No Wings

A boy tries to survive his mind and his problems. First two chapters. [2k words]

No Wings

Elliot Jones was woken by the buzz of his cellphone. Having lately only served as a clock and a music player, the unexpectedness of the impending phone got his mind awake and wondering, and a jilt of fear he had grown too accustomed to ran through his body. The phone still going on on the nightstand, he ran his hands over his body, searching it for bruises or cuts; signs that he had been in a fight. Not finding any, he tried to think back to whom he might have run into last night, but couldn't draw up a single face. The best he tried, his last memory was slamming that one last shot before leaving his house with no particular plan in mind. He took a long breath, trying to draw comfort from the fact that he had somehow made it back to his bed, and he had even managed to take off his clothes before passing out. Also, though he could not see his wallet, at least his phone had made it back home as well. 
Not feeling strong enough to push himself to sit, he reached his shaking hand for the bottle of water he had lay next to the phone. He had still been conscious enough to think of the next morning, that was a good sign. But the phone kept buzzing, and though communicating with people was the last thing he felt like doing, he still lifted the phone high enough to catch the caller id. It was his mum. He sighed loudly and shook his head, he knew he had to take the call. Could she have run into him last night? It was doubtful for they lived in different towns. Maybe he had called her? That answer was in the call log of the phone that kept buzzing. Maybe something altogether different and bad had happened? Maybe someone died? Maybe his father had passed away while he was getting wasted and trying to live down one of the worst hangovers of the year? He answered the call. Her mother's preppy voice blasted through the phone.
“Hey! Happy birthday!”
It took Elliot a moment for those words to make sense. 
“Oh, yeah, thank you.” 
He let himself fall back in bed, fearing he might throw up otherwise. 
“You're not still sleeping, are you? It's almost noon.”
Elliot looked at the thick curtains that hid the sun. That's why he felt so sick, he was up far earlier than usual. 
“Ah, no, just a bit tired.”
“Oh yeah? Did some early celebrating?” 
“Yeah, a bit.”
“Didn't get into trouble did you?” Her mothers voice was joyful, she had no idea of the troubles Elliot had avoided by the skin of his teeth. But if it was up to him, she would never find out. 
“No, all is good.” He did her best to sound as it was the truth. 
“That's great, hey, your father want's to talk.”
The phone was handed over, Elliot used the moment to take a sip of water, it felt almost rejuvenating. 
“Hey, Elliot, happy birthday.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“So, what's you've been up to, haven't heard from you in a week?”
“Oh, nothing, just school, you know.”
“Yeah, well, that's good. How are your grades?”
“Okay. But I got to go, I promised a friend we would have lunch together.”
“Oh, yeah, okay, happy birthday again.”
“Thanks.”
Elliot disconnected the call and closed his eyes. He hated lying to his parents, but there was no other way. There were no excuses for the way he was, there was no getting better either. All he could do was keep building that house of cards, til the day it would finally collapse, and his life would be over. 
He had not celebrated last night, he had no idea what he had done, or why. He might have dodged danger, for he hadn't been in a fight, but he could certainly still be in trouble. That's what blackouts were like, a constant fear of the unknown. His parents hadn't heard from him because every time they talked, he felt a desperate need to lie, which would only add to his depression. He wasn't doing well in school, he hardly ever went there. And he was not having a happy birthday. 
“Happy sweet sixteen!” he mumbled, feeling more certain than ever that there will not be a seventeen.

#

Elliot woke three more times on that day of his birthday. During the first he just finished the bottle of water and dozed off. The second time he reached for his phone, just to make sure he had not dreamed the phone call. Differentiating between reality and dreams had become harder for him. Seeing her mother's phone number made him feel slightly better, but seeing that it was the only call logged during the twenty-four hours, put him at ease great enough to fall asleep once more. 
The third time he pushed himself sitting, and started taking inventory. His pants were next to his bed, right on top of his shoes, it looked like he had taken them off at one shot. Everything that had lay on top of the cupboard behind the pants, mostly books, were on the floor. He must have crashed into it when trying to disrobe. But that was not a problem, that was to be expected. He pulled his pants to his lap and patted the pockets for his wallet. It was not lost, and as he opened it, he could see all the money still there. That was odd, never once had he returned home with the same amount of money in his pocket. But he took that as a victory and started to fold the pants, so he could put them back on. During that he could hear the jingle of his keys. They were still there too. He put the pants on feeling quite uncertain. For what the evidence showed, he had had quite a peaceful night. But why then did he feel so off? There was a hollowness in his gut and a real mark of embarrassment and guilt in the back of his mind. That is how he had felt in the aftermath of the worst blackouts of his life. 
He found his jacket at the foot of his bed, in the pocket of which there was his pack of cigarettes. He shook it hopefully, and the pack did make a noise. He pulled the last smoke to his lips and aimed his shaky body toward the balcony, all the while looking around, trying to figure out why he felt so uneasy. He could see no bottles laying around, there were no dirty dishes, everything was neater and in better order than ever. 
He pulled the curtain. The day had passed, and by the traffic, he figured the time to be somewhere around the workday's end. Before pulling open the balcony door, he pressed the power button of his desktop computer, and as it hummed to life, he stepped into the fresh air of the small town night. 
He reached his left pocket for the lighter, but it wasn't there. He patted the right one too, not finding it, and smirked. He was bound to lose something, but a lighter he could replace. He found another one next to the ashtray, which was just a huge bowl, and lit the cigarette, looking to the distance his third-floor balcony allowed. And as his eyes found the towns old water tower, a memory returned. 
He kept his eyes locked on the towers red statue, desperate to cling to the string of memory that had returned. He had gone to the tower, yes, he was certain about it. He could see himself climb it, he could see himself walking toward it. But why had he gone there?
The hollowness in him neatened, and blowing out all the smoke he had inhaled, he looked over his shoulder to the room more clean that it had ever been before. And he looked back to the tower, taking another drag. He could think of one reason. That water tower was how he had for the longest time figured he would kill himself. The third-floor balcony had never seemed like a high enough place, he had no desire to fail when the day came. And, he had actually walked there, climbed it. It all started to come back. Him cleaning his apartment, of trash, of bottles, so when his parents would come, they wouldn't see what he was living like. 
He took a quick step back indoors and looked at the computer screen, all the settings had changed to default. He logged in as admin and clicked on the hard drive, it was empty. 
Sighing, he moved back to the balcony, taking another drag. He had been serious, he was really going to kill himself. A couple of times before he had cleaned the rooms just like that, in case he dies, but he had never cleared his hard drive before. That was where all his secrets had been, that was where his stories were, stories that were not backed up, unique things he could never replace. Yes, when he walked out the door, he had been dead serious that it was his last day in this world. 
But then, why was he still alive?
He pulled again on that string of memory, trying to stretch it forward in time. He had climbed the tower, one hand on the ladder, other holding the bottle of vodka. And, as if it was the easiest thing to do, he had made his way to the top, not slipping once, not fearing anything. 
His heart started racing, a new image had appeared. 
There was someone else at the top of that tower. He could see her surprised face as he waltzed forward around the corner, stopping so abruptly as if he had walked into a wall. She had shoulder-length blond hair, dressed in a black cardigan and light blue jeans. She had been sitting there, feet over the edge. 
The memory string broke. That surprised face was where his blackout had become complete. It was that hour of the night where he did not just forget what happened, it was when his brain stopped making memories all together. But all the knowledge of the biology and chemistry of a blackout couldn't stop the fear he felt. Every inch of his body told him that he had done something he regretted. And he felt certain that the girl was involved. 
Who was she? She looked completely alien. She must have been around his age, which would have meant that she went to the same, the only, school in town. But he had never seen her. And why was she on top of that tower? 
“No!” Elliot forced the word from his lips. “Don't even go there. You would have never hurt her, and you know that!”
But Elliot did not know that, he could never know what he was like when he was drunk. There were times, though rare, when he lost all the control, when he became a mindless beast. Those were bad times. 
“No. I made it back home, I filled a water bottle, I didn't lose anything. Though I can't remember, I must have still been in there.”
He put out the cigarette, grabbed his phone, and rushed out of the apartment. He knew the only way he could sleep that night was if he went there, and made sure there wasn't a body laying under that water tower.

Reviews

[poetgurl]

Wow, such an interesting read, very descriptive. love the imagery as well.

[Cherrie Palmer]

very interesting, a very good read

[Eogin]

Thanks! :)

[Raeven]

I loved this!! Very interested to see if there's more

[Eogin]

Hey. I'm actually working on another book right now, but I'm glad to read such positive feedback. I did not really expect it. Guess I'll have to find time to keep going with this story as well.
So thanks, to you and everyone else who has spent their time reading it. :)

[Raeven]

It's no problem, I'll be sure to keep my eye out for your other stories and books if you post them!

[B.A. Radiant]

Whoa! Really had me hooked in at the 2nd chapter! I really want to know what he finds out about from that night. And also curious about going deeper into the story of how he became suicidal. Look forward to reading more!

[Roch Ketchum]

Amazing work !

The second chapter really got me hooked and I'll be looking forward for more.

The girl meeting Elliot at the top of the tower reminds me of the starting in the book "All the bright places"

Looking forward.

Keep up the good work