Page 116 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“I got a call from our lawyer this morning, about you spending the night in jail. For assault?”

“You got here fast,” I say, pushing the water off my face, feeling the nine shots of tequila slam into my skull.

“No, I didn’t. It’s 7:00 P.M. and,” he coughs, “you smell and look like shit, Alex.”

Ignoring him, I ask the only thing I care about. “Have you heard from her?”

His expression remains impassive. “I’m done with all that shit, Alex.” My stomach sinks, roiling with disappointment. “I just came to make sure you were alive, make sure the dog was okay.” Delta sits beside him, looking at me with the same level of disgust.

I sit back down before I throw up all over his Ferragamo loafers.

“Yeah, thriving,” I say as I run my hand across my forehead, finding it damp with sweat.

“Alright then, take care.” That’s it? He’s just leaving?

I take a long blink, and when I open my eyes to Delta licking my face, the sun has gone down. And I’m alone.

july

“Up.” The voice is loud and commanding. “Get up, Alex.” The sound booms in the living room, bouncing off the adobe walls.

Am I dead?

“Any day now…”

“Yeah, I’m getting up,” I finally say. I know better than to disobey this voice.

“Jesus Christ, Alex. Take a shower and put some clothes on. We’re going home.” When I open my eyes, all I see is Constantine’s disappointment shining back, and I pinch my eyes closed again.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“Well, when your children can’t take care of themselves, you do it for them.” He knows just what to say and how to say it. The guilt is unbearable.

When I turn around to head for the shower, Niko is standing, leaning against a wall with Delta at his side.Traitor.

He gives me a head nod as I pass by.

I actually stare at the window in the small bathroom and consider crawling through it to run away. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that here. But I won’t do that to him. Constantineis probably the only person left on this Earth who could coerce me into leaving this shit hole. He probably hates this place as much as I do. If not more.

Which is why I’m here. Punishment.

Self-induced exile in middle-of-fucking-nowhere, Arizona. Ray’s house. My former childhood home and hell on Earth.

I can’t remember the last time I put on a clean shirt.Do I have clean shirts?Doesn’t matter. If I can’t leave because I don’t have clothes, I’ll just stay.

The hot spray hits my back as I hang my head, ashamed of who I am at my core. Ashamed of all I’ve done. Who I’ve hurt.

I can’t say exactly how many days it’s been since I last saw her. Keeping track of time wasn’t exactly my strong suit right now. If I have to ballpark it, I’d say 45 days. That’s a long time. Almost as much time as she spent in the hospital.

It’s reminders like that that keep me drunk most days.

All the time I cost her. All the pain I caused her. For every one good thing I can remember, there are at least five bad memories standing right behind, yelling at me.

I pick up the only mechanism for cleaning myself in here, a single bar of Irish Spring. Likely 20 years old.Fuck me.I use the singular bar to wash my hair, my body, my face, and my beard that’s grown out uneven and thick.

I try to pick the pieces of myself up off the floor before I exit the shower, but it’s damn hard.

Niko knocks on the door, “Alright, bro, let’s pick up the pace. It’s 85 degrees in the house, and it smells like rotting food and wet dog in here. And it ain’t Delta.” The towel I grab off the rack is threadbare and thin, but I do my best to dry, and what I don’t evaporates quickly into the parched desert air.