Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Golden
Joe sat mesmerized by the T.V. as he watched Star Wars, every now and then reciting some of the lines and taking out another cigarette from his never ending supply. I played with my charm bracelet, watching him from the kitchen as he lit up, inhaled deeply, and sighed out the smoke with pleasure. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. And as each day went by, I felt more and more like a spectator peering through a window into his life rather than his caretaker.
His parents came to me when Joe was at his worst, when he began using meth and tried making a meth lab in their basement. We had also been dating for a little over six months, and I was completely oblivious to his addiction. I always knew he had done pot, since that's how we met in the first place, but it wasn't up until two weeks ago when his step-mom was on my doorstep, sobbing and telling me that he needed help. They didn't want to check him into a rehab, since they had already tried that before we had met, and he just relapsed. Also he threatened to leave the state if they did again. So rehab was completely out of the question.
That's where I came in and took him under my wing. I needed the experience since I was taking classes for psychology and I thought it would be easier than having to drive to the other side of Chicago every other day to care for a little girl with Tourette's syndrome. Boy was I wrong.
I took the position, and as soon as Joe moved in, our relationship ended, and I was often referred to as 'the girl who looks after me'. And that seemed to replace any previous nickname I had received.
I was heartbroken, but his health was my top priority now.
"Joe," I called from the kitchen, grabbing the keys and checking my watch. He didn't respond, I didn't really expect him to.
I walked into the living and called for him again. He glanced up at me, but continued watching as Luke started to fight with Darth Vader, his eyes lighting up each time their light sabers would touch and make the electric clang noise.
"It's almost over, just wait."
I glanced at my watch. We were supposed to be at his family's house twenty minutes ago. Sighing, took a seat next to him, swirling the keys around my index finger.
"Joe, we really have to go..."
"This is my favorite part, hold on," he interrupted, holding a hand in my face. I rolled my eyes. He turned to me and bowed his head so his eyes could look up at me, as if he was evil, then in an almost identical voice he recited the famous line, "Luke, I am your father!"
I giggled at his subtle lisp, something about him that didn't change. He slid off the couch and kneeled over to the video cassette and ejected the movie, then stood up, dusting his shirt off from ashes from the cigarettes.
"Why do we have to go to their house for?" I stood up and checked my watch again. We were already thirty minutes late.
"Because they're your parents," I pushed him gently to the front door, I cringed, feeling his backbone through his shirt, "and they care for you."
"Psh, now that was a good one."
"Joe, we really have no time for this," I went ahead of him and waited for him to exit on the porch. "We're already late."
"I'm going, I'm going. I just see no point."
He shielded his azure blue eyes from the late afternoon sun.
"Jesus, it's bright out here," he grabbed the railing of the steps and carefully walked down them as I locked the door to the house.
"Just get in the car Joe."
----------
Most of the car ride was silent until we turned into a very rich suburban neighborhood that was lit up by streetlights every half a block. Joe looked away from the window and his gaze was now in his lap as we approached his parent's house.
"Are you okay?" I whispered as I maneuvered the car between two cars parallel parked on the side of the road.
"No." I looked down at his lap where his hands rested. They were shaking. I reached over and placed my hand over his left hand, but he quickly snatched it away. "I'll be fine though," he assured, but I could hint his insecurity in his voice.
"Okay," I replied simply as I turned off the car and stepped out, as did he.
Together we walked up a stone pathway that led to an old Victorian house. He stuck his shaking hands into his pockets as I rang the doorbell which echoed through the big house. I bit my lip, watching him shift his weight from one side to another.
A few moments later, we were greeted by his step-mom with a welcoming hug. She was a petite woman, with perfect dark curled hair and dark eyes to match. She was wearing a knee length floral printed dress, not the kind that's tacky and worn by plus sized women when they attend church on Sunday mornings, but a simple, fashionable way, with an apron tied around her waist. Secretly, I hoped to look like her when I aged.
"Fashionably late, as always," she said cheerfully, letting me go and giving Joe another hug. I wasn't if I should take it as a joke, but I smiled anyways.
"You know how suburban traffic is Mrs. Trohman," I said. Joe nodded.
"It's crazy out there," he lied. She smiled wider and grabbed Joe from the shoulders.
She squeezed Joe tightly, and he his eyes darted daggers at me. I was going to receive at least five more stares like that tonight. He still shook slightly as she let him go, and he stuck his hands back into his pockets. I eyed them, watching his hand slowly curl, as if he was grabbing something. I took note as his step mother led us inside and towards the dining room.
"You showed!"
It was the shock of the centaury, that's how it felt anyways.
His dad set down his fork and stood up, greeted us.
"Better late than never I always say," he let out a low bellowing laugh. I smiled sheepishly as he shook my hand and patted Joe on the back. "How you doing son?"
"Great," he mumbled, taking a seat next to his step-sister, who scooted away from him as soon as he did.
His dad pulled out a chair across Joe for me and pushed it in, gentlemen like, and then did so for his wife, before taking a seat at the head of the table.
"Help yourselves kids," Mrs. Trohman offered, passing mashed potatoes towards my way.
"Thank you for inviting us," I said as I pashed the bowl to Joe, which he set down beside him and took a huge scoop of it and splattering it onto his plate. I forked myself part of a cut piece of the pot roast and placed it onto my plate.
"Oh, it's our pleasure," she said, waving her hand at me. "We were curious on how our boy was doing."
Joe huffed, and I kicked him under the table. He looked up from his plate and sent another glare. Two times tonight already.
"He's been doing great lately. His therapist says he's improving," I lied, as I took a piece of pot roast into my mouth. He was far from improvement and I have never talked to his therapist since we began this. "We're all so proud of him." I glanced over at Joe who swirled his potatoes around with his fork, then over to his little step-sister, Jessica. She eyed him, horrified at his presence. "Hi Jess," I said.
"Hi," she said, seeming like she was relieved I took her attention away from her skeleton looking step-brother. "Has Joseph stopped snorting coke now?"
Mrs. Trohman dropped her fork on her plate, as Mr. Trohman choked on his red wine, and I held my fork in my mouth, forgetting to chew, and just swallowing the piece of meat. I glanced over at Joe again, who patted his fro-like hair and sat back in his chair. He seemed totally un-phased with the question.
"Jessica Ann!" Mrs. Trohman exclaimed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "What kind of talk is that?"
She shrugged. "Everyone knows he does Ma," she looked at him in disgust, and he sneered at her. "Look at him! He looks worse than before."
I slowly took the fork from my mouth as I felt my insides start to churn from embarrassment. She was right. A little thirteen year old girl could show the obvious.
"Jessica Ann," Mr. Trohman said lowly, "go to your room right now."
She let out a loud "ugh", and stormed her way out of the dining room.
An awkward silence followed until a door slam echoed from upstairs.
"I am so sorry about that Madeline," she apologized, placing a hand on my shoulder. "She's just been really upset about Joseph."
I nodded, still in shock of the little girls statements. It was my turn to start playing with my food.
"Joe looks a lot better now," Mr. Trohman said, taking a sip of his wine again. He was lying.
"Yes, he," Mrs. Trohman's eyes traveled over to him, and she stopped as her lip started to quiver. I could hear her heart break, or maybe it was mine. "is," she choked out, and burst into tears. Mr. Trohman immediately wet over to her assistance, helping his wife up and leading her away from the room.
"Excuse us," Mrs. Trohman sobbed, dabbing her eyes with a napkin and they disappeared.
I pushed back on the chair, the dark wood squealing against the tile and threw my napkin in his face that hadn't changed from the first time he arrived.
"I can't believe you!" My voice was harsh, but muffled. Mrs. Trohman's cries could still be heard as Mr. Trohman's deep voice tried to sooth her.
"I told you I didn't want to come," he said, standing up and putting his hands back into his pockets, gripping something again.
"What's in your pocket?" He quickly took his hands out and placed them over his pockets instead.
"Nothing." He was lying. I moved around the table, but he backed away.
"Give me what's ever in your pocket Joseph." I held my hand out, but he shook his head.
"Don't call me like you're one of my parents, Madeline."
I began to count backwards from ten, still holding my hand out, before asking again, still calm.
"Please, hand me what's in your pocket Joe."
"No."
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Inhale. Exhale. Four. Three. Two.
The door swung open and Mr. Trohman stood in the doorway, his big frame almost filling it. His eyes were glazed over, but his voice was stern.
"I think it's best if you leave for tonight."
I nodded, holding back my own tears. Joe stuck his hands back into his pockets, as I cupped my hand around his elbow tightly and led him out. Mr. Trohman held the door open and I put Joe before me so I could apologize quickly and leave.
"I'm so..."
"It's alright Maddie," he mumbled. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. I turned back and looked at him. "Just, don't give up on him."
I nodded. "I won't"
He forced a smile and shut the door.
"Well that wasn't as bad as I thought," Joe said sarcastically, heading towards the car. I let it brush past me, still wanting whatever was in his pocket.
"What's in your pocket Joe?" I asked again.
"Nothing." He took a seat in the car. I quickly opened the passengers door and pointed to his pocket.
"Please give me what is in your pocket, Joe," my tone was stern and I could feel the impatient tingle in my throat. "I will get it, even if you're not going to hand it over."
Joe sighed, and looked up at the ceiling digging his into his left pocket, grumbling insults. Slowly he pulled out a plastic bag of a gram of white powder.
Cocaine.
I snatched it out of his hands, and opened it, dumping it into the grass. He gasped, and fell onto the grass, rubbing his hands over it.
"No, no, no, NO!" He yelled.
I shoved the empty bag into my pocket then placed my hand over my eyes, hiding my embarrassment.
"Get in the car Joe."
"I hate you, you dumb bitch."
I didn't even bother to look at him. I already knew he was mentally ripping me apart with his azure eyes. The car door slammed and I took my hand away from my eyes, walking behind the car, so I wouldn't have to feel his glare as I went over to the driver's seat. I opened the door and peered over to his side. His body shook violently as he clenched his fists but continued to stare forward. His face was pale and beads of sweat formed at his hairline.
First signs of withdrawal. I was in for an interesting rest of the week.
The bad kind of interesting.
His parents came to me when Joe was at his worst, when he began using meth and tried making a meth lab in their basement. We had also been dating for a little over six months, and I was completely oblivious to his addiction. I always knew he had done pot, since that's how we met in the first place, but it wasn't up until two weeks ago when his step-mom was on my doorstep, sobbing and telling me that he needed help. They didn't want to check him into a rehab, since they had already tried that before we had met, and he just relapsed. Also he threatened to leave the state if they did again. So rehab was completely out of the question.
That's where I came in and took him under my wing. I needed the experience since I was taking classes for psychology and I thought it would be easier than having to drive to the other side of Chicago every other day to care for a little girl with Tourette's syndrome. Boy was I wrong.
I took the position, and as soon as Joe moved in, our relationship ended, and I was often referred to as 'the girl who looks after me'. And that seemed to replace any previous nickname I had received.
I was heartbroken, but his health was my top priority now.
"Joe," I called from the kitchen, grabbing the keys and checking my watch. He didn't respond, I didn't really expect him to.
I walked into the living and called for him again. He glanced up at me, but continued watching as Luke started to fight with Darth Vader, his eyes lighting up each time their light sabers would touch and make the electric clang noise.
"It's almost over, just wait."
I glanced at my watch. We were supposed to be at his family's house twenty minutes ago. Sighing, took a seat next to him, swirling the keys around my index finger.
"Joe, we really have to go..."
"This is my favorite part, hold on," he interrupted, holding a hand in my face. I rolled my eyes. He turned to me and bowed his head so his eyes could look up at me, as if he was evil, then in an almost identical voice he recited the famous line, "Luke, I am your father!"
I giggled at his subtle lisp, something about him that didn't change. He slid off the couch and kneeled over to the video cassette and ejected the movie, then stood up, dusting his shirt off from ashes from the cigarettes.
"Why do we have to go to their house for?" I stood up and checked my watch again. We were already thirty minutes late.
"Because they're your parents," I pushed him gently to the front door, I cringed, feeling his backbone through his shirt, "and they care for you."
"Psh, now that was a good one."
"Joe, we really have no time for this," I went ahead of him and waited for him to exit on the porch. "We're already late."
"I'm going, I'm going. I just see no point."
He shielded his azure blue eyes from the late afternoon sun.
"Jesus, it's bright out here," he grabbed the railing of the steps and carefully walked down them as I locked the door to the house.
"Just get in the car Joe."
----------
Most of the car ride was silent until we turned into a very rich suburban neighborhood that was lit up by streetlights every half a block. Joe looked away from the window and his gaze was now in his lap as we approached his parent's house.
"Are you okay?" I whispered as I maneuvered the car between two cars parallel parked on the side of the road.
"No." I looked down at his lap where his hands rested. They were shaking. I reached over and placed my hand over his left hand, but he quickly snatched it away. "I'll be fine though," he assured, but I could hint his insecurity in his voice.
"Okay," I replied simply as I turned off the car and stepped out, as did he.
Together we walked up a stone pathway that led to an old Victorian house. He stuck his shaking hands into his pockets as I rang the doorbell which echoed through the big house. I bit my lip, watching him shift his weight from one side to another.
A few moments later, we were greeted by his step-mom with a welcoming hug. She was a petite woman, with perfect dark curled hair and dark eyes to match. She was wearing a knee length floral printed dress, not the kind that's tacky and worn by plus sized women when they attend church on Sunday mornings, but a simple, fashionable way, with an apron tied around her waist. Secretly, I hoped to look like her when I aged.
"Fashionably late, as always," she said cheerfully, letting me go and giving Joe another hug. I wasn't if I should take it as a joke, but I smiled anyways.
"You know how suburban traffic is Mrs. Trohman," I said. Joe nodded.
"It's crazy out there," he lied. She smiled wider and grabbed Joe from the shoulders.
She squeezed Joe tightly, and he his eyes darted daggers at me. I was going to receive at least five more stares like that tonight. He still shook slightly as she let him go, and he stuck his hands back into his pockets. I eyed them, watching his hand slowly curl, as if he was grabbing something. I took note as his step mother led us inside and towards the dining room.
"You showed!"
It was the shock of the centaury, that's how it felt anyways.
His dad set down his fork and stood up, greeted us.
"Better late than never I always say," he let out a low bellowing laugh. I smiled sheepishly as he shook my hand and patted Joe on the back. "How you doing son?"
"Great," he mumbled, taking a seat next to his step-sister, who scooted away from him as soon as he did.
His dad pulled out a chair across Joe for me and pushed it in, gentlemen like, and then did so for his wife, before taking a seat at the head of the table.
"Help yourselves kids," Mrs. Trohman offered, passing mashed potatoes towards my way.
"Thank you for inviting us," I said as I pashed the bowl to Joe, which he set down beside him and took a huge scoop of it and splattering it onto his plate. I forked myself part of a cut piece of the pot roast and placed it onto my plate.
"Oh, it's our pleasure," she said, waving her hand at me. "We were curious on how our boy was doing."
Joe huffed, and I kicked him under the table. He looked up from his plate and sent another glare. Two times tonight already.
"He's been doing great lately. His therapist says he's improving," I lied, as I took a piece of pot roast into my mouth. He was far from improvement and I have never talked to his therapist since we began this. "We're all so proud of him." I glanced over at Joe who swirled his potatoes around with his fork, then over to his little step-sister, Jessica. She eyed him, horrified at his presence. "Hi Jess," I said.
"Hi," she said, seeming like she was relieved I took her attention away from her skeleton looking step-brother. "Has Joseph stopped snorting coke now?"
Mrs. Trohman dropped her fork on her plate, as Mr. Trohman choked on his red wine, and I held my fork in my mouth, forgetting to chew, and just swallowing the piece of meat. I glanced over at Joe again, who patted his fro-like hair and sat back in his chair. He seemed totally un-phased with the question.
"Jessica Ann!" Mrs. Trohman exclaimed, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "What kind of talk is that?"
She shrugged. "Everyone knows he does Ma," she looked at him in disgust, and he sneered at her. "Look at him! He looks worse than before."
I slowly took the fork from my mouth as I felt my insides start to churn from embarrassment. She was right. A little thirteen year old girl could show the obvious.
"Jessica Ann," Mr. Trohman said lowly, "go to your room right now."
She let out a loud "ugh", and stormed her way out of the dining room.
An awkward silence followed until a door slam echoed from upstairs.
"I am so sorry about that Madeline," she apologized, placing a hand on my shoulder. "She's just been really upset about Joseph."
I nodded, still in shock of the little girls statements. It was my turn to start playing with my food.
"Joe looks a lot better now," Mr. Trohman said, taking a sip of his wine again. He was lying.
"Yes, he," Mrs. Trohman's eyes traveled over to him, and she stopped as her lip started to quiver. I could hear her heart break, or maybe it was mine. "is," she choked out, and burst into tears. Mr. Trohman immediately wet over to her assistance, helping his wife up and leading her away from the room.
"Excuse us," Mrs. Trohman sobbed, dabbing her eyes with a napkin and they disappeared.
I pushed back on the chair, the dark wood squealing against the tile and threw my napkin in his face that hadn't changed from the first time he arrived.
"I can't believe you!" My voice was harsh, but muffled. Mrs. Trohman's cries could still be heard as Mr. Trohman's deep voice tried to sooth her.
"I told you I didn't want to come," he said, standing up and putting his hands back into his pockets, gripping something again.
"What's in your pocket?" He quickly took his hands out and placed them over his pockets instead.
"Nothing." He was lying. I moved around the table, but he backed away.
"Give me what's ever in your pocket Joseph." I held my hand out, but he shook his head.
"Don't call me like you're one of my parents, Madeline."
I began to count backwards from ten, still holding my hand out, before asking again, still calm.
"Please, hand me what's in your pocket Joe."
"No."
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Inhale. Exhale. Four. Three. Two.
The door swung open and Mr. Trohman stood in the doorway, his big frame almost filling it. His eyes were glazed over, but his voice was stern.
"I think it's best if you leave for tonight."
I nodded, holding back my own tears. Joe stuck his hands back into his pockets, as I cupped my hand around his elbow tightly and led him out. Mr. Trohman held the door open and I put Joe before me so I could apologize quickly and leave.
"I'm so..."
"It's alright Maddie," he mumbled. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my wrist. I turned back and looked at him. "Just, don't give up on him."
I nodded. "I won't"
He forced a smile and shut the door.
"Well that wasn't as bad as I thought," Joe said sarcastically, heading towards the car. I let it brush past me, still wanting whatever was in his pocket.
"What's in your pocket Joe?" I asked again.
"Nothing." He took a seat in the car. I quickly opened the passengers door and pointed to his pocket.
"Please give me what is in your pocket, Joe," my tone was stern and I could feel the impatient tingle in my throat. "I will get it, even if you're not going to hand it over."
Joe sighed, and looked up at the ceiling digging his into his left pocket, grumbling insults. Slowly he pulled out a plastic bag of a gram of white powder.
Cocaine.
I snatched it out of his hands, and opened it, dumping it into the grass. He gasped, and fell onto the grass, rubbing his hands over it.
"No, no, no, NO!" He yelled.
I shoved the empty bag into my pocket then placed my hand over my eyes, hiding my embarrassment.
"Get in the car Joe."
"I hate you, you dumb bitch."
I didn't even bother to look at him. I already knew he was mentally ripping me apart with his azure eyes. The car door slammed and I took my hand away from my eyes, walking behind the car, so I wouldn't have to feel his glare as I went over to the driver's seat. I opened the door and peered over to his side. His body shook violently as he clenched his fists but continued to stare forward. His face was pale and beads of sweat formed at his hairline.
First signs of withdrawal. I was in for an interesting rest of the week.
The bad kind of interesting.
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