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Addiction

Chapter One

Breakdown

By:

Rufus Quentin

August 15, 1998

It was bound to happen. The both of us knew that it was just a matter of time until our luck would run out and we'd find ourselves stranded without options in the closest place to hell in the eastern United States that one could ever imagine. Still, we would risk it like the desperate fools we were and hop into that damn truck for the long drives to anywhere more interesting that the place we were born. Fucking piece of shit. Of course I blamed my brother when it finally broke down somewhere along highway 152 in the frigging middle of nowhere a little less than a week before our eighteenth birthday. That asshole was behind the wheel and must have done something wrong. He always drove it a little too hard and reckless anyway. Fuck, I remember saying to myself as I lay there stretched out on the bench seat of the old yellow Datsun 720 with my foot-paws dangling out the open passenger-side door, I didn't even want to come along anyway.

I just wanted to piss off my brother and spite him for it being his turn with the truck. I didn't really need anything in Huntington, but if my brother was going to exercise his claim to the car on a day I could have used a joyride of my own, I was sure as hell gonna ride along and do my best to ruin the trip for him. Served me right, I thought, panting in the sweltering late August air and thinking just how unsuited rough collies are for West Virginia. Perhaps I shouldn't have cursed him out and made him walk the half mile or so back to the closest hamlet through the blazing heat and humidity to call his friend's cousin's former roommate or whoever the hell had the tow truck. At least I should have gone with him. I probably would have been no less comfortable than I felt lying there, dying of heat stroke in my long fur, waiting for the occasional breeze to get lost in the Datsun's cab. He could be a jack-ass, but sometimes he didn't deserve the way I treated him. Maybe I kinda had that cosmic bitch-slap coming.

Maybe I was mad at him because I secretly liked that truck and that every time he drove it meant a few more miles less it had left to drive. The Datsun belonged to our grandmother, a bad ass woman who sadly passed away about three years earlier. Since our mother up and left when we were just tiny cubs I was forced to grow up in a household full of men, my father and four other siblings. My grandmother was the only positive female role model in my life. She was a tom-boy, just like me, strong-willed and tough as nails. We got along great, and she even taught me all I needed to know from things like needlepoint and gardening, to how to properly reassemble and maintain a 4-stroke engine and how to field clean a twelve-point-buck. When she passed it felt as though I'd lost my mother again, though I honestly can't remember losing my mother the first time around. I was too young for that, but I do remember the blow. The pain still felt fresh.

I guess my grandfather, paternal, wanted to do us a favor when he drove the old yellow truck up our driveway on our birthday a year before with fifty dollars in his pocket for each of us and handed us the keys. We were excited at the time, but neither of us could anticipate what a curse it would become to have to share the damn thing. Problems started right away, concerning which of us would get to drive it first. It still meant freedom, liberation from the school bus, deliverance from out small ex-coal mining town. If it only weren't for Dustin, it would have been a great thing. I had nothing in common with him, aside for maybe some fur patterns and the fact that we grew up in the same house. Why him, I kept asking myself, especially as I entered my teenage years, why not one of my older brothers who I actually got a long with, or better yet, why couldn't I have come out alone? Maybe mom wouldn't have bolted if it were only four kids instead of five.

I tried to relax and just doze a bit until my brother got back, but that seemed impossible for a number of reasons. Instead I just listened to the passing of the occasional car and the piercing drone of a few cicadas. I usually enjoyed the sound of nature, the scents of the nearby wildflowers and grasses, the oily aroma of the truck and of the ninety-percent humidity. Despite the painful heat loved summer, but it was almost over. Our birthday usually signaled the beginning of the end. The radio already spoke of back-to-school specials. The burden of one more year of high school already dampened our spirits. Really, I should have been getting ready for college. Because of our early, or as we began to consider, late birthday we were the oldest kids in our class. Instead we were doomed to another year in the same rotten building, sitting next to the same annoying people, putting up with the same rat-race of popularity contests and social acclimation, and of course deal with the same lackluster education. I, for one, hadn't been challenged by school for as long as I can remember. To me it just meant a whole heap of busy work and to watch my teachers babysit a room full of horny teenagers.

It seemed like an eternity, I almost didn't believe it when I heard the sound of crunching gravel arise out of the cacophony of insect song. I felt too lazy to move, too languid to sit up and check, but it became clear someone was coming. My brother soon hovered just outside the driver's side window, his familiar frame blocking out the sun. I held up my paw to protect my eyes from the peripheral sunlight, squinting to make out his features.

"Alex," he said, in a matter of fact greeting using my first name unlike the usual 'sis' I'd come to expect. He had a tone of passive bitterness to his voice. Who could blame him after forcing him on a road-side death march? He looked exhausted, his fur disordered and matted.

I blinked, yawned, and lethargically arose. I'll admit I didn't look much better than he did. I opened the driver's side door and only then realized what kind of a sauna the Datsun had become. I stepped out and breathed deep, stretching in the hazy sunlight, much to my relief. My brother carried a large bottle of water he must have just purchased, meaning he indeed made it to a gas station. He wordlessly offered it to me without me even asking. I took it from him, grateful, and unscrewed the cap. I almost brought it to my lips immediately, but paused before it reached my muzzle. I looked at the mouthpiece and decided to rub it clean of Dustin's "cooties" with my t-shirt before drinking. "You make it through?" I asked, swallowing the still somewhat cool water.

"Yea," he said, taking another drink from the bottle himself without performing the little prophylactic ritual I just did. "Bad news is it's gonna take a while. Since this is a freebie he's only gonna do it after business hours."

"Fuck," I said. "Gonna be here all damn day."

"I know," He took another drink. "You look under the hood again?"

"Yea. Checked fluids. Otherwise the engine is still too hot to do anything with. Couldn't find anything wrong, then again this is way past my expertise."

"Wasn't my fault," he said, pausing.

I opened my muzzle and tried to think of something to pin on him, but I just felt too exhausted and too broken to follow through. I said everything I needed to in my earlier outbreak anyway, plus I was thankful that he offered me water. He didn't need to do that, after how I'd treated him. "So'kay," I said instead. "The girl's old. A lot can go wrong."

"She's a girl now?" he asked.

"Why not? Do I have to be the only girl in this family?"

"Since when are you a girl?" He goaded, taking another swig and nodding at my clothes.

It's true I wore the exact same clothes as him, though I only noticed as he pointed it out, since my wardrobe choices had always been commonplace. We had the same color and style of cargo-shorts. The only apparent difference between us was the logo on our shirts. Being the last two in a long line of children in a relatively poor family we were fated to get nothing but hand-me-downs. The fact that I was a girl made no difference; my clothes came from the same closet as Dustin's, namely that of our older siblings. "Am I supposed to take offence?" I asked. "The only thing I'm ashamed of is that we have the same taste."

"Well, yea, you were supposed to take offense and now you got me questioning my wardrobe, if you think this is cool."

"Cool? No. Wearable? Yes. Besides I don't think a full wardrobe of Armani would make you cool. You got factors counting against ya clothes won't fix," regretting the dig as soon as I said it.

"At least I'm not the one half of town thinks is a dyke."

"What do you want? Prefer I should strut down Main Street in Daisy dukes? Plaid shirt tucked up around my boobs?"

"Please don't ever say the word "boobs" again."

I grabbed my pair and shook 'em at him. "Boobs."

"I think I just threw up a little."

"You have no idea. I can still find a hundred way to embarrass you at school."

"Oh fuck, school," he said, bringing a paw to his muzzle and slowly stroking up his forehead up between his ears in an exasperated gesture. "I don't want to think about that." He took a few steps and walked around to the passenger side of the car, the place there was still a little shade. Without speaking he just dropped down out of site, near the rear wheel-well.

I followed him, feeling the sun burn down on my ears. I sat down about a yard away from him, sitting Indian style and leaning against the warm truck. Dustin placed the open bottle of water between us. We both occasionally took drinks from it. I felt too tired and uncomfortable to keep up anti-cootie measures.

"When does it start again?" Dustin asked.

"What?"

"School."

"September 1st."

"How many days do we have left?"

"About two weeks."

"Fuck," He said with a pause. "And gotta waste a day of that here in the middle of nowhere."

"Dustin," I asked, "what if the truck can't be fixed?"

"Any car can be fixed."

"I mean economically... and before the summer is up."

"Don't want to think about what it's gonna cost. I'll take a look at it, maybe call Darrel. He's good with Japanese metal," he paused again, "but yea, based on what I've been hearing, I think we'll be without a ride for a while."

"Fuck," I repeated.

"It's really not my fault," He said.

"I believe you," I said. I considered apologizing for my outburst immediately after we pulled over, but decided against it.

"It's an old truck. Haven't made Datsuns since, I don't know, since we were cubs."

"Yea, but it reminds me of grandma."

"It does. I miss her."

"Me too." I said, falling silent for several minutes, enough time for two or three well spaced cars to pass.

"So do you know what classes you're taking this fall?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about school."

"Well, we're talking about it."

"Only got my unofficial transcript, but if it doesn't change I'll be taking AP Calc, AP English, AP American History, AP Chem, and French 4. French is not AP, but I can test out for credit. I'm probably gonna be alone in that class. Still need two electives."

"Fuck," Dustin said, "why so many APs?"

"Need 'em to get into college. I'm not sure if I want to take AP Chem, though, that's the only one that's really hard, or at least that's what I hear."

"Probably won't see much of you then."

"Figure'd that make you happy. How about you?"

"Donno. I think I'm in Comp 4, Spanish 2, Algebra 2, Chemistry, and shit like that. Got Metal Shop again. That's the only thing I'm looking forward to."

"Have you thought about college?"

"I've thought about it," Was all he said.

"You should take at least one AP class, like AP Lit instead of Comp 4, and AP Bio instead of Chemistry. Bio is way easier than Chemistry anyway."

"Maybe," he said reaching for the water. He took a drink and dried his muzzle with his wrist. "AP shit is hard. Why bother taking one if I'm just gonna flunk it. Only gonna be counter productive. My grades suck as it is."

"Are your grades that bad?"

"Not terrible, but I have to retake Algebra 2 this year."

"A lot depends on your SATs and your application, GPA isn't the end all. Plus there are a lot of options out there. Don't need to get into the Ivy League. Even I don't have my hopes up for that."

"It's more a matter of money. I'm broke."

"Me too," I confessed. "Well... practically broke. I wanted to save up this summer, but couldn't get that job at DQ again this year."

"You know..." Dustin paused. "Dad's gonna have to foot the bill, like he did for Nate and Dan. He's still paying that shit off. I think we're mortgaged out. If money does turn up, you should be the one to go."

"What about you?"

"Donno."

"Gotta have a plan."

"Been talking to Sam."

"The gun-slash-pawn shop guy?"

"Yea. His gunsmith might take me on as assistant."

"Don't you want to get out?"

"Fuck yea."

"You should at least go to some sort of vocational school. Sounds dead end there. You'll never leave."

"Well, might learn some skills there. Maybe move to Huntington or Ashland after a while. More jobs there."

"I can help you, if you want."

"With what?"

"Algebra, at least. Make sure you pass this time. I think you should sign up for SATs too. Taking those at least opens up some doors. You can always decide about applying later."

"You sound like my advisor. Plus don't those cost like a hundred bucks? If this babe here is as bad off as I think, I'm gonna need that money."

"I got a little saved up. Plus the school has scholarships for people like us."

"Poor people?"

"Everybody's poor."

"Why don't they make 'em free."

I shrugged and drank some more water. The air burnt around us, even in the shade.

"Gonna be a shitty year," he continued, the sound of a passing car nearly drowning him out.

"Why is that?"

"Everyone's gone. Well, Stephanie and Laurel are gone. Liz is still local, but not for much longer."

"Yea, haven't really thought about that. Most people I know are leaving next week for college. Feel like I should be going with them. Bryn is still gonna be here. Could care less about Stephanie and Roxanne, but hell, they're loyal and not totally boring. It's an adjustment to be without friends."

"You could. Shoulda taken you're GED."

"I know. But unfortunately those don't count much. It's best if I just ride it out."

"You still with that one guy? What's his name," my brother asked, changing the subject.

"Riley? Yea. Fuck him."

"You broke up?"

"Months ago. Like March."

"Oh yea. I kinda guessed. So tell me the story. What happened?"

"Do you even care?"

"No, just passing the time."

"I don't want to talk about it. Personal stuff."

"Tell me," Dustin said.

"Why? If you don't even care?"

"We can sit here and be quiet."

"Why don't you tell me about you and you're girlfriend and all the personal details?"

"And you care about that shit?"

"Not really, but like you say, I don't really feel like sitting here in awkward silence?"

"So you prefer awkward conversation to awkward silence?"

"I guess so."

"Maybe I will. But I asked you first. It's not like we have a shortage of time."

"Fine," I said, sighing. I hesitated for a few moments and cringed, trying to sum up my story in a way suitable to tell my brother. "A lot of things happened."

"Like what?"

"Well, he was a dork."

"You broke up with a jock because he was a dork?"

"Naa, he just, you know, behaved like one. Wasn't very gentlemanly. Well, he was at first, but he changed."

"And?"

I sighed again. "You know... he... wasn't very interesting. Kept talking about how his dad owns a dealership. That was the extent of his vocabulary. Made him entitled."

"He wanted to bone you, didn't he?"

"What?" I asked, shaking my head as if I hadn't heard the question right.

"How long were you together?" Dustin followed up, as if my reaction to his query were an affirmative answer.

"Like, a year, maybe a bit more."

"How many dates did you go on?"

"Lost count."

"Yea. The boning date is between four and five, or within a month. That's the standard. You led him on."

"Fuck, how would you know?"

"Common knowledge," he said, "everyone will think ya did anyway."

"I just didn't want to fuck him."

"If his dad owns a dealership, you might have gotten a new car if you did."

"Gross."

"So you still got the big V?"

"I'm not telling you."

"So you do?"

"No!"

"You do," he said calmly.

"Do you?" I asked, trying to shake the attention off me.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Why do you want to know that about me?"

"Because this is a conversation. The topic has moved on to relationships. We ask each other questions about that topic. That's how these things work."

"The answer is I don't really feel comfortable telling you."

"Does anyone know the answer besides you?"

I thought about Dustin's question. My mind cycled through the possibilities of who could know. I lied to a few people, but they didn't count. I decided no one knew the correct answer. "No," I confessed.

"It doesn't really matter. I'm just making conversation," he said.

"I'm still a virgin," I blurted.

"Well, there we have it," he said, pausing for another car to go by. "That's unusual."

"You think I'm weird."

"I know you're weird, but not because ya haven't done it yet. It's unusual."

"Have you lost yours?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I told you about me."

"I lost mine a while ago."

"To whom?" I asked.

"Do you care?" he asked back.

I thought for a second and decided I did, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "It's part of this conversation thing."

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Then why did you bring it up if you're not willing to talk about it yourself?" I asked. It didn't really compute that Dustin felt shy about anything.

"Do you remember Ashley Macalaster?"

"Didn't her family move freshman year? Her?"

Dustin nodded. "About a year before that."

"You where what? Fourteen?"

"Just about."

"Damn," I said.

"And I wasn't her first. She was a bit... you know," he gesticulated in a way that suggested precocious in a certain area of development.

"Had that vibe, but I didn't think anyone was active around that age. More talk than action."

"Very few of us were lucky enough. I didn't learn that until later, or else I'd probably have given it some more time."

"So I'm already, like, an old maid?" I said.

"Well, if this were the year 1500, or West Virginia, then yes."

"So you're telling me I'm prude."

"Didn't say that. I said you're unusual."

I content myself with that answer. I took pride in it even. "So how about you? Dating anyone?"

"At the moment? No."

"Thought so."

"Why's that?"

"You would be gone more often. You would need the car more and you wouldn't be heading to Huntington every week for new video games."

"Good observations," he said. "I knew you broke up too."

"Then why did you even ask? And how would you know?"

"For sake of conversation," he said. "And you're predictable. If you were dating, you wouldn't have time for four AP classes. You would have a bit of hesitation about leaving the state and you wouldn't be sitting in your room all damn summer doing your leather work and knitting."

"I sew, I make clothes. Useful shit. I don't knit, dammit."

"Same difference."

"They're very different things!"

"Whatever," he said, "girly stuff."

"Fuck you," I said, abhorring the association with anything girly."I fixed the damn lawnmower because you're fucking too lazy.

He smirked, revealing he still knew exactly what grated me.

I tried to calm down, realizing I'd just played into his hand. "Gonna be a shitty year," I said after a minute long pause.

"Shit right," he said, laconically in complete emergence of his accent.

"So what do you want to do?" I asked a moment or so later.

"Get back in the car and drive on."

"I mean with your life."

"Dunno," he said.

"Graduate? Get a job? Get an injury after two years? Go on disability? Tend a habit involving alcohol, meth, prescription pills, or some combination thereof?"

"What else is there?" He said, joking in a way that was too close to home to even call black humor.

"Not very ambitious."

Dustin remained quiet for a while, long enough to convince me our conversation was over, and that a long quiet stretch until rescue stood ahead of us.

"I kinda want to be a gunsmith," he said out of the blue.

"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I like working with my hands. I like working with metal. It's the only thing I've been able to do well in the last few years, and Mr. H. says I'm a natural."

"You do love your guns," I said. "But I wouldn't want to get stuck at Sam's. That place gives me the creeps. Wicked sketchy."

"It's a rat's nest," Dustin agreed, "but it's the only place in town. And their gunsmith, Herb, is competent. Korean War vet."

"Promise me you won't stay here?"

"Why do you care?" Dustin asked.

"I don't want to see you get stuck. Look at what happened to dad? Look at what happens to everyone who doesn't leave? Look at what is happening to Brandon right now? Why do you think Nate and Dan moved away after college?"

"Don't shit-talk dad. He's doing everything he can to put food on the table. And Brandon, well, he's not a worst case scenario yet. We could be living in New York or L.A. and he would be doing what he is doing. It's not about West Virginia disease."

"I just don't want you to become some alcoholic, or Vicodin pusher, or worse. Or some ultra-conservative small-dicked gun-nut like Sam or Herb."

"No worries," he said. "My dick is just fine. I'll figure something out." Yet another car passed. "Why do you care? I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you," I said and paused. "Well, sometimes I do, or rather, I'll say sometimes you make me want to hate you."

"Well, I should take that as a compliment? I want to hate you to, sis," he said in an affectionate tone.

"We used to be friends," I said.

"Yea, when we were like eight. Then the room we were in got too small. Then came puberty and I think you're not supposed to get along with any of your family as soon as puberty starts."

"You were so annoying."

"Oh god, you should talk. The whole house knew when it was your period."

"Was I that bad? At least I only have a period once a month, you boys were always crazy."

"You were bad," he said, chuckling. "By the way, we all knew you were trying to flush your used tampons down the toilet."

"Fuck!" I said, feeling myself blush, my brother suddenly bomb shelling me with some embarrassing and intentionally repressed memory. "How'd you know?"

"Well, even guys know tampons don't usually agree with plumbing and septic systems. Fucking anybody who came in after you during your times of the month ended up with a clogged toilet. How many fucking times did I have to plunge the toilet and fish out a bloody wad of cotton. All of us had to do it. It became a family gag, one of the chores we had to do. Unclog the pot, Alex is on the rag again! Where is she even getting all those things? Why, why, why can't she just throw them out like normal? And this is saying nothing about what kind of a bitch you could be. Jesus."

I just blushed so much I began to chuckle. "Sorry," I snorted. "I just didn't want anyone else to see 'em."

"We all did," he said, causing me to redden even more beneath my fur. "Why do you think there was a bent up wire coat hanger behind the toilet all those years? Every one of us had to fish em out. It still gives me nightmares. Was it a tampon or an abortion? Fuckin' hell."

"Why didn't you tell me, I would'a stopped."

"The thing is, we didn't know how. Even dad was like, 'just let her do it, just shut up and check every now and then so I don't have to call someone.' We didn't have the balls or the language to deal with you."

"Oh, god," I said to myself, utterly beyond embarrassed.

"You got off a lot. It was hard for all of us to live around you. One single girl. Five to one."

"Wasn't easy to live around you all either. Always pee on the rim. Always. Fucking gross. Still is!" I cast an accusing stare over at my brother.

Dustin chuckled, perhaps blushing around the ears, perhaps just too hot. Either way, he seemed shameless as ever.

"I thought you always just treated me as one of you," I said after a while. "That's what I wanted."

"I think we did, for the most part. But we cut you a lot of slack and didn't ruff you up as much as we would each other. Blame dad for that. He always had an eye out for you. We would have been rougher if left to our own devices."

"I never noticed. Well, maybe I did. There were instances I felt babied."

"Well, me too. I got babied a lot. And if I wasn't being babied, I was being ignored. Dad, Nate, Dan, and even Brandon all stopped caring about what happened to the black sheep."

"You're not the black sheep!" I said. "Why would you think that?"

"Bad to mediocre grades. Always in trouble. Never into anything. You all somehow brought home A's and always were busy."

"I never thought of you as the black sheep."

"That surprises me."

"Well, last couple years I've been getting worried about you, but as a pup you were like my best friend. Never considered you a black sheep. I admired you for a while, just like all our older brothers."

"You admired me?"

"Well, yea. I admired Nate for being so smart and helpful and kind. Dan for helping me with my grades. You were always around to play with."

"You were weird back then."

"How so?"

"Always dressing in boys clothes. Running around with us, just as muddy as the rest of us. All the neighbors thought you were a boy. Even in school they did. Kinda got embarrassing in Jr. High."

"I wanted to be a boy, or at least I thought I was, at least until I was like six or seven. I used to think being a boy or a girl was just about the way you behaved. Yea, school changed that. That's when it dawned on me that that's what having a sheath meant, a weird little epiphany, and a disappointing one. Don't get me wrong, I like being a girl, but I don't want to be your usual girl."

"Pretty much, and yea, you're an unusual girl."

"I mean," I said, pausing between words. "Who else is there to look up to? Grandma, sure, but she wasn't always there. Dad, yea. But you guys were always nearby and very helpful. I wanted your clothes, your habits; I wanted to be with you guys as much as possible."

"We figured," he said. "Nate and Dan thought it was cute. They liked having a mini-me."

I chuckled.

"You know," Dustin paused. "How did this happen?"

"What?"

"How did we grow apart?"

"I think you said it yourself. Eleven years in that damn little room. Puberty. Me being a bitch."

"You're not a bitch, or at least not always."

"Gee, thanks."

"I've been an ass. We all have our reasons. But I think you're pretty cool."

"Thanks," I said and paused, looking at my watch. "I don't think we've talked this long in ten years."

"You're interesting," he said.

"So are you. More than I've given you credit."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I've been a dick."

"I'm sorry I've been a bitch."

We both took turns taking drinks from the water bottle and fell quiet. "That's okay," he said after a while.

"You're not supposed to say 'that's ok,' you say I forgive you."

"I forgive you."

"I forgive you too," I followed up.

"So now what," he said after a while.

"We keep waiting," he said.

And wait we did for another four hours, until the sun set behind one of the rolling hills, but it stayed bright as it would on those long summer days. Dustin's friend pulled up in front of us with his tow truck and within an hour we were home. Our dad was about to curse us out until he saw the tow truck pull away. In the end he was glad we were back, this occurring in the days before cell phones were commonplace. My brother and I had a quiet dinner and just went back to our own rooms for unremarkable evenings.

The next day I came down from my bedroom to find Dustin and his buddy Darrel beneath the hood of the Datsun. I could tell by the look on their faces that there would be no good news today. "Alternator is dead," my brother said, "among other things. It's an early model and has its design flaws. Shouldn't have been driving this thing at all yesterday. It will be weeks before I can find one that'll fit this." Then I knew how fucked we were. I immediately began thinking of the school bus. The stinking, uncomfortable seats surrounded by screaming freshmen and creepy types. I thought of the indignity of waiting for the bus at the high school stop, about the long walk to our closest station, and the biting cold of the coming winter. This was going to suck. Suck royally. Life as we knew it would have to change. Gone was the freedom. Gone was the modicum of social status. Gone was the possibility of fitting in. It would be a difficult year, a very lonely, difficult year. The only positive change that came out of it was that my brother and I were talking again. We were both in the same boat and had found a little bit of respect for one another. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but it was the start of a new relationship. Dustin and I were starting to leave puberty behind and began to treat each other as equals, something we hadn't done since pups.