Off the Rails

There's vomit all over me. I couldn’t open my eyes, but I could feel it hardening on my skin. I knew I’d been here for a while, laying in my own bodily fluids and who knows what else. I felt dirty, like the kind of dirty where you’re afraid that if you keep scrubbing, your skin might come off too. I could feel my body shaking. It was uncontrollable, from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my head; I was shaking all over. The hair on my arms was standing up and I could feel my heart racing, but not in a normal high speed race type of way. More like an out of control, running from something, type of race. I laid still with my eyes closed, trying to ease the shaking, I could feel every inch of my skin craving a hit. I can’t remember the last time the withdrawals were this strong. I needed it, right now or I would ultimately die.

I opened my eyes and was immediately blinded by the light. It took a long time to adjust, and even after the burning stopped, my vision was still blurry. I looked around as best I could. I was still living in this nightmare. There were people around me. Some were sitting, some were lying flat on the floor. They were looking right at me but it was as if they could see straight through me. I took a second to look at them better, they all had the same eyes; glazed, dark and sunken. It was like looking into the eyes of someone who’d made a deal with the devil and were returning home to tell their family, except these people didn’t have homes or families to return to.

There was a pain in my lower back that was coming and going. Although, the irresistible urge that succumbed my brain numbed the pain. It forced me to my feet. My balance was awful. It was obvious I hadn’t stood straight for a while. There were a few cracks from my bones, and my legs felt like jelly. I stood for a bit, then took a step before I realized it wasn’t just me that was moving. The sun was shining in through windows, and there were moments of darkness and echoes. There were chairs and tables, doors and rails. I had no ticket but I was on a train.

A whistle blew, which frightened me and I fell back to the floor. It was probably safer on the floor, but I could feel it in my veins that what I was looking for, wasn’t here. Again, I got to my feet and stepped over the people who were flooding the aisle. They were motionless, it was difficult to tell if they were actually alive. I had to use my foot to push their arms and legs out of the way as I made my way down the carriage aisle. It was like walking through a grave yard, but the people didn’t go in coffins underground. They were just put anywhere, in no actual order., unnamed and forgotten.

I’d stepped over atleast fifteen people before I’d noticed movement. There was someone wrapped in a green blanket not far ahead. I could hear a voice. I could tell from the emotion and tone, it was definitely a child. At first I was shocked that someone would have their child here, but the shock disappeared as soon as I could see him smiling at me, through a rip in the blanket. I smiled back, then continued in his direction. I thought he might be able to help me find the thing I needed to survive. But the closer I was getting to him, the more frightened he became. I kept going, hoping he’d help. He got himself underneath a chair, curled up tightly in his blanket. I asked him to get out but he didn’t answer. This made me angry, I needed him to help me. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but I need him to answer me. I leant down and grabbed onto his blanket. He was holding onto the steel frame of the chair for his life. He was light and his grip came unstuck as soon as I pulled. I could hear the material of the blanket ripping more as I dragged him out. He was scared but stayed quiet, like he knew he had to be. I pulled his blanket with him inside into the aisle. My thumb and index finger gripped onto his chin, forcing his face towards mine. “Where can I get it?” I asked sternly. His eyes filled with tears and he let out a cry, then pointed towards the front of the train with his left arm. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?” I mumbled as I let him go. Like a puppy with his tail between his legs, he got back under the chair. I looked back, waiting for his parents to check on him, but they didn’t come.

Step by step, I got closer to the next carriage. The sun was getting brighter and my skin felt like it was on fire. I was sweating and I could feel the anger building but I kept on going, I couldn’t stop. I got to the dividing door, turned the handle and stepped through. BANG! The door slammed behind me. Then there were movements. People were rising from the floor and out of their chairs. The noises where deafening, almost like the grave yard had just come back to life. I knew I had to hurry. I pushed past men and women, old and young. This train has no limit or rules as to who can get on. I could see the people becoming anxious and agitated. I’d seen this plenty of times before. I knew I had to hurry.

I tried to run, but there were people everywhere. Then there were hands around my throat, and a man yelling “Give it to me!” over and over. I couldn’t breathe. I looked into his eyes. I was looking into nothing. Just black. I was losing consciousness, my body was limp. Suddenly the pressure stopped and I fell to the floor. It hurt to breathe, but I needed to move, now! I crawled along the aisle, underneath the chaos. These people were out of control. I crawled over lifeless bodies, broken bottles, rubbish and whatever else, before the noise was too much. I stopped and covered my ears. I blocked out the noise on the train, but there were voices in my head I couldn’t ignore.

“Dad? Please come back, we need you.”

“You said you’d get help last time. Why can’t you stop?

“Don’t go, Dad. Come back to us?”

I can hear my family. I have a wife and kids, well I did. I haven’t thought of them for a long time. I didn’t think they’d want me, not after everything I’ve done. I miss them more than I let myself believe because it’s easier that way. I can’t listen. If I listen, I’ll remember, and I don’t want to remember. I uncover my ears and let the noise from the train back in to drown out their words. The screaming is easier to bear then the memories. I get up and I run as fast as I can. I get to the next dividing door and quickly open it. I don’t even get a chance to see what’s on the other side before people are trying to push passed me. I push them back and manage to squeeze myself into the next carriage. I use every bone in my boney body to push the door shut. Luckily for me, the people are too washed up in the battle with each other to notice the open exit. As soon as the door shuts, I push the lock button into place. It clicks and with it comes a feeling of relief. Until I realise, I am alone in this carriage. Alone isn’t good when you’re alone with yourself. You see, without the people, I can hear the voices in my head again. I stand still, struggling with which way to go now. I could keep going forward to the front of the train. This is the way the boy said to go, to get what I need. I’d have to listen to the voices inside my head, though. Or, I could go back to the people where the violence and shame feels familiar and the noise clears my head. Backwards is what I’m used to, but I need to score. There’s nothing left back there.

I have to keep going if I want to survive. I have to keep going to get it, the thing that I need. I take a step forward, “Hey Dad, I hope you can hear me. I miss you.” Damnit. I knew this would happen. It’s my daughter. The last time I seen her she was 12 years old. It was a week after my wife kicked me out of the house. I needed a fix and broke in through my daughter’s bedroom window. I remember looking at her little face, so peaceful and innocent as she laid asleep in her bed that night. She woke up to the sound of me smashing her money box on the floor. I remember she looked at me with those big brown eyes and whispered, “its ok Daddy, I’ll clean it up.” Then I kissed her forehead and I left.

I yell as loud as I can to stop her from getting in. I keep yelling, and yelling. My throat is aching, there’s only a few more steps before the next door, so I stop yelling. As soon as I do, her voice returns, “I’m bigger now Dad, I understand and I want to help you.” I stop. I can hear it in her voice, she isn’t 12 anymore. She has grown. How long has it been since I spent all of her penny’s on heroine? There’s a sensation on my cheek, I touch it with my hand. It’s cold and wet. I’m crying but it’s not sadness that I feel. Its shame.

I need to get rid of this feeling. I take two more steps forward and reach to pull the handle on the dividing door. It’s heavy. Something is pushing against it on the other side. I don’t have much strength left in me. I lean against the door with my weight, catching my breath. I can feel myself getting weaker and then I hear her. “Hi, Honey. I know it’s hard, but you have to keep fighting. The pain you feel isn’t weakness, its survival, and you are going to survive this. Keep going.” Her voice is angelic, but heartbreaking. My wife was always my biggest supporter, she always listened and believed I was good. I’m not good. I sold my wedding ring for a bag, after she tried to admit me.

The heartbreak is unbearable but I use this rage I feel to open the door. I step through to the last carriage, not knowing what will happen next. I’m dizzy and having trouble standing upright. I hold onto the rail to help with my balance. I can hear music playing. It’s a song I used to listen to with my son before things got bad. I can’t remember the words, it’s been so long. But I remember his face, how it would light up when it would come on. We would pretend to have our own band, he was the lead guitarist and I played the drums. I’m smiling, which is strange. I can’t remember the last time I smiled.

“Can you hear our song, Dad? Do you remember?” his voice asks in my head.

I want to tell him, I do and I’ll never forget. He said he wanted to grow up and be just like me. Wait, no. My smile quickly turns into fear of that becoming true. I pray he grew up wanting to be nothing like me. I drop to my knees and hold my head in my hands as I remember the last time I seen my son. A time I erased with substances. His face is in my mind, not the one that would light up with our song. His face, that lost all of its light while I held him against his bedroom wall while I demanded he tell me where his friend with the good stuff lived.

It’s a time I regret, that I’ve spent years trying to forget. I need my fix, I need it now. I can’t let these memories come back. I grab onto the door handle and swing it open as hard as I can wanting this to be the end. I step into the train cabin and shut the door behind me, hoping no one can find me. There’s no driver, no second in charge, no one, it’s just me in the driver’s seat. Autopilot is set to self-destruction mode and the dealer has dealt everything I’ve been searching for. I’m going off the rails. I form a fist and look at my veins pumping. I’m alive, I don’t want to die. I just want to feel something other than regret, shame, denial and self-deception. For the first time I understand what it means to have a gun in my mouth and like the taste of gunpowder. I could always do more, but I could never do less. I shoot up to forget.

“CLEAR!” they yelled, then a jolt rocked my body.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. That’s the sound of my heart. It’s still racing, not the out of control, running from something race, but this time, it’s that high speed kind of race, where you want to win. I want to win.

“Nurse, can you call my wife and kids?”