Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 8. Chapter 8

As the next few days passed, I sank even deeper into depression. I knew what was happening but I didn't care enough to do anything to stop it. Mom, Michelle and Trent came back the next day and asked me how the party went. I said something like ‘fine' and headed for my room where I spent the whole weekend, only coming out a few times to use the bathroom. I didn't feel like eating - or even pretending to eat - so I didn't bother coming out for meals. Occasionally Trent or my mom would appear in the doorway but they'd leave again without saying anything. That suited me fine. I'd had plenty of time for my mind to wander during my self-enforced solitude and I'd realized that I didn't have much in common with the rest of them. Coupled with my lack of social contact, low self-esteem, absence of friends... I was spiraling into a black pit of despair and I didn't give enough of a shit to want to stop it.

I'd heard about people who became severely depressed and asked someone to help them overcome it. I didn't want to. It wasn't that I thought my feelings were normal, by any means, but I felt like such an outcast - such a loser - that it was as if I deserved it, somehow. For a little while I gave myself hell for wallowing in self-pity, but it was more like hatred than pity. I didn't feel sorry for myself - I hated myself. I hated that I'd let football become such a major part of my life that I practically ceased to exist without it. I hated that I'd survived the accident and my friends hadn't. I hated that I was gay and that I'd thrown myself at Brock. I hated that I'd split up my mom and dad. I hated that I'd hurt Adam and then hadn't had the balls to explain myself to him. I hated that I'd caused my grandparents so much embarrassment while I was in Dallas. I hated...

I hated. Pure, gut-wrenching, unadulterated hate. I was exactly what my dad said I was - a waste of skin. Nothing but a useless has-been, taking up space. It got so that I didn't even shower that much, thinking I didn't have a right to use up the water. I didn't belong - not any more. I closed my bedroom door so I wouldn't distract anyone walking by. I only used the connecting door between my room and the bathroom so I didn't have to show my face in the hallway. I sat on my bed, curled up in a ball of self-loathing, and wished I was dead.

The sun was streaming through a small gap in my curtains. From the amount of light I figured it had to be about nine or ten in the morning - I'd kind of lost track of time - and I could see tiny motes of dust dancing on the sunbeams. I watched listlessly as they drifted around: over, under, up, down... They never seemed to collide, instead twirling around each other like those drawings of atoms you see on science shows. I reached out a finger and stuck it into the middle of the dance, just to see what would happen. The motes changed direction suddenly, swirling away to avoid my finger.

Ironic, I thought ruefully. I unwound myself from the cramped position I'd been sitting in since last night and climbed off the bed. I stretched after I stood up, ignoring the twinge of pain in my leg. It had been growing more pronounced lately but I'd purposely stopped taking my pain medication, so that was only to be expected. As I brought my arms up I could smell how badly I was in need of a shower. My conscience began arguing in my head that although I didn't want to waste water, I also didn't want to make the whole house smell - which was exactly what was going to happen if I got much dirtier.

I grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt from my dresser and headed for the bathroom. Not waiting for the water to warm up I stripped off my dirty clothes, threw them in the hamper and stepped under the cold spray. By the time I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair the water was almost the right temperature for a decent shower, but I turned it off and got out, slipping on my clothes without drying off. I brushed my teeth quickly and went back into my room, grabbing a glass of water on the way out. As I sat on the edge of my bed, my gaze fell on the bottle of pain meds on the bedside table.

It was nearly full. I'd only taken about four when I stopped altogether and the bottle had had twenty in it. I picked it up and stared at it for a second. ‘Darrell Matthews... Take one tablet as needed for pain.' As needed? How many did I need? How many would take away the pain I felt? I turned the bottle over in my hands, staring at the little white pills as they tumbled around inside. How many? How much did I hurt? I didn't belong here anymore - I didn't belong anywhere. I was taking up space. I was alone. How many...

I popped the lid off the bottle and dumped it out in my hand. Sixteen pills. If I took them all it'd be noticed right away. If I left some... I put back a little less than half, snapped the lid in place and set it on the bedside table. Taking a large mouthful of water, I dumped in the pills and swallowed the lot. Once I'd set the glass down I scooted back into my usual corner and tucked my knees up under my chin in the same position I'd been in before my shower.

The dust motes swirled lazily in the warm air, carefree and oblivious. Maybe I could come back as a mote-

My bedroom door swung open suddenly to reveal my brother, already dressed and with a determined look on his face. "Alright Darrell," he said in a low growl. "Enough bullshit."

I could feel a slight tingling in my hands and feet. God, Trent, your timing sucks. The dust motes changed direction with the infusion of new air in the room. "What do you want?" My voice was flat and toneless.

"You're going to see a shrink today if I have to drag you there myself," Trent replied, crossing the room. I could feel a smile tugging at my lips. "You've been locked up in here for almost a week," he went on. "We figured we'd leave you alone - that you'd come around eventually - but when I heard you in the bathroom I decided I'm not waiting any longer." I looked over at him. "That had to have been the shortest shower in history."

"I'm clean." Trent was beginning to look a little fuzzy around the edges. Maybe he was going to get to be a mote before me? Was nothing going to go my way? Ever?

"I know you're-" He stopped suddenly, staring at something. His eyes widened and he looked at me. "Darrell?"

He was whispering. Good thing, too, because I was getting sleepy. "Yeah?" I turned back to the sunbeam.

Trent jumped up and ran out of the room. The sudden bounce caused my stomach to twist in a knot. Pain began building in my gut. A few seconds later he was back with the phone in his hand. He grabbed the bottle and began reading off the label. "No," he said quickly. "I don't know. It was almost full when I checked on him last night and now there's..." He shook it. I watched him disinterestedly. "...About seven left." He put the bottle down and sat on the bed, causing another painful bounce. "Darrell?"

My chest began to hurt. I curled my hands against it. "What?"

"Darrell," he said slowly. "When did you take the pills?"

I didn't feel sleepy anymore. Now I felt like my body was in a vice. These were painkillers? I just shook my head.

"Darrell!"

Part of me registered his comment about checking on me. "What?"

He spoke into the phone. "I'm calling an ambulance, Mom. I'll let you know where they take him." He disconnected and then dialed another number. "My brother took an overdose," he said when it was answered. "About fifteen hundred milligrams..." His voice faded, drowned out by the roaring in my ears. I could feel bile rising in my throat. I tried uncurling from around my aching chest and my stomach immediately revolted.

"He just threw up." Trent's voice came back in a rush. "No - I don't know... it doesn't look bloody..."

Great, I thought as the world began to darken around me. I can't do anything right.

**

My eyes drifted up to the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes... I only had to wait fifteen more minutes until this particular brand of torture was over. At least until tomorrow. I tried to focus on what my visitor was saying.

"...Do realize that you're going to be stuck here until you talk to me, right?"

I nodded. She - the shrink they'd sent me - seemed to be getting frustrated. Maybe she was an intern or something.

"Darrell..."

The sky outside the window dimmed slightly. In the distance I could see clouds gathering. It looked like we were in for a hell of a thunderstorm.

"...Had some people asking about you..."

I looked back at her. "Who?"

"Finally." She smiled. She really was nice - whatever her name was - and she was trying really hard. It wasn't her fault that I didn't feel like talking. "Your mom and brother, for starters," she answered. "And... I think his girlfriend..." The smile faded. "But Darrell... I don't really want to authorize visitors when you're still in such a fragile state..."

"I don't want to see them anyway," I said shortly, interrupting her. The whole situation had me miserable and embarrassed as hell. The last thing I needed was one of them telling me how much trauma I'd put them through.

It was as if she'd read my mind. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Darrell," she said in a quiet tone. "You got a little lost, that's all. It happens to the best of us."

"When was the last time you downed a bottle of painkillers?" I snapped back.

"Darrell..."

I turned away. "Just leave me alone," I said quietly. "Just... go away. Please?" She stopped talking but didn't leave. After a minute I looked back to find her staring at me. "What?"

She paused. "I was considering how to talk to you," she said. "To tell the truth, Darrell... you're not the only one that's been in pain and tried to make it go away." I waited. "And that's all I'm saying about that," she finished.

I was intrigued. Damned if I was going to show it, though. I tucked my hand behind my head and turned back to the window.

She tried again. Flipping through the folder in her lap she said, "So... you said you think you're gay..."

"No," I bit out, rounding on her. "You did."

If my response bothered her, she didn't show it. "Do you?"

"If I say no do I get to go home?"

Setting her lips in a thin line, the shrink got to her feet. "I think that's probably enough for now," she said. After staring at me a moment she turned and headed for the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Darrell."

"Looking forward to it," I called back sarcastically. I looked back at the window but there wasn't much to see. The clouds had gathered in force and the sky was almost as dark as nighttime.

The door squeaked softly and, thinking it was the shrink coming back, I groaned and turned toward the sound only to see Michelle poking her head through the opening. Although my first instinct was to tell her to get out, something about the look on her face made me pause. Somehow she managed to appear uncomfortable and determined all at once and I was curious as to what she would say.

She closed the door behind her and walked to the bed, stopping a few feet away. As she flicked the long hair out of her eyes she asked, "How are they treating you?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"Bet you'll be glad to get out of here," Michelle went on. "I hate hospitals, personally."

I toyed with the plastic band around my wrist. "Sure." The truth was, I didn't want to be stuck in here but I didn't want to go home, either. Talk about messed up.

Michelle glanced around and then grabbed a chair that was standing against the wall and dragged it over. As she sat she asked, "Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

I looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Trent and I were talking," she began slowly. "It had to be rough, living in that house after what happened to you, and now..." She paused as if waiting for me to say something. When I didn't she continued, "All of your friends have left for university or are working, your mom is at work most of the time... it leaves a lot of time on your hands."

"Yeah." I wondered what she was getting at, but at the same time I had a sickening feeling that I already knew.

Michelle leaned toward me, propping her elbows on the bed. "Darrell," she said. "Your mom loves you and is worried sick about you. Trent is positive that this..." She waved a hand vaguely. "...Is somehow his fault. I know I'm only his girlfriend and therefore an outsider but I've been watching and..."

When she didn't continue I asked, "And what?"

"You have a great family," Michelle answered with a shrug. "At least you do now, from what Trent's told me. Not that I'm bad-mouthing your dad - I don't know any of you well enough to say that." I narrowed my eyes at her, waiting for the rest of it. "The thing is, Darrell," she went on. "Your mom and your brother love you - even after all of this all they can think of is how to make you happy again. You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think that the memories - good and bad - are keeping you from being happy," she said. "Maybe you need a new start."

I thought it over. In a way, I could see what she was saying. Everything that I had before the accident was gone now. The idea of going out in public and running into someone who knew me when I played football was enough to make me sick to my stomach. Seeing old classmates caused me to break out into a cold sweat. And heaven forbid that someone ask me about what happened to my dad...

On the other hand, I didn't like the idea of running away from my problems. A small voice in the back of my head reminded me that that was what I'd been doing when I downed those pills. Would going somewhere new - somewhere where no one knew who I had been - be so bad? I could try going to university. Maybe even try for that teaching degree I'd been dreaming about. I closed my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I'd thought about that. Such was the depth of the depression I'd been in.

Michelle must have mistook the reason for me closing my eyes because she said, "I should get going and let you rest." She rose from the chair. "Just think about it, huh? It's an idea, anyway."

As she reached the door I called out without opening my eyes. "Michelle?"

"Yeah, Darrell?"

"Tell them I love them, okay?" I finally looked at her. She nodded. "And Michelle?" I added. "Thanks."

She smiled prettily. Trent sure had good taste. "You're welcome," she answered before heading out the door.