Chapter 14

“I need more.” Goten gripped the older teen by the shoulders, “Please. I’ll pay you later. Double.”

The dank apartment was in possibly one of the shadiest parts of town. It was safe in the fact no one knew Goten, let alone his family. Although the knife crime and violence was on the rise. Goten’s dealer took resident in this apartment. The teen was merely 16 years old, released from his family by the government and made his living by dealing drugs. Goten barely knew his name, nor was it all that important ; as long as he got his fix.

“Goten, you know I can’t do that. Not again.” The dark haired boy struggled against his grip.

“It’s been 19 hours. I – I thought I had enough but I didn’t.” He was shaking so much he could no longer hold on.

He fell against the wall of the shabby apartment and slumped to its dusty floor. The boy, whom was of fellow age, sighed and reached into his jean pocket. He produced a small vile containing a clear liquid.

“Here.” He threw it to Goten, “Take this. You can have it for free until you have money to pay for your usual fix.”

“Methadone?” Goten asked.

“Yeah. It’s used to treat heroin addiction and gets rid of the withdrawals. Plus it gives pretty much the same high. But I don’t personally get a lot of demand for it.”

“T-Thanks.” He put the package in his pocket and shakily stood.

“I have other clients I need to see Goten. So, could you maybe go home? Take a cold shower or something and just calm the fuck down.”

Goten nodded, bid the boy farewell and excited the room. He strode down the hallway and out of the apartment building. His whole body was shaking badly and he could feel himself sweating despite the cool night air. He ducked into an ally as he began to feel nauseated, he lent against the brick and brought up everything in his stomach accompanied with a fair amount of bile. It was painful to say the least, as if something was ripping him apart inside. No longer able to endure the pain, Goten found a secluded spot, away from his own vomit, and fumbled with a small amount of the methadone liquid. He filled the vial in his syringe with the clear substance and positioned the needle over a bulging vein. He pierced the skin four times before catching the blue organ; he pushed down slowly and watched as it entered his blood stream. The needle dropped to the ground. And then he was flying. He was a million dollars; everyone was a fucking million dollars. The world was spinning around him. Colours mixing together and creating a rainbow montage. With a slightly feminine giggle, he stumbled down towards the sidewalk and proceeded to fly back to his home in the mountains.  

The silence was unbearable. Not a word had been uttered in over ten minutes. My mother had said a brief ‘Hello’ and asked me my all time favourite question, while my father stood behind her looking as disappointed with me as he ever did. Bura wasn’t with them; obviously it was better to protect from such things as her insane older brother. If I am honest, I resented them a little but I was not quite sure why. Maybe it’s because they were making me feel so guilty and all appeared to be angry with me in their own way? I didn’t know what I did to make them angry; it’s not like I was trying to kill them or anything.

The eerie silence was hideous and so I curled onto my side, my back to them and my eyes averted to the window. I heard my mother sigh and the chair scraped on the floor as she got to her feet. My father briefly whispered to her.

“Trunks.” He said, a little softer than I had expected, “We will leave you to rest for now. But we will see you again later.”

They left, as promised.

Although I almost died, I felt nothing. The anger had dwindled away, the pain was now a dull throb and even the burning in my throat had become numb. I didn’t feel at all like I wanted to die anymore but I didn’t feel like living either. Living is hard. But dying, it’s a whole different thing. When you die you're gone, that’s it. Blackness from here on in. Yes, okay, there are the dragon balls but they don’t bring you back from hell; which is exactually where I am going. So, you’ll float around, disembodied and hopeless for eternity. And, if you really think about it, eternity is a damned long time.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? We have too much time to think. We are always told to think hard and use our heads but, in reality, it’s dangerous to think. You can think too much and twist yourself into a knot of desperate questions. And these questions eventually have no answers; at least none to be gained from your own mind. Sometimes, your thoughts depress you and no matter how much you try, you can’t climb out of it.

I trust you can see why I was torn. I neither wanted to live because of all the pointlessness to life but, on the other side, because I was alive and I was able to think, I didn’t want to die. Thinking about death is fine, until you go deeper. Then, suddenly, you’re scared. But, what do you do if you are scared to do both?

“Hi Trunks.”

I didn’t even have to turn over to know that it’s Gohan. The door was shut gently, I heard him scrape the chair along the ground and take a seat. Only then, did I turn to face him. He was sitting there, unshaven and stroking his stubble with his fingers.

“I’m sorry Trunks.” He sighed.

I opened my mouth to speak but I could only manage a sharp rasp before the sound disappeared. I wanted to ask why he was sorry, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Geez.” His voice had raised an octave or two, “What the hell do I say? What can I say? Nothing will make it seem better, Trunks, and I am so sorry but that is the long and the short of it. We just have to work through this. You’ll feel better eventually but the desire will never go away.” Gohan swallowed back tears, “I’m sorry that I can’t say it will all get better.”

What happened next surprised both me and Gohan. I smiled and spoke. My voice was weak and quiet but I still made intelligent speech.

“Thank fuck.” I whispered.

Gohan watched me; his eyes were wide and the tears dripped from the corners. He gently took my hand.

“Why? Why thank fuck?” he replied.

“Because. You didn’t bullshit.” I swallowed, my throat was beginning to ache, and “You told the t-truth.”

At this, Gohan forced a small smile and squeezed my fingers.

“Shh. Don’t strain your voice now.” His other hand was laid on my shoulder, “God. I’m proud of you.”

I wanted to cry at this. Here I was in hospital for attempting to kill myself, my own father can barely look at me, my own mother can’t talk to me and my sister can’t even see the fuck up that is her brother, yet, Gohan is proud of me. Proud for talking? Proud for realising the truth? I don’t know but, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter.