(No)rth Star

Aidu swayed slightly as he walked towards the fridge, catching himself and laughing giddily. Grabbing the bottle opener from the drawer; always keep things where you find them, he opened the fridge to the welcome sight of multiple large unopened bottles of his favorite brand of beer. He knew they'd be there, but like leftover pizza. Grabbing the closest one, he stumbled back to the single cream colored cushion on the beautiful wooden floor in the middle of his extremely large living room - a king, presiding over an audience of one.

He adjusted once, twice, making sure there was no gap between the teeth of the opener and the only thing standing in the way of merciful relief. Applying a practiced pressure, he heard the hiss of the gas in the bottle, seemingly rushing to inform the world of the pitiful creature in the room. The cap was placed carefully to the side, the tail end of a neat line of metallic regret, the bottle raised and lowered - over and over and over.

He sat there, one foot outstretched, in a t-shirt that would never reflect any light into another persons eyes. The boxes of pizza had piled up again, as had the bottles of beer. He hated when that happened, and yet, like clockwork it always did. The half smoked joint sat in the case, a gift from JD. 'From Amsterdam' he'd said, hungover and tired but smiling. That had been a great night. Aidu missed him intensely on occasion, especially when he was high, or drunk or maybe both. Or maybe he missed the way they danced and hugged after taking the drugs JD was so generously happy to dispense. Or maybe he just missed having friends.

He always tried to remember how long it had been since he'd talked to anyone other than a colleague. Saturday. No wait Friday? He tried hard to concentrate. 'Monday. Didn't do anything this weekend--’ his internal monologue was cut off by the sound of the phone ringing.

Goddamn it. He always kept his phone on silent for this reason. He hated actively ignoring his mum, and yet he knew picking up that phone meant killing the perfect buzz that he'd worked so precisely to achieve. 'Hello?' he said assuredly, providing the caller no inkling of his current inebriation. 'We have jobs in Hong Kong for sales, software -' Aidu had cut the phone and started laughing.

He laughed so much it hurt, the robotic AI voice at the other end had completely broken him. He felt the muscles in his abdomen clench harder and harder, his body was begging him to stop but his brain was holding on for dear life to the happy chemicals currently flooding it. Unfortunately for his brain it was fighting a losing battle. It had been months since he'd last made his body work this hard and there really wasn't much of a contest to be had. As soon as he released the tightness in his abdomen, and the sound of his laughter disappeared he felt the tears coming. He rested his head on the couch behind him, and wailed. He sobbed, like a child left to its own means, receiving its first glimpse of the cruelty behind the indifference of the universe.

The emptiness of the room, the slight bitterness in his throat, the smell of fast food chain pizza, the sound of the cars whizzing past, the way the fabric of his t-shirt loosely clung to the new curves around his hips, and the injustice of the supposed inevitability of his existence; he hated it all. More than anything, he hated his mother.

As he allowed himself a moment of relief; due in part to the anger, he felt the alcohol settling in - finding a cozy spot in his central nervous system and singing sweet lullabies to his neurons. His head was swimming, his brain dragging him by the cuff to places whether he wanted to be there or not. And then he saw him.

For a man who had defined so much of Aidu's life, it was frankly embarrassing how little he knew about him. Aidu didn't even know how old he was when he'd had the memory. All he had to remember him by was the silhouette of a man, sporting a leather jacket - lit up solely by the glow of cigarette. No facial features, his face being turned away had guaranteed that. He did however remember the kind of tension the man had carried along with him. Like a cloak hanging over him, a permanent fixture in his outfit, with him any place he went. The air in Aidu's memory of that moment buzzed with animosity, unspoken secrets, guilt, shame, and anger.

He was stuck now, the tidal wave Aidu had been trying to avoid was here now and he knew this was one he couldn't hope to ride. So he did the only thing he could. He inhaled deeply before plunging his head underwater.