Insomnia – II. Anaesthesia

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July 4th, 2006

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The first thing I felt when I woke up was the raw, scratchiness at the back of my throat. As if someone had shoved their hand down my mouth and attempted to gouge out my tonsils with their fingernails. It ached.

Sitting up and rubbing my throat, I glanced over to the mirror. I looked rough; hair dishevelled, mascara smudged across my eyelids, skin pale and ghostly, eyes red, puffy, sore.

Perhaps I was sick. Tonsillitis maybe, which would explain the aching throat. Hangovers weren’t usually this bad.

I tried to recall memories from last night. Where I had been, what I’d done. Who I was with. But it was mostly a blur. I remembered the bar, the drinking, the dancing … Julian. After that, it’s a disordered haze and then nothing. Blankness.

Heaving a sigh, I crawled out from beneath the twisted duvet. I needed something … My body shuddered and I hauled open my bedside dresser, searching, hunting, rummaging through the piles of junk. Magazines, CD’s, tattered literature books, notes, letters. Eventually, I pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboro, and pressing one between my lips, I then fumbled around in my pockets for a lighter; absently noting that I was still dressed in last night’s clothes.

What the hell?

I groped around on the floor, through jackets, bags, sweaters, jeans. Where was it?

Eventually I found an old box of matches in a dresser drawer, and striking a match, lit the cigarette. Breathed in, inhaled, exhaled. I sighed in relief, relaxing with my back against the bed, closing my eyes.

Where had i set my lighter? I was constantly losing that damned thing.

Stubbing the cigarette out into a drained coffee mug, I stumbled down the spiralled stairs, half-asleep.

“…it’s not fair!” I heard Sony’s voice cry, almost hysterically.

Guiding myself down the hall with a bleary observation, I entered the kitchen and two pairs of eyes darted up to mine, shocked at my presence. I hesitated and stopped at the doorway.

Something was up.

“You’re up early,” my mother rose, uneasily, from her chair. Tense, rigid … worried, “Coffee?”

Something was definitely up.

“Mhm.” I murmured, “Please.” before throwing myself down into one of the uncomfortable, wooden dining chairs.

Distracted by Sony’s constant sniffling, I blinked up at her, wearily. I could tell she’d been crying a lot. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red, glassy, her cheeks were stained with iridescent tears, half smeared away with the palm of her hand.

Narrowing my eyes, I wondered what her problem was this time. Another boy, no doubt.

“You don’t look too good, Halle. Did you not sleep well?” My mother enquired, slipping a steaming black coffee in front of me, so full to the brim that it sloshed over the sides of the mug as it hit the table. I wiped the residue away with my shirtsleeve.

My mother frowned, casting me a disapproving glare. I shrugged, the shirt needed to be washed anyway.

“Not really, a kind of sporadic sleeping pattern; must have woken up a few times in the night, ‘cause I’m exhausted. I did have a strange dream though.” The strong, alluring scent of coffee was shaking me, awakening my senses.

My mother nodded, passively and I wondered whether she’d heard a word I’d said.

“Why are you wearing those clothes?” Sony sniffled once again, before screwing up her face and shifting her chair further away, the wood scraping irritatingly against stone tiles, “They reek.”

I shrugged again, “Too tired last night, I guess.” I brought my shoulder up to my nose. I did smell bad; saturated with the stench of stale beer, dope and smoke. Going to bars generally does that to your clothes.

It fell silent again, Sony staring down at the table and running her fingernails between the wooden grooves, up and down, up and down, up and down. Completely lost in thought. My mother simply sat, staring out the window in a daze, swishing her coffee every few seconds.

“What’s up with you guys this morning? Is it just because I’m up already, or are you always this solemn?”

Sony glanced up at me again, before bursting into tears, darting up from her chair and running out of the room. The chair hit the floor with a loud crash seconds after, and I stared at it with wonder.

Clearing her throat, my mother touched my hand with her cold fingers. I shivered and restrained myself from jerking away. “Something happened,” she started, seeming to drift into a daze again.

“Oh right?”

“Last night.” she paused, hesitating for a second, “There was an accident at the Ritchie’s house. A fire, to be accurate. Half the house burnt down, they’re still trying to tame the flames.” Biting her lip, she gazed into my eyes, squeezing my hand. I didn’t understand … “We lost Aimee, Halle.” Her eyes were glassy now, like Sony’s. “She’s gone.”

Gone?

Aimee?

My mind was stumbling over the words, trying to comprehend, make sense of what she was saying. A riddle.

“Gone as in … ?”

“She’s dead!” Sony burst out from the doorway. I swivelled around in my chair. How long had she been standing there? “She’s dead, Halle … dead.”

The words numbed me. I felt withdrawn, hollow, empty.

“Sony!” my mother cried, “Stop it!”

Sony sank to the floor, sobbing, her body jerking, breaths shuddering.

I just sat there. Numb, numb, numb.

“How?” was the only word that I managed to form in my dry mouth.

“Fire, I told you, dear.” my mother answered, lifting Sony from the ground, wrapping her arms around her, embracing her in a tight, comforting hug. “Shhh …”

“How?” I asked again.

Staring at me, my Mother’s brows furrowed in confusion. Suddenly the world was spinning, and I stood up from my chair, needing out.

“We don’t know how it started, Hal. Just that it did. A cigarette probably, these things happen all the time, I read it in the news. Just a single spark and a whole house can be burnt to the ground. You really ought to be more careful yourself. In fact, I’d really rather you stopped altogether …”

I blanked her voice out of my head, staggering from the room.

Aimee Ritchie was gone. Gone, gone, gone.

Christina Rossetti’s words flew through my head as I dashed for my room, slammed the door.

‘When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me’

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“What do you care anyway, if the fucking Bitch is dead?” His fingers, long, rough, masculine, rolled up a joint and passing it to me, he started making another.

I watched, fixated as Julian pressed his own joint to his lips, lighting it with a single flick of his lighter, and then leaning over to light mine.

“She royally screwed you over. She’s not worth shit on this earth.” He mumbled; words forced out between pressed lips.

Taking a drag, I felt it working its wonders … loosening up my limbs, relaxing my muscles. “Yeah, but you don’t understand. She is-” I hesitated then corrected, “-was my best friend. It just feels … weird.” Kind of messed up, as if the whole universe has shifted, spun completely off its axis.

His eyes caught mine. His body, still leaning over me, inched closer, the bright, sharp green of his irises pierced, penetrated into my soul. And I could feel myself drowning.

His hand crept up to my face, slowly. His fingers hovering just above my lips and as he tugged the joint from my mouth.

Fingers slid up my arm, my skin tingling, bristling. His body curved closer, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his breath, trembling through my hair, whirling across my neck.

“Fuck Aimee.” He whispered, “She deserved it.” The moment was broken, shattered, blown away. I edged away from him. He’d never understand. Tears rimmed my eyes, but I held them in, he wouldn’t see me cry. I wouldn’t let him.

Smoke swirled from his mouth, wispy streams, billowing towards the ceiling as he watched me, studying, analysing.

Julian Shields; part-time actor, musician, psychology student … boyfriend. He drew in again, closing his eyes as he did so. He was beautiful, I couldn’t deny it, nor could I understand what he was doing with me, but for the minute, it didn’t matter, because right now, I needed him more than anything else.

He kept me sane … my best friend.

Aimee had failed me, Julian was right; she had fucked me over, big time. Nevertheless, it still hurt, and now that she was gone, how could I possibly maintain my anger?

“How’s Sony?”

I stared at him, hard. It seemed to be genuine concern tracing his eyes, “Distraught.” I replied. “She can’t seem to get over the fact that Aimee’s gone. Carter’s over at the minute, trying to console her ...” I drifted off.

Julian’s eyes had darkened. Mentally scolding myself for mentioning the C-word, I inched closer to him, resting my hand upon his. Carter and Julian had a long history together, one much too complex to even begin explaining.

“Sorry,” I whispered. He shook his head, dismissing.

He got up, walked to his drawer and pulled out a small, clear plastic bag of what looked to be powder, from a pair of old, tattered socks.

My nerves jumped. Was that … He wouldn’t … “Julian-”

“I think we should try something new.” he smirked, the irresistible lop-sided grin that had won me over from the start. Sitting down beside me, cross-legged, on his clothes strewn floor, he pulled a blade from between the leaves of one of his university textbooks and began cutting lines.

“Cocaine?” I breathed out. No.

Not cocaine. I swore I would never do coke.

Never, never, never.

He smiled, closed his eyes, and bending down, he took a long; slow draw. A jagged inhalation, piercing the silence.

“Your turn, Hal.”

“But I thought we were-”

“We’ll go out after,” Staring, my eyes roamed across his face, taking him in; his certain eyes, prompting, insisting, his chiselled square jaw, his dark hair, framing his face. “I promise.”

I wavered, gazing at the coke.

His fingers grazed my chin, tipping it upwards, my face towards him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Nodding, I leant forward, hesitating, before closing my eyes and just … doing it.

Of course I do.

I snorted a line into each nostril. The texture was rough; jagged, particles of ground glass stabbing my nasal passages in a million different places, at a million different times. Burning, my sinuses screamed as flames danced along my nose. Fire. I clenched my aching nose with shaky fingers as my eyes watered; the room turned glassy, distorted.

His arms grabbed me from behind, suddenly, pressing me tight against his solid chest.

I felt a rush of excitement flow through my veins, adrenaline pumping. I shouldn’t have done that, it was stupid, ignorant of my own rules … bad. But the feeling of doing something I knew I shouldn’t have sent thrills tingling down my spine. And that alone felt good. Better than anything I’d experienced in a long time.

Leaning back against Julian, I pushed into him, felt his chest move up and down; my body move with it, felt his heartbeat, pounding furiously, beating against his ribcage and snuggled closer. I felt whole.

There was an ocean somewhere, roaring in my ears, but the world … the world seemed brighter, lighter. I was flying, hovering somewhere above my body. The walls were breathing with me; I could feel them, see them. The light was glowing brightly, neon everywhere, and I felt like I was ready to burst; explode. Amazing.

Julian’s lips brushed against my skin, the curve between my neck and my shoulder, then skimmed across my shoulder blade, soft and warm.

Everything felt so right, and suddenly I realised that no matter what, everything would be okay. After all … I had Julian, and what else did I really need?

“I love you,” I whispered, my words breathless and dreamy as I zone out of my world. Leaving it all behind.

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A/N: If you're reading this, it would be really cool and generous of you to review. And i'd love you forever. I just want an idea of what you think of this, and whether it's worth my while to contine. If you're intrigued in the slightest? Please tell ... encouragement is nice.

Also, in no way am i trying to promote drug-abuse through this story, i'm simply trying to develop my central character: Halle. Coke's bad, very bad, and although i don't speak from personal experience i know it's a very dangerous substance.