15. Damien

  My suspicions are confirmed when I get a glimpse of Isaac's glossy, red rimmed eyes. A few things are the culprit. Xanax, weed, and he's been doing coke as well, anything to help him get his high. He apologizes repeatedly, as I fumble with my house key, but I can't manage to form any words on my tongue that don't resemble curse words.

He's heard it all before. I've lectured him on and on about what he's doing to himself. What he's doing to the family. He always nods like he's seriously contemplated what I've said, but I know he's not listening. Not really. All he's thinking about is getting his next fix. I learned the hard way when he stole a bunch of shit, watches, televisions, and shoes from my apartment to score drugs.

Isaac manages a goofy grin, hoping to loosen me up as I unlock the door and we push into my apartment, but I'm not feeling the humor. I don't find ruining your life or the lives of those around you comical. I snap my fingers and point to the couch, calling behind me: "Sit."

Not waiting for him to reply, I take long strides to my locked bedroom, unlocking the door and slipping inside quickly. I have a safe hidden in the wall in my closet where I keep all my money, and valuable things. Fool me once...

I empty my pockets onto the bed, loosen my tie and discard it onto the floor where the rest of my clothes get tossed. I swipe a pair of sweats from my closet, dress and hurry back to the living room where I find him slumped into the couch.

I move past him into the kitchen. My stomach churns with frustration as I pour myself a glass of OJ and vodka. Nothing like a screwdriver. I sip the contents of the glass, finally ready to go out and face him. My brother and his demons.

Isaac's eyes don't focus on me. He has a faraway look that floats over me unrecognizable. I sit across on the chair that's angled to face him, resting the glass on my knee while continually holding it, before sighing and quirking a brow.

"So, what the hell happened?"

Isaac's eyes wrinkled as a smile formed on his lips and he waved his hand dismissively.

"Kevin's bitchy girlfriend."

"Didn't want you living there like a bum?" I joke and take a drink. Isaac rolls his eyes and chuckles.

"Truthfully? I think she just wanted to fuck me."

"Ah." I nod my head sarcastically, and shrug. "That's usually why, right? Women finding you irresistible."

"Exactly," He quips, and grins. I admire this moment of light humor and conversation. Despite how mad I am at him, it's nice to get a glimpse of who he once was. Growing up, we teased each other relentlessly.

The quiet that befalls us momentarily is comfortable.

"Where did you get the drugs?" I find myself speaking, breaking the comfort and naïve bliss that is ignorance. Isaac tenses, and drags his gaze to the window where he loses himself for a moment.

"Isaac," I urge impatiently. "You can't keep fucking doing this."

"I know."

"Where?"

"Just some friends. Connections. It's easier to get drugs than anything on the street."

I don't notice that I'm clutching my glass in an intense grip, until it smashes and the sharpness of being stabbed by jagged shards draws a sharp inhale out of me. I curse, rise quickly, clutching what's left of the glass in my hand and head to the kitchen.

Blood trickles along my palm, dripping in a trail onto the floor until my hand is hovered above the sink.

"Do you need any help?" Isaac calls from the living room. I grunt in response and make quick work of dressing the long gash in my hand. Thankfully it's not deep enough to cause an emergency room trip. There are few superficial scratches beside it that I run water over, and a bandage, and I'm ready to go.

When I return to the living room, he whips around near the end table, and shoots me a sheepish grin.

"All better?"

I raise my bandaged hand and nod. I scan my living room, searching for something amiss. It always has to be this way with him. The nagging thought in the back of my mind that he's swiped something from me. You can't trust addicts.

"What are you doing?" I question, narrowing my eyes to observe his reaction. He shrugs, sniffles but remains in his spot. I notice the way his arms are behind his back, and I clench my jaw before gesturing to him. "Got something behind your back?"

Isaac frowns. An offended expression forms on his face, but he doesn't move his hands out from behind him.

"What the fuck are you accusing me off, Damien?" He snaps, the hurt in his tone is evident. I almost feel guilty. That is until I step sideways and see something glimmer in his hold.

"Don't fucking act innocent, Isaac. What are you holding?"

Isaac sighs and shows me his phone.

"It's my fucking phone, dumbass."

"Why not lead with that?" I shake my head and groan, before moving towards the couch and plopping down on it.

"Maybe because I didn't think I'd have to explain myself to you."

Shaking my head, I hold up a hand and scoff.

"You act like I have no reason to question you." I glare at him. "Look at you? So, fucking high you can barely concentrate on my face. You have nowhere to go. You're at rock bottom, and it's not the first fucking time. When will you change? When you're cold and in the fucking ground?"

Isaac tenses. He clenches his jaw, and levels a furious gaze with mine. I await his normal response of aggression. Smashing shit. Tearing the world around him apart. Anything in his way. When moments go by and he remains unmoving, I swallow the lump in my throat, grasp my chin contemplatively.

"I'm trying. I know I have a fucking problem, it's not just easy to stop! I struggle with this shit every fucking day!" He shouts, and I feel my blood boil. Rising I swipe the lamp on the end table off onto the floor, a resounding crash echoes in the room.

"Then do something about it! Stop fucking playing 'oh poor me' and own your shit. You're an adult. Go to rehab. It's not like I haven't offered to pay for it? I'm gonna put myself broke trying to save you, but you won't take the fucking help! That's your problem!"

"No one fucking asked you to pay for anything. I don't need your help if all your gonna do is throw it back into my face!" He huffs angrily. I step forward, fists balled at my sides.

"No." I shake my head. "You'll be happy when mom dies from the stress of trying to save your ass."

He swings. His movements are sloppy and slow. He hits my arm instead of my face, as I dodge his punch and land a blow to his face. He rocks backwards, stumbling with heavy feet towards the back wall, before charging at me.

He growls, and lurches, ramming into my gut. I hiss as the wind knocks out of me, before grabbing his arms, pushing him back and upper cutting him in the jaw. He lands hard on his back on the floor, knocked out. Pain expands in my hand, as I flex my fingers.

"Fucking prick," I grumble and step over him, heading towards my bedroom. I'll let him sleep this shit off. Hell, lord knows I need to.

****

Isaac cups his chin and moves it, his forehead's wrinkled from a frown. He groans, and rotates his jaw in circles.

"You'll never tire of me beating your ass, will you?" I say, with a quirked brow, watching as he slumps in the booth, we're seated in. He's slept for a full fucking fourteen hours, and now that he's down from his high we're able to eat and hopefully have a fucking conversation.

"Ah, You didn't kick anyone's ass, old man."

I snicker and roll my eyes. I'm only seven years older, not by much, but that's the only insult he can hurl my way. I shrug and wrap a hand around the cup of coffee on the table before bringing it to my lips.

Mila coasts around in my mind for a moment, but I quickly push her away. I can't dwell on her right now. Not when I have a mess in front of me. I called off today, so I'll have to see her later. Isaac bends and sucks up his orange juice obnoxiously.

"In all seriousness, Isaac, what are you going to do? You can't keep staying from house to house, and if you live with me for long, we're going to kill each other."

The waitress breezes on over, but I cast her a smile and excuse us for a few more minutes. "Look, I have a friend who manages an inpatient rehab facility in Mass, it's upscale, lots of programs and I think you'd like it."

He scoffs, and I shoot him an frigid stare.

"Listen," I say, banging my fist off the table, capturing a few people's attention. "I'm not fucking playing around anymore, Isaac. If you don't get clean, you're going to end up in a wooden fucking box in the ground, and neither me nor Mom will be able to save you. It will absolutely destroy her to bury you."

Isaac swallows, and replies with a cracked voice: "Fine! Fine..." He clears his throat, and fiddles with the straw wrapper on the table. "I'll go. I just have some shit I have to do first –"

"No. If you're going. You're leaving as soon as possible."

He leans forward and shakes his head.

"It won't take that long."

I lean backwards and swallow the agitation building up in my throat. I've heard all this shit before.

"I'm not falling for this again. You either go or you don't. I will make sure all the paperwork and payment is taken care of today. I need you to want this. To fucking try for once in your life, Isaac. If not for you, then for Mom, please?" I urge him. He sighs and places his palms on the table.

"Fine." He grits out. "I will go as soon as possible."

The waitress returns, pad of paper and a pen in hand, with a bright smile. Eyeing both of us, her smile falters, having noticed our tension, before she begins her spiel.

"Are y'all ready to order, or do you need another minute?"

I close my menu and order an omelet breakfast, before Isaac orders chocolate chip and banana pancakes – something we ate all the time as children – and hand our waitress our menus. She thanks us and leaves.

My phone rings. I grab it out of my pocket, and eye the caller ID curiously.

Tatiana.

Why would she be calling me?

I answer and grunt out a quick 'hello.'

"Damien?" She sniffles. I can hear the sobs in her throat from the way her voice quivers.

"What's going on?"

"I need your help. You're the only lawyer I know, and my landlords is trying to throw me out by the end of the week. I want to know if he can even do this?"

I sigh. I'm a divorce lawyer, but that doesn't matter. Tatiana's helpless. She's always been easily manipulated and dominated. That's why our sexual relationship had worked so well. I glance at Isaac who's straining to hear my conversation. Nosey asshole.

"Look, I can get together tomorrow around 9 and we can discuss what rights you have as a tenant with a lease."

"Okay," She replies. "Thank you so much, Sir."

I know she's using that name because she wants a response from me. It's been a while since we've fucked. She's probably wondering why, or expecting me to head over and fuck her until she's sore and red.

The use of her submissive voice doesn't elicit a response like it used to.

She's no longer my conquest.

Mila is.