come on. Relax a little. He's here now, he's gonna be okay.”

“Are you sure? Are they sure? What if we hadn't found him? What—what if he didn't call me?” I asked, shaking my head. “I just want to see him, I want to know he's okay for sure.”

It was a good few hours before a doctor came out, saying we could see Joel. He had gotten his stomach pumped, and overdosed on some kind of prescription pills, and while he was pretty out of it, he was awake. I all but ran into the room, going right up to Joel as he laid on the bed and fully intending to let him know how stupid he was.

As soon as he glanced up at me though, with his tired eyes, any idea of arguing left, and instead I found myself leaning down to press our foreheads together. He was alive, at least.

Joel managed to lock our eyes together for a few seconds before his glazed over again, and slid shut.

In November, I relapsed on self-harm. The combined stress of classes and Joel being so reckless got to me more than I'd like to admit. I didn't do anything big, and what I had done was easily hidden with a watch or a few bracelets, but I still felt ridiculously guilty afterward. I promised myself I wouldn't do it anymore. I promised Charlie, too.

One night after school, while Charlie was at work, Joel had come over and sat with me again. We didn't touch the topic of his overdose. If I started to, he'd leave. But I didn't want to just ignore it.

We sat in silence as I worked on homework, Joel sitting across from me on the couch. Eventually I gave up on trying to focus on English, looking over at Joel, who was tracing the birds going up his forearm.

If I talked about it, he'd leave. But I couldn't stand not talking about it.

“You could've died.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “I'm not talking about this with you, Vic.”

“Does the idea of death—of, of dying, mean anything to you?” I asked. Joel just shrugged, and the simple motion frustrated me so much. “You know, rehab was—was good. It helped me, so much—”

“Please, it didn't 'help' you. All it did was turn you back into the spineless little fucker you were when you first came here.”

“Well I'd rather be spineless than dead in someone's bathroom!”

Joel stood up at that, heading for the door, but I wasn't finished. “I'd rather be someone who sits around and does nothing than someone who risks their life every day! I don't want to get the phone call from Brielle, or Austin, or some stranger that you're dead! Don't do that to me, Joel!”

He just shook his head, slamming the door on his way out. I tried to go back to my work, but in the end all I could do was sigh in aggravation and knock everything onto the floor, curling up on the couch. Sometime after eleven, Charlie got home, and instead of asking what happened, he opted to just sit with me silently until we went to bed.