Wednesday, 29 February 2012
...Joe - Chapter 8 pt 2
Chapter 8 pt 2
This had gone on too long and I'm sick of it. It's been three weeks and all I've done is sit in the fucking dark, drinking myself sick and smoking till my eyes roll back. Thank God Sainsburys and my new dealer delivers. Otherwise I'd be fucked, more so then I am already.
I've got to get up. I've got to shower, I need to eat properly and I need to get out of this fucking house. So what if Jonie doesn't want me. So what if she hasn't bothered to call me in three fucking weeks. So what if my life is completely and utterly fucked. I don't need Jonie, I can make new friends, in fact I can make my old friends.
I look around the camp I made myself in the living room and I wonder where I left my phone. I stand up (well not without a little trouble), scattering three weeks worth of crumbs and knocking over the mini “Beer Mahal” I made myself. I sigh, that took a whole day. At least the mini “Beerful Tower” and “Beerkinham Palace” are still standing erect. Ha erect. I search through the debris that is my living room and I find my phone nestled in between the armchair cushions and the underwear I remembered to change. It's dead and I'm not surprised. I look for the charger and notice that the cable is hanging out of my laptop so I plug it in and sit down. I wait a few minutes and turn it on. It gives a satisfactory beep and I lean back on the sofa, squishing a mountain of empty orange juice cartons. I grab my rizla, tobacco, weed and grinder and start the rolling process. I've gotten so good it takes only a matter of minutes before I'm lighting the sucker and retreating into my own happy world again.
A few hours later I emerge, fuzzy headed and hungry. I scan the floor for something edible but my eyes bring me nothing back. Fuck. I guess I have to rejoin the natural world. I get up and I feel like I'm on a boat, I honestly don't think I'll make it to my bedroom to shower. I get up one flight of stairs and call it a day. I head towards the bedroom on the left and I freeze. Hand reaching out but not quite touching the handle. I haven't been in this room since I moved in six years ago. It was my dads room and all his stuff is still in there. The same as he left it all those years ago when him and his new family stopped coming to London for holidays. Apparently it wasn't exotic enough for his thorough bred clan. I take a deep breath and turn the handle, pushing open the door in one swift gesture. The door sighs at the effort its has to make after all these years. It hits the dresser behind the door with a thud sending dusty costume jewellery scattering to the floor. I look around the room from the doorway. Dust particles are dancing in the light and I'm hit with an overwhelming smell of musk. In my current state it's all too much and I feel the bile rising in my throat. I'm gonna be sick. I lurch into the room, groping at the pieces of furniture that aren't moving and yank open the bathroom door. I make it to the toilet just in time. Everything that I've eaten in the past three weeks comes back up and trust me it's not a lot.
My body heaves, forcing my back to arch and my stomach to cramp, throwing up another load into the waiting porcelain bowl. After fifteen minutes I sit back, wiping my mouth on my soiled shirt and drying my running eyes with the back of my hand. I lean against the cold bathtub and muse at how warm the floor feels. Must be under floor heating, shame it's not in the rest of the house.
I stare at the empty room through the open door and I feel numb. The only thing I can think is that this room is so much nicer then mine, seeing as mine looks like the aftermath of a third world bombing. I didn't get round to cleaning up after that day and instead closed the door on it. I'll deal with it eventually. Maybe I'll hire a cleaner.
I heave my body onto the side of the bath and push the plug into the hole and turn the hot water on. The bath is a bit dusty so I have to switch the tap to the hose and rinse it down. The dirty water builds up coz I forgot to take the plug out so I have to attend to that, then wash the bath down again and put the plug in and finally turn the hot fucking water on. Man, that was a lot more work then I bargained for. I stand and flush the toilet, watching the sick swirl down gives me a weird nostalgic feeling. I take a deep breath and turn towards the room. I have to face it sometime.
It's been decorated in “neutral colours” meaning it looks like a stripy cappuccino monster threw up everywhere then passed out in the corner and someone mistook it for a bed. Apart from that the room isn't too bad. It's so bright, the tall bay windows filling the room from floor to ceiling with its brilliant glow. Compared to the shit hole upstairs this feels like a palace. I wish the rest of the house felt this way. I may have to move down here.
The sound of running water jolts me out of my daydream and I turn back into the bathroom. The water in the tub is only half filled and I have a desperate urge to fill it with bubbles. Lots and lots of bubbles. I dive towards the cupboard under the sink and yank the door open with all the stealth of a ninja. I rummage around the shelves, the smell of lavender and strawberry filling my nose. I find a bottle of strawberry bubble bath that hasn't been opened, so I crack the lid and take a deep breath. I'm instantly reminded of my mum and I feel a pang of guilt coz I've been ignoring her recently. I pledge to be a better son and ninja roll towards the bath tub dumping half the bottle into it. Within a few minutes the scent of my mum feels the room.
I ninja crawl back to the cupboard and rummage around a bit more. I find expired aspirin, ibuprofen and half empty deodorants. A packet of razors, a pair of scissors, an expired packet of condoms and a half used packet of Viagra. I instantly throw the Viagra into the corner of the room and feel vile. Dirty old sod.
I grab the razors and the scissors and look at myself in the mirror. My hair has grown outrageously wild and I’ve got a hobo beard. It's time for a haircut. I shoot a quick glance at the rapidly filling tub and judge that I've got at least five minutes till I have to turn the water off. So I pick up the scissors and poise it over my beard. Here goes nothing.
I start cutting, slowly at first, my heart pounding with every strand that falls. I'm half way through and my face looks so much better. I finish my beard off with gusto and I turn my attention to my hair.
I notice that the sound of running water is getting deeper and I turn the taps off just in time.
I look in the mirror and run a hand through my hair. Bye hair. You hold so many fucked up memories. It's time for a fresh start. I pick the scissors back up again and I hesitate, just for a minute, hands poised in position and I take in a deep breath. I breathe in light and positivity and I breath out all the shit.
“It's one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready so here I go.”