Seb’s Summer by K.C. Wells

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

August 2

Marcus figured he’d had about two hours’ sleep the whole night, which wasn’t surprising given the circumstances. His inner turmoil only reaffirmed what he already knew. If Seb hadn’t mattered, if he wasn’t important, Marcus wouldn’t have been such a mess. He would have simply walked away.

But I can’t do that. Not now.

Sunlight poured through the windows, accompanied by birdsong. It was too early for the kids to be awake, so Marcus lay in his narrow bed, enjoying the peace—and wishing Seb was in his arms.

Ashley wouldn’t be happy about that. The kids would have too many questions.

When his phone vibrated, Marcus snatched it up from the floor beside the bed and peered at the screen.

It was Seb. Can we talk?

Fuck. Those three words were enough to quicken both his heartbeat and his breathing. He clicked Call. “Hey. You’re up early for a Sunday.”

“Yeah, well… Sleep wasn’t happening, so…”

Marcus could hear the fatigue in Seb’s voice. “I hear ya. Same here.” He paused. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

Be honest. You weren’t sure if you’d hear from him at all.

“I read your article,” Seb blurted out.

Okay, he hadn’t expected that, although maybe he should, if Seb had gone digging like he’d suggested.

“Marcus?”

“I’m still here. You took me by surprise.” So? What did you think?

“I want to know more.”

And there went Marcus’s heart rate again. “Okay,” he said in a cautious tone.

“In the article, you wrote about the reasons why people take drugs. Well… I want to know your reasons. How you started on this path. You say you’re not on it now—I want to know why.”

It wasn’t the first time Marcus had been confronted with such a request, and he’d learned from the experience. “When I’m up and dressed, and I’ve had at least one cup of coffee, I’ll be over there. I’m not going to stay,” he added quickly. “But I will leave something with you that will hopefully answer all your questions.”

“You can’t do that in person?”

“You have to trust me on this. I’ve been down this road before, and it really is the best way.” The last time he’d tried to have this conversation, there had been a barrage of interruptions, resulting in confusion and frustration. “If you still have questions after you’ve read it, then fine, I’ll answer them.” But hopefully he wouldn’t need to.

Crickets.

“Seb? If… if that’s not okay, I’ll—”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you when you get here.” Seb fell silent, and Marcus’s heart pounded. Then Seb sighed. “You gave me a lot to think about, stuff I hadn’t considered. And you were right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“I thought I knew the whole story. Turns out I didn’t. Dr. Hart’s site was an eye-opener.”

The tightness around Marcus’s chest eased a little, and he shuddered out a breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Following my advice. You didn’t have to go look.”

“Yeah, I did. Because you were right about something else too.” Another pause. “You and me… we could have a future. Not sure how that future would look, the logistics of it, but yeah, the possibility is there—and I don’t wanna walk away from that.”

Marcus sent up a silent prayer of thanks. “Me neither. Now let me get some coffee down my neck, so I can get my brain in gear.”

Seb chuckled. “Go caffeinate. I’ll be here.” Then he disconnected.

Marcus lurched across the room to the table where his laptop and bag sat. He delved into it, searching for a USB drive. When he found one, he turned on the laptop and began downloading the document.

It didn’t matter if the book wasn’t polished or edited. It could tell Seb everything he’d need to know.

And then we can talk.

 

 

Seb opened the door as soon as he heard the car pull up outside. One look at Marcus’s drawn face told him plenty.

Looks like we both had a rough night.

Marcus approached him with far more caution than Seb expected. “Hey.”

Seb nodded. “Do you want to come in for coffee? I just made some.”

“You know what? I’ll pass.” Marcus reached into his jeans pocket and removed a small object. He held it out to Seb. “Here. You can plug this into your laptop. There’s only one file on it.”

Seb had already surmised what Marcus was bringing. “This is your book, isn’t it?”

Marcus nodded. “There’s a lot of stuff that will bore the pants off you—stuff you’ve probably already found on Carl Hart’s site. The parts you need to read are the autobiographical bits. I highlighted them in the index.” He placed the USB drive into Seb’s outstretched hand, his fingers brushing Seb’s palm. “Read it all, read as much as you feel like—but when you think you’ve read enough, call me, and then we’ll talk.”

Seb nodded. “Sure.” He cocked his head to one side. “Are you okay?”

Marcus’s laughter had a bitter edge to it. “Not really. I’ve spent the past four months getting myself into a better place, both physically and mentally, and it feels like the last eighteen or so hours sent me back to square one again.” He held up his hands. “I know that’s an exaggeration, but it’s how I feel right now.” Marcus inclined his head toward the USB. “Happy reading.”

“Thanks.” Seb yearned to hug him, but the distance Marcus maintained between them quelled that impulse.

Marcus nodded and headed back to his car.

“Hey, Marcus,” Seb called out as he opened the car door. He waited till Marcus was looking his way, and smiled. “Good to see you.”

“You too.” Marcus’s weary smile made Seb’s heart ache. “Hey. Remember how you asked me if I’d ever peeked into a guy’s nightstand drawer, and I told you to be careful, because you might find something you don’t expect?” Seb nodded, and Marcus smiled. “Well, that’s how all this began—with a drawer.”  Then he got into the car and drove away from the house.

Seb went inside and closed the door. He poured himself a cup of coffee, got comfy on the couch, and fired up the laptop, his mouth dry, a tingling in his chest.

Let’s see what we’ve got here.

The preface was direct.

 

You don’t have to take everything I write in here as gospel.

You have the right to believe whatever you want.

But…

If you’re going to engage me in conversation about some of the things I’ve written here, make sure you abide by the rules of evidence.

 

There were six or seven highlighted chapters, so Seb went to the first of these.

 

I know it sounds odd. How can a gay guy reach the age of forty-three and not have taken any drugs? And by drugs, I’m talking about the ones prevalent in gay culture—coke, Ketamine, E, GHB, and meth. (Those last three are MDMA, Gamma Hydroxybutyrate and methamphetamine, if you want to be really technical)

I know plenty of men who do partake, of course, but that wasn’t me.

Until the night I met Drake.

I’d gone to a club in search of release. Work had been a bitch, and I was all kinds of tense. A hot hookup would cure my ills, and the moment I laid eyes on Drake, I knew we’d end up in the sack at some point. He was younger than me, with a body that would make any man drool. And when he casually dropped into conversation that his roommates were away for the weekend, it was a done deal.

Once we were in his room, we quickly established we were both on PrEP, and within weeks of our latest test. Then the clothes came off, and he directed me to his nightstand drawer to retrieve the lube. Except when I opened it, there was something else in there, and curiosity got the better of me.

“What is that?” There was a small blue plastic bottle containing a colorless liquid, and an equally small plastic bag filled with a whitish granular substance.

Drake smiled. “You don’t do G or meth?”

“No. I’ve heard of them.” Who hasn’t? And peering at them was as far as I was willing to go. I was too skittish at that point to even consider touching them.

Drake cocked his head. “Would you mind if I did?”

“Why do you take them? What’s the draw?” I’d been curious for a while.

“G lowers your inhibitions.” He grinned. “Makes you super horny. But then, so does meth. I take ’em together.”

“Why, if they both produce the same effect?”

“One counteracts the less desirable side effects of the other. G is a depressor, and meth is a stimulant that works against it.”

I picked up the bottle. “I have been curious about this.” I glanced at him. “Can we?”

Drake held up both hands. “Hey, I don’t wanna be the one to get you into this. We don’t need it. We can just fuck.”

Except now I was seriously contemplating trying it.

“Or we could fuck and do G,” I suggested.

Drake sighed. “Look, I like you, okay? You’re here, we’re naked… I don’t wanna overdo it, all right?”

“Are you afraid this will screw things up?”

Drake sat on the bed, pulling me down next to him. “Here’s the thing you need to realize. Your attitude toward the drug is everything. You think it’ll screw it up? Guess what? It’ll screw things up. You think it’ll give you a good time, and enhance shit? Then that’s what it’ll do.”

I knew in that moment I was going to try it. What Drake was offering was the opportunity to try it in a controlled, safe environment.

“Let’s do it.”

 

Seb hadn’t expected that first step to be so… simple. He liked that Drake hadn’t done a hard sell on Marcus: if anything, he’d been reluctant to let him dip his toes.

He skimmed through the rest of the first chapter, until a line caught his eye, and he stopped to read more.

 

I have never bought G or meth. I have never consciously sought them out.

But…

If I hooked up with a guy who had them, I used them. Suddenly it felt as though more and more of the guys I hooked up with were users.

I never injected. I wasn’t into slamming. I expected to crave the drugs, and when I didn’t, I’ll admit, I was confused.

Despite Drake’s assurance that my attitude would color my experience, I’d gone into it with no small amount of trepidation. I knew meth’s reputation for being addictive, after all. And as time went by, I learned a lot about both drugs.

In a nutshell…

As much as we hear over and over that someone died of a meth overdose, though, this is almost never the case; the amount that would have to be taken… well, the person would be vilely ill well before that stage is arrived at.

I’m going to repeat that.

Nobody dies of meth overdose.

GHB, however, which we gay men wink at all the time, is the real killer. Meth ruins lives, but it doesn’t really kill. I’ve seen guys who had been functional occasional users for quite some while, for whatever reason suddenly get sucked down the slippery slope into full overuse. And yes, between the lack of sleep, the sexual obsession it can cause, the potential paranoia, the possible psychosis, the neglect of one’s body and hygiene that can result… As you can imagine, yes, this drug can fuck up a person’s life monstrously.

So what did I learn?

It’s hard to categorize G, as it’s a chemical that’s in our bodies anyway, related to neurotransmitter and dopamine production. There’s a sense of euphoria and a relaxing of inhibitions. It aggrandizes senses, makes music or bodily contact mean so much more, and the sense of sexual arousal is strong.

When you take it, your sense of time is altered, and you have to be very careful about not having too much in your system. Timing subsequent doses is vital. I saw house parties where cooking timers were set, and at ninety minutes when the bell dinged, someone said, “G o’clock!” and the next dose was prepared. At such parties where someone was being particularly cognizant, everyone took their dose together so nobody got confused. However, under the influence and without a timer, it got beyond easy to believe that the high from the previous dose had run its course and you were ready for another far too soon.

G is a deeply dangerous drug on a few levels. One, it’s seriously mercurial: the same dose from the same batch on two different days can have wildly different effects. One day it gets you high, and the next, it misses the target.

DO NOT MIX G AND ALCOHOL.

Use of poppers while on G should also be discouraged. G by itself may lower blood pressure a bit; this is why a bit too much G in the system causes a “G out”; the person goes limp and essentially falls asleep. If this happens in a club, the guy needs to be made to move, needs to be made to keep his circulation up. He needs to be given fluid, and he must not be allowed to rest. Most often he’ll be fine, but if security sees him, they will probably ask him and anyone with him to leave, and they may insist on calling medical attention for him. However, especially in combination with alcohol, this blood pressure drop may prove fatal.

 

Oh my God.

In one paragraph, Marcus had hit upon the circumstances of Justin’s death. Did his friends know what to do in case of a “G out”? Because to Seb’s new way of thinking, responsible drug use implied knowledge of how to deal with its consequences. Then he realized how far he’d come, because up till then, he hadn’t known there was such a thing as responsible drug use.

He read a few lines down from that, and stilled.

 

G is highly addictive, and although you have to take fairly substantial quantities for quite some time to arrive at this point, it can have some vile, deeply unpleasant withdrawal symptoms.

And as for meth…

A lot of the guys who took it experienced euphoric highs, but there were others who simply became focused and clear-thinking while taking it. I was in the latter camp. Intrigued by this difference, I did some research.

It’s instructive to think of methamphetamine as being a kissing cousin to amphetamine, which is the Adderall some of my friends take for ADHD. They are essentially the same substance.

However…

There is an aspect of meth which affects brain chemistry specifically related to how memories are formed and retained; by causing or facilitating a recurrence of the same memory over and over, and by loosening the constraints that keep memories from changing over time, meth allows a heavy user to rework memories and thoughts, detaching from reality. In theinstances where this does happen, much of the time the person just gets confused when memory and reality fail to match later on. Frequently, the recurrence of the faulty memory amplifies itself; catching a glimpse from the corner of your eye of what looked like eyes peeking in a window can, a few days later, become an absolute certainty that the neighbors or the CIA are spying on you. The fact that the window is four stories off the ground is immaterial…

I was never a heavy user, but I hooked up with a few guys who were, and time after time, I got to experience their paranoia at first hand.

What surprised the hell out of me was that meth really has no chemically addictive properties. Why, then, was it so hard for so many to set aside?

With a little research, I had my answer.

Meth allows the user to reprogram his own thinking so that he absolutely believes that he needs the drug—the psychological addictiveness of meth is what screws up so many. Couple that with this drug having a huge sexual aspect for most—horniness can be almost unmanageable, although the degree of stimulant will prevent a hard-on from even having a chance of forming for most guys—and this drug has become associated with sex to the point that many guys believe they are unable to have sex without it.

And that was the trap into which I plummeted.

 

Seb’s heart hammered. Oh, Marcus.

 

I found myself caught up in an endless cycle. As my work-related stress levels increased, I sought relief in more and more sexual encounters, with more and more partners who took chemicals to enhance their experience—and who shared these chemicals with me.

Ultimately, that affected my work, which increased my stress, which made me seek relief through sex… On and on it went. Now and then, I’d hook up with a guy who didn’t use, and while the sex brought relief, it didn’t feel as… enhanced, which in turn sank me into depression. To combat this, I went back to hooking up with guys who used. It got to the point where I was having a hard time conceptualizing having sex without drugs.

I tried to stop, but telling myself I wouldn’t partake while remaining in that same environment was a nonstarter. The cycle needed to be broken.

 

Seb set the laptop on the coffee table, then sagged against the cushions.

Well, now I know why Marcus left New York.

It left Seb with a few unanswered questions, however—and a lot of remorse.

He grabbed his phone and composed a short text.

Come on over. We need to talk. And I need to apologize.