Relief mixes with frustration and anger in my veins, but I put a leash on it. I know from past experience there is no point even attempting to talk to him when he’s high and drunk. The times I’ve gone there have ended up in an almighty argument, with horrible words spewed on both sides, and I’ve finally learned my lesson. I’ll wait till I’ve sobered him up and he’s eaten and slept, and then I’m going to try to get through to him.
Again.
“Come on.” I stand, extending my arm. “Let’s get you into the bath.”
I help him into the bathroom, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush before curling his hand around it. I add some scented bubble bath to the water in the tub, swirling it with my hand, while he haphazardly cleans his teeth.
I suck in a breath, shutting my nostrils off so I don’t ingest the noxious odors bleeding off him in pungent waves. The scent of weed clings to his filthy clothes, and he looks like he hasn’t showered in weeks. Dirt clings to his skin as he sheds his outer layers, and I frown at the fading bruises on his chest, wondering what other trouble he’s gotten himself into.
“Call me if you need me,” I say, keeping my back to him as he gets into the tub.
“Thanks, Pres. I owe you.”
I gulp over the lump in my throat, hating how things have turned out for him. That this is what it has come down to. There was a time I thought Chris and I would last the whole distance, and remembering how it all fell apart still guts me every time. Ignoring the tight pain in my chest, I force thoughts of the past aside and focus on the here and now.
Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, I scoop up his clothes and head out to the kitchen. I shove them into a trash bag because there’s no way they are salvageable. I’ll just pick him up some things from the secondhand store tomorrow.
“I’m really sorry to do this to you, babe, but Chris has just shown up,” I tell my bestie, as I fling the trash bag in the dumpster at the back of our triple-decker, with my cell pressed between my ear and my shoulder.
Silence greets me, and I inwardly groan. “Mo.”
“It’s fine,” she says, resignation clear in her tone.
“Order pizza for Kady, and I’ll give you the cash tomorrow,” I offer, because I hate letting my godchild down.
“You don’t have to do that. That’s not why I’m upset.”
I push through the door, stepping inside the building, taking the steps two at a time. “I know why you’re upset.” She tells me enough, and I know it comes from a place of concern.
“How long are you going to keep doing this, Pres? He’s not your responsibility.”
“He has no one, Mo. And I’ve got to try.” Tears prick my eyes as I step out into the hallway that leads to my apartment. “If he dies, and I did nothing, I could never live with myself.”
“Have you ever considered you could be part of the problem?” she softly inquires. “Maybe if you weren’t there, he’d stop and take a long hard look at himself.”
“If I wasn’t here, he’d probably be dead already.” My tone is clipped, anger seeping through.
Not at her. More for the situation.
I know Mo speaks a lot of truth, but she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand all the ways in which Chris helped me. How inextricably we’re connected. She doesn’t understand I can’t walk away because turning my back on him would be like turning my back on myself.
“Look, I don’t want to fight with you. And fuck, you’ve got the biggest heart, Presley. I just don’t want to see you hurt, and you’re always so sad after each visit.”
“Because it hurts me to see him like this, Mo.” I press my forehead into the wall beside my apartment, not wanting to go inside in case Chris overhears this conversation. “For years, he was my salvation. He kept me going at times when I wanted to die. Ignoring him when he needs me would be a shitty way to repay him, and I won’t do it. I know you’re only concerned, but you’ve got to drop this before we both say something we regret.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. Order pizza, and tell Kady I’ll pick her up after school next Wednesday. We can go to the park. Maybe catch a movie.”
“She’ll love that. Thanks, Pres.” A pregnant pause filters down the line before she says, “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hang up and enter my apartment, pleased to find Chris dressed, sitting up on the couch, and drying his hair with a towel.
I plaster on a fake smile, dropping down beside him. “You look a little more human now.” I tilt his face from side to side. “You could use a shave and a haircut though.”
“Could you?” he asks, arching a brow. The wildness in his eyes has calmed a little, but I know whatever he has taken is still lingering in his system.
