Kiss Me Goodbye
"Son, why didn't you tell me?" Dusty asked, bending to pick up the orange and white bottle that had rolled out of Cody's bag. He recognized the impossible to pronounce name as an anti-depressant. Cody just shrugged one of his slumped shoulders, his dark-ringed, down cast eyes full of tears. He didn't want his father to know about that secret, or to know that the prescription salvation wasn't working---unless maybe he took it all in one hard swallow, no need for a refill.
He snatched the bottle from his fathers' trembling hand, hating the eyes of worry and pity that he felt downcast upon him. It seemed like that was just the normal routine, eyes were always pinning him from above, because he was always stuck under the grinding toes of everyone else. He was on his knees in the dirt, begging for a hand to help him rise, begging for some sweet savior to kiss his wounds clean and love away the pain.
There was no love for him, this he had became certain of on his back staring at the ceiling—a way he'd spent so much of his empty time. He'd been wrapped around someone, he couldn't even remember who, and for the lack of feelings he felt stirred inside of him he might as well have been alone. He felt like a ghost in his own life, walking in a dream of swirling shadows, his feet always dragging heavily against the ground. He rolled that tiny bottle between his fingers, his lips quirking up into something not really a smile, but just akin to a sick version of one. To think, that these little pills could just magically fix his world. There was no fixing this, sometimes fucked up was all there was.
"There's nothing to tell." Cody said dully, answering his father by not really answering him at all. He tucked the escaped meds back into his bag. It wasn't a lie, there was nothing to tell. Nothing from nothing, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
"Take care of yourself, boy."
"Oh, I will." His voice said, shakily, the sound of tears lacing the words seemed oddly familiar, to the point that it was a twisted kind of comfort.
His father left him alone, with a numb pat to his shoulder. Cody was staying here with his family tonight, because their next venue was close enough it allowed him that luxury. For one night, he didn't have to be the failure of a legacy that he was, just the cute, willing, boy that everyone passed around, afraid that if he didn't comply then he'd lose it all—as if these days there was anything left to lose anyway.
He crept to the door, and jarred it open to just a crack. Outside in the living room he didn't hear his parents talking in hushed, worried tones, his name occasionally falling from their lips. It was all quiet, all dark, all nothingness. He made the few unsteady steps from his old room, to his father's study, and snuck into the private place. The wood flooring was creaky and cold against his bare footfalls, like chilled bones from a crypt. Slow tears seeped from his eyes and wept down his face, like tendrils of blood from two never healing wounds. His shaking hand reached for the desk, and the top that rolled up like snake. Holding it there like an opened mouth, his other hand ducked inside, and wrapped around the small object he knew his father kept there.
The rubber grip felt perfect against his hand, as though it had been tailored for the contours he deemed as girly. He opened the chamber, and dumped out five of the waiting occupants within. Their silvery, hollow tipped-bodies rattled softly as they ticked against the large paper calendar on Dusty's desk, the white boxes of the past marked of meticulously with permanent marker X's. He spun the chamber, and clicked it back into place, the tiny sound seeming like a scream in the still darkness. He reached for a cup on the desk that held his father's haphazard writing utensils, and drew out a Sharpie. He uncapped it, and drew a big red X through tomorrow.
Cody pressed the possibility of death to his temple, there were five empty slots, but one held the hands of eternal slumber. He could squeeze that little curve of metal beneath his finger, his eyes tightly closed, and open them again to the aching world around him, or he could have the comfort of hearing the explosion of his own mind as it was ripped apart—as if it wasn't already. Isn't that what life's all about, taking chances? Cody thought bitterly, as he savored the kiss of the rounded, snubbed barrel, against his skin. It was a cold, loveless kiss—but why should this one be any different than all the others?