The Requisite Records of a Misplaced Hero (The Misplaced Hero Book 1)

by Envy Mercury

  I looked towards the girl by me in my bed. She definitely wasn’t a super great looking girl, I’m not a judgemental person, and I feel personality is essential, but this girl was a mess. Her hair was muddled and didn’t look very clean. She smelled like old stale beer from a crap bar placed in a place no one would want to visit. Waking up a bit more, my senses started to come back, increasing my sense of smell. Did I smell vomit? I held my hand up to my mouth and tried to smell my own breath. No, it wasn’t me, I thought to myself as I looked back over to the girl. Maybe that’s why her hair looked so awful, and it made me sick to my stomach a bit more thinking about it.

  Looking around the room, I could be a disorganized guy. Well, that was an understatement. I was a mess, and so was my life. I got up out of bed and stumbled a little bit, accidentally kicking a beer can of a cheap brand across the floor, spilling some of its now useless contents while adding to the odor in the room. Stepping in the sticky mess that I spread while I walked, I went to the bathroom to sort out a bit. I really needed to get to work. The reflection in the mirror showed a man that was stubbly, sweaty, and worn out. He had dark circles under his eyes. I thought to myself. This worn look is how I feel on the inside too. Stripping off my underwear to get in the shower and making myself more standard looking for society, I decided to take a piss. I started to piss, partially missing the toilet, and I groaned from it burning. Probably another urinary tract infection, looking back in the girl’s direction briefly, the burn could have worse reasons for existing. I might have to get that checked out in urgent care. Yeah, that would be best. I could also tell them about how I had pain and maybe get some more pills. That would be nice, and the thought made me smile a little.

  I noticed a streak of blood up the wall by my hand that I was using to balance me, so I at least didn’t fall and pissed all over myself. I briefly wondered if that was my blood or the girls. It hadn’t been there the day before. My apartment may be a slum, but that was something even I would clean up as soon as possible. Sighing, I got some cleaner from under the sink. It had some bleach in it, so it had to be pretty good. I sprayed the blood, causing the bathroom to reek of bleach. I grabbed a paper towel from under the sink, smearing the red color around. I threw that in the trash, reached over, and turned on the ventilation fan to get the smell out. It was making me sick to my stomach and burning my eyes. I sprayed more cleaner and then finished the job with another paper towel.

  I got into the shower and turned it on, pulling back away from the cold water until it warmed up. I felt shivers travel up my spine and swore a little. As I scrubbed myself with some soap that smelled like wood and spice, I thought about how I would also probably need to go to the laundry mat and clean up my apartment at least a little. Some things even I couldn’t let go of, like dirty bedding. Getting out of the shower, I felt a bit better, but I still had a voice calling to me in my head. It was like a demon whispering and enticing me to do things. The demon in my mind was representing my vices.

  I probably needed a small taste before I went to work, then I might be able to sneak one later at some point, hopefully. I had to hold up the appearance of being an average proper person in society. Workplaces didn’t appreciate what I was. I reached under the cabinet to an upper area that was slightly more hidden, finding my small pouch or kit. It was a diabetic travel case, and it fit my needs. I opened it and saw the needles, lighter, spoon, and other essential things. Oh, how I needed, no had to have them when I laid my eyes on them. Urgency filled my mind as I prepared for my ritual and got things ready. I just needed a little bit, not too much, not too little.

  Feeling a bit better, I put on my work clothes very quickly, not taking a lot of care to make sure things were perfect. Like it really mattered anyway, like much of my life. I grabbed my wallet and other possessions I would need as I walked towards the door. I took one last look at the woman in my bed and thought about all the mess I would need to clean up later. I was sure she would get up and look for things to steal. It was the lifestyle. She would probably also look for my stash, but I had my kit in my backpack. I didn’t have to worry about that. I just hoped she would at least close the door when she left. Hopefully, she left. I could have woken her up, but that would have just been more things slowing me down and also a significant pain in the ass. She would only want one thing, and it wasn’t me. I knew she wasn’t there for me; she wanted the other stuff I had to offer, the things I had in my kit that I was taking with me. She had her own demons in her head calling to her, and right now, they were asleep just as she was. Better to let them rest than for me to deal with them like I owed that mess of a girl anything. I didn’t even remember who she was.

  I exited and shut the door behind me, hoping that I didn’t bump into anyone on my way out. I didn’t know what went down the night before, and I always wondered if I made too much noise. With my type of habit, that probably wouldn’t be the case. Stimulants just made things worse for me, the anxiety and the dreams. No, I stayed away from those types. I learned my lesson long ago. I went down the stairs. In this building, the elevator didn’t work. Many things weren’t up to working order, but it was cheap and not in a horrible area. Luckily, I was on the second floor. I didn’t have to exercise too much with effort each day just to come home. Towards the bottom, I saw an elderly lady, Miss Clemson. She was a nice enough lady, but I just didn’t like the effort of socializing with people. I also always felt like they judged me. I slightly looked away as I passed her but noticed she had groceries that she was struggling with. I wasn’t a super great person, but I also wasn’t a horrible one.

  I stopped and turned around, looking at her back. “Hey, Miss Clemson, can I give you a hand with those bags?”

  “I would greatly appreciate that. These stairs are a bit much for me these days,” she said as she set her bags down. I turned around, walked over, and grabbed all of her bags, which wasn’t that much effort. “You look like you are a little late for whatever you need to be doing, though.”

  “It really is no problem, Miss Clemson, no matter what, I am already late. What does a bit more time matter?” I walked behind her to make sure she didn’t stumble or fall down the stairs, carrying her groceries for her. Miss Clemson was always a lovely lady to me, almost like a grandmother. I didn’t have grandparents anymore; so, having someone that resembled them was nice. Sometimes she would give me food that she made. I would tell her she didn’t need to put in that effort for me, she would just reply with something about how she was used to cooking for more people, but they weren’t around as much anymore. I think her family didn’t visit her very much, and it made me feel a bit sad that they didn’t take the time to see her. It wasn’t like she was a mean old crotchety old lady.

  We arrived at her door, and she thanked me and then gave me a lecture like a grandmother would. “Beck, you really should take care of yourself better and don’t party so much. You are such a good boy, you know.”

  “I’m almost thirty, Miss Clemson,” I said as I rubbed my neck.

  “You all look young to me. Don’t work too hard, be happy and also get some rest. You have some decent bags under your eyes.” She smiled as she looked up at me. “You better get going, and do come by and visit and pick up some food. I always make too much when I cook, you know. Can’t have you living off all that processed fast food.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. Take care!” I turned around to make my way back down the stairs. It didn’t matter I was late, but I needed to catch the next bus that was getting close to me missing it. Before that, I had told her that she should maybe think about getting more assistance or going into some assisted living home. Of course, being her, she told me her home was here and she would do no such thing. I just worried about her. I think she might have been the only person I truly cared about in my world.

  I ran down the sidewalk through the crowds of people, slowing me down to make it to the bus stop on time. There were some shouts of displeasure when I bumped into a few people. I ran across t
he street, almost getting hit by a car that was blaring its horn at me. The driver said a few choice words to me, the prick. I felt it better to ignore and duck under any opportunities of confrontation. Better to stay under the radar and avoid that as much as possible.

  The bus was at the stop and about to pull away. I ran up and banged my hand against the folding door after it closed. The driver gave me a dirty look and opened it. I had seen this driver a few times. I flashed him my bus pass and found a seat that luckily was empty. It was a bit of a drive to get to the stop close to my work downtown. I closed my eyes and leaned my head up against the window, which gave me time to think.

  I never really enjoyed thinking about my past and what happened to me. It always raised so many questions and made me feel uneasy. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about my drug use, as I had some responsibilities that I needed to take care of to survive. That made me wonder how long until I didn’t care about that anymore? My life wasn’t always a mess. I was a good kid growing up. I had good grades. I hung out with friends and was well-liked. I was never that popular kid that everyone adored and wanted to be around, but I had many friends. I even had a few girlfriends that would have been considered out of my league. I guess they just liked how nice I was to them. Sometimes the popular dudes weren’t the most caring. Interesting how that can work. I played video games, had fun, and life was pretty good.

  Then I vanished without a trace. I was missing for two years. Everyone I knew did what they could to try to find me. The typical posters were passed out, a recent happy-looking photo of me on it. Phone numbers that people could call to submit tips. Even a reward for information. Of course, the police were involved after the time they had to wait that was needed to declare me missing. I always thought that was stupid. I guess it probably cut back on the work they had to do, didn’t want to waste their time looking for little Susan, who decided to take a short break from her family and crashed at a friend’s house. For two years, people searched and tried to figure out what happened to me. There was even a page on social media that people followed and would try to piece together what happened. Couch detectives and true crime lovers were throwing out ideas concerning what happened that day. Then naturally, the tips slowed down, the pondering ceased, and people continued with their daily lives. They started to forget and move on.

  Then one day, I was back. I existed again. They found me in my parents’ yard, wearing some strange clothes. To go from vanishing without a trace to reappearing on your parents’ lawn and wearing weird clothes? Yeah, that raised some questions. I was bewildered during that time. No matter how much I was questioned, how much therapy I had. I couldn’t remember what happened to me- only something about a bright light, which fueled some strange theories online. What felt like one day to the next for me, two years had passed for everyone else. My social media pages were filled with comments about regrets and thoughts of people missing me, hoping that I would one day come home. My girlfriend at the time now had a new boyfriend. Things were awkward with my friends. Years had passed for them, and it seemed like only a day from my perspective.

  It was a crazy story, which of course, was picked up by the news. I had my fifteen minutes of fame, which some people may have enjoyed, but it was a nightmare for me. People everywhere were always trying to contact me, including the news, media, bloggers, podcasts, and video creators. They all wanted a piece of me, to hop in on that story that was my life. Some decent things did occur. Of course, my school was easy on me, I just had to do a few things to catch up, and then I ended up settling for a GED. A decent college gave me a scholarship. It helped, but I knew they did it to get attention and put on a good look for the public. Free is free as they say, I took it. In turn, the education helped me get a good job, and people began to forget about me and my story. I moved away from my town to get a job in the city I currently lived occupied. With my education and me still being known for my short fame, getting that job I moved for was pretty easy. Things were getting better for me.

  That was until the nightmares started a few years ago. Psychologists told me I was dealing with trauma-related nightmares. That I had a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from whatever happened to me during those two years I was missing. I got medication; the medication made me fat and stupid. It made me feel worse, and the meds didn’t help fix anything. Then slowly, I ended up in the situation I am in now of self-medicating and being cast into the role of an addict that could bearly keep a job.

  The bus slowed as it came to my stop, and I gathered my things and stood up from my seat to exit. There were a few people in front of me, of course taking their sweet time. Downtown was a popular area for people to travel with all the business there. I exited, and I tried to shake off paranoia's feeling that everyone was staring at me.

  I hustled into the large building that housed where I went to earn my money. My abusive relationship I only stayed in because I needed financial stability. One can put up with some abuse to survive. I gave a quick wave to the security guard. I would often stop and bullshit with him a bit, and I did not have time to fuck around today. I had been late many times in the past. He knew that as well as he shot an expression of you might be fucked in my direction.

  I hit the elevator button rapidly, even though that action wouldn’t do anything at all to speed up how fast it arrived, it would only make a lot of clicking noises. It made me feel better, and that was something. After arriving on my floor, I looked around the office areas scanning to see if I could creep unnoticed to my cubicle. I snuck in like a junkie ninja and slid into my chair, quietly setting down my bag.

  I sat in my office cubicle. It was a small area on one side of the room. I looked at my notes on the wall reminding me of the deadlines of all the tasks I needed to complete. I sighed out a breath, and I clicked my enter key. The computer was frozen again. This kind of shit always happened here. Work always seemed to move away from spending money on high-quality items to help us be more productive, and it was the same with software. I didn't really blame them for that, but some things just hurt productivity. Like this slow ass evil computer. Not like I was very productive lately anyways. I was mentally checked out of my job for a while.

  “Beck, I need those reports by the end of today. Also, I need to meet with you in my office at the end of your shift,” said The Bitch.

  “Yeah, I am almost done with them,” I replied. I hated that stupid bitch. Her name was Katrina. She became the project supervisor of this division, which was probably achieved by fucking the boss and stealing creative ideas from coworkers. That was the word in the break room and anywhere Katrina wasn't in the near vicinity. Of course, she was never called a stupid bitch to her face. We all needed to be those great employees that loved this company more than we loved ourselves. I needed this job and needed money. Such is life in an abusive relationship.

  I sighed and looked at my computer screen. My computer finally unfroze, so I opened the document that I needed and grabbed my coffee to take a sip. It was office coffee. Mostly donation coffee brought in by coworkers. Work wouldn’t buy us any, the cheap asses. Coworkers naturally weren’t big spenders. I would bring some good creamer into the office from time to time. People never seemed to use much creamer unless I brought in the good stuff. I labeled it with my name to put in the fridge located in our break room. There were many times that I drank one cup of coffee, and the rest of the creamer would be gone by the time I wanted another. Not my drug of choice, but it helped me get by at this shitty job. I was an addict, and these people stole more than I did. These white-collar criminals, they had no shame.

  A coworker walked by and bumped into me, causing my arm to move, which caused the coffee I was holding in my hand to become unstable. It was a disaster that was occurring in slow motion. The cup slowly fell out of my fingers, twisting sideways. I watched in horror as it slowly drained from the falling cup down towards my crotch. Lovely, fresh, and hot, just like the current temperature of my nuts. I hopped around a bit as
some choice swear words escaped my lips. I was making a bigger mess brushing away the liquid from my crotch with my hand. It wasn’t very successful. Bright side, at least I didn’t think my junk was burned too bad. I didn’t want Mr. Happy to look like a burn victim. I looked down at the wet spot that was soaking further into my wrinkled dress pants. It looked like I pissed myself. Fucking great.

  “Sorry, Beck,” Bobby said as she looked at me with a small smile.

  “It’s fine,” I said. I knew she didn't do it on purpose. Bobby was a pretty funny comedic girl and actually did her job. That was rare in this office. She definitely could be forgiven by me for this mishap. I thought about her, and she wasn’t really my friend- just a coworker. I wouldn't mind being close to her, though. Bobby was cute for sure. Those thoughts were never going to happen. I was a sloppy junky that was wearing wrinkly unkempt clothes.

  “Well, um- I’m gonna head to the restroom and take care of this,” I said as I tried to hide my wet crotch region as much as possible.

  “You do that slick,” Bobby said as she scrunched her face at me and playfully poked my chest. “Sorry again.”

  I waved her off as I made my way to the bathroom, then it occurred to me that I should get my bag, so I turned around and went back to snag it. After the morning I was having, I just needed another small amount to get me through the day.

  “Beck?”

  “Hmm?” I looked over my shoulder and saw that Katrina was talking to me. What did she want now? She already bitched at me once so far today, and I had to go into her office later to have a chat. A chat that was probably about me either getting wrote up or about me getting fired.

  “Go get cleaned up.”