Managing

It wasn’t because Sirius enjoyed being high. Or, well, he did, but it was not the driving force for him. It was more the self-hatred, deeply imbedded in him from childhood and the creeping, suffocating panic of his livelihood that made him seek relief. Adding to the fact that Sirius absolutely loathed self-pity made the internal struggle everlasting and exhausting.

As he leant back, he could feel the cool dark tiles of the public bathroom against his back. He combed through his hair with shaking fingers and released a breath.
As he stood up, he saw his own reflection in the dirty mirror. Giving him a dark, judging look, almost resembling his little brother. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles. His long and curly raven-black hair an absolute tangled mess. He sighed at himself. At his situation. In the background he could hear faint music coming from the club. With a mixed feeling of necessity, like someone else was forcing his hand, and an embarrassing eagerness, he retrieved a small bag from his back pocket. He bended over, arranged a fine line at the sink and snorted. He winced briefly at the stinging sensation, as the powder entered his nostrils. He felt disgusting and weak, even more so when he thought back at the months spent in rehab. It had been a whole damn intervention, and Sirius had reluctantly given in when he realized his bandmates’ distress. He will admit that it helped, but it was not enough. Nothing was. At least not when the worlds eyes were fixed on him, the record label pushing for new music and a cursed family name which refused him any form of harmless publicity.

Sobriety was somewhat easy when he was in solitude. Nothing seemed to threaten him there.

But now everything was dangerous. Others’ expectations of him, which he always claimed not to care for, and his own being actively working against him. The lack of stability and no privacy. Truth be told, using was a coping mechanism. An expensive, destructive, and humiliating one, but still effective. If Sirius was to function in this lifestyle, using was what it took to make that happen. It wasn’t like an everyday thing. He was in control, for now. It helped release built up tension and even loneliness every now and then. It was better than releasing his inner chaos for all to see. Using was his brick wall and he’d be damned if anything slipped through the cracks.

Sirius finally mustered up the will to leave the bathroom, and as he turned, a strong, familiar hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Scott. Sirius felt him before he saw him, and as he slowly turned around to face their asshole of a manager, he got a sinking feeling. Scott smirked at him and gave a quick nod.

“See you’ve been busy with the flour again Black”.

Frustrated, Sirius wiped his nose for good measure and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It only made Scott laugh.

“Well, we both knew the rehab was a fucking joke anyway. At least it gave some good publicity”. Scott winked at him, and it made Sirius sick to his stomach. He remembered the countless photos and videos of him when he was at his lowest. And if he someday was to forget, Scott would be there to remind him. He cringed slightly as the images emerged in his brain. He saw himself outside arenas or clubs, high out of his mind, shirt torn and un-buttoned, hanging loosely around his all to bony shoulders. He remembered countless interactions with the media, in which his mental and physical state was catastrophic. The worst part was, that it wasn’t his own vanity. Anyone with eyes could see that he was struggling. That was the worst part. He had been visibly struggling. He had been weak, and it embarrassed him more than anything. Sirius released a breath as he tried to shake the vulnerability the memories left in him.

“What do you want, Scott?”, he asked with a tired expression. Scott smiled and raised a blond eyebrow.

“Easy tiger, I’m just checking up on you. Which seems appropriate taking your current condition into consideration”. He smirked again and placed his hand under Sirius’ chin, forcing his grey eyes to meet his. What he found seemed to satisfy him, and Sirius looked away. Scott hummed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor little Sirius. It’s so hard always being the center of attention. A successful, rich and handsome musician in one of the most popular rock bands in the world. You’re lucky, you’re somewhat talented with that temper of yours. Being disowned suits you”.

Sirius yanked his head away from Scotts rough hand. He felt the anger built inside of him. It prickled under his skin. Just as Scott knew it would. But the anger was mixed with something else too. Something close to humiliation. He clenched his teeth.

“Fuck off Scott”, he hissed, which only made Scott laugh loudly. Sirius could feel his self-restraint slipping piece by piece. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle Scott’s torment. It had been going on for a while now. Sirius could pinpoint exactly why and when Scott had decided to make his life miserable. He had caught Sirius making out with a guy almost a year ago, and if Sirius was completely honest with himself, which he by default rarely was, it would explain his increased need for “powdered relief” ever since.

Scott sent him a condescending look and twirled a strand of Sirius’ dark hair around his index finger.

“Well, that’s no way of speaking to someone who keeps all of your dirty little secrets, now is it?”.

Sirius swallowed hard and pulled back, but Scott followed with a step towards him. Before he knew it his back hit the wall, and he was cornered. Scott sent him a poisonous smile. One of those smiles, that Sirius had come to know all too well. It was a warning of what was yet to come. A promise of a verbal blow that Sirius would need days to recover from. He shivered slightly under Scott’s cold gaze.

“What would mommy and daddy say, if they heard their disowned excuse of a son was a fag? Then you would really put shame upon the family name. More than you already have with your little holiday retreat and those nasty pictures of you”. Scott paused and eyed him intently, before he continued; “It would take much less to ruin the bands career as well”.

Scott moved closer then and Sirius felt stinging in his eyes that he refused to acknowledge as tears. He wouldn’t cry and especially not in front of Scott. He never did. But it hurt. It hurt so bad, because it was true. He knew it and Scott knew it. He couldn’t count how many times Scott’s words had made him cry himself to sleep in a lonely hotel room. They haunted him in his dreams. Taunting him. They crept inside his mind and Scott made sure that they stayed in there.

Sirius had often considered telling James and Peter, but he was embarrassed. They knew about his preferences and did not care in the slightest. But he was afraid of what Scott would do when he found out that he told on him. And as he already felt like a burden to the band after the whole “rehab situation”, he did not want any more of his problems to reach the surface. Sirius’ self-worth was badly bruised, and he couldn’t risk getting hurt. Furthermore, and maybe even more terrifying, Sirius often tended to agree with Scott’s condescending words. Ultimately, he was left with no choice. He choked slightly, forcing the sobs back in his throat. Scott huffed.

“Aw, is Sirius Black crying? Seems like I hit a weak spot. You know you could fire me, if you weren’t such a fucking coward. If you weren’t so fucking scared of what I know about you. If you weren’t so bloody ashamed of yourself”. Scott pushed his chest to Sirius’.

Sirius swallowed again. His breathing became forced and fast. Scott forcefully grabbed his chin once more and yanked his head up. A small and well-known voice appeared in the back of his mind.

Please just hit me. Please make it hurt anywhere else. Hit me.

Scott studied his face for a brief second, as if he could hear his silent plea. Then he continued in a cold voice; “I own you, Sirius. Don’t ever fucking forget that”.

Then Scott released him, pushed him against the wall and gave him a disapproving look, scanning his body from top to bottom. Sirius could feel his disgust. He knew how he looked. Worn-out, dirty and in clothes that left little to the imagination. His shirt was open and exposed his tattooed chest and abdomen. His ripped jeans hung low on his protruding hip bones, showing more tattoos trailing down below the fabric. Sirius knew he had some dark bruises scattered around his neck and torso. Marks that happened to appear when the nights became too lonely, and he needed physical touch. In any shape or form.

“At least you look like the fucking slut that you are”, Scott spat and then something clicked in Sirius. Maybe it was the drugs kicking in, maybe it was his self-esteem hitting rock bottom. He felt raw and exposed until his very core and he snapped. His fist connected with Scott’s face and he heard a satisfying crack. Scott groaned and reached for his nose as the blood started spilling down his mouth.

“You fucking useless piece of shit!”. Scott hauled himself at Sirius, landing a punch at his face just as a big security guard entered from the club behind them.

“Hey! What’s going on here!”. He quickly separated them, almost needing to peel Scott of from Sirius, who was panting heavily. He could taste blood, but apart from that, all of his senses were surprisingly numb. He watched as the security guard forced Scotts hands behind his back and called for back-up. Scott fought and yelled like a mad man, until two police officers showed up, and forced him into the back of their car.

Sirius was frozen in place as the officers took statements from the guard. Was this his way out? Could Scott be removed from his life for good without consequences? Or would this have major consequences that would be his undoing? He swallowed dryly, as the officers approached.

The officers took Sirius’ statement, and for once he was in luck. His tendency to choose anonymous and somewhat shady clubs resulted in no security camera capturing the incident. It all came down to the guard who stepped in just as Scott punched Sirius in the face. The officers offered him a ride back to the station so he could be picked up from there. He had no desire to accept the offer, but he knew, he needed to call Parker, the band’s lawyer, anyway, before more shit hit the fan, so he gave in and soon found himself at the station calling Parker.

---- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Sirius held his breath and bit his fingers as he waited for Parker to pick up. It was around three in the morning, and he knew he had fucked up. Again. He had considered getting home on his own, but he had learnt the importance of damage control. Parker was good at that. He needed Parker and, surprisingly, he trusted him as well. Sirius’ former incidents had brought the two of them closer, and Sirius suspected that he was the biggest reason for the band having a lawyer on speed dial around the clock.

Sirius heard a muffled sound as the phone was picked up, and his heart pounded. Even though he knew calling Parker was the right, and only, thing to do from here, he still wasn’t a fan of the concept. Parker let out a sigh in the other end.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me Sirius. It’s three in the morning”.

Sirius couldn’t help the small smile forming on his lips at Parker’s annoyed tone. He could already hear him getting out of bed.

“I know. I’m sorry. I- I’m at the station. Can you come pick me up?”. God he hated how he sounded like a fucking school boy calling his dad. Parker went quiet for a second before he sighed once again. Sirius cringed.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Please, for once, behave until I get there”. Sirius rolled his eyes at the comment.

“Always do”, he said, and Parker snorted at that hanging up like the diva lawyer he was.

Only 8 minutes later, Parker walked through the glass doors to the station and Sirius knew he had speeded all the way. He was dressed nicely, and he walked with the importance and attitude of a lawyer, and to Sirius’ great dismay, also a bit like a dad. Parker eyed him down and Sirius slumped in the chair, the childish feeling growing inside him. Parker was not happy with him, and he had no trouble showing it.

---- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

“What a fucking douchebag”, Parker stated as he grabbed tightly around the steering wheel of his black Range Rover once they were on their way home. Sirius nodded. He had not told him everything, but enough. He suspected that Parker was aware of this. They agreed on not pressing charges, seeing that it would only aggravate Scott even more.

“I’ll take care of this. Scott is not interested in this getting out, as no one saw you throwing the first punch, he looks like the bad guy. It’s done and over with by the morning”, Parker continued and looked sternly forward with furrowed brows.

Sirius huffed and shifted slightly in his seat. “So, I’m the bad guy then?”, he asked and looked at Parker who smiled at the road in front of them.

“You couldn’t be even if you tried. You’re just too damn soft”, he shrugged without taking his eyes of the road. Sirius gasped.

“I’m not soft”, he exclaimed and crossed his arms. Parker laughed and parked in front of Sirius’ house. Parker turned to face him and looked him over.

“You go to sleep, and I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”.

Sirius swallowed and nodded. He felt bad about waking Parker and making him do all this. Cleaning up after his mess once again. Parker’s expression softened as he squeezed his shoulder and smiled reassuringly as though he could see Sirius’ guilty conscience all over his face.

“Hey, it’s okay kid. No harm’s done. Get some rest”.

Sirius nodded again, looking down at his fidgeting hands. Kid. Parker was only five years older than him, but with a wife and a general sense of direction in his life, those five years quickly felt like 15 between them. Or maybe it was his raging daddy/mommy issues that somehow fucked up his timeline and made him seem younger – issues that he denied with a burning passion, of course. He frowned before looking up at Parker, who watched him intently. Sirius was not particular fond of being watched like that.

“Thanks”, he muttered and stepped out of the car. He looked up at his house with tired eyes. Big and empty, but private. He locked himself in, went upstairs and threw himself fully dressed on the bed, ready for sleep to take over.