Vulnerable

Written April-May 2013

Sunday 2:30 A.M 

Fine wine and champagne rest on the granite countertop. Alex stands a few feet 

away, downing a vintage Moet. As he finishes, he wipes the excess wine from his lips 

and with his arms raised, screams, “I AM KING!” 

His self-satisfaction quickly vanishes however, as his face grows pale, and 

without so much as a thought he books it towards the door. Through the glass door, I can 

see his outline, hunched over in the dark, releasing a various mix of narcotics and alcohol onto the ground. 

As I draw my attention away from Alex, I hear a familiar sound come from down 

the hall, echoing in the silence. I move towards the source, maneuvering around a passed out sophomore girl and various empty bottles and cans. I stop for a second, admiring the 

innocence of this little girl: four beers and a shot deep and she’s passed out cold. Too 

funny. Maybe you should learn to hold your liquor, sweetheart, before you become the 

newest gossip at school. 

I pass various doors, some closed, some wide open, some occupied by couples, 

others by drunken idiots. I stagger a bit and hit the wall, nearly knocking what appears to 

be a painting of Newport, or maybe Edgartown. In my inebriated state, it’s all the same to me. I hear another snort, look to my right and turn the knob, entering into a paradise filled with enough coke and whisky to make a frat boy blush. James, Heather, and two kids who look like they jumped out of a Brooks Brother’s catalogue sit in on the leather 

couch. 

James looks at me, a smirk appearing over his face, 

“I know what you want,” he says, reaching for the dollar in front of him, rolling it 

up and snorting another line. 

“Go ahead,” he mutters, motioning to the pile of powder lying in front of me. I 

reach for the platinum credit card resting on the table and quickly but neatly, fashion 

myself a few lines. James hands me the dollar bill. As usual, my conscience kicks in as 

thoughts of Nicole’s disappointment start to race in my head. 

“What’s the matter?” Heather says, grinning. “Can’t handle it?” 

I look up at her. Her eyes are bloodshot red and she is wiping her nose. 

Confidently, I smile back. 

“You already know I f*****g can.” 

I press the dollar to my nose and then to the table. Pushing the thoughts of Nicole 

to the back of my mind, I rail the first line, feeling the slight burn run through my nose. 

The two unknowns are now passed out on each other. F*****g losers. I re-shift my 

attention back to my last line, pressing back down and snorting the remaining powder. I 

wipe the excess powder from underneath my nose as the coke runs its way into my 

bloodstream. My chest begins thumping, as the blood runs faster and faster through my 

veins. I wipe my forehead, pulling away to reveal a hand covered in sweat. F**k this is 

too good. S**t, maybe if I went to school like this I would have straight f*****g A’s! 

Those liberal f***s would never know what happened! I dart my eyes around quickly, 

taking in my surroundings. Wow, wow, wow. I have got to find Nicole right now. Bet 

she’ll f*****g love me like this. 

I stand up quickly, admiring the dimly lit room adorned with leather couches and 

recliners. A flat screen displays some hockey highlights as I storm out of the room. I step 

into the hallway and face a full-length mirror. The image reflecting is straight beauty. 

Damn, I look good: Cole Haan loafers, Vineyard Vines oxford, I’m the spitting image of 

prep perfection. I hurry down the hallway to the kitchen. Jamie, Christin, and Nicole sit at the granite counter top, chatting and gossiping downing shots. I walk over to the three, grabbing the bottle of Goose sitting on the tabletop and chug it. The burn of the vodka is 

numbed by the pleasure of the coke kicking in. 

I can feel the combination of alcohols tossing and turning in my stomach. My 

conscience kicks in again, telling me to stop, relax, sit back and enjoy the night with 

Nicole. I tell my conscience to go f**k itself as I grab the bottle again and take an even 

bigger gulp. As I pull the bottle away from my face Nicole’s face fills with 

embarrassment. How could she be embarrassed of me? I’m the life of the party. I turn 

away from her disgust and stumble through the hallway. The image of the house as I 

walk through it is enhanced. My drunkenness from earlier has been replaced by this 

feeling, this wired feeling, as if I’m running on pure adrenaline right now. I move quickly 

through the hall for no apparent reason, with no apparent destination. I poke my head in 

and out of rooms, and sprint up the stairs, looking for some fun I can partake in. 

I arrive at the top of the stairs, anxiously looking around, my heart still thumping 

through my skin and muscle. I swiftly move to the left, down the hall and open the first 

door on my right. Unfortunately for me, I had no clue this was Christin’s brother’s room. 

I’ve heard stories, but only partial ones, and for the most part I believed them to be fictitious. The stories ranged from Percocet abuse to a cocaine addiction that lead to 6 months in rehab. Never once has a story came out of Christin’s mouth, in fact, I never 

knew she had a brother until Nicole told me. Even in this fucked up state, I can still feel 

for the girl. Fucked up brother, dad cheated on mom, boyfriend cheated on her before 

Valentines Day. Really must suck to be her, I guess. 

The room is dark, barely a speck of light shining from anywhere. I open the door 

slightly, allowing the faded light of the hallway to seep in, illuminating the room a bit. As the light creeps over the dark, hardwood floors, the scene becomes clearer. Syringes lay 

scattered on the ground next to spoons with a strange, sticky looking residue. My coke 

high quickly starts fading as I continue to open the door further, allowing the light to 

infiltrate the whole room. Empty pill bottles lay about, razors coated with white powder 

sit on a glass mirror, and three people sit passed out against various dressers and chairs. 

The sight laid in front of me is one I’ve never experienced. The unknown people rest with large bags under their eyes, obvious track marks cover their arms, and their rib bones clearly visible due to their excessive skinniness. The rumors are true, but I didn’t want to find out this way. I slowly back out of the room, trying to comprehend exactly what I just saw. My cocaine high has now completely faded away. 

I walk back down the stairs to empty, quietness in the house. I guess I’m the only 

one up. I shuffle towards the kitchen, rummage through the fridge and pull out the only 

beer in sight. I take a spot on the couch, crack open the Bud Light and drink. I force my 

mind to wonder a bit, but it always ends up coming back to the three junkies laid out on 

the floor. Maybe, it’s best to just close my eyes at this point, this night just took a sudden turn for the worse. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

The sounds of yelling wake me from my deep sleep. I wipe the drool off of my 

lips and look around startled, trying to find the source of the commotion. 

“No! F**k you, all you ever do is lie to me and I’m fed up with it!” I walk over to 

the stairs to see Christin letting Alex have it. 

“You drink, smoke, and f**k whoever you want and then come looking for me 

when you have nothing left. You’re f*****g pathetic,” Christin screams as Alex leans 

nonchalantly against the railing. Tears run down Christin’s face as she storms off past me 

down the stairs, pushing Jamie out of the way as she hurries to the door. 

Alex, still clearly drunk, saunters down the stairs, one slow step at a time. He 

looks to me, motions his head towards the door, and walks on. I follow out into the cold, 

damp morning, with the sun barely poking through the trees that surround the house. He hops in the back of my car, lies down and passes out. I step into the driver’s side, turn on the ignition and pull away from the house. In my rearview mirror, I see Nicole standing 

there watching me pull away. Alex snores loudly, taking my attention away from the 

mirror. I look back up quickly to see her walking away, back into the house. I pull out 

onto the main road while wiping the crust out of my eyes and trying to stay awake. As I 

drive I pass the usual sites of this town: trees, barns, horses, and more trees, the 

occasional biker pedals past, with complete disregard for the fact he is basically in the 

middle of the road. I can feel the beer turning in my stomach with each bump in the road. 

I quickly pull onto a dirt road, throw the door open and vomit onto the ground in front of me. Mixtures of orange and pink chunks cover the dirt, and as I take a breath, more comes out. With each passing second, I can feel myself getting better, yet it continues, continues until all that is coming out is straight water. I look up in the mirror; an absolute mess is reflected in the image. The image shows my hair spiked up from the bed, tears shining in my eyes from the vomiting, and an utter disregard in my face for any of this. I close the door and pull out of the dirt road, continuing my drive to Alex’s. The only thoughts on my mind: what would Nicole think, and what exactly did I see last night? The thoughts keep pressing in my head as I continue the lonely drive, along the lonely 

road, in this lonely town, on this lonely day. 

Sometimes, the best remedy for a hangover is to continue drinking. Welcome to 

my life. As the minutes tick, the empties pile up along the back porch. Alex sits next to 

me, sipping on a Bud heavy, clearly not in the same state as I am. To be honest it looks 

like he just went 10 rounds with Evander Holyfield. I’ve always believed there was 

nothing better than just hanging out on a Sunday, drinking a few beers, and just being 

with the boys. No drama with girls to deal with, parents gone so I don’t have to deal with their s**t, and the birds chirping in the trees, nothing could be better to me. Sure, I made a mistake or two last night, but f**k it, don’t matter in the long run. It’s senior spring, two months ‘til graduation, two months ‘til I’m free from prep school, two months until I no longer have to live in a prison. But still, no matter how hard I try, I find myself returning to that room. I see the needles on the ground, the blood dripping from their open wounds, and the drool at their face. 

Alex finishes his first bear, gently places it on the ground and shuffles around in 

his chair. 

“I thought I was a f*****g drunk,” he said, pausing as if he were about to be sick, 

“but you just re-invented the game.” 

“I’m a pro, what can I say?” 

I keep telling myself this isn’t a time to worry as I down another beer. I’ll just 

drink until the memories are gone.