Still, There Are Darkened Places . . . . (Part I)

****content warning/trigger warning: drug use, sex, allusions to rape****

by: Keillan Cruickshank (They/He) — autistic afro-realist, INTJ, 8w7w9, screenwriter sans representation.

He hesitated for a moment before lighting the lighter and putting it under the pipe. He didn’t know why he hesitated — or rather he did, but couldn’t bring himself to interrogate the feeling any further; not that he had the energy to, hence the sudden desire and the hesitation — but none of that mattered at the moment because, as he told himself, “I just need to get through the week, and I’ll be able to properly relax and never get high again.”

Of course, that wasn’t true.

And, to an extent, he knew that.

Because no amount of rest could quell the sadness and exhaustion pulling him under — a sadness and exhaustion that seemed to spring naturally from the core of his existence that made every other emotion and feeling seem either like a band-aid or a farce like, to quote a favorite song of his, he was kidding himself in thinking that he’s fine.

But those were, like most troubles and traumas he had to navigate through, things to deal with at an alleged better, more safe, less chaotic time in his life.

A time he’s been waiting for for at least a decade.

For the moment, though, the alertness he traded for the numbness meth allowed him was what he needed. It helped him focus on things other than the pain and memories that consumed his every waking moment at work, home, and most places he had to go to.

Especially in the wake of the complete breakdown of one of the most significant friendships he’s ever had.

— Six Months Prior —

Things had been touch and go with Xavier mentally for most of the year, especially during the four months between when he and Ian last spoke; however, reconciliation had begun between them again, the switch flipped in him, and whatever walls he had up mentally that prevented him from falling apart before suddenly were whole and impenetrable once more.

Or, well, “impenetrable.” But Xavier convinced himself otherwise. It’s a skill he learned from decades of abuse: to suddenly pack it all away to seem okay to everyone around him, especially to not drive them away (especially not any more than he had before). If compartmentalization and intellectualizing emotions and trauma were a mutant power, he’d be an Omega-level mutant.

“So, tell me everything I missed.”

They decided to go to this Thai restaurant in Bayside that Ian recommended some time last year. They were supposed to go back then, but then the pandemic hit and things between them started to change.

Ian thought for a moment, and then launched into a monologue of the goings on in his life in the months since they last spoke: A new phone. A promotion. A trip to the Bahamas. A death in the family.

“What about you?”

Xavier thought for a moment, but kept it short: “I got a new job. It doesn’t pay well, but it’s decent.”

He couldn’t — or, more honestly, refused to openly — admit to Ian and himself that he spent those months missing Ian, kicking himself in the ass over what went down, and struggling to find something to ground himself and keep his sanity intact.

“How’s your mom doing? Did y’all get to visit your grandfather before he died?”

Ian shook his head. “The pandemic made it hard to coordinate family gatherings, and while we knew he was gonna go any day things got too busy. We called a lot, though.” He shrugged.

“Sorry for your loss.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t really that close with him, and he and my mom had a strained relationship. We really — ”

“Only went over there for family gatherings. I remember.”

The waiter came over with their food, and they spend the rest of their time at the restaurant chatting (and by “chatting,” it was mostly a Q&A session like most of their conversations: Xavier asking a million and one questions with brief intermissions of him adding his personal experiences, and Ian answering questions with brief intermissions where he’d ask a follow-up question). Politics weren’t discussed this one time, which Xavier made sure he’d steer clear of (specifically because talking politics in a mostly quiet restaurant isn’t something he was interested in doing).

That was their dynamic, as it had always been; and, to Xavier’s enjoyment, the familiarity and intimacy between them seemed to have not been dented at all by the now traversed distance between them.

And things were fine again.

But, for reasons that he couldn’t quite understand at the time, a sense of unease started to take hold in the depths of Xavier and it would haunt him with increasing intensity with each passing day.

After Ian’s final text message and subsequent ghosting six months later, the unease he started to feel that day both started to make sense and made his unraveling in the aftermath that much more intense.

— Current Day —

Like most nights when luck struck him during nights when he was too stressed to be alone — the way horniness did most other people on The Apps™️ — he found himself on his way to meet yet another man to get high and hookup with. They’ve hooked up previously at another man’s place and at an orgy elsewhere; however, this time they were meeting at that guy’s place because he and his friend were hosting together.

They never exchanged names — he reasoned that it was the best way to allow for both familiarity and anonymity to engage with each other because he never wanted to get so close to anyone that he’d be disappointed when they’d leave or when he’d leave — but the other guy enjoyed the sex enough to keep the relationship going (Xavier was never precious about his relationships with most people except for Ian), and he enjoyed the ease with which they were able to communicate both verbally and nonverbally.

Once he arrived, things went as such:

They talked for a bit.

The guy introduced his friend (no name was exchanged).

They passed the pipe around.

They drank a bit.

Passed the pipe around.

Xavier drank more

Passed the pipe around.

Xavier drank more.

And then nothing.

Xavier was in the shower with the guy’s friend.

Nothing.

Xavier left to go home, shower, change his clothes, and go to work.

Xavier found out the guy blocked him, and he shrugged it off.

It wasn’t until he went to use the bathroom at work that he realized something was wrong. He was too high to feel any pain or notice the bleeding before, but now things started to settle in — not any images of the night before, but the pain and discomfort — and he immediately turned that part of his brain off so he could get through the day.

— Two Months Later —

He spent the last two months getting high and drunk at home and working nonstop. He didn’t go out much anymore or hookup either. Every time the thought of that creeped into his mind about that night, he would immediately shutdown, dissociate, and go on autopilot.

Most days just blended together for him and he hardly kept a memory of whatever was happening around him; however, he was able to always be on at work, make great tips, and deal with all the bullshit with a smile and a laugh.

Everyone was none the wiser until the day he walked out of work mid shift, and didn’t return.

His manager called and texted.

His coworkers texted.

Nothing.

He even changed his number to avoid it all.

And things went downhill from there.

He switched jobs (a much more toxic environment than the last) and had to move back in with his family (which he did everything in his power to avoid since moving out fifteen years ago), and that increased his desire to be as inebriated as possible when he wasn’t at work just to make the time go by faster.

He stopped watching TV shows, movies, anime, and YouTube entirely. Listened to music less. Posted less online. He withdrew into himself more than he had before, but most people around him didn’t notice (or maybe they did, and never said anything).

There were a few online friends he had that checked in and he reassured them he was fine and handling things, but that wasn’t really the truth and he didn’t really know how to explain to them, let alone himself, what was really going on.

And he didn’t really have the time or the energy or the resources to really understand anything.

He figured things were like they had always been: he’d emotionally and mostly mentally retreat from his life, find a mental compartment to place everything in, get back to “normal functional mode” (aka survival mode with less visible distress), and try to find a way to explain things at a later date.

Unfortunately, and this wasn’t something he’d realize until way later and be able to put words to it later still, there was something in him that fractured that night two months ago.

And the spiral that started then wouldn’t quell for a while because the entirety of his being became even more consumed by the trauma and distress that he felt he couldn’t escape.

And all that was buried started to rise from their depths.

And there was no area of his life it did not touch.

— One Month Later —

Xavier found himself, one night during a haze of drugs and alcohol when he had a three day weekend from work, on his way to an orgy. Not that he really wanted to go or because he was horny per se; because something in him desired to be used and hurt like he had been previously.

It was a desire he always tried to keep at bay — it wasn’t healthy, he knew; it was self-destructive, he knew; he needed to work through it, he knew; but who could he talk to about it? — but sometimes, when things got too much, it would bleed out into him and it pushed and pulled him throughout his life for months at a time.

It was like he was a hostage in his own body; like someone else entirely was at the helm, and all he could do was watch in captivity until it relinquished control back to him so he could clean up the mess.

When he arrived, he stumbled through the entrance as he got undressed and unpacked the drugs, alcohol, lighters, and pipes that he had so he could contribute something to the event beyond his body in the absence of his mental presence.

As he got to the bedroom, he bumped into someone who led him into the kitchen.

“Drink some water, dude.”

And so, for the next twenty minutes, Xavier sat in the kitchen with the man, drank water, and chatted for a bit.

“Asta’s voice alone turned me off completely.”

Xavier laughed. “A man of taste.”

“And what makes no sense to me is that Asta’s voice actor sounds wildly less annoying in Fire Force, which I think is highly underrated.”

Xavier looked at him.

“You don’t like it?”

“It was . . . tolerable. Not the worst anime I’ve ever seen; however, it wasn’t that interesting. I’ll tune in for season two, though.”

“Wait, how was it not interesting?”

Xavier shrugged. “I’m too not sober to remember exactly why — not that I remember much of the series anyway — but I just remember falling asleep almost every episode, and struggling to pay attention when I wasn’t asleep. It took me two months to get through season one.”

“Damn! I binged that shit in a day. I was like, ‘My nigga Atsushi Ohkubo is back, and cookin’ with grease!’”

“Still haven’t seen Soul Eater.”

Kenneth looked at him.

“I feel like the moment has passed.”

“No such thing for that anime. I’ll even watch it with you to prove it.”

Xavier thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t be mad about that.” He finished his eighth cup of water.

Kenneth finished his third. “So, what are you on?”

“A mix of everything I brought with me. G, T, alcohol, coke, K.”

“No wonder you were stumbling.”

“I’d say I’m doing pretty well for my first time mixing it all together. Made it all the way here and didn’t die.”

“You live, like, a ten minute walk away.”

“Still.”

“You good now?”

“Let me go piss, and then we can rejoin the fun.”

For the rest of the night, that was part of their routine:

They’d go into the bedroom, get high, drink, have sex with each other and other guys (some of whom came and went once them came; some of whom stayed the night), hydrate in the kitchen (sometimes joined by other guys), and repeat.

It wasn’t until the sun came up and everyone else went home that Xavier learned that Kenneth was the host, and this was his apartment.

“Wait, why don’t you send face pics? You’re hot.”

Kenneth was a 5’9 Black man, bald, the perfect goatee, chubby, and the sexiest raspy voice that Xavier has ever heard. And luckily for him, Kenneth was a vers/bottom.

“Work.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Fair enough.”

“What’re you up to today?”

“Nothing. I’m off the next two days.”

“If you help me clean, we can chill and watch Soul Eater together.”

“I’m down. I was probably just gonna get high at home anyway, so may as well do it with company.”

“Bet.”

They spent the next three hours listening to music while cleaning; getting high; and chatting about politics (they have nearly identical politics (they wouldn’t classify themselves as anarcho-communists per se; however, that’s the closest label to describe their amalgamation of political philosophies), much to Xavier’s delight), anime, and music.

After all was said and done, they went into Kenneth’s room to lay down.

“Also, just so we’re clear: I’m not looking for a romantic relationship in any sense of the term. And I don’t do, as the youths would call it — ”

“Speaking as a youths yourself.”

“Rude. Anyway, I don’t do situationships. I don’t even know how one finds oneself in one of those.”

“Nor does anyone who ever has.”

“Clearly.”

“That’s all good with me. At best, friends with benefits is what I’m going for. Emphasis on the friends part.”

“I’ve only ever done fuck buddies at most.”

“So you don’t wanna be friends?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what are you saying?”

“That I’ve never had a friend with benefits before.”

“Oh. Well, would you want one?”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

“And you’re cool with last night still happening?”

“We’re not going monogamous, so why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve had guys in the — ”

“I promise you I’m not one of those kinda guys.”

Kenneth smiled and nodded.

“Can I shower before we do whatever we’re about to do next?”

“Before I bless you with the entirety of Soul Eater.”

Xavier chuckled. “Sure.”

Kenneth went into his closet, and tossed him a towel.

“Be back in 45.”

“A man who likes to take long showers. We’re gonna get along well.”

Xavier made the most of all exactly forty-five minutes of his shower. It was the first time in ages that he felt at ease anywhere in ages. It was the first time he sang in the shower and felt a spark of creativity that had been absent in him for years.

After he got out of the shower, he returned to Kenneth’s room to find him smiling, smoking, and the first episode of Soul Eater ready to play on the TV.

“What?”

“Has anyone ever told you you got a nice singing voice?”

“Was I that loud?”

“Not really. I barely heard you when I went to the kitchen to eat — which, by the way, I made you some food; it’s in the microwave — I had to press my ear against the bathroom door and listen closely, and I liked what I heard.”

“Well, everyone sounds good in the shower, so.”

Kenneth laughed. “Learn to take a compliment.”

X smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna go shower. So, smoke, eat, and start watching Soul Eater. I know the series like the back of my hand, so don’t wait for me.”

Xavier nodded.

Kenneth got a towel out of his closet, took the towel he gave Xaiver, hung it up to dry in his closet, and then left the room.

Xavier sat down on the bed, picked up the pipe and the lighter, lit the bowl, took a big hit, exhaled all the smoke, and started Soul Eater.