Page 7 of Diamonds in the Dark
My Dad finally breaks the silence by clearing his throat and asking Zach how his rehab is progressing along. I want to jump up from my chair and scream at them all to look at him. He’s fucked up now! Are you all freaking blind, just look at him, he can't even focus his eyes on any one thing. They are rolling around in his eye sockets like he has no control of them and not even half the food he is trying to eat is making it into his mouth. It's dropping all over the table and into his lap. It's like watching a toddler trying to feed himself for the first-time using silverware! He would make less of a mess eating with his hands. He looks as if he just got off a binge!
I do and say nothing. I sit there in silence, watching the drama unfold in front of me. I let a single tear roll down my cheek, no one is paying attention to me anyway. It is so hard seeing him like this. I feel like a part of my own soul is dying!
Zach goes into some imaginary story about how it is all going fantastic, and he thinks he is doing a great deal better. He goes on telling our parents some bullshit about how his counselor is super proud of his progress. They may even pull back to just seeing him two days a week. Everything he is telling them, every single word of it, is complete bullshit. He is feeding them exactly what he knows they want to hear. Nowhere in anything he is saying is one ounce of truth. He is not improving at all; in fact, it seems from my point of view that he is getting worse with each passing day. From the looks and smell of it, he has also forgotten how to shower. The truth behind his lies is that he has not even been to see his counselor for two weeks. I know this for a fact, because when I can, I try to track him. Why is he lying? I don't understand. Does he not want to get better? Does he not have a clue what he is doing to himself and to our family? Or is he so far gone that he doesn't care anymore? He seems hell bent on continuing his downward spiral of self-destruction, having not a care whatsoever of what he is doing to himself or to those around him.
Not realizing what I am doing, I start drumming my fingers on the table. They all three in unison go quiet and lay their silverware down. They turn their glares to where I am sitting. I stop immediately, looking back at them, mumbling an apology under my breath. The finger drumming has always been a nervous habit of mine. I do it without even realizing it. Mom and Dad have always despised it. I have been sent away from the table to my room multiple times growing up, without dinner for doing it when Zach and I were in trouble or being lectured about something. I don't know when it started or why, it's just something I have always done.
Everyone is quiet for the remainder of the meal, scarcely picking at the food on their plates. Everyone’s appetite has evaporated but no one looks up from their plate, as if they are terrified, they might make eye contact with each other and have to acknowledge one another's existence. My temper starts to blaze up again. I take a deep breath and push it back down. For the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to be alone, even though I am in a room full of people I love. I also understand now that Zach is not going to help himself and I have no clue what anyone can do to help him if he doesn't want to help himself.
Startling us all, Dad breaks the silence by clearing his throat again and addressing Zach once more.
“Zach, your mother and I have been discussing this situation you have gotten yourself into. We love you and we feel it would be in your best interest if you would stay here with us for a little while, just until you are a little more stable. If that doesn't sound like something you want to do, we are also willing to pay for you to go into a rehabilitation facility for a while so you can have time to get yourself together there, but we both agree you need more help one way or another. You are not doing well trying to do this on your own and we want to help you son.”
Zach looks up at Dad with pure surprise in his eyes, that quickly turns into a look of disgust. When the shock starts to wear off, he clenches and unclenches his fist repeatedly. At this point, I know he is pissed off. I really don’t see a reason for him to be this mad, all he has to do is say no if he's not interested in what Dad is offering. Mom and Dad are just trying to help the only way they know how, but drugs cause overexaggerated reactions to situations. He looks like he is ready for a physical fight with our dad. I can’t believe the look on his face, and it scares me. I have seen him lose his temper at me before and at guys we went to school with, but I have never seen this kind of drug induced rage he is displaying right now. The fact that it is aimed at our dad scares me. Would he really hit our dad? I question myself. You never know what the effects of drugs will make someone do and Zach is definitely not himself at the moment.
Zach’s glassy eyes glare at our dad with what looks like unadulterated hate. He finally speaks, but it is more of a rage than actual speaking. He sounds purely demonic. I am afraid he is fixing to lose all control of himself, and the drugs are going to take him over the edge.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you and Mommy dearest have been discussing behind my back. I don’t give a shit what the two of you think. I am not moving back into this house so I can be your fucking hostage while you watch every damn move, I make. And a rehab facility? Seriously? Fuck that shit. I am a grown ass man. I don't want or need your help. Why are you all so fucking worried about me anyway? Didn’t I just tell you I am doing better? Do you all not listen to a damn thing I say?” Zach spits out.
Dad looks troubled. I don’t think he was expecting this type of explosion to come from Zach. Of course, he's never dealt with a son hooked on drugs either. Mom excuses herself from the table with tears streaming down her pale face. I know it rips her apart hearing Zach talk that way to them. If only she could understand that it is not really Zach talking. It’s the drugs, booze, and whatever else he is on right now. However, Mom is oblivious to the effects the drugs are having on Zach. She has never had to deal with anything like this and shouldn’t have to be dealing with it now. Zach and I were not raised to speak with raised voices to them in any manner, let alone cuss in front of them or at them. I, myself, am in shock in some ways, but more so because all this is coming from my twin. Someone I know…or knew better than myself. However, I know that drugs make you do stupid shit. He is fighting his own personal demons right now. I saw it plenty while in the Army. Guys coming back from tours in Iraq would often fall into drug use and alcohol to dull the pain of what they had to endure and witness while overseas. I also see how far the drugs and drinking have taken Zach. That scares me the most. He cares more about them than he does his family or anything else for that matter, including himself.
Dad stands up slowly and in a low but stern voice addresses Zach once more.
“It was only a suggestion son, no need for the outburst. We just want to help if we can because we love you. However, with that language and uncalled for attitude, you can just leave this house right now. You are not welcome in this house again until you apologize to your mother and me for your behavior, and, until you can have a conversation and not get all fired up. I will not tolerate this kind of disrespect in my home, especially in front of your mother. Son, I love you. We love you. Nevertheless, you need to get your act together before something bad happens to you. Look at yourself, look at what you are doing to yourself and what you are becoming. You look like you are only half-alive.”
At that moment, I grasp that Mom and Dad are not as blind to what is going on as I had originally thought. They do see what is really going on. I’m reassured by this new insight. Maybe there is still hope for Zach to get the proper help he needs. Then again, as I said before, he must want to help himself first.
Zach stands up so quickly and with so much force, he knocks his chair backwards, the back striking the floor hard. He starts in on Dad, hysterically screaming, spit flying from his mouth; he has reached complete drug induced rage. This is what I was afraid of. I want to jump up as well and get in between them, but I know my place and it's not to interfere. It's not like I could do anything to stop this from happening anyway. Zach has lost himself to the drugs. He no longer has any control of himself.
“Thanks, Dad, for everything, really. Fuck you all. I do not need this bullshit. I have my life together. Have you ever thought maybe I like where I am in life? I’m a successful contractor, who builds beautiful fucking homes. Have you ever thought that I love my life just how it is? I have my own life. I pay my own way. I don't ask you and Mom for a damn thing. What I do is my own damn business. You all are just over controlling. You are just pissed off because you cannot control me any longer. If you don’t like how I live, then stay out of my fucking life. I don’t need you all. Why don’t you people just accept it and leave me the hell alone. Why are you all always in my business? I don’t need this shit or you and Mom. So just back the fuck off! Trust me, I will never grace your doorstep again, so don't you worry about that.”
I start thumping my fingers hard on the table again not realizing that once again I am doing it. Both my dad and brother turn and look in my direction. Silence fills the room.
“What the hell?” Zach yells. Looking wild eyed and bewildered he runs from the room; in the distance I hear the front door slam so hard it rattles the windows and the pictures hanging on the wall. Dad, poor Dad just stands there glaring in my direction. I just shake my head, get up, and leave, whispering good-bye as I exit the room.
I have no clue what to do at this point. Everything has gotten way out of control. I decide to go looking for my brother. I am positive he has taken himself straight to one of the local shit-hole bars where the alcohol flows freely and the drugs are the main course as the substitute for actual food. After going in and out of a few of them, I finally see his truck parked in a parking lot and find him sitting at the bar of the roughest place in town. He is already nursing a beer.
I slip into a booth in the far back corner where it is dark and just watch him. I don't know why I came here looking for him. It’s depressing watching him do this to himself. You can tell by the way he sways side to side on the bar stool he really just needs to go home and sleep this shit off, but he won’t. He pretty much has no control over his body movements. He will keep on until he passes out or worse, the shit kills him.
I watch as he passes the greasy gray-haired guy beside him a small stack of money. It looks like several hundred dollars. The guy slides him a plastic package of what looks like cocaine, or some white substance. I am not good with identifying drugs, never been around them. I feel sick. I cannot believe I am watching this go on right in front of me. I am furthermore astonished by how easily a drug deal can take place like this right out in public. I never would have thought it could be that effortless. No one even paid attention to what was going on, no one even cared!
Zach gets up almost knocking over his barstool as he does. He leans heavily on the guy beside him to catch his balance and says something in the guy's ear that I can’t make out. He slowly starts staggering his way towards the men’s room making smart ass comments to people on the way and grabbing a few women’s asses. Some like the attention, others getting pissed off. He comes close to getting in a fight with several of the other patrons because of his mouth and him carelessly bumping into them. As I watch this display coming from Zach, it is like watching a nightmare come to life right in front of my eyes. This is not the person I grew up with, this can't be my twin. I am appalled at what I am witnessing. I know I should do something, anything. However, I know in my heart, there is nothing I could possibly do that would change a damn thing. Zach is determined to do his own thing. I witnessed that tonight when Mom and Dad were trying to offer him help. Seeing enough, I get up while Zach is still in the bathroom doing whatever he is doing with the drugs and walk out of the bar, forlorn and feeling ill.
As I am passing Zach's truck, I have a thought. The door is unlocked so I reach in and pull the knob that pops the hood. I start grabbing random hoses and wires, jerking them out rendering the truck useless, at least for tonight or until he gets it fixed. He will have to call a cab now or hitch a ride with someone. Maybe I saved his life tonight or someone else's by not allowing him to drive out of this parking lot in the condition he is in.
Chapter 9
Gwen
I wake up to the cacophony of noise coming from the alarm on my phone. I really need to change that alarm. It's annoying, but it wakes me up so well. It also makes me want to throw my whole phone across the room and nuzzle back deep into my quilt. I sit up in bed and stretch my arms and legs. Sitting here, I try to wake up a little. I don’t even remember falling asleep last night. I was so exhausted. I decide today I am not going to let Edward rule my thoughts at all. I need to start focusing on other things.
I go downstairs to make the coffee that I now have, thanks to my grocery-shopping trip yesterday. I sit down at my laptop as I wait for the coffee to finish brewing. I check my company email and go to work, writing back to people. I also start going through some files that George has sent me. I need to catch up on the work I didn’t complete last night. The coffee maker beeps letting me know it’s done brewing. I go over, pour myself a huge mug full and fill it with creamer and sugar. Blonde and sweet is how I like it. That is what my mom always said to me when we went out for coffee, and she would watch me make mine. She claimed she had never seen anyone put as much cream and sugar in one mug of coffee as I do in mine.
I take a long and pleasurable sip; I close my eyes and enjoy the flavor and alluring French vanilla fragrance. Coffee has to be the best aroma in the world first thing in the morning. Well, at least to me it is, and it being French vanilla makes it even more enticing. My disrespectful, stupid telephone decided to pick this moment to start ringing, interrupting my secret love affair with my coffee. I sit my mug down and grab the phone, remembering to look at the caller I.D. this time. I see it is Becca calling. I figure I better answer it, I'm sure she's been worried since I haven't called her back the last two times she has called.
Instead of the usual courteous hello, I answer it with, “Are you trying to bore me to death with that self-help relationship book or what? How about next time giving me something I will enjoy? Let’s say a nice scary, messed up, psychotic novel or a sexy romance that makes me blush just reading it. Come on, Becca, you work in a bookstore. Surely you have something somewhere in that place more interesting than this crap!” I am hoping this will sidetrack her from chewing me out over not returning her calls the last 2 days.
Becca not the least bit offended at my random complaining laughs,
