I let something in… Now it wants my soul (part 10)

Part 10:

The only other time in my life I came close to what I thought was losing my mind was during my sophomore year of high school.

Carter was home from college and after begging him for a ride he finally gave in and drove me to a party.

“If mom catches you doing anything stupid here, I’m gonna kick your ass”

He told me before I even stepped out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride!”

I sarcastically smiled back at him.

He peeled off down the road.

Muffled music poured out of the house.

Jeremy the drug dealer was leaving as I walked up the front porch stairs.

“What’s up Wright?” He said, walking past me. I nodded to him and continued on inside.

There was a whole sea of kids at this party.
Some planted on the stairs, talking and taking sips from solo cups. The hallway looked like a human wall.
All possible seats in the house were occupied.

Though these were mostly all kids from my school, I had a very hard time deciphering who was who. Faces were darkened or blended by the flashing lights.

I wandered aimlessly until I found someone I remotely recognized.

Brandon Cox, who to be honest I never was a fan of, stood in the brightly lit up kitchen drinking out of a beer bottle. He looked at me and nodded.

“Yo Chris what’s happening?”
He held his hand down by his waist for a low high five.

“Have you seen James anywhere?” I asked, looking around for the boy responsible for me being here. He practically bullied me during history class into coming to this party.

“I think he’s upstairs getting some tail.”
Brandon lit up.

I smiled and laughed. Shaking my head.
“Alright. I’m gonna go talk to some people.”

I walked around the party until I could find an unused cup and a free drink to grab. I was finally able to get my fix, when a senior placed a bottle of whiskey down on the living room table.

I wasn’t out of place here, but it seemed as though I couldn’t wedge my way into any conversation. Like each group had closed their doors to visitors and I went unnoticed.

I looked over to the corner of the room to see Emily Costello, sitting down by herself, on her phone. Finally someone approachable.

Laughter and shouting boomed as I sat down next to her.

“Hey Emily.” I said, taking a swig from my cup. Then wincing from the whiskey burning my throat.

“Oh hey Chris.” Emily replied. Forcing a smile. I noticed her makeup had been smudged and a streak of eyeliner ran down her face. She had been crying.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, readjusting my position.

“Yeah I’m fine.” She sniffed.

I kept looking at her. She didn’t look fine.

She looked back at me, her phone was opened on messages, asking someone to pick her up.

“You know Chris. You’ve always been so nice to me.” Her forced smile started looking more sincere.

“I never had a reason not to be.” I said to her looking at the crowd of rowdy teenagers in front of us.

She asked me if I remembered the time her and I spent almost an entire night out together, at the playground down the street from my house. My mom showed up with a flashlight after driving around the neighborhood looking for me, and scolded me for being out so late and not answering her phone calls. She drove Emily to her house and we watched as she reluctantly went up her front steps. We were 12 and thought we already had everything figured out.

Emily told me that night that she was planning to run away, and she wanted me to come with her. As a 12 year old I didn’t really understand the concept of wanting to leave your home. Leave everything you know and love and venture off to the unknown.

Emily’s Mom had abandoned her as a baby, and she lived with her aunt. Her dad would show up randomly and sometimes take her to his house 2 hours north. There was not enough consistency for her to even really have a relationship with him. I think he was also abusive, but those were just rumors.

“When did we stop being friends?”
I asked her.

Emily kissed me on the cheek, stood up and pulled her shorts down to cover up her exposed butt cheek.

“You’re leaving?” I asked looking up.

“Yes, bye Chris.” She shot me one last smile and then walked away.

I quickly lost sight of her as she disappeared into the crowd of bodies. I sat there for the rest of the night, observing and taking occasional sips of whiskey.

Emily took her own life that night.

Her aunt was out of town and Emily’s body was found 3 days later in her room. She had taken a handful of pills that were sold to her by none other than Jeremy Patterson.

A note was left on her bedside table.

The contents of it were never shared with anyone outside of her family. At least no one I knew of.

The news of her death came crashing down on me like a boulder. I puked from the nausea.

Could I have talked her out of it that night?
Could I have been more persistent?
Why did we stop being friends?

I saw Jeremy in the hallway in between class the following week. He had headphones in and he bumped his head to the beat of his music.

I completely lost control, grabbed him and slammed him into a locker.
The sea parted, students shifted away and formed a circle around us.

I put my mouth by his ear.
“Did you give her those fucking pills?”

Jeremy wriggled around, trying to get out of my grip.

“Dude I didn’t fucking know she was gonna take them all by herself!”

Jeremy’s face was saved from being caved in when a teacher came over and bear hugged me, rendering me useless.

“You fucking killed her! You piece of shit you killed her!” I called out, being dragged down the hall.

This tragic situation poses a moral conundrum.

Does the drug dealer that sells the drug to someone who dies after taking it, carry the responsibility of their death?

I think you can look at it in a few ways.

One way to look at it, is if the drug dealer just made a general transaction with no prior knowledge of the buyer wanting to use it for their own demise, then can they truly be to blame?

Some might think not. due to the fact that once the transaction is done, the buyers fate is in their own hands.

Emily made a decision that night, with or without Jeremy she would have still gone through with it. Jeremy just happened to be the most convenient option.

Another way to look at it is if Jeremy had chosen to take a different path in life, and not be a complete degenerate, Emily’s act could have been stalled enough where someone could have prevented it.

Jeremy is the common denominator here. He sold her the drugs.

I could have tried talking her out of it, but Jeremy was always going to be that piece of the puzzle that brought it all together.

I sat in the principals office, waiting for my dad to show up.

“This is a very emotional and sad time for all of our students right now. The last thing we need as a community, as a safe haven, is for a loose cannon to be wandering our halls.” My principal spoke, hitting his hand against the desk in proclamation.

“Wait a minute.” My dad said, leaning forward in his chair.
“This is a safe haven?
A community?
A place for guidance?
If that’s so what did you do to prevent that girl from harming herself?
Where was this ‘community’ at when she was still here?”

Except my dad never said that.

He had been dead for a year to the exact day.

I know he would have stuck up for me. Nobody talked down to his kids and especially not in front of him.

I sat there in that chair alone. While I was berated by a man that knew he had lost his power. Lost his ability to control a population of children.

Like a warden who is watching his jail full of prisoners running out the front gate.

“One week suspension.” He told me, dismissing me.

I had lost two meaningful people in my life in the time span of just one year. I was hurt.

The hole in me tore larger and larger.

I wanted to be dead.

I asked God, if there is a God, why? Why are these good people dying while there’s so many bad ones still walking?

A common phrase among participants of psychedelic substances is ‘Set and Setting’.
People will tell you that set and setting is everything.

If you are in a good mood, and all your affairs in life are in order, then most likely you will have one of the most beautiful and majestic experiences of your life.

If, however, you are in a dark place, then in the dark you will remain.

However you are feeling in that moment will be exaggerated by tenfold.

That night I learned the importance of set and setting.

We sat around in a circle in Ethan’s treehouse. His parents were away and we were all sleeping over his place.

James pulled a sheet of acid out and we all got excited for the night to unfold.

At this point I had probably taken acid half a dozen times. I knew exactly what to expect and I was ready to be taken away from my reality and thrown into another.

The trip started out well. We all giggled over nonsense and shared our opinions on how our chemistry teacher had to be an alien.

I laid back and watched the ceiling dance around and morph into kaleidoscope patterns. I felt at peace.

Until it started intensifying too rapidly.

I sat up, watching my friend’s faces shape shift from their own to disgusting monsters that stared right into my very soul.

They laughed and pointed and danced around me as if I was the victim in a sick ritual.

Dark shadows formed over me and I forced myself into the fetal position. It felt like I was trapped on a roller coaster and the operator had disabled the stop switch.

I held my head, covered my ears. Begged for the noise to stop.

Then I heard it.

Emily’s voice. Crying for help.

It grew louder and louder and I tried screaming just to drown out the pleas.

Then silence.

I looked up to find all my friends gone.

I was alone in a dark tree house.

I looked into the shadows when suddenly Emily emerged. She was in the same outfit from the party that night.

She smiled at me. I watched her in shock.

“I thought you were dead.” I said as she walked toward me.

“Can I come in?” She asked.

“Of course.” I told her.

“Thank you Chris.” She said, putting her arms around my shoulders and locking herself onto me.

“Thank you for what?” I asked

“For letting me in.”

She kissed me. I held her body and we made out in the dark treehouse. I laid back and she came down with me. I held her and felt her body press against mine.

She pulled her face away from mine and I opened my eyes.

My eyes widened when I saw her face.

Grotesque, bloody, and slashed up. Her one eyeball hung from the socket, her jaw was twisted around her face.

I screamed but nothing came out. I scrambled backwards and sent myself feet first out of the treehouse, landing like a sack of potatoes on Ethan’s lawn. Snapping my femur in the process.

The bone stuck through my pants wanting to burst through the fabric. I screamed louder than I even knew was possible.

Ethan and James surrounded me, asking if I was okay and telling me not to move my leg while David called an ambulance.
I was still tripping but barely at this point.

Breaking my leg sobered me up quick and thankfully pulled me out of the single most horrific experience of my life.

I still have the scar on my leg today and I’ll
forever be known as the boy who threw himself out of a treehouse while on acid and broke his femur.