A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [54]
Don’t worry about it.
No way.
Yeah.
Why?
I’m in a giving mood.
Thank you.
I’ll give you a number. If you want more, call it and tell them you’re my friend. They’ll hook you up.
Thank you.
Don’t give the number out. I normally don’t do this and they don’t like people they don’t know calling them.
Okay.
Lucinda sat down on of the couches and reached under it and pulled out some rolling papers and set them on her lap and started picking buds out of the bag.
You want to smoke with us?
I could feel her watching me from her loft. I was scared.
I don’t smoke dope.
Really?
I stood.
Really.
I opened the door.
Bye.
Thank you.
I nodded and as I closed the door I looked up at her and she was looking at me and our eyes met and she smiled and I knew I wasn’t the only one who was nervous and scared and whose hands had been shaking. I wanted to fall. I wanted to fall hard. I knew.
Darkness retreats and the Sun rises. Red, yellow and orange creep into clear blue, the sweet airborne calls of waking birds echo across the black mirror of the Lake, a crisp draft carries the bitter of cold into the reserve of night. I stand and I walk back to the Unit and the dew on the dead grass soaks through my shoes and I watch my feet break the crystalline perfection of the morning’s drops and the drops are just another thing I’ve destroyed, another thing I can’t fix or bring back, another beautiful thing ruined by my carelessness. I don’t stop. I don’t stop destroying and I don’t change my course and I don’t look back. Looking back hurts too much, so I just keep going.
I open the door and I head inside and it is quiet and no one is awake yet. I walk to my Room and I go the Bathroom and I take off my clothes and I step into the shower and I turn on the hot water. Same old bullshit. The water burns and it turns my skin red and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and I stand there and I take it because I deserve it and because I don’t know anything else. It hurts and I deserve it. Same old bullshit.
I step out and I dry off and I walk to the mirror and I wipe the steam away and I look at myself. The black beneath my eyes is fading. The swelling around my nose is gone, though the bump is there and will stay there. The swelling in my lips is down and my lips are starting to look almost normal. The reduced swelling in them makes the stitches around my gash more prominent. The stitches are old and black and crusty and they look like barbed wire, the gash has sealed itself and a scar is starting to form. I pull down my lower lip to look at the rest of the cuts and the rest of the stitches. The stitches are black and they weave in and out of one another like a vicious fence. The cuts are closed bright white against pale red. They’re no longer bleeding, no longer oozing, and scars are starting to form.
I start to look up. I want to see my eyes. I want to look beneath the surface of the pale green and see what’s inside of me. As I get near I turn away. I try to force myself back, but I can’t do it. I have not consciously looked into my eyes for years. Although I have wanted to look into them, I have not had the strength to do so. I try to force myself, but I can’t. I do not have the strength now and I do not know if I will ever have the strength. I might never look into the pale green of my eyes again. There are places from which you cannot return. There is damage that can be irreparable.
I wrap a towel around my waist and I walk into the Room to see if anyone is awake. Warren is sitting up and the Bald Man is sitting up and they’re talking to each other. John is still sleeping and is curled into the fetal position and he is clutching himself and sucking his thumb. I walk over to Warren.
Good morning.
Hi, James. How are you?
I’m okay.
You look tired.
Didn’t sleep much.
He nods.
It happens here.
I was wondering if I could borrow something from you?
What do you need?
A Swiss Army knife or some nail clippers or something sharp.
Why do you need something sharp?
I just do.
Are you going to hurt yourself?
I smile.
If I was gonna