Page 19 of Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself)
Ten
7 weeks later
“I don’t know? Why don’t you tell me why I’m here?” The doc scribbled something on the paper in front of him, and Benny knew it was probably a buzzword of the day like denial, or noncompliant, or combative. “Jesus. I know why I’m here, doc. We’ve only been over this a thousand times.” Shaking his head, he lifted a trembling hand to swipe across his lips. “I’m a drunk and an addict, and my brother doesn’t want to see me die.”
When he came to after the show, tied to a bed in the hospital, every muscle screaming at him, the first person he’d seen was Andy. Looking like he hadn’t slept, his brother was seated right at his side, waiting to tell him those exact words. A rushed, one-sided conversation informing him that Andy had once again cleaned up after his mess, the anger in his brother’s voice telling him how close it had been. Benny found out Benita had been keeping secrets, talking to the Mexican biker gang he’d borrowed the money from, talking to the drug cartel, talking to everyone, helping all those folks he’d fucked over to keep tabs on him. She’d fucked that up, and pissed people off even more, making it so the whole band was a target.
Andy, though? Benny scoffed at the idea,Super Andy—he fixed everything. He knew a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy, who peddled the heroin out to the gang Benny had borrowed the cash from, that gang who then used the product to fuck the cartel in the ass. Now Benny was free and clear, escorted from the hospital and put on a plane for Arizona. Fucking Phoenix. For at least ninety days.
He wanted to spew threats every time he talked to Andy on the phone, hating those twice-weekly supervised calls spent on his brother. Family calls, but Andy was his only family now. GeeMa was done with him. She’d seen his mom travel the same path, had no desire for a repeat session, and Andy told Benny he wouldn’t be going back to Enoch. As in, ever.
The first time he heard the phrase sober companion, he’d laughed. Men had drinking buddies; they didn’t have non-drinking buddies unless they were twinks. Andy didn’t seem to be joking around about this, though, and Ben realized this when the first three contenders were shipped out to meet him only a month into his stay in rehab.
None of them was a fit, and not only on Benny’s side of things. He suspected they all took away a different view of him. He had been first an asshole, then a flirt, then a flirting asshole, based on the attractiveness and gender of the candidate. Now, he knew he was stuck at asshole, because even after more than a month clean and dry, he still regularly got the shakes like he had right now. And the need? Yeah, even with chemical assistance, that bitch was still gnawing a hole through his head, calling and calling, teasing him with ideas on how to find oblivion that never came.
“Is that the only reason you’re here, Mr. Jones?” This doc steadfastly refused to call him Benny, even after repeated requests. Always Mr. Jones, like Benny was an old man.
“I can run through the list again if you want, Doc.” Benny looked down, shaking his head. “I’m a habitual liar. I lied and stole from family, lied and stole from a gang, then stole from a drug gang, then lied to my brother. I lied to my band, my friends, my lover. I’m in danger of self-harm. I nearly killed myself unintentionally a dozen times over the past five years, the most recent of which was less than fifty days ago, when I made my brother watch as I took a nosedive and face-planted off a stage, drunk off my ass.” Benny shook his head.
“I can’t go home. Don’t have a home anymore. Hardly have a family, except the brother I already mentioned. The band I worked for years to build is disbanded, which is a terrible play on words, and you should shoot me now for letting that slip out.” The joke fell flat, and he took a breath, then another. Consciously slowing his words, realizing the rapidly increasing speed of his speech was telegraphing his anxiety.
“My career is in ruins, and even the music, which has been my saving grace whenever things got bad, has now abandoned me, too. I can’t write my way out of a wet paper bag these days.”
Holding up his palms, he reached out, exposing small, non-descript red marks on each wrist. “Fifteen days ago I got a pair of scissors from the nurses’ station and tried to cut my wrists. I did a shit job of it because I’m stupid and didn’t think about dismantling the scissors first, but there you go. I’m a suicidal alcoholic homeless junkie loser.” He laughed. “And yet, my brother claims to love me.”
“I spoke with your grandmother yesterday, Mr. Jones. I’d like to know why you think you don’t have a home.” Implacable and unmoved, the doctor looked at him with a carefully level stare.
“My own brother told me I’d never go back to Enoch. I don’t have to talk to GeeMa to know how she feels.” Rolling his eyes, he flung himself backwards in the overstuffed chair, resisting the urge to sling a leg over the arm like a child in the grip of a tantrum. “I know.”
“Mrs. Jones indicated you would always be welcome in your childhood home.”
Benny exploded from the chair, walking to the door with fast steps, leaning his heated forehead against the cool wood. With closed eyes, he stood there a moment, waiting. Sure enough, the question came at last.
“Why did that statement upset you, Mr. Jones?”
“Can you stop it with pretending I’m an old man? Can you? Huh? Stop pretending you give a shit? Can you stop? Jesus, you pick and pry until you find something so you can scribble a note down, make sure your time is well spent in here with the drunks. Can you stop it? Just stop with the lies.” He didn’t move, head bowed.
“Why do you believe I’m lying to you? What part of my statement was a lie?”
“Jesus.” Twisting in place, he leaned his shoulders against the door. “Everything. If you knew me, you’d know better. That’s what tipped me, man. Lies.”
“What’s a lie?”
“Her house isn’t my childhood home!” Teeth clenched together, his jaw ached painfully with the pressure. “My home doesn’t exist anymore. It got wrecked byher.”
“Your grandmother wrecked your house? I don’t understand. I was under the impression she still lives there, Mr. Jones.”
“Fucking shit. Can you just call me Benny?” Shaking his head, he twisted to one side, turning his back to the doctor as if that would hide his reactions in the too small room. “GeeMa lives in her house. My home got sold, and then seven years ago, it burned to the ground. Burned and gone. Wrecked and ruined. If it weren't forher, we’d have lived out our days on that place.”
“Who?”
“HER!” Benny jerked his body around, facing the doctor again, and seeing the fucking compassion in the man’s face unraveled his control. “HER!She ruins everything she touches. Always has. Daddy, then Andy. My whole fucking…life. She…my entire life.”
“Tell me who, Benny.”
It was the use of his namefinallythat did him in. One word, two syllables, and when the doc said it, completely took his legs out from underneath him. Back to the door, he slipped to the floor, sobs racking his body. There were noises in the room, footsteps scarcely audible over the rushing breath in his ears, then arms around him, a solid chest under his cheek. It reminded him of Andy and all the times his brother had held him in the middle of the night. Back when he would wake in the grip of a nightmare and two boys far too young to be alone were the only people in the house because she was out whoring around. “Mom. Mymom.”
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