Shelter (3 page)

There must be more to life than this.

Elias jumped out of the shower after the water turned cold again. It had been doing it since he had moved into the new apartment but it wasn’t like he could complain to the landlord because he had no idea who that was. He had considered that it could be the baker downstairs but they’d bumped into each other when they were both tossing trash into the dumpster and he had seemed surprised to see Elias.

He turned off the water and left the warmth of the stall, tucking a towel around his thin waist as the cold tiles greeted him under foot. Wiping the steamy mirror, he stared at his cloudy reflection. His lip and ear rings shimmered brightly under the strip lighting. Dark smudges under his eyes signaled how little sleep he had been getting in the week since he had been in the apartment.

Toweling off his body, he quickly ran the damp towel over his short black hair before tucking it back around his waist. He had worked his way through the few clothes he had but he hadn’t even attempted to figure out how to use the washing machine.

Heading out of the bathroom, he kicked a beer can out of his path. It rattled along the wooden floor, hitting a stack of pizza boxes. His first welfare check hadn’t been enough to score so he had spent the cash on as much beer and fast food as he could.

The rehab center would look at his drinking as an official relapse but for Elias, alcohol had never been his vice. He had only ever used it as a tool to suppress the hunger for stronger substances. If drinking six cans of beer a night meant that the itching for cocaine wasn’t as strong, then that’s what he needed to do.

Elias didn’t even know why he was trying so hard. He had finally called Rigsy and arranged to see him on his first night but cancelled ten minutes before he was due to arrive. It wasn’t because he didn’t have the money; he had always been able to offer other things to Rigsy in exchange for a couple of lines. It was because Ellie’s words were circling loudly in his mind. For the first time in his life, he was starting to feel guilty for his lifestyle and he hated that feeling.

Opening the fridge, he cracked open his first can of the day and landed on the couch, the towel still loosely around his waist. Flicking on the TV, he scanned the guide, settling on a trashy reality TV show. He had never had the luxury of watching much TV because he had never really had a stable roof over his head. It wasn’t like he craved it. He had never seen the appeal of spending hours in front of the box watching trash but since he had nothing better to do, it was all he seemed to do. Elias was the first to admit that he had always had an addictive personality. When he was a kid, he took a liking to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and that’s all he would eat. With his mom always at work, the nannies and cooks were always happy to supply them because it kept him quiet. Now, he had replaced the cravings for drugs with watching trashy shows on MTV. It didn’t feel like a fair tradeoff.

His cell vibrated, signaling an incoming call. When he saw ‘
Rigsy
’ on the caller ID, he almost swiped the red reject button. Staring back at the TV with a huff, he slid the green call icon and pressed the phone up to his ear.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, dude. I got some
premium
shit in last night. Wanted you to be the first to try it.”

Elias gulped, the direct offer throwing him.

“Erm,” he stumbled, “not a good time.”

“Have you found another guy? Another dealer?” anger rose in Rigsy’s voice, “If you’re worried about the cash, don’t sweat it. You know we’ve always had our little
arrangement
.”

Blowjobs in exchange for a line always seemed like an easy deal for Elias. He was already gay, even if he wasn’t out, so it didn’t make much of a difference for him. Rigsy claimed to be straight but he enjoyed having a guy suck his cock far too much to convince Elias otherwise.

“It’s not that,” Elias swallowed the fear, “I just – I -,”

“You’re trying to go clean?” Rigsy laughed, “
You?
You’ve been doing this stuff longer than I have.”

Why did Rigsy find it so hard that he was trying to go clean? Cocaine was the first thought on his mind when he woke up and the last thought on his mind when he went to bed. It would be so easy to give into the desire, the hunger for it, but he didn’t. He wanted so badly to tell Rigsy to come straight over with a bag of the stuff. His tongue was even running across his lips as he imagined the high it would give him.

“I don’t know what I’m trying to do,” Elias mumbled defensively, “I’m fresh out of rehab.”

He heard a long sigh of exhaustion leave Rigsy. For a dealer, court appointed rehab was his worst enemy because every so often it would actually work.

“I get it, you’re trying to be a good boy for a couple of days. When you’re ready for me, I’ll be waiting.”

With that, Rigsy hung up and Elias tossed his phone back onto the table. He muted the TV and started drumming his fingers on the sofa. He thought back to the accidental overdose before rehab. That should have been enough to scare anybody off going back to drugs but it had never been that simple for Elias. If it was simple, he would have been able to tell Rigsy to leave him alone for good. Somehow, keeping the option there felt like a good thing.

He heard a key twist in the lock downstairs, quickly followed by heels clicking on the wooden steps. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“I didn’t know you had a key,” he laughed, “but of course you do. Why wouldn’t you?”

Standing up and making sure that the towel was still tightly around his waist, he turned to see his mother standing in the door. The great mayor of Havenmoore, Judy James, was finally gracing him with her presence.
I’ve only been out of rehab for five days.

“Look at you,” she rolled her heavily lined and mascaraed eyes, “have you stopped wearing clothes now as well?”

Her sharp black bob was slightly wavy for a change but it didn’t soften her severe look. Her wide, dark eyes were framed with perfectly shaped, angular brows. A subtle berry stain covered her plump lips, which Elias didn’t doubt had had a little help from a surgeon’s needle.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mom,” Elias folded his arms protectively across his chest.

Whenever he was in her presence, the hairs on the backs of his arms would stand rigidly in the air. It was like being in a room with a rattlesnake, not knowing when it was going to attack to deliver the lethal blow.

“It didn’t take you long to trash the place,” she peered around the apartment as if it was the first time she had seen it.

Her stilettos sharply tapped on the floor as she walked in slowly, her knee-length pencil skirt constricting her movement. She was wearing a white blouse with a long black jacket over the top. Dumping her designer leather bag on the couch, she shrugged off her coat.

Elias dug through the laundry basket and pulled the least smelling t-shirt over his slim body, followed by a pair of green and blue striped underwear. He wasn’t going to bother trying to find his jeans. She wasn’t that important.

“I like the messy look,” he shrugged, “makes me feel at home.”

“Well, it is what you’re used to,” everything she said sounded like an insult, “aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

“Beer?” he opened the fridge, pulling on the seal and sipping at the amber liquid, “Or do you want something stronger?”

Hovering by the couch, she pursed her lips, her angular brows creasing up her forehead, “Didn’t take you long to relapse. Even for you, that’s a record.”

She looked around, clearly trying to find left over lines and powder covered credit cards. He was almost disappointed that he couldn’t fulfill her expectations. If she had her way, she would keep forcing him into rehab so she didn’t have to worry about him interfering with her life.

“I haven’t touched anything,” he collapsed back onto the couch, pushing her bag and jacket onto the floor, “but you probably don’t believe that.”

She planted her hands on her hips as he sipped the beer. The TV flickered silently in the background and it didn’t suddenly seem like such a bad distraction.

“This isn’t a social visit,” she sniffed as she glanced at her watch, “I have a meeting at -,”

“When don’t you have a meeting?” he mumbled, almost to himself.

Coughing, she glared at him before continuing with her prepared speech, “I have a meeting in ten minutes. I just came by to tell you that we’ve arranged your follow up aftercare.”

“Aftercare?” he laughed, “We?”

“The rehab center and I,” she nodded, “and yes, aftercare.”

“I’ll pass,” he laughed, “I don’t need aftercare. I don’t need anything you’re offering.”

“You’re happy to sit on the couch I bought you,” she almost sounded smug.

They both knew she hadn’t supplied Elias with somewhere to live because it was a natural motherly instinct. It was more like a points scoring system. Twenty years as the unopposed mayor meant that her publicity budget had been slimmed down. A lease on a tiny apartment wouldn’t have even skimmed the top of the cash she had sitting in the bank.

“And besides, it’s not optional,” she stood up straight, “it’s part of the deal. You have two months of follow-up care to make sure you’re not using again. If they can prove you’re using, you’ll be sent straight back to rehab, or prison, depending on which judge you get.”

“So that’ll be whichever judge you can bribe to keep me out of prison?”

Her lips pursed even harder and her black eyes turned to slits. She looked like she could pounce into a vicious verbal attack at any moment but years in the public eye had given her the restraint of a saint.

“It’s already arranged. A local charity has agreed to taking you on.”

“Forget it!” Elias laughed, standing up, “I’ll skip town. I don’t care about follow up. Send me to prison. What have I got to live for?”

Elias wished he hadn’t been so quick to turn Rigsy’s offer down. This was just reminding him why he had never really cared about getting clean before. Why was he trying now?

“It’s the Helping Hands Outreach Program,” she continued, “your first drop-in will be at four, so you should probably clean up.”

Elias didn’t know if she was talking about him or the apartment but the way she wrinkled her nose and darted from his dirty t-shirt to the stacks of pizza boxes and beer cans, he was sure she meant both.

“Whatever,” he sighed in defeat, “close the door on the way out.”

Bending down gracefully, she picked up her jacket and bag. She took time to carefully fold the jacket to gently place it over the arm holding the bag. Turning on her heels, she headed for the door. For a second, she paused at the door and turned to Elias, her eyes not quite meeting his. For a moment he thought she was going to say something but she left in silence.

Upturning the coffee table and sending his beer can hurtling across the room, he let out a cry and rubbed his face.

I can’t do this. Why am I trying to do this?

***

“It’s good to have you back in town,” Caden’s brother, Bruce, clinked their beer necks together, “here’s to you finally getting rid of that leech.”

Caden smiled, grateful for his brother’s support. Bruce didn’t need to try too hard to send the digs firing in Finn’s direction. He had never kept it a secret that he had never liked him. Finn always said it was because Bruce was sexually repressed and he must want him but Caden knew his brother well enough to know that Bruce just didn’t like Finn. Bruce would never have said anything to Caden when they were together but the ‘
leech
’ was gone so Bruce didn’t mind saying what he really thought.

“I’ll drink to that,” Caden jammed the bottle in his mouth, “how are things with you, bro?”

The conversation had been geared towards Caden’s failing life so it was a nice change to push the conversation towards Bruce. Scratching the thick, ginger beard that ran up to his equally thick, flame red hair, Bruce stuck his chin out and his eyebrows rose with a sigh.

“Can’t complain,” he said, slapping the bar he was standing behind, “business is going as good as you can expect for Havenmoore. The Lobster Festival is here next week so that’ll be good for us.”

“It’s that time of year already?” Caden set his beer on the bar, “I can’t remember the last time I was in town for the festival.”