Young Writers Society

Chapter One

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Daine. Joseph Daine, to be exact, but most days I’m just Daine.”

The microphone echoed my voice through the speakers hollowly. I stared out at the crowd before me, sort of wishing I’d made palm cards or something. But this particular audience wasn’t here for the usual prepared speeches. They were here for some honesty. Something I was never very good at, even when I was a little boy, caught stealing cash from my mum’s purse…

“I am a drug addict,” I said.

The present tense always got to me. I am a drug addict, even though I was four months sober, even though I planned to never touch drugs again, I am a drug addict, not was; I always will be an addict.

“And probably an alcoholic,” I went on, gulping. Things I never wanted to admit to myself I was now broadcasting to an audience like a bad TV advertisement. “And probably a problem gambler. And I’ve screwed more women than I can count.”

A chuckle went around some of the men in the audience. It wasn’t as funny as they thought it was, they’d see that one day.

“So that’s me in a nutshell. This is my fourth month of rehab, and I’m about to check out, and for some strange reason, my brilliant-minded counsellor, Mark over there-” Mark gave a small nod from his chair in the audience. “Mark thought I’d be a good person to speak here today. He thought my story would inspire you all or something. But I think I’m better served as a precautionary tale. You don’t want to end up like me. You want to get better and be cured of your addictions before you can become me.”

The audience took on a more sombre vibe. Maybe it was all in my head, but I think that was the moment people started paying attention, just in time for the grand finale of all my confessions.

“Four months ago, I hit the girl I loved. She winded up in hospital with a fractured skull. And me? I winded up in a jail cell.”

And so began the telling of my story.

*

I don’t remember much. Just the flashing lights and the sirens. So much went on that day.

“What’s wrong, Alexis?” I asked gently, wiping the tears from her pale cheeks. “Tell me. Just tell me what to do to take your pain away.”

“Kill my step-dad,” she said with a horrible, twisted smirk, trying to smile through her grimace of misery. She was pretending to just joke, but she was serious. She wanted him dead.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been arrested, but it sure as hell was the worst. I’d never been so ashamed, or so afraid. From my cell, I could hear the cops talking. They were bored, sure. So they were coming up with how long they reckoned I would be sentenced to in prison.

Possession of a Class A narcotic – up to 20 years. That one probably wouldn’t stick; they knew I was high but my pockets were empty and they said they couldn’t find my car. Weird, I had left it idling right next to the scene of the crime. Perhaps a guardian angel had moved it to save my sorry ass.

“Is that him?” I demanded.

Alexis glared at the man in the distance, all that fierceness and anger boiling behind her blue eyes. “Yeah. That’s him.” I immediately sprinted after him; her mouth popped open in surprise.

Two accounts of assault of the second degree – 10 years. If that guy gave a statement against me. If Alexis gave a statement against me.

There was blood all over his face and my fists. He was a limp maggot beneath me, too weak to fight back as I pummelled him. Someone screamed at me to stop. I wasn’t going to stop until he was dead. It was what she wanted.

Attempted murder – 20 years.

Just kill me now. I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life in prison. Then again, I think I’d rather go to prison than face Alexis after what I did.

“Daine! Stop!” Alexis screamed. Why? This was what she wanted. Hands grabbed my arm, tried to drag me away. I spun around, swinging my fists around with me – I just wanted to get rid of the damn hands trying to stop me.

I realised it was her mid-swing. I could’ve stopped. But I didn’t.

Sirens. The world flashed red and blue. There was so much blood on the pavement. So much blood around her head as she lay there limply, eyes closed. Cold handcuffs pinched my wrists.

“Your bail’s been paid,” a voice came.

The real world came rushing back to me all at once, drowning out the memories.

I lifted my gaze from the cold, concrete ground. The cop was unlocking the metal bar door to my cell. Senior Constable Lockley, his name tag said. I hauled myself up, leaving behind the part of me that wanted to stay there because I deserved it, replacing it with the part of me that never wanted to see the inside of a jail cell again. I followed Lockley out to the lobby of the police station, where he returned my personal possessions – a cell phone, a lighter, and my wallet.

“All witnesses refused to give a statement,” Lockley told me in a gruff voice. He grabbed my young arm in his age-spotted, veiny hand, revealing the pin pricks of red on the inside of my elbow. Track marks from needles. From shooting up with meth. “We couldn’t find any drugs. All charges have been dropped. You’re free to go.” He released my arm, then leaned into hiss into my face no louder than a whisper, “Next time, you won’t be so lucky, junkie scum.”

I stepped away before my temper could get the better of me. Honestly, I couldn’t blame him. All the drug addicts, the drunk and disorderly, and the downright criminally insane people he had to deal with on a daily basis to protect the public, and here was me, just put two people in hospital, and I was getting off scotch free. I’d be pissed at me too if I were him. Alexis was just a fifteen-year-old girl, and I was an eighteen-year-old junkie scumbag screwing up her life.

As if reading my thoughts, Lockley added one more thing as he stepped behind the administration desk and shuffled some paperwork. “She said it was a freak accident,” he said, shaking his head in contempt. “I don’t know what you’ve done to have her so wrapped around your little finger.”

Boy, did I owe that girl a lot more than an apology.

Out of the glass doors, I could see Jonathon standing outside, puffing on a cigarette, staring out across the police station parking lot. Of course he’d been the one to pay my bail – who else would have the money? Who else would even care about me enough?

I swallowed hard, trying to muster up some courage. I didn’t have a choice but to face him.

I walked out there, but before I could say a word – before he even looked at me – he was walking towards his car. I tripped after him. He was my best friend, and not a word, not a glance, all I got was the cold breeze coming off his shoulder.

On the long drive home, Jonathon broke the silence at last. “I can’t even begin to explain how disappointed I am in you.”

I’d heard it a million times from my foster parents and teachers, but this time it had a sharper edge, it cut me deeper. “I never meant for her to get hurt.” My eyes traced the cuts and bruises along my fists as they lay limply in my lap. Street lights passed in flashes.

There was a pause before he spoke again - he was trying so hard to stay calm. “We never mean to screw up, but it happens, so don’t try and make it not your fault.”

“It is my fault.” God, my voice sounded so damn emotional. “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

“For almost killing her? Don’t apologize to me for that. Apologize for lying to me, for betraying my trust. I trusted you, Daine. After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me? Letting a teenage girl drive a car while you shoot up? Beating a guy half to death? You hit the girl we’re supposed to be keeping safe!”

There was a long, tension filled silence. Jonathon breathed out his frustrations, and ended his rant on a dejected tone. “She’s… she’s like a daughter to me, Joseph. How could you do that?”

I thought Jonathon couldn’t have said anything worse than what I had already told myself, but there it was. How could you? He’d never asked me that before; not when I started on meth in the first place, not when I ruined his wedding day, not even when I totalled his car and killed someone – he was understanding even then. But there was no understanding this.

How could you?

“I’m sorry,” I croaked.

Jonathon pulled over onto the side of the road. Gravel crunched under the tires. “Get out, Daine.”

I looked around at the dark, lonely stretch of road we were on. “What?”

“Your car is right through those trees - where I put it. Get out. I have to go pick Alexis up from hospital.”

“Can’t I come? I want to see her.”

He shook his head sharply. “You’ll be lucky if you ever get to see her again. Get out before I throw you out.”

I got out and stood on the side of the road, watching his tail lights fade into the distant darkness.