Page 77 of Misguided
I meet Dog’s concerned gaze and give him a soft smile. “Yeah. It hurts seeing him like this, but at least he’s alive and here, right?”
He leans down and cups my face with one hand as he presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You’re a fuckin’ angel, babe.”
I roll my eyes with a smile, playing off his compliment, so I don’t start to damn well cry when I’ve got something more important and snoring to deal with. “Could you be a gem and get me a damp washcloth if there’s one in the bathroom?”
“Sure.”
Dog disappears into the adjacent bathroom as I take a seat on the side of the bed. Hooch doesn’t even twitch. His hair is unwashed and full of road dust, his beard unkempt and sticking in all manner of directions, but underneath the rough exterior is still that chubby faced kid who would chase me down the hallway roaring like a dinosaur. I reach out and push some of his wayward hair out of his face.
You’re worth so much more than this, baby brother. He wasn’t gifted the best hand in life, but he’s such an amazing man. If only he could see it. I smirk, chuckling on the inside when I realize that us Coleman kids mustn’t fall too far from the tree when we’re obviously all the same. After all, didn’t Dog have to shake sense into me so I’d see what I was worth?
“Here, babe. Give me some room, and I’ll bring him around,” Dog says, kneeling beside the bed. “I don’t want you too close if he comes up swingin’.”
I nod tightly and back up, moving to the foot of the bed. Dog braces one hand on the bed and rests the cool cloth on Hooch’s head with the other.
“He’s really burning, huh?”
I nod, a loose fist pressed to my mouth while I wait in hope. I won’t know how badly the black clouds have filled his head until Hooch wakes up and talks.
“You stupid, motherfucker,” Dog mutters, rearranging the cloth.
Hooch stirs, his face screwing up as he tries to avoid the cold water.
“Come on, asshole,” Dog coaxes as he drags the cloth over Hooch’s face to shock his body into survival mode. “He done this before?”
“Not this bad.” He’s pretty good at keeping his vices separate when he goes on a bender, picking either drink or drugs, not often both. “I’ll start cleaning up.”
I find a shopping bag shoved under the edge of the bed, and retrieve it to fill with the litter around the place. The bottles crash against each other as I place them inside, but as far as I’m concerned, Hooch doesn’t deserve the royal treatment when it comes to his no doubt precious head.
“That’s it, dumbass. Time to come around.”
I turn in time to see Hooch open his eyes, and then promptly roll to his side as his face pales. Dog lunges for the trashcan, only just managing to get it under Hooch’s head in time, and I’m shot back to a couple of weeks ago when the roles were switched and it was me doing this for Dog.
“Did a right number on yourself, didn’t you?” Dog says with an amused look on his face.
Hooch sneers, and then manages to scratch out, “You’re one to fuckin’ talk.”
I could both cry and laugh with happiness. We found him. We actually found the damn fool, even if he is worse for the wear.
I carry on picking up the mess as Hooch groans, righting himself so he’s seated on the side of the bed. He looks like he’s been dragged through hell backward and it’s no surprise.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Dog lunges for a half-used bottle of Jack Daniels before Hooch can reach it, holding it high.
I snatch up the bag of crack and pinch it in front of me. “And you aren’t getting any more of this, either.” I don’t care if he’s ready to give this shit up, or not. I’m ready for him to and damn it all if I’m not going to break myself trying to keep him straight.
It’s time our family moved on from this cycle of self-destruction. Hell, we’ve been through so much, lost so many, but fuck it all, I want what we have left to survive, and his pity-party of booze and drugs won’t cut it.
I drop my hand to place the crack in the bag of trash, and Hooch absolutely loses it. He lunges off the bed, shouting, “You get that the fuck outta there.”
I retreat, my back finding the wall as my heart pounds painfully in my chest. In all our years of disagreements, in all the dustups we’ve had, he’s never shown this much aggression toward me. “No, Josiah.” My chin dimples at the sound of his real name from my mouth, but fuck it all, I need him to know how serious I am. “You would do this for me.”
“Hand it over, Mel.” His eyes are haunted, the truth he wants to deny trapped within.
“No.” I lift the tiny rock of bullshit between us. “I won’t see you kill off the only thing I have left.” He takes that last connection to family away from me, I may as well be dead too.
“Don’t you get it?” His face contorts as he fists his hands, the anger rising. “What does it matter if I die?”
“You don’t mean that.” My chest hurts so bad I want nothing more than to drop this bag and step outside, suck fresh air into my lungs and escape this melting pot of misery. Yet, I won’t give him that satisfaction. I won’t let him scare me away just because he’s too afraid to admit he’s scared himself.