Climbing Up The Walls
Barty sat slouched on his couch, the dim light from the single bulb above casting long, jagged shadows across the room. The small pile of cocaine on the coffee table seemed to taunt him, a reminder of the poor decisions that led him here. The night before was a blur, the euphoria now faded, leaving behind an unsettling mix of anxiety and guilt. He knew better than to indulge again, knew this was a path that led nowhere good, but the craving gnawed at him, relentless, an itch that demanded to be scratched.
His hands trembled as he reached for the rolled-up bill, the urge to escape consuming him, overpowering every rational thought. The powder beckoned, promising relief from the gnawing emptiness, the endless cycle of self-loathing. Just as the powder touched his nose, a loud, insistent knock echoed through the apartment, jolting Barty from his haze. His heart pounded, panic surging through him as the knocking continued, each bang on the door a hammering reminder of the mess he was in. He knew who it was. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he shoved the cocaine back into the drawer, clumsily trying to hide the evidence.
When Barty opened the door, Evan was there, his usually composed face twisted with fury. His eyes were blazing, his lips pressed into a thin line as he pushed past Barty, storming into the apartment without a word. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence between them thick and heavy as Evan spun around to face Barty.
“What the fuck, Barty?” Evan’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving. His words sliced through the lingering fog in Barty’s mind, pulling him back into the harsh reality of the situation. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Barty’s thoughts were still muddled, the cocaine making everything feel distant, disconnected. He tried to brush it off, his usual smirk slipping into place, a weak attempt at humour that fell flat. “What’s got you so riled up?”
Evan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in Barty’s appearance—the bloodshot eyes, the jittery movements. “You’re fucking high, aren’t you?” His voice dripped with accusation, disappointment and rage twisting his features.
“So what if I am?” Barty shot back, his voice laced with defiance. The words came out sharper than he intended, but the rush from the coke made him reckless, unable to filter his thoughts. “Like you’re so fucking perfect?”
Evan’s expression hardened, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. “This isn’t about me being perfect, Barty. This is about you stealing my shit and getting high in your fucking apartment like it’s no big deal!” His voice rose, each word hitting Barty like a slap.
“I didn’t steal it!” Barty snapped, though the guilt was already curling in his stomach, mixing with the remnants of the high. “I just… borrowed it.”
“Borrowed it?” Evan’s voice was incredulous, his tone dripping with disdain. “You went through my stuff, took my coke, and now you’re standing here acting like it’s nothing! Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”
Barty’s anger flared, the cocaine amplifying every emotion, turning his guilt into something darker. “Oh, don’t give me that shit, Evan! You’ve been hiding this from me the whole time. What, you think I wouldn’t find out? You think I wouldn’t notice?”
Evan’s face twisted in anger. “I wasn’t hiding it, Barty! I was trying to keep it under control, something you clearly don’t understand.” His voice shook with frustration, his usually calm demeanour cracking. “You know what your problem is? You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You’re so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you don’t even see what you’re doing to the people around you.”
Barty bristled, the accusation striking a nerve. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t see what’s happening? I’m not blind, Evan! But you’re no better. You’re just a hypocrite, acting all high and mighty while you’ve got your own dirty little secret.”
Evan’s eyes flashed with fury, his control slipping away. “This isn’t about me, Barty! This is about you and your fucking inability to take responsibility for anything! You drown yourself in alcohol every night, you push everyone away, and then you have the nerve to blame everyone else when shit goes wrong!”
Barty felt the sting of Evan’s words, the truth cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for it? But you—” Barty’s voice cracked, his anger turning into bitterness. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me. You’re just as fucked up as I am.”
Evan shook his head, his voice lowering but losing none of its intensity. “You’re right, Barty. I’m not perfect. But at least I’m trying to do something about it. What the hell are you doing? Just drinking yourself into oblivion, pretending it’s all going to be fine?”
Barty’s temper flared again, the frustration bubbling over, fueled by the coke still coursing through his system. “And what do you care? You’re just pissed off because I got into your stash. Don’t act like this is about me, Evan. This is about you and your precious fucking coke.”
Evan’s face twisted with anger, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “This isn’t about the coke, Barty! This is about trust. This is about you crossing a line that you can’t uncross.”
Barty’s heart was pounding in his chest, the high making everything feel too intense, too raw. He could see the pain in Evan’s eyes, the betrayal that he had caused, but he couldn’t stop himself. “So what, you’re done with me now? Is that it?”
Evan’s shoulders slumped slightly, the anger giving way to something deeper, something that made Barty’s chest tighten with dread. “I don’t know, Barty. I don’t know what the fuck to do with you anymore. You keep doing this—pushing everyone away, making everything worse. I thought we had something, but maybe I was wrong.”
The words hit Barty like a punch to the gut. Panic surged through him, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t lose Evan. Not now, not after everything. But instead of trying to fix it, he did what he always did—he ran.
Without thinking, Barty grabbed the bottle from the counter, the glass cool and comforting in his grip. He needed to get out, needed to escape the mess he had made. “I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, his voice shaky as he turned toward the door, the need to flee overwhelming everything else.
“Barty, don’t you fucking dare walk out on me!” Evan’s voice cracked, a mixture of fury and desperation. Barty could hear the hurt beneath the anger, but he couldn’t face it. He couldn’t face Evan.
Barty yanked the door open, the cold night air hitting him like a slap. The bottle was still clutched tightly in his hand as he stepped outside. The city streets stretched out before him, dark and unforgiving, much like the emotions swirling inside him. The air was freezing, biting at his skin, but he didn’t care. He needed to get away, needed to drown out the noise in his head, the crushing weight of his guilt.
Evan’s voice followed him out into the night, but Barty didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The city swallowed him up as he stumbled down the street, his mind racing, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no idea where he was going, no idea what he was doing, but the only thing he knew for sure was that he had screwed up, and this time, there might be no fixing it.
He walked and walked until his legs felt like they might give out, until the cold seeped into his bones and numbed the pain. The city lights blurred together, a kaleidoscope of colours that meant nothing. The sounds of the night—distant sirens, the hum of traffic, the occasional shout—faded into the background as Barty’s thoughts spiralled, each one darker and more destructive than the last.
He had fucked up everything. He had let his impulsiveness, his need to escape, ruin the one good thing in his life. And now, he was alone, with nothing but a bottle in his hand and a gnawing emptiness in his chest. The realisation was a bitter pill to swallow, one that only added to the heaviness weighing him down.
But even as he walked, even as the tears threatened to spill over, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but wonder if this was just who he was—someone who destroyed everything good in his life, someone who pushed people away until there was no one left. The thought made him want to scream, to cry, to disappear into the night and never come back.
As the first light of dawn began to break over the city, Barty finally slowed to a stop, his breath visible in the cold morning air. The bottle was still in his hand, the glass cool against his palm, a cruel reminder of the choices he had made. He stared down at it, his thoughts a chaotic mess, and for a moment, he considered smashing it against the pavement, shattering it into a million pieces like everything else in his life.
But he couldn’t. Instead, he just stood there, frozen, as the world continued to move around him, leaving him behind in the cold.