Self-Preservation - 1. Story

Self-Preservation

by Tiffani Chin

How did you get in here?”

A guy, who appeared to be around my age, had walked into my apartment. The guy didn’t answer and I blinked to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. My steady smoking and drinking had dulled my senses. I was in a soothed state and any brain activity that occurred was on the slow side.

“I walked in,” the stranger replied smartly, but without arrogance.

“Get out,” I stated simply. “I don’t know you.” I didn’t get up from my relaxed position on the couch.

The stranger ignored me and walked further into my apartment, coming closer. I took a good look at my intruder. He was my complete opposite.

A few inches shorter than my 6’1, he resembled a Ken doll, with his light blond hair, and bright blue eyes. His eyes looked huge and penetrating from behind his narrow-framed glasses. He looked remarkably smart and good-looking. Preppy attire covered his trim body. He looked well put-together.

I wanted to kick the shit out of him.

“What’s your name?” I asked, suddenly curious. I had no idea why, but the name ‘Brent’ floated into my head.

“Brent,” he answered easily and without hesitation.

I blinked, but recovered quickly. I coughed. “Brennan Carter. Do you live around here? Why haven’t I seen you before?” Maybe he had moved in recently and needed some company. I have no idea why he chose my apartment though. I definitely kept to myself.

“I live around,” Brent said shrugging. “Why are you so sad?” he asked abruptly.

I blinked again. My eyelids were getting a workout because of this Brent character. “Huh?” I asked dumbly, my cigarette almost falling from my lips. Luckily, I managed to close my mouth in time to catch it.

“Sitting all alone with a bunch of pill bottles. Shouldn’t you be out with friends? What’s going on man?” he asked.

I had been so lost in smoking and drinking that I hadn’t realized my pills were still in sight. Usually it didn’t matter, because I never had visitors.

I had a daily ritual. I would spread out all my prescription medication on my coffee table and count them. The number never changed, but for some reason I needed to count them. It was some sort of reassurance.

The pills fascinated me: I knew what could happen if I mixed the various types of pills, not to mention if I took them all at once. Some were tiny and oval, others large and round. Most were white. I had them arranged in neat little piles: seventeen Ambien, twelve Vicodin, and fourteen Codeine.

All saved for my rainy day. My own special rainy day.

For some reason, I didn’t care that Brent saw my collection and that this would lead to subsequent conclusions. Even though he was a stranger who had boldly walked into my apartment, I felt I could trust him and that he wouldn’t judge me.

“Dude, I don’t know you,” I said sidestepping the question.

“So what?” Brent shot back. “It’s easier to tell a stranger your problems.”

“I don’t have problems,” I stated. “Even so, I don’t feel like it.”

“Fine,” Brent said standing up. “I’ll leave.”

“What?” I asked.

“I’ll come back when you’re ready to talk,” he said smiling in a friendly manner, clearly not offended by my attitude. He headed towards the front door and left quietly.

For the millionth time that day, it seemed I was left in a confused state. I frowned, putting out my cigarette. I lit a new one as I stood up and moved to the front door in order to lock it. My frown deepened when I saw that it was already locked.

I stared blankly at the lock for two minutes before moving back to the coffee table. I scooped the pills neatly back into their bottles, gave them each a little shake, and stowed them in my kitchen cabinet.

I sipped my drink and thought about Brent. Although, I had never seen Brent before in my life, there was something familiar about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it; it gnawed at me.

Then I became bitter. His whole demeanor screamed perfection and that irritated the hell out of me. Guys like Brent probably had everything going for him, and thinking of Brent’s superior qualities only made the same qualities that I lacked that much more obvious.

I never wanted to see Brent again. Perhaps I should install an alarm system.

The shrillness of my cell phone ringing interrupted my thoughts. My so-called group of friends was getting together, which really meant a bunch of girls and guys in a crowded apartment, with lots of booze, pot, horny people, junk food, and video games. How exciting.

“I’ll be there,” I said gruffly before hanging up. Shutting the phone, I inhaled deeply on my cigarette and grabbed my car keys.

***************

It was a wonder I let him come home with me. I normally never brought anyone home. Nevertheless, there was something about Nate Anderson; whatever it was, it allowed me to let my guard down.

I stumbled out of bed; my eyelids felt really heavy and my head ached. I tried to massage the pain away. After relieving myself in the bathroom, I stared in the mirror. My haggard and pale reflection stared back at me.

Moving back into my bedroom, Nate’s sleeping form started to stir. I felt a pain in my chest and I wasn’t sure why. Like some kind of longing or yearning. But as soon as it came, it passed.

I walked over and shook him. “Wake up.”

He murmured and snuggled further into the pillows and my eyes wandered down his bare torso, to the blanket covering him. Our rolling around from last night briefly entered my mind, but I pushed it aside. I nudged his smooth shoulder and his leg shot out from under the covers. I vaguely remembered his legs wrapped around my waist as I moved inside him.

“Kid,” -although he couldn’t have been more than a few years younger- “Wake up. You have to go.” I shook him harder. Finally, he turned over and blinked, while rubbing his eyes. “You gotta get dressed and leave,” I said with finality in my voice. The flash of hurt in his big brown eyes and the downturn of his full lips tugged at my heart.

Six minutes later, he was out the door, with a soft, “Bye,” which I ignored. I retrieved my pill bottles from the cabinet, lit a cigarette, and flopped on the couch. I sighed heavily. “What are you doing here? Ever heard of knocking or ringing the bell?”

“More fun this way,” Brent grinned. “So,” he began sitting next to me on the couch. “What are those for?” Brent asked. “How come so many?”

“Old medication that I never finished. You know, wisdom teeth extractions, getting sick, insomnia, a broken arm or leg, shit like that. I hate side effects so I barely took them. Over the years, they added up. For my rainy day.”

“Rainy day?” he asked cocking his head. “As in bad weather?”

“I like to think of it as my insurance policy. If life gets too bad, I have a one-way ticket out of here,” I clucked my tongue to emphasize my point.

“Why do you think like that?”

“Why not?” I said. “That’s me.”

“What’s so bad in your life that makes you think that way? To kill yourself,” Brent wondered. “What happened?”

I flinched. “Not killing myself. Saving.”

“You’ll go to hell,” Brent warned.

“Not religious.”

“Doesn’t mean that hell is nonexistent. Just because you choose to be ignorant, that doesn’t change the facts.”

“That’s a religious illusion. Nothing can be proven,” I scoffed. “Bible shit. Anyone ever been to hell and back?” I rolled my eyes. “Where’s the proof?”

“You’ll burn for eternity.”

“Shut up,” I said, but without malice.

“You don’t want to kill yourself, really. If you did, you’d have done it already. Action expresses your true desire, not talk. Talk is easy; doing is hard.”

“I’m waiting for the time to come,” I said. “When I have to do it. It’s not that time yet. I’ll know when it comes,” I said, talking more to myself than to him.

“While you’re waiting, want to talk?”

“No.”

Brent got comfortable, propping his feet on my coffee table. “How come you live alone? You’re like…twenty-three?” he guessed.

“Twenty-seven,” I corrected.

“No parents, siblings, roommate, girlfriend?”

“Just me. I like it that way.”

“No one really likes it that way,” Brent pointed out. “They’re lying to your face.”

“So turn around and it will be behind your back,” I smirked.

Brent laughed. “You’re funny. I wouldn’t have thought that about a depressed guy who counts pills all day to hopefully kill himself. Don’t you work?” he continued with his questioning. Or interrogating.

“I’m not depressed!” I exclaimed, feeling slightly defensive. “And I invested my money well,” I said.

“Where’s your Mom?” Brent suddenly asked.

“What?” I asked sharply. I hated how questions flew out of his mouth and none of them seem to be related to the previous one. It was making my head spin.

“Just a question,” he said holding up his hands.

I paused, stubbing out my cigarette. “She died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Brent said sincerely. “How long ago?”

“Three years, next week,” I said pausing to light up another cigarette. “Lung cancer. Second hand. She didn’t even smoke,” I snorted. “Can you believe that?”

“Why do you smoke then?” Brent asked curiously. “You can be killing others from your own smoke.”

“Sheer irony, right? I get it,” I said sarcastically. “I can’t quit; I need it. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“But you don’t really need it. From the way you keep lighting up constantly, without thought, means you’re not registering what you’re doing. It’s become a habit whenever you get stressed.”

“I can’t quit,” I repeated. “I tried. I failed, just like everything else in my life.”

“Load of shit Brennan. Just try harder.”

I grunted in response.

“Just you and your Mom? Before she died?” he asked, redirecting the conversation to my family again.

For some reason I felt compelled to answer. “I was very close to my Mom. Not a close family, but it was always mom and me; she’d be on my side, no matter what. She was way too good to me. I didn’t deserve it,” I said rubbing my nose tiredly.

“I was a real shit. Most young guys are, right? It should have been me who had their life taken away. She didn’t even get a chance to really live. She spent a good thirty years working and other than that, nope, nothing. Just the kids and a shitty husband. If someone like her died, what hope is there for the rest of us?” I asked Brent rhetorically. “I wanted to make it up to her, but she died before I got that chance.”

I paused and picked at my fingernail. “Too late. I was too late,” I said faintly.

“Where’s your Dad?” Brent asked quietly.

“Don’t have one.”

“You said her husband,” Brent pointed out.

“Her husband doesn’t mean that he was my Dad,” I said.

“Everyone has a Dad.”

“I’m a bastard,” I replied.

“Bull shit.”

“Whatever,” I said.

Brent smiled and studied me. “I don’t believe that. You’re angry, not just because of the loss of your mother, but you’re mad at someone else in your life.”

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” I snapped. “What about your goddamned family?”

Brent took a breath and began talking. “My Mom died. Then my Dad took off and moved in with his mistress, whom he eventually married. My brother and I are estranged,” he stated matter of factly.

I blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“How? I mean,” I sputtered. “That’s like, um, you just described my family. Exactly. To the letter,” I said staring hard at him, wondering if he was shitting me and if he was, how had he known about me?

He shrugged, not breaking our gaze. “Coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences,” I murmured still staring.

He smiled. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said softly.

I narrowed my eyes, not getting his meaning.

“That’s my cue to leave. See you soon,” he said saluting me. He began walking backwards. “Oh, by the way, I was honest with you today. That means I expect you to be honest with me next time. Even exchange.”

I looked at him and he smiled. “Later Brennan.”

The door shut.

****************

“Ready to talk today?”

“Why are you so interested in my life?”

“Here to help,” he said holding out his hands.

I snorted. “What? You think you’re some kind of Angel? Savior?” I asked in a joking tone.

Brent looked serious. “I like to think so. So, where are your Dad and brother?”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Just like you said. I have an older brother. He and I never really got along. Sometimes I think our personalities were too similar; we butted heads often. When our Mom died, he got a job in Seattle. Shortly after, I moved to North Carolina and I never gave him my address. I don’t even know his, although he gave it to me. I think he had a girlfriend or still has. It’s been three years.”

“My Dad was never home, he just didn’t like to be home even if he could. For a few years before we found out about my Mom’s cancer, he had been cheating with one of his friends. After she died,” I paused. “I bounced over here not too long after the funeral.”

“Have you talked to either of them since?”

“Nope. I keep to myself. People only know about me if I want them to,” I said defiantly. I raised my eyebrow at him. “I don’t know how you managed to find out about me.”

Brent ignored my last statement. “Don’t you feel like you’re missing out? Not knowing if your brother got married? Has kids? Wonder if they miss you too? I’m sure they do, even if your personality and manners are severely lacking.” I shot him a glare. “They’re your family; your blood. Are you that mad that you don’t want to talk or see them ever again? Family is sacred, Brennan. You don’t want to lose that. Everyone else can abandon you, but family will always be there.”

“My family wasn’t. What do you have to say to that?” I asked darkly.

“Second chances,” he said simply.

“My Dad killed my Mom. Not physically, with a knife or gun, but he did. He abandoned her; she needed him. He was never home. She felt neglected, alone, cast aside; it broke her heart,” I said standing up and pacing the room, really getting into it now.

“I hate him,” I said looking into Brent’s concerned blue eyes. “He killed her. Don’t you see?” I asked almost deliriously. “He took away the only person that really loved and cared for me. The only person on my side, who would protect me at all times, especially when my Dad and brother would gang up on me. He killed her. She’s gone,” I said sullenly, vaguely aware of tears wetting my cheeks, and snot accumulating in my nostrils.

I needed a smoke. I took one out of the pack and lit it.

After a long pause, Brent touched my shoulder. “Brennan,” he said gently. “The cancer killed her. Certain lifestyles make cancer more-”

“He killed her!” I interrupted, the cigarette falling from my lips. I picked it up and stuck it back between my lips, inhaling. I wiped angrily at the moisture on my face.

“Cancer is a random growth and anyone can get it, even really healthy people. It’s unpredictable and random and unfair. It can happen to anyone. Do you understand that?” he asked in a soothing tone.

“He killed her!” I seethed dangerously. “Don’t defend him!” I warned, shaking with bitterness.

Brent held up his hands and sighed. “Ok. Ok. Calm down. We’re just talking.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I’m messed up; think you can still save me?”

“I intend to,” Brent said seriously. “It’s why I exist in the first place.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“You will soon. I promise.”

**************

“Hello?” I asked gruffly as I maniacally cleaned the kitchen counter.

“Um, hello, Brennan?” a somewhat familiar voice asked hesitantly.

“Yeah?” I barked, still not placing the voice.

“Hey, it’s Nate. I, um, we- um, I don’t know if you remember me-”

I cut him off. “I remember,” I said, guilt washing over me. “Listen, I want to apologize for how I treated you that night we were together. Or actually, the next morning. I didn’t mean it; I mean I shouldn’t have treated you like, um, like-

“A whore?” he interrupted dryly.

“Um,” I said flushing.

“You can make it up to me,” Nate said, sounding a lot more confident.

“Oh yeah, how?” I asked curiously.

He took a deep breath. “Take me to dinner tomorrow night.”

My mouth fell open in surprise. “Really?” I managed.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Nate said his voice uncertain again.

“No!” I exclaimed quickly. “No, I’d like that. I want to. Maybe we can, you know, get to know each other better and you can forgive me for being such a jerk. I’m really not like that.” I paused. “Well, at least not all the time.”

He laughed. “Good to know.” I could hear the smile in his voice. We chatted out the details and I hung up the phone, with a smile on my face.

“Who’s that?” I jumped at the sound of Brent’s voice.

“It was a guy I, um, I-”

“Did something naughty with?” Brent teased. “Get out! I guess your surliness is attractive.”

I chucked a towel at his face but he managed to duck in time.

“You like Nate?” he asked seriously.

“I don’t know. Don‘t really know him that well,” I shrugged.

“You do. I can tell,” Brent said knowingly, studying me.

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know shit.”

“You’d be surprised what I know,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You should give Nate a chance,” he said ignoring my question. “He’s good for you.”

“How do you know? You’ve never even met him.”

He shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

I frowned. “You and your elusive answers. What does that mean?” I asked in exasperation.

“If you really like Nate, Brennan,” he paused to make sure I was really listening, “give him a chance. He can help you find what you’ve been searching for.”

“What’s that?” I asked cocking my head.

“Salvation.”

“Salvation from what?”

“From hell.”

“Hell doesn’t exist,” I said, annoyed that we were talking about religion again.

“The hell you created in your head; that one does exist,” Brent said staring at me. “You’ve been burning with sadness and regret for the past three years. Be with Nate. He will bring you back. I took you this far, enough to meet him. Now it’s your turn to do the rest,” he explained cryptically.

“You’re something else, Brent.”

“Trust me.”

“You scare me,” I told him.

“I know.”

I looked at Brent, wondering how this virtual stranger seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

**************

“I missed you,” I announced to Brent. “I hate when you go off.”

“It’s only been six days,” he said grinning. “I guess I grew on you?” he teased.

“I guess,” I admitted. “Seriously, what’s with the disappearing act?” I asked.

“Not needed as much,” he said vaguely. I so hated his vague answers, which always managed to confuse me. Prick.

“How was your date with Nate?”

I smiled. My first date with Nate had been amazing, so amazing that we spent the better part of the entire week together- movies, the mall, walking around downtown. We had a lot to talk about and surprisingly, the conversation flowed easily. Any topic imaginable, we both had something to contribute. He was funny and intelligent, genuine and caring.

For the first time in a long while, I felt happy and alive, in spite of my ongoing mental issues. I hadn’t counted my pills in an entire week; that was quite an accomplishment on my part. For that reason alone, I wanted to hold onto Nate.

“There’s this quality about him, that draws me in and I just know he’s something special, even if we haven’t spent that much time together. You know what I mean? I know he’s a good person and will be there for me. I think, well, I think I need him in my life.”

“I can tell he’s had quite an influence on you. That smile is practically permanent on your face. I didn’t know you knew how to smile.”

“Bitch,” I cursed teasingly. “Hey, want to meet him? Actually, you have to. I want you to. Nate should meet my crazy, stalking friend,” I grinned.

Brent smiled, but it looked faint. “I wish I could.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t do that Brennan,” he said seriously. Too seriously.

I frowned. “What? Why not?”

“To be honest, I met him already.”

“What?” I asked. Damn Brent - I was in a constant state of confusion around him. “When? How? How come you never said anything?”

“I met him through you.”

“What?” I felt like a parrot. “I never introduced the two of you.”

“I think you and I need to have a talk,” Brent said.

“No kidding,” I snapped feeling annoyed.

He took a seat on the coffee table, across from me. “I need to enlighten you, Brennan. You’re not going to like it,” he began.

“Cut the shit. What’s going on? Is this some kind of joke?” I demanded.

“I am you,” he said simply.

I blinked, stared at him, and then smiled. “Um, what?” I asked.

“You and me,” he stated, his blue eyes dead serious. “We’re the same person.”

“Cut it out. We’re clearly not the same person! Look at us!” I pointed back and forth at our obvious physical differences.

He shrugged. “I didn’t choose this look, Brennan. You did. You created me after all.”

My eyes were bulging out of my head. “What are you talking about!!!” I exploded.

“Would this help?” he stood up. My eyes widened.

Gone was the muscular and trim blond with the big easygoing smile and earnest blue eyes and trendy glasses. Instead, there was a tall, lanky figure, slightly hunched over. An angular jaw, wide mouth, dark brown eyes, and thick eyebrows, complete with messy brown hair, stared at me.

It was like looking into a mirror.

I gasped and slowly stumbled into a standing position, only to fall back on my ass a few seconds later. My jaw dropped and then opened and closed several times. Either way, I never managed to get anything out.

“What kind of shit is this?” I finally breathed out.

“Believe me now?” he asked as I stared at myself.

“I, I, I,” I stammered. “No, it can’t be.” I blinked at him. “Fuck, this means, oh shit, this means,” I sputtered, “I’m crazy.”

I cradled my head in my hands. “How can this be? How?” I looked up at him. “How?” I nearly screamed.

He, or I, or whoever, remained calm and was unfazed by my outburst. “You’re really freaking me out!” I shouted. “Say something!”

Brent sighed and slowly shifted back to the smiling blond that I had become accustomed to for the past month. Seeing him like that made me feel better, but only marginally.

“Brennan, didn’t you notice anything weird about me?” he asked.

“What?” I asked in confusion. “I don’t know. Maybe, but it wasn’t anything big.”

“Like how I used to come and go into your apartment as I pleased?” he started. “Or I seemed to know about your life before you even told me? Or when I ate something, I’d leave and all the food would still be left?”

“I, I just figured you were good at sneaking in or had a key because you lived here before me, or you didn’t eat much or…,” I desperately searched for reasons.

“You needed me,” Brent said. “You were this close to killing yourself. Did you know that?” he cocked his head. I hung my head and didn’t answer.

“But deep in here,” he pointed to his heart, “You didn’t want to go; you weren’t ready to give up. You still felt some sliver of hope that things would turn out ok. But as the years went on your hope was being crushed. All you could feel was despair and darkness.”

“I walked into your apartment that day because you needed someone. Someone to pull you out of your hole. Someone who would help you confront your demons, stand up to them so they would no longer be controlling you. You had no one else in your life. You shut out your family and you had no real friends who cared enough to be there for you when you needed them,” he went on.

“But why,” I began and licked my lips. “Why do you look like that?”

“You tell me,” he grinned. I looked at him blankly. “Calm down Brennan,” he said gently. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

“What!” I shrieked. “I’m a fucking schizo! I have split personalities.”

“You’re not crazy,” he said reassuringly. “You’re really not. This here, me,” Brent pointed to himself, “Is a manifestation of what you think a good person should be. A good child to his mother.”

I looked at him with confusion. “What? I don’t understand.”

“One of your issues with the death of your mother is regret. Regret that you weren’t a better son. That you should have yelled less, got mad less, done more of what she wanted. Well, you created this image of a good child. A successful, well rounded, put-together person. That’s me,” he explained. He looked himself over. “I guess blond hair and blue eyes represent wholesomeness. Glasses means brains, although not always,” he pointed out. “You’re pretty smart, Brennan, even if you look a bit on the rough side. Come on now, biochemistry?” he said, referring to my major in college.

“Stop.”

“What’s with preppy outfits though? Is that a style you wish you could pull off or something? Preppy clothing isn’t all that put-together, Brennan. It just makes you, well me, look stuck up. Although, I guess it goes with the glasses,” he mused.

“Stop!” I shouted. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Just stop talking. You’re not even real!”

“You created me. This is why I’m here. You’ve changed. Not a lot, but enough where you can think and see clearly, without the fog of depression suffocating you. And now you’ve met Nate.”

“Nate,” I whispered. “Oh God. He’s going to think I’m crazy. He’ll hate me.”

Brent shook his head. “Nate was meant for you, Brennan. But in order to get you to realize that, you had to get cleaned up, emotionally and mentally. Once you talked with me about your mother, you felt better. You were less suicidal. Talking really helps, Brennan. All you needed was an outlet. I was that outlet.”

“This can’t be right,” I said tugging on my hair.

“Look, you wanted to die that day. You were serious, even though you couldn’t admit it to yourself. You were ready. No more waiting. One pill at a time and then you’d be gone forever. But part of you didn’t want to die. I didn’t want you to die. I was that small part that resisted all your sadness and anguish. I represented that hope you felt,” he stared hard at me. “You’d be surprised what a person will do in order to survive and protect himself,” he said softly. “Sometimes, the mind acts on its own.”

“No, no,” I shook my head. “You’re not real! Stop talking. Leave. Just get out!” I whispered, tears falling. I yanked on my dark hair, making sure I was conscious and not imagining all this.

“Brennan. Look at me. Look at me Brennan,” he commanded.

Compelled, I looked up, gazing into his blue eyes through my bleary vision.

“Didn’t you get tired of your prison? Of your hell? Of breathing and existing, but not really living?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

“Now you don’t need me anymore,” he said softly and definitively. “It’s you and Nate from here on out. Your future will be good, if you allow it. Oh and some advice: call your brother and father. They miss you. And you miss them, too, even if you’re not ready to admit it. But I always know the truth; you cannot hide it from me.”

I swallowed hard.

His goodbye was a mere click of the door.

© 2008 Tiffani Chin

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