chest, she moved closer to him and looked deep into his eyes. Sighing, she said, “Jimmy had us hooked on coke and crack for five years; before, durin’ and after me angel was born. It was so hard to break away from him and that shit, but I did it; for Haley’s sake and for me own.” She was trembling slightly and biting her lip anxiously by the time she finished.
To allay her fears, Whitman lent forward and kissed her on her quivering lips. Gripping her hand, he said, “I know how hard that must’ve been to tell me. I understand, hun. I know about obsessions and how hard it is to fight them. How long you been clean?”
Awash with relief at not being judged, she said, “Six months.”
“Good on you. It can only get easier – you’re doing great and you have a wonderful daughter to help keep you strong.”
She looked at him; staring deep into his eyes, searching for just the tiniest hint of insincerity. His caring eyes met hers, unblinking. With that, Lisa burst into tears. Whitman instantly pulled her to him and held her tight as she sobbed noisily and uncontrollably for several minutes. At first, she tried to speak; to apologise, to thank him, but the words were unintelligible and drowned out by her sobs.
As she cried, Whitman gently stroked her hair and pondered on this news. It would seem that fate had chosen the first one. That it would be such a worthless piece of excrement actually brought a smile to his face.
Pride and Punishment.
Jimmy Coulson groaned as he shifted aching body. The bed sheets that covered his sweating body were stained with a concoction of piss, blood and semen, as well as lager and smears of drippings from the occasional bedtime junk food feast.
With a wired jaw, set nose and two black eyes, the man whose favourite middle school form teacher, Miss Savage, used to call ‘Beautiful Boy’, now looked like a car crash (and a particularly bad one at that). Before his world turned to shit, the odd girl in a nightclub or pub used to liken Jimmy to Brad Pitt. Now though, he was skinny – bordering malnourished – with pale, blemished skin and bloodshot eyes.
His world had started to turn at Morpeth High School. His looks and laid back attitude had earned him a prestigious spot with the in-crowd. When he started learning to play guitar in the first year, his popularity with the girls jumped up a few more notches. After a trip with mates down to the extremely muddy Glastonbury ninety-seven to see the Levellers and the Prodigy, he quickly found himself in an indie band, laced with at least some of their influences. The Levellers that year had been pretty lacklustre, and the Prodigy cursed with technical problems, but he had loved every second of the festival, despite the rivers of mud.
That had been the place where he got his first blowjob off some lanky chick who never gave him her name. It was also where he sampled his first Ecstasy tabs. The Es actually seemed to improve his popularity even further and they also seemed to help his guitar playing too. He never quite got into the writing side; they had Crazy Don for that, but he did get pretty good with that battered old San Miguel Fender of his … until he had to flog it for gear, but that was later.
The Es at Glastonbury had opened the floodgates for him. He had skipped the dope stage when it had first started doing the rounds at school the year before, but after the festival, dope and Es quickly took over from lager. Then, one night in the toilets of a pub on the Bigg Market in Newcastle, two weeks into sixth form, he had sampled his first line of cocaine. He completely fell in love with the stuff; it made him feel more alive than he had ever felt before. It gave him boundless energy and his popularity with the ladies seemed to improve still further too.
By the time December came round, he was snorting lines daily and stealing from family, friends, shops … anyone to buy more of his white heaven. Fighting and disruption in
To allay her fears, Whitman lent forward and kissed her on her quivering lips. Gripping her hand, he said, “I know how hard that must’ve been to tell me. I understand, hun. I know about obsessions and how hard it is to fight them. How long you been clean?”
Awash with relief at not being judged, she said, “Six months.”
“Good on you. It can only get easier – you’re doing great and you have a wonderful daughter to help keep you strong.”
She looked at him; staring deep into his eyes, searching for just the tiniest hint of insincerity. His caring eyes met hers, unblinking. With that, Lisa burst into tears. Whitman instantly pulled her to him and held her tight as she sobbed noisily and uncontrollably for several minutes. At first, she tried to speak; to apologise, to thank him, but the words were unintelligible and drowned out by her sobs.
As she cried, Whitman gently stroked her hair and pondered on this news. It would seem that fate had chosen the first one. That it would be such a worthless piece of excrement actually brought a smile to his face.
Pride and Punishment.
Jimmy Coulson groaned as he shifted aching body. The bed sheets that covered his sweating body were stained with a concoction of piss, blood and semen, as well as lager and smears of drippings from the occasional bedtime junk food feast.
With a wired jaw, set nose and two black eyes, the man whose favourite middle school form teacher, Miss Savage, used to call ‘Beautiful Boy’, now looked like a car crash (and a particularly bad one at that). Before his world turned to shit, the odd girl in a nightclub or pub used to liken Jimmy to Brad Pitt. Now though, he was skinny – bordering malnourished – with pale, blemished skin and bloodshot eyes.
His world had started to turn at Morpeth High School. His looks and laid back attitude had earned him a prestigious spot with the in-crowd. When he started learning to play guitar in the first year, his popularity with the girls jumped up a few more notches. After a trip with mates down to the extremely muddy Glastonbury ninety-seven to see the Levellers and the Prodigy, he quickly found himself in an indie band, laced with at least some of their influences. The Levellers that year had been pretty lacklustre, and the Prodigy cursed with technical problems, but he had loved every second of the festival, despite the rivers of mud.
That had been the place where he got his first blowjob off some lanky chick who never gave him her name. It was also where he sampled his first Ecstasy tabs. The Es actually seemed to improve his popularity even further and they also seemed to help his guitar playing too. He never quite got into the writing side; they had Crazy Don for that, but he did get pretty good with that battered old San Miguel Fender of his … until he had to flog it for gear, but that was later.
The Es at Glastonbury had opened the floodgates for him. He had skipped the dope stage when it had first started doing the rounds at school the year before, but after the festival, dope and Es quickly took over from lager. Then, one night in the toilets of a pub on the Bigg Market in Newcastle, two weeks into sixth form, he had sampled his first line of cocaine. He completely fell in love with the stuff; it made him feel more alive than he had ever felt before. It gave him boundless energy and his popularity with the ladies seemed to improve still further too.
By the time December came round, he was snorting lines daily and stealing from family, friends, shops … anyone to buy more of his white heaven. Fighting and disruption in
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