Not that whatever’s going on with Leo’s mum has to be drug related. But if she isn’t fucked up in some way, I’ll be genuinely surprised.
Everything about Leo’s reaction is screaming “child of an addict” at full volume. His nervous, almost manic need to get to his mother. The heavy air of resignation surrounding him. Not wanting me to come with him and dreading the embarrassment of having someone pay witness to whatever state his mum is going to be in.
I finally understand some of his behaviour. Why he wanted to help me, even though any sane person would have thought me far beyond it. Why he bounces around like a ball of distracting energy all the time. His willingness to put up with my sour demeanour and general callousness as well as my terrible past actions.
I’ve met enough people with loved ones who are addicts to put the pieces together.
Leo doesn’t waste time taking moment to collect himself before getting out of the hastily parked car and storming up to the front of the townhouse.
I rush to get out of the passenger side and chase after him, blatantly ignoring the prickly voice in my head that tells me I should maybe wait in the car.
Leo didn’t ask for my help, and respecting his wishes should almost certainly be higher up on my priority list. But I want to give him my help anyway whether he accepts it willingly or not.
Leo practically punches the front door, not sparing a glance back for me. His entire attention is on getting inside the house and finding his mum.
It doesn’t take long for the front door to be flung wide open, a bearded man in his early forties standing on the other side. He’s barely dressed in dark trousers and a shoddily buttoned, blue silk shirt.
Leo pushes past the man, barging into the house wielding his single-minded focus like a sword, cutting past any obligation towards politeness.
“Hey, Little Lion,” the man exclaims, flashing perfectly whitened teeth at Leo. He’s slurring his words, still drunk from the night before or maybe from drinking this morning. His eyes are red rimmed and a little bloodshot.
Leo scowls impatiently at the—I’m calling it now—complete muppet who opened the door to his rapid-fire knocking.
“Fuck off, Teddy. Where is she?” he demands.
Teddy blinks stupidly at Leo for a few agonising moments. Moments in which I seriously consider committing an act of violence upon this person who has upset my partner. I don’t care if that’s irrational, or if I’ve judged this man incorrectly as a top-rate bellend. My nightmare of a partner is in distress, and I need someone to blame for that.
“Upstairs. Won’t come out of the bathroom. Locked herself in again.” Teddy sways on his feet. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, but he’s drunk and out of it, so it still sounds quite loud. “She’s having one of herdramaticepisodes. You need to get her out of here. It’s seriously killing the atmosphere.” He gestures around him haphazardly.
It seems I have not misjudged Teddy.
The inside of the townhouse is a stark contrast to the posh exterior. The house is, to put it bluntly, an absolute fucking travesty. There are empty and partially full alcohol bottles scattered all over the floor. Every available surface has cigarette butts and discarded clothing and general mess covering it. The carpets are marked all to shit with God only knows what. Even the walls didn’t escape the party assault. There are grubby fingerprints smeared across the fancy wallpaper as well as a few tears here and there.
People of varying ages and degrees of nakedness lie around the place on uncomfortable-looking sofas and the dirty floor.
It smells strongly of smoke and acidic vomit in here. My nose feels twitchy at the power of the thickly veiled aroma blanketing the house.
Leo ignores Teddy’s tactless comment and shoves around him to get to the stairs, leaping up them two at a time in his eagerness to reach his mum as quickly as possible.
Teddy turns to me with that blearily vacant look of a man who is on a collision course with a major hangover. If he ever lets himself get there. Some people don’t. Some people just keep going and going and going, until they die. I’ve seen that too. I’ve killed plenty of addicts in my life. Most of them high-powered CEOs and government officials. Those who do a better-than-average job of hiding their demons from a world full of those desperate to get a good look in at them. To poke and prod those little monsters, to put them out on display for everyone to see.
I remember one in particular. His name was Zander or something similarly ridiculous. American. Worked for the White House doing something military related. OI sent me after him. I had to survey him for a while to find out how to get close enough, how to kill him in a way that wouldn’t raise any major flags.
I watched Zander for weeks. Watched him drink whiskey in his coffee every morning. Watched him drink vodka straight from a bottle he hid in the bathroom tacked onto his big, important office. Watched him hide the constant drinking from his equally successful lawyer wife. Watched him spend hours drinking endless tumblers of expensive bourbon alone at home. Watched him drink champagne and wine at parties he attended. Watched him as he died, his body shutting down from alcohol poisoning.
It was easy enough to make it look like an accident. He made it easy. They almost always did.
There was nothing special about Zander, not in and of himself, so I’m not sure why I remember him so vividly. I think I was just so struck by his commitment to the spiral. He didn’t hold back at all. He threw himself into ruin with complete and utter abandon despite having every reason to resist temptation.
Watching Zander taught me something about human nature. It taught me the extent a person will go to just to stop feeling whatever it is they don’t want to feel.
How bizarre are we? That some of us would rather die than suffer the inevitable consequence of living. Especially as it’s pointless anyway. No one can avoid it forever. In the end, no matter how far and fast we fall, drown or drive, we all have to pay the toll.
“Who are you, then?” Teddy asks me, giving me a salacious, if lopsided, grin. “New boyfriend? Hope so. Lion needs someone to save him from himself.”
Even though it’s a thought I’ve had around a thousand times since I met Leo, I still bristle on his behalf, feeling the instinctive need to defend him to this stranger. This person who might very well know Leo far better than I do.
It seems I’m the only one allowed to disparage Leo’s ability to take care of himself. It seems everyone else can fuck right off. Huh. Interesting. Bit of a new development. Will absolutely need to keep an eye on that before it gets me in trouble. It’s one thing to feel responsible for the man, but anything deeper, more possessive than that would be horrific. For both of us.
