Page 52 of The Fix

I wish I’d never found him like that.

I wish I didn’t know.

I flush the contents of the bathroom pail. I’m doing my best not to think about it as I wander over to the tub and clear out my dirty delicates before rinsing the container.

I know I don’t have much time before he’s ready to vomit again, but I can’t stop my knees from hitting the tile and the tears to take over. My forehead hits the arms I have braced on the side of the tub and I just … let it flow.

The pain. The heartache. The exhaustion.

The regret.

It all bubbles up to the surface and drips off my jaw.

I chose the music industry because I know exactly how this is going to go. I’ve seen the alcoholics, the drug addicts, even the sex addicts.

I’ve seen the jonesing at its peak in people I knew.

And I’ve seen the withdrawals at their worst in people I loved.

It’s something I’d never wish on anyone.

To carry this disease inside their minds with only those of us left around them to help carry the weight.

It’s so much weight.

Which is why I pick my butt up and scrub the pail until it’s clean and then wash my hands and my face in the sink.

Those times before … she had staff and medics and hospitals.

Entire facilities that were supposed to help her.

This time, Toby just has me.

When I return to the couch, he’s asleep in a seated position, his head bent back against the cushion.

“Toby?” I whisper, half afraid that I’m imagining his chest moving with each intake of breath, but also certain that being passed out is what he needs most right now.

When he doesn’t respond, I gently lay the pail in his lap, prepped for another round of vomit, should it come and find the remote for the TV over the fireplace. A soft brown noise fills the space, coupled with the sound of the crackling fire.

I hope it helps keep him calm along with my mind.

I stand there for a moment. Frozen with indecision in the middle of the living room.

I can’t leave him alone. What if he chokes to death?

Sighing, I settle into the cushion and just look at him.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” My heart aches at the thoughts, so many of them running through my head. “Why did you have to tell me about your dad, Toby?” Of course he doesn’t answer me, just steadily breathes through his open mouth with lips I’ve kissed and a beard that felt better than I could have imagined. “Why did you have to go and make me like you? I wanna know why you told me? Of all the people in your life, why me?”

His bare chest rises and falls evenly, the inked script along his left pec begging to be read.

“The deepest darkness will always return to the light so long as my eyes are left open. It’s with eyes open that I know love cannot be felt without pain. And it’s that pain that acknowledges I have lived.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes and I pinch my bottom lips between my teeth to keep them at bay as my eyes wander further down his torso to the clock—a pocket watch with wings in water color—painted directly in the middle of his flat sternum.

7:52

My stomach churns and the bite on my lip becomes painful.

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