Clean

by Juno Dawson

  ‘What’s that suppose to . . .’

  Brady.

  How long have we been out here? Ten minutes? Fifteen? More?

  Time aplenty to flush that stash.

  Like two baggies and a wrap . . . and the little vials. Shouldn’t take long.

  It’s like Guy read my mind. ‘Where’s Brady? He’s been ages.’

  Sasha smiles like a psycho.

  No! No, he wouldn’t. Brady is so . . . together.

  But then again, I’m pretty together when I’m sober and I just took a load of gear off a corpse, so . . .

  Bollocks.

  I throw my cigarette out on to the lawn and turn back to the house. ‘Where are you going, pet?’ Gary asks. ‘You need to stay together, doctor’s orders.’

  Oh, for crying out loud. ‘I just need the loo. I’ll be two minutes.’

  Gary steps aside and I hurry along the bottom corridor until I reach the entrance hall and then I dash upstairs, straight to Brady’s room. I hammer on the door. ‘Brady? Brady, are you in there?’ I knock again. Oh Jesus, what if it was a bad batch? He wouldn’t, would he? I can’t do this twice in one day, but I’ll have to. I push down on the handle and this time, I pray I’m wrong. ‘Brady?’

  The room is trashed, but empty. Brady and the stash aren’t here. So where is he? I run to his bedroom window and look out over the front lawn. I don’t see him. Think, think. He wouldn’t do a whole bunch of drugs in the middle of a rehab centre, so . . . I look towards the forest. It’s not a big island, but it’s a crumpled one with infinite nooks and crannies.

  Which Step is accepting responsibility? I gave Brady – a recovering addict – a load of coke and heroin. This is so, so my fault.

  Antonella.

  No. That was different.

  How?

  Shit. I have to find him.

  I hear something. A helicopter – in the distance but getting louder. This is it. Everyone is bound to be looking the other way.

  I’ll be faster on horseback. I slip out of the building without being seen and pelt through the woods. I tumble out of the overgrown pathway that leads to the stables and mess up my footing. I sort of flop to the gravel track, my left knee taking all the impact. Pain shoots all the way up my leg and through my spine. My tights rip and I see I’ve skinned it – mud mixing with red blood. Shit. I hope it’s not as bad as it looks.

  Now I limp towards the stables. ‘Elaine?’ I call, but there’s no reply. Probably for the best. I go toward Patty’s stable but see the doors are open and on the hook. Well that explains where Elaine is.

  Of course, there’s always Storm. He’d be way faster than Patty.

  Yes, but he’d also probably kill you.

  Well, that’s true of so many things in my life. Never been an issue before. Wow, maybe I do have a death-wish. I’ll save it for the next session. I go to Storm’s stable and unlatch the doors. ‘Hi, boy, how are you today? We’re gonna try something, OK?’

  He seems pretty pleased to see me. I give him some love, stroking his flanks to butter him up. ‘We’re gonna try a little hack. You up for it?’

  He tosses his head a bit and I lose patience. I haven’t got time for his shit today. ‘Enough! We’re going for a ride, just deal with it, you giant manbaby. Remember Brady? He needs us, so you can’t dick about. Got it?’

  In record speed, I tack him up, taking absolutely zero per cent of his shit. This time he, albeit reluctantly, takes a bit in his gob. By the time I’m finished, he almost looks sheepish. ‘You ready?’ I mount him. ‘Come on, Storm, you got this. We got this. You’re a fuck up, I’m a fuck up – we cancel out each other’s crazy. Let’s go.’

  He needs only a gentle heel tap of encouragement and we’re out the gates. It’s like he’s seen freedom and he’s going for it. He lurches straight into a canter and I tug on the reins to remind him who’s in charge. If we go too fast, we might miss Brady.

  My brain is whirring. If I was going to do a whole bunch of drugs on a remote island, where would I go? Maybe the beach? It’s as good a place as any to start, I figure. I steer Storm on to the beach path. It’s soft – mossy and woodchip – underfoot, and he doesn’t protest too much, following the path in an unsteady trot. ‘You are doing so well,’ I tell him.

  Once we arrive at the seafront, I let Storm do what he really wants to do, and run. There’s a long sandy ribbon in front of him and this is the nearest he’s had to freedom in weeks, I’m betting. I kick off and we charge over the silt, salt air whipping through my hair. It’s only now I realise I’ve forgotten a helmet. Still, I let him run, like a plane accelerating down a runway, his hooves mash up the damp sand.

  All the while I cast my eyes across the beach and up into the hills for any sign of Brady. We gallop and gallop until we run out of beach – the cliffs stop it from running the whole perimeter of the island. All I can think to do now is head up into the forest and take the trails.

  I’m turning Storm around when I see a silver sliver curling into the whitewashed sky. Smoke. It rises up out of the trees. ‘Smoke signal,’ I tell Storm, and wonder if Brady is either careless or wants to be found.

  Wait . . . the Witch House. That funny little ruin in the middle of the forest has a fireplace. And it’s such a good junkie hangout. That has to be it. ‘Come on.’

  We take it more cautiously back into the woods. There’s no bridle path as such any more. Storm’s strong legs pick through brambles, thorns and nettles. I wish we could gallop, but the terrain isn’t right. The longer it takes . . . the worse he’ll be.

  Unless – and I hope this is true – I’m totally wrong, and he’s with everyone else back at the house wondering where I’ve gone.

  Wait.

  Now I smell smoke and see the grey Witch House peeping through the trees.

  I dismount and lead Storm the rest of the way. A path has been trodden to the little house. ‘Brady?’ I now say, keeping my voice calm and soothing. ‘Is that you?’

  I secure Storm to a gnarled stump thing and I take a breath, and then I go in.

  He’s not dead.

  But he’s not good.

  He’s . . . slimy. He’s crying and he’s snotty, squished in the corner of the dank bunker. The fire crackles politely in what was once a chimney, like any good boy scout’s fire would. The stash is set out before him, orderly, the heroin, coke and steroids all in neat piles.

  ‘Brady, what are you doing?’ I keep my tone steady. I want to throw my arms around him and hold him tight. But I don’t.

  ‘What is wrong with me?’ he sobs, dribbling a little. He’s a mess.

  ‘Did you take anything?’ I ask.

  ‘I did some coke.’

  I kneel before him, keeping a distance. I wouldn’t want to be crowded. ‘Well . . . that’s OK.’

  His head falls back and he cries.

  ‘It is!’ I say. ‘Goldstein is always saying it’s not a test . . . we don’t fail. It’s a blip or whatever. Snakes and ladders, remember? Brady, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you take this shit.’

  ‘It isn’t. It’s not you. This one’s all me. I thought I could do it. Just flush that shit down the toilet. But I couldn’t. I was already telling myself I could do a little bump of coke. To prove I wasn’t a junkie. How am I here again? Again? What is wrong with me?’

  I sigh. ‘Brady, this is because you’re high or coming down or whatever.’

  ‘No, it isn’t! It’s because I’m weak. I am so weak. I couldn’t even be near drugs. What the fuck am I going to do? How am I meant to live in this world, Lexi? Where am I going to go?’

  Well, he’s got me there.

  ‘Look at this. I snorted a dead guy’s blow. I didn’t even think about Saif. I just thought about me. It’s always been me. I’m fucking rotten inside. There’s dog shit where my heart should be.’

  I shake my head. Very carefully, I reach for his hand. ‘Brady . . . come on.’ I do what I think Kendall, or Antonella, would do in this situation. Kind lies. �
�You aren’t – we’re not – bad people.’

  He laughs and more snot shoots out of his nostril. Sexy. ‘You think?’

  ‘You’re not a bad person.’

  ‘Lexi, yes I am. I’m worse. I’m worse than you know.’

  ‘I doubt that so very highly, but it’s not a contest.’

  His blue eyes go arctic-clear for a second, drilling down into me. ‘I killed someone, Lexi.’

  The words ring in my ears and I swear my heart just stops for a second before rebooting.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Brady always made me feel so comfortable, so safe. Less so right now. I wrap my arms around myself.

  ‘Why do you think I’m here? I hit rock bottom.’

  I crawl closer and sit alongside him, my back against the wall. ‘What happened?’ I take his hand. ‘Brady, it can’t be any worse than what I’ve done.’ I stop myself. ‘I . . . I mean look at us all. We’re all such damaged goods.’

  ‘Lexi, I killed a woman.’

  Oh.

  OK.

  I let go of his hand. Should I be getting the fuck away from him? No one knows where we are. I wonder how fast I could mount Storm if I needed to. ‘Brady, you’re freaking me out. Tell me what happened.’

  He takes a deep breath and wipes his nose on a sleeve of his Yankees hoodie. ‘Only Goldstein knows this, OK. None of the others. They can’t know . . .’

  ‘OK . . .’

  He says nothing for a very long time. My heart, ironically, is going faster than if I’d done coke. Finally, he says something, staring at his fingers as he pulls a leaf apart. ‘We were at a Vanity Fair party. I can’t remember what it was for. Who am I kidding, I can’t remember it. I was drinking. Champagne and vodka, and I think I had a hipflask of whiskey. It was in some house in the Hollywood Hills. I think it was Natalie Portman or Scarlet Johansson’s place, or it used to be or something. Some Disney Channel girl blew me in the pool house and we did speedballs.’

  Thanks for that image. I don’t like how him and some Miley getting it on makes me feel. It’s like hot knitting needles between my ribs and out my back.

  ‘You know what it’s like. You feel invincible. Untouchable. It was only a short drive back to our place.’

  I can see where this is headed. ‘Oh god. What happened?’

  ‘I left with Venus and a couple of friends. The label had sent her a Range Rover, her new pride and joy. Anyway. We were cruising down Mulholland Drive, the stereo was really loud . . . Venus was playing us her new album. I was so out of it. I sort of passed out and the next thing I knew Venus was screaming at me. I was puking . . . puking everywhere, all over the car. Venus freaked out . . . she didn’t want vomit all over the interior. She was so busy yelling at me, she wasn’t watching the road. She didn’t see the other car coming . . .’

  ‘Oh god . . .’

  ‘The driver had to swerve to avoid us and went off the road.’ His head flops down and he smothers his face with his hands, sobbing harder.

  I exhale. ‘Brady, it was an accident. You weren’t even driving. It’s not a crime to throw up.’

  He rests his head against the mossy wall, utterly dejected. ‘No? It was Venus driving, sure, but it’s my fault she wasn’t paying attention. It’s my fault.’ He gives a hard little laugh. ‘What happened next was really decent. When the cops came, they breathalysed Venus. She was sober, but more’s the point: she was Venus Fucking Ardito. The cops were just thrilled to get a selfie with her.’

  ‘For real?’

  ‘For real. Their kids were her biggest fans. Officially, the other driver caused the crash. TMZ reported Venus had a near miss, and it made the papers, but she was never charged with anything.’

  ‘Oh my god.’

  ‘Her name was Dyanna Rodriguez. She was a make-up artist in the movies. She . . . she was a newlywed. I killed her. I should be dead. She should still be here. It’s not fair.’

  I pinch the bridge of my nose because I’m about to lose my chill.

  I want to tell him. I want to tell him that I’m just as bad. That I’m worse.

  But that’s not what Brady needs to hear right now. I need to get him back into the house and make sure Goldstein doesn’t see him like this. ‘Nothing is fair,’ I say. I sigh for a long time. ‘We are living, breathing proof that nothing is fair. We need to get over it or it’s going to kill us.’

  ‘I don’t think I can go on,’ he says in a tiny voice. He means it.

  Oh no. I shake my head. ‘What? Then she died and you die too? What’s the point? You’re here, Brady. What are you going to do about it? We can get better. We can be better. God, take some of your reality TV money and do something good with it. Help somehow . . . support a drink driving campaign, I don’t know.’

  He looks up at me. ‘Thank you.’ We sort of crumple into an awkward hug, all angles and elbows. ‘I don’t know if I’m as strong as you,’ he says.

  ‘If that’s true,’ I say, ‘we’re all screwed.’

  Our foreheads are resting together one second and the next we’re kissing. This kiss is all fire and frenzy, all tongues and teeth. It’s like we’re both being pulled into a whirlpool, our edges blurring. Feeling the fire on the side of my face, he rolls on top of me. Just having him on top of me is divine. Our hands go crazy, grabbing and gripping at each other’s bodies. I roll my hips open and feel his weight between my legs. That switch flips inside and I want him inside me, nothing else will do.

  At the back of the carnival in my head, I identify a nagging little voice. And it’s saying, stop. I know this isn’t right. Is this Brady or coke? He’s a sex addict. I’m pushing him further off the wagon.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  ‘Brady, stop.’ I push his hand off my breast.

  He looks so lost, so vulnerable. Brady’s hurt is all in his eyes, there for everyone to see. I want to take the pain away. But I can’t. Not like this.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t be,’ I say as he rolls off.

  He lays next to me and I nestle in the nook of his arm, resting my head on his chest. He’s so warm. He smells so good. We catch our breath. The sex haze evaporates and we’re left as two – relatively – sane people once more. ‘I want you so bad,’ he says, the words whispered through my hair. ‘I want you so much it hurts, but I don’t know if that’s my heart speaking or my addictions.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, and I think I do know. I know what it’s like to not trust yourself. To trust yourself least of all.

  He strokes my hair. ‘I think . . . I think I want to love you, Lexi. But I can’t just love you, not without it destroying me. Or worse, you. I’m toxic. I can’t hurt anybody else. I don’t wanna hurt anyone else. The people closest to me suffer the most.’

  Why is it that, sooner or later, everyone disappoints you? Everyone slips off their pedestal eventually. I sit up and look at him, faintly disgusted. ‘Gotta say, I think the family of the woman who died suffered the most, Brady. Snap out of it – it’s not all about you and your bullshit.’

  He blinks like I’ve slapped him really hard around the head. I went too far. ‘You’re right. That was a dumb thing to say.’

  ‘It happened,’ I say, and I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself at this point. ‘So, what next? Where do we go now? I’m sorry for snapping, but it’s true.’

  He says nothing for a second. ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘It needed saying. I was being a selfish prick. I think sometimes I get lost in my own corridors, y’know? But I don’t know. I don’t know where we go from here.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ I bury my face into his T-shirt and close my eyes.

  We lay by the fire until we, and it, are all burned out.

  I think about him, and Kurt, and Antonella.

  I almost tell him, but hold my tongue. I can’t say the words because then it would be real and I’ll have to deal with it.

  I’m a killer too.

  STEP 6: I WILL STRIVE TO BE A BETTER PERSON

  ‘We should
head back,’ I say when the fire is embers and the sky is dark like a bruise. ‘We’re gonna be in so much trouble. They must be looking for us.’

  ‘Can’t we just stay like this for ever?’ This sad ruin is an apt home for two sad ruins.

  I prop myself up onto an elbow. He looks and sounds like the real Brady again, but he’s different now. I realise I was a little in awe of him before. We’re more equal now.

  I snuggle against him. Something inside me glows like the ashes. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

  Only then I remember long, lazy Sundays in bed with Kurt and almost spasm with guilt. I think I preferred it when I was numb inside.

  ‘But before we do, we gotta deal with this shit.’ He sits up and gestures to the array of narcotics we kicked over as we made out.

  ‘Burn it,’ I say. ‘We have to.’ I’m sure the doctors or police or whatever will wonder where Saif’s stash has gone, but nothing is more dangerous, right now, than having this shit in close proximity.

  And we do. We rebuild the fire and throw the whole lot on. It smokes like hell and we get away before we choke ourselves to death, or get really, really high.

  Storm is where I left him, and seems quite content. I untie him and lead him on foot so Brady can walk alongside us. ‘I’ll have to take him back before we face the others.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What do we tell them?’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘No,’ I say – my natural instinct to lie is strong. ‘I mean, what good will it do?’

  ‘Clear souls?’

  I grimace. ‘I think I’m a little far gone for a clear soul, Brady.’

  He offers a kind half-smile. ‘OK. We could just say I freaked out about Saif. I don’t mind.’

  I wonder if Goldstein will be impressed if I just admit to taking the drugs. The fact that I didn’t touch any of them counts for something, surely.