her children before I go home,” I whispered into the room, almost dark from the setting sun.
The old man nodded gratefully in reply.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t send her home first and let her die in her own bed?”
His chest puffed with a silent sigh, before he shook his head.
“I guess, in the end, it doesn’t really matter, huh?”
He shook his head again and placed a hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t feel the pressure of his hand against my skin, but somewhere in my soul, I sensed it there. The warmth and care in his touch. I smiled, despite hating this particular gift of mine, if you could even call it a gift at all, and he smiled back, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Then, the old man sat at the edge of her bed and silently watched as she slept. He leaned in, put his mouth close to her ear, and although I couldn’t hear what he said, I saw her smile and that was enough.
Sitting up straight, he turned to me and nudged his chin toward the door.
“Okay, Mr. Schreiber,” I whispered. “Take care of her, okay?”
He cocked his head and eyed me sardonically, as if to say, duh.
Then, looking at the old woman laying in the bed, so fragile and weak, I said, “Goodbye, Mrs. Schreiber, and good luck.”
CHAPTER FOUR
VINNIE
Aaron Paul's character, Jesse Pinkman, was high again and up to no good. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch and unsuccessfully ignored the itch beneath my skin. It whispered sweet nothings in my ears and into my brain, and I shook my head to try and chase that little devil away.
Pops grunted a noise of disgust beside me. “I’ll never understand what makes someone do this shit to themselves.”
The devil on my shoulder begged me to reply, to defend my past decisions, to justify the cravings that still pricked against my skin. Instead, I continued watching the show and maintained my silence.
“I get that it’s an addiction,” he went on, thrusting his hand toward the screen. “But that addiction begins with a choice, doesn’t it?”
“I guess,” I said, bringing the nail of my thumb up to my teeth.
“Well, what about you?”
I glanced at him. “Me?”
Pops nodded, a little too eager. “Yeah! I know it’s probably not somethin’ you wanna talk about, but I’ve always wondered. What made you decide to … you know …” He circled his hand in the air, searching for the appropriate words.
“Snort some shit up my nose?” I offered brusquely, cocking a brow.
“Well ...” His lips pinched with consideration, before saying, “Yeah. I guess that's what I'm tryin’ to say.”
It had been years since my brother and I had first gotten ourselves wrapped up in our addiction to drugs, and although I had spent a lot of that time too high to remember much of anything, I could still recall that first hit. How good it felt to descend into darkness. How good it felt to escape. How, for the first time in a while, it had felt good to be me.
“I dunno,” I lied, thinking about that party from what now felt like another life. “I guess I wanted to feel cool or some stupid shit like that.”
“Did you?”
Glancing at him, I saw the disappointment in his expression, and said, “I don’t remember.”
“Hm,” he grunted, nodding. “I don’t know why I brought it up, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I just realized I had never asked,” he went on, shrugging.
We resumed watching the show as if nothing had happened, but my mind wouldn’t allow me to pay attention. I felt too vulnerable now, watching this show that reminded me of things I had left behind and still struggled not to think about every single day. Things that only one other person in my life understood.
“I need a cigarette,” I announced abruptly, standing and heading toward the fire escape.
“Okay,” Pops said quietly, nodding.
While the apartment was a good size for the two of us, that didn’t make it large by any stretch of the imagination. It took me no time at all to reach the window from the couch, but before I could climb outside, Pops stopped me.
“Junior, did I say somethin’?”
“Nah.” I shook my head, pulling out my pack of smokes and sliding one out.
“You don’t like talkin’ about it?”
I laughed. “I really gotta work on my lying skills.”
Pops shrugged like his shoulders were too heavy, weighed down by something I couldn’t see. “Or you could just be honest.”
“No,” I answered his question bluntly.