Chapter Text
The first year after Angel and Molly made a pact to get clean, he relapsed too many times to count. Every time felt like a punch to the gut but it was easier to keep using than dealing with the bullshit he started to go through each time he was sober for too long.
He really tried after he was sober long enough to notice that Molly had been sticking with it. She had been staying clean, going to meetings, turning down parties and eventually stopped going out at all if they were going somewhere that would tempt her.
Angel was so furious and envious and riddled with guilt for not being able to keep his end of their pact.
It was tempting to pull her back into using with him and go back to how they were. But dammit, Molly looked so happy and healthy. She made getting clean look easy.
Maybe it was and he just needed to get off his ass and try.
Angel wanted to. He did. He wanted to try to get over that hump that always stopped him and made him backslide into his same routine. He wanted to be where Molly was in her recovery so fucking badly.
So he tried.
Then three months before Angel's one year benchmark of being sober, he found Molly collapsed on her bedroom floor, completely unresponsive.
The dirt he helped put back over her grave was still loose when Angel snorted a line of coke off of the bathroom counter in their shared apartment.
It wasn't hard or some internal battle with himself over what he was throwing away. In fact, it was the easiest thing he had ever done. He didn't think, just reached into the ceiling tile of his bedroom closet and grabbed the little mint tin he hid up there when he decided to give sobriety a real try.
Angel kind of lost the next couple of weeks that way. He would use every time he didn't want to think of Molly or when he didn't want to be depressed about it or when he didn't want to exist at all and wished that the amount he took would finally be too much.
Letting himself use again was like walking into the arms of a bad lover. Once he was back in that warm embrace, that known security, he couldn't remember why he ever stopped to begin with.
Cherri found him in a club bathroom sobbing and screaming incoherently with a bloody nose after taking whatever was offered from the guy he went in there with. She held him up against the sink and washed away the blood from his face and neck. The smell of the soap from the dispenser made him vomit and she cleaned that off of him too.
When Cherri took him home after, she was quiet and her hands gripped the steering wheel until it creaked. She took him upstairs, got him to bed, and when he woke up the next morning, she was still there. Staring at him with this look of pity that pissed him off more than the wasted high from the night before.
Angel hated how much her concerned words and suggestion to ‘maybe stop partying for a little while’ brought him crashing back down to reality to feel the weight of his decision to use again and remember that his sister was dead.
He had been such a bitch to Cherri when he sobered up and tried to get clean again. Except, it wasn't really trying when she took his stash and refused to give it back until he ‘got his shit under control’.
Angel needed it and Cherri knew that he knew that. It didn't make him hate her any less for it though.
He threw insults and whatever he could reach around him in her direction as he went through withdrawal again. Dealing with it and with the grief that he had let fester was the hardest thing he ever had to get through.
It was only after the worst of the withdrawal symptoms subsided that Angel was able to stand being in the same room as Cherri. He hated that he still had trouble looking at her.
Angel continued not to use after that. Not because he wanted to stay clean this time, but because every time he held his drugs in his hands after Cherri gave him his stash back, he would remember how well Molly had been doing and how cold her skin was when he found her.
Selfishly, he wished that she died from an overdose rather than a weakened heart from years of drug abuse. It was sick and he was fully aware of that but at least he wouldn't have Sober Molly haunting him like some devil on his shoulder. Telling him to resist, to stay clean, to not let his own heart end up like hers.
Angel knew that if he stayed in their shared apartment in the city they grew up in, he was going to eventually backslide and fall back into doing the same shit he had done since he was a teenager.
For Molly's sake, he needed to do more than get high and watch his life slip by. He owed her that much when her own ended too soon.
So Angel packed up a suitcase as tight as possible and stuffed anything else he needed or wanted into a backpack. He sold whatever he could from their apartment, boxed up the rest of Molly's belongings and put them in storage, then gave his key to the first person the landlord would let take over his lease.
He didn't let Cherri know he was leaving because he knew she would try to stop him and that she would be successful.
Angel simply gathered his things and took a cab that smelled of sweat, sick, and spilled beer to the bus station. Too numb to be bothered by the way the driver kept eyeing him in the rearview mirror when he thought Angel wasn't paying attention.
As the cab drove down the streets of his childhood, Angel was reminded of the many places that held the memories with Molly that he wanted to get away from.
A diner that the two of them worked at one summer as teens before being fired for smoking pot behind the dumpsters.
A building that had cycled through several stores by now but what used to be home to a boutique while they were high school. They were banned after stealing jewelry for their prom that they ended up skipping out of early anyway to get handsy with their boyfriends in the parking lot.
A steakhouse they both worked at in their early twenties and took turns snorting coke off the toilet tanks in between serving customers. They had that job the longest. Apparently being high as a kite made them earn more tips.
The alleyway between two clubs that they nearly passed out in after pushing themselves too far. Angel was still convinced that he took his favorite heeled boots off and lost them there but never got around to going back to check.
The fenced in park where they learned how to swing with Arackniss pushing them while parroting the curse words and insults their father would scream at them. They all three thought it was funny and fell into a heap together in the mulch while in fits of laughter.
The bowling alley they had been kicked out of for being too disruptive while playing one of their best games.
The pizzeria they egged on Halloween in middle school after being dared to by a group of older kids that lived in the apartment building next to theirs.
Angel started seeing her in the cracks in the sidewalk and in the billboards plastered to the sides of buildings. He was sure he watched her walk down into the subway, standing outside of a bodega, and waving at him through a townhouse window.
Molly was everywhere and everyone here and Angel needed to get away from it all.
The bus turned into the station’s lot, jerking Angel to the side and jolting him out of his light dozing. The only sleep he was able to get over the last eighteen hours was nodding off for a few minutes here and there before someone spoke or sneezed or knocked into his shoulder on their way to the bathroom at the back of the bus. His wireless earbuds died halfway through the journey and he accidentally packed the charger in his suitcase instead of his bag.
Exhausted didn't begin to describe how he felt.
The brakes squealed when the driver pulled the large vehicle into its reserved spot. He waited for the air to be released before grabbing his backpack from between his legs on the floor. When he stood, his knees popped from being stuck in the same spot for so long and his shoulders had similar complaints as he slung his bag over them. There was only so much stretching he could do in the small seats.
He leaned against the seat in front of him as he waited for the other passengers to deboard, not wanting to deal with fake pleasantries or having to listen to someone talk to him when he stepped in front of them.
The cold, misty air of the rainy February afternoon hit Angel as he stumbled off the bus with static in his legs. He pulled his coat tighter around him while he waited for the driver to dig his suitcase out of the luggage compartment and set it down unceremoniously next to him.
“Thanks,” Angel said through a yawn and pulled up the handle to drag it behind him.
Stale air and the pungent odor of piss overwhelmed Angel when he entered the station. He pulled at the strap to his backpack, tightening where it was sliding off his shoulder, and almost stepped in a puddle of an identifiable brown liquid. A guy sitting with torn plastic bags in his lap shouted to him to watch out just in time. He waved his thanks and made his way to the bathroom that he was sure was just as filthy.
Toilet paper scraps and tobacco chew spit covered the floor, making Angel's shoes stick to the tile with every other step. He shoved the first stall door open and sighed when he was greeted with not only a shit covered toilet seat but also cans of Four Loko under the toilet and on top of the toilet paper holder.
His luck didn't get much better with the second stall, but the seat was sort of clean at least… if he ignored the pubes and droplets of urine. He needed to kick aside a rusted razor and a phone charger with frayed wires to park his suitcase inside the door.
Angel attempted to hover over the seat when he discovered there were no seat covers, but the numbness in his legs from barely moving in hours caused him to collapse onto the seat instead.
“Fuck me,” Angel hissed to himself and scrubbed at his face before succumbing to resting his head in his heads.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he righted himself back up; he only knew that he heard a handful of men come in and out of the bathroom by the time he pulled himself off the toilet.
Angel fished a makeup wipe out of his bag and wiped off the back of his thighs and ass cheeks, telling himself that it's getting all of the germs off of his skin. He didn't want to think about the reality.
Angel dragged his suitcase over to the messy sink, trying to avoid getting his coat caught in the hair clumps and mystery substances splattered over the counter. He pumped the soap dispenser, but nothing came out aside from a few tiny foamy bubbles.
“Goddammit,” he growled as he angrily pulled his makeup wipes back out and scrubbed at his hands. He made the mistake of glancing up into the mirror and his hands slowed their frantic scrubbing.
Aside from a few unfortunate glimpses of his reflection through the bus window, Angel hadn't seen himself since he left the city. His face was paler, eye bags darker, and hair mussed up in an unflattering way. More akin to a bird's nest than that of a sexy mess he had always gone for in the past.
Angel looked away after a few seconds and cleared his throat as he tossed the wipe into the overflowing trash can. He blinked away the tears stinging his eyes as the beginning of a spiral started to take hold.
He'll have time to break apart later.
For now, Angel pulled up the rideshare app on his phone and typed in the address of the airbnb he had reserved for the next month and made sure that he could cover the fare.
Angel took a deep breath in and let it out slowly when he managed to carry out what felt like a monumental task of that, but everything still felt like way too much. He carried all of his things outside and took a heaving breath of the cold, wet air. His heart beat slowed minutely while he fished his pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.
Only to open it to see his lighter missing.
Angel took a smoke break during a rest stop but he could have sworn he put it back in his cigarette pack…
His jaw clenched as he aggressively stuffed the pack back into his coat and he looked out at the street. He impatiently checked his phone, seeing the map indicate that his car was less than a minute away.
It felt like an eternity.
The gold compact car pulled up next to the station and Angel barely checked the license plate before getting inside.
“Angel?” the driver happily asked while he fought to get his suitcase into the backseat with him.
“Yeah, that's me,” Angel grumbled and pulled the door closed harder than he probably should have.
The driver gave him a smile in the review mirror but Angel could tell it didn't reach his eyes. “Ready?”
Angel nodded and fiddled with one of the straps to his backpack as the car began to pull away. He watched the little animated car follow a purple line on the rideshare app and wished that he could move it further along with the press of his finger to the screen.
One minute into the ten minute drive, the driver decided silence wasn't an option and asked Angel, “So what brings you to town?”
Angel gripped the strap to his backpack harder. He picked at the seam with his nail and lied, “I'm visiting family.”
Dark wood lowered into the ground, slowly disappearing from Angel's view. He stood stockstill in the grass just a few feet from where his other half since birth would forever lay to rest.
“That's good. Family's important!” The driver told him in a voice forced to be extra chipper. “Let me guess, your mother? Grandma?”
“Sure,” Angel heard himself saying, eyes trained on the shrinking purple line in the app.
The dirt felt heavy in his hand as he sprinkled it on top of Molly's coffin. Cherri pulled on his arm to make him drop it when all he did was stay frozen with the limb raised in the air after the last bit of dirt left his grasp.
“That's nice,” the driver expressed and Angel thought about kicking the back of his seat. “I'm sure they'll love the visit. My mom always said…”
Angel's ears rang as the driver shared an anecdote he couldn't give less of a shit about.
The animated car pulled onto the purple line that was the Airbnb’s street and Angel grabbed all of his stuff so the minute the man parked, he could jump out.
The car pulled up to an older house with a gravel driveway and large front porch with a knee wall barrier. Through the raindrops that had started to plop against the car window, Angel could see the concrete steps leading up to the porch were crumbling in spots, but he didn't really give a shit for $50 a night
“Here we are.” The driver grinned at him, all teeth and gums. “Take care.”
Angel got out of the car only to lose his footing and start to slip on the wet gravel in the driveway. He grasped at the car door and managed just barely to catch himself. He let out a mumbled ‘thanks’ as he pulled his belongings out of the vehicle, not looking back once the car door was slammed shut.
He climbed the chipped concrete steps, his suitcase clanking loudly as he dragged it behind him. He followed the instructions of looking into the Ring camera for five seconds before walking right into the unlocked front door. The warped wood squeaked on its hinges as he pushed it open far enough to get his suitcase inside. He winced as the thunk sound it made seemed to echo out into the house and ricochet off of the walls and he looked around to make sure he hadn’t pissed anyone off already.
The inside reminded him of his late grandmother's house with the wood paneling that went up to the middle of the walls and the various shades of tan paint in each room he could see from the door. There was an antique looking sofa in the room to his right, but it looked dingy and flat unlike the one his Nanna had in her home. The fireplace on the wall next to it was empty of anything on the mantel aside from a glass jar of something Angel couldn't make out from where he was standing.
Angel didn't realize his shoes were soaked from the rain until he looked down at where he stood in the entryway and watched small puddles form on the wood floors. He didn't have the energy to think of a solution so he just stared at the water until he heard pattering from down the hall.
A border collie with grey and tan patches in its fur came around the corner and he froze immediately, not knowing how this dog was going to react to a complete stranger entering its home.
The dog looked up at him and rushed over to grab a rope tug toy from a basket in the corner between two rooms before approaching him with a tail wagging so hard it was starting to blur.
It loosened something in Angel's chest and for the first time in a while, he smiled.
“Hi,” Angel said softly and held his hand out to pet the dog’s head. He got in a few good scratches before it stood up on its back legs and pressed its front ones together, moving them up and down repeatedly, causing the rope in its mouth to swing with each gesture. Confused and convinced he was so sleep deprived that he was imagining it all, Angel mumbled, “Sorry, bud. I don’t know what that means…”
“Angel?” A deep voice came from another room in the house before heavy footsteps grew close and an older man with grey peppered in his short, coily hair and in his stubble beard appeared from around the corner. His boots scraped against the wood floors when he stepped closer to the entryway and he laughed when he saw the dog still standing on its back legs. “He’s beggin’ to play.”
The man let out a sharp whistle and pulled a hand out of where he had it buried in his hoodie pocket to point to a spot right next to him. The dog dropped back down on all four legs and trudged over to the man, thunking his head against the man's leg to get a scratch between his multicolored ears as a reward for listening.
"Sorry, I mention in the listing that Obie’s playful, but nobody is prepared for the begging," the man told Angel with another bout of laughter. His face crinkled with laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. Angel, in his sleep exhausted state, thought he was handsome. "I'm Husk, by the way. It's nice to have you here.”
“Yeah, it’s, uh. Nice to be here. I guess?” Angel said, stilted. This entire interaction was so fucking weird and unlike anything he’s ever read about airbnb experiences.
Husk let out a snort then pointed to the stairs across the room. “Your bedroom is upstairs, left the door propped open. The bathroom is across the hall and is shared with other guests but you shouldn't have to worry about that tonight.”
Angel nodded slowly and looked back down at his shoes. “Should I, like, leave these down here? I don't want to ruin your floors.”
“Oh, you don't gotta worry about that,” Husk laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Obie's done quite a number on them already. Some rain and mud isn't gonna do much damage.”
“Okay…” Angel gripped the handle to the suitcase, unsure of how to exit this conversation politely.
“If you're hungry, I'll have some salmon and melon salsa cooked up here in a bit,” Husk told him in an easygoing way. He looked up from Obie to give Angel a polite smile. “No pressure at all, of course. I just like cooking for guests. You're more than welcome to eat leftovers tomorrow. Or tell me to make something else.” Husk shrugged.
A sigh of relief rushed out of Angel and his shoulders sagged. “Thank you.”
“For sure,” Husk said with a light chuckle and tilted his head back over to the way he came from. “I'll be down here if you need anything but you're free to chill wherever."
“Okay,” Angel said again, feeling a bit more comfortable but still a bit on edge. “I'll honestly probably crash pretty soon. So… goodnight?” Angel asked more than said. Why the fuck did he say that to him?
Jesus…
“Get some good rest.” Husk nodded and turned to walk back the way he came, chuckling lightly to himself at Angel's awkwardness.
Right before Angel started lugging his suitcase through the house, he saw Husk grab something out of that glass jar and hand it down to Obie to gobble up.
Angel carried his suitcase up the dark stained wood stairs, scratched up from dog nails and years of living. Along the walls, there were pictures of actresses and posters to movies that came out long before he was born. He caught himself staring at a few as he slowly made his way up to the second floor. A woman smoking as she sat at a table in an empty diner was the last picture at the top of the staircase. She looked so familiar but he couldn't place it.
The wooden stairs gave way to carpet that spanned the entire floor of the hallway and went into the bedrooms. It was the type of carpet he remembered his mother complaining about what a chore it was to clean because of how much debris would get stuck between the fibers. The same fibers that got stuck in the wheels of his suitcase as he put it down to push the rest of the way.
There were four doors on that level of the house and only one of them, aside from the bathroom, stood open, so he brought his bags into it. A full sized bed with an old ornate frame sat in the middle of the wall that was shared with one of the other rooms. Next to the bed sat a small table made of the same old ornate wood and had a lamp on top of it. A small surge protector stuck out from under the table and he plugged in his phone that was nearly drained.
There was a dresser with a mirror attached flush with the wall directly across from the bed and a desk with a chair on the wall with an open closet. An electric furnace sat in the corner next to the window and when Angel passed it to pull the curtains closed, the carpet crunched under his shoes. When he looked down, he found a scorch mark there and another on the wall directly under the outlet.
He imagined a previous guest yanking it out in the middle of the night, possibly due to a spark, and he decided it was best to shiver to sleep than to fuss with it.
When he pulled the heavy curtain closed, any light from outside was smothered immediately. He had to stumble blindly across the room to flick on the bedside table lamp just to see again.
Angel toed his wet shoes off and lugged his backpack across the hall, passing a built-in shelf that spanned the entire wall that Husk filled with linens. Mismatched towels, washclothes, sheets, and a couple of duvets if Angel was seeing right. He plucked a towel and cloth on his way to the bathroom.
He leaned his bag against the locked door as he prepared to shower. He was exhausted but knew he wouldn't be able to sleep with how gross and slimy he felt.
It became more clear to Angel why the Airbnb was so cheap and had a less than stellar cleanliness rating whenever he put his toiletry bags onto the sink counter. Toothpaste was splattered onto the wall behind the sink and there was a combination of soap globs and hair strands sitting inside it. It wasn't horrible and it certainly wasn't as bad as the bus station’s bathroom.
When he glanced behind him at the toilet, he found the plastic seat covered in cigarette burns and soot stains but that was it. It should probably gross Angel out, but it only made his fingers itch for a smoke. As he stripped out of his clothes, he wondered if the cigarette mess was left by previous guests or by Husk. If the latter, he might just have to ask if he had a lighter he could use.
Angel was too exhausted to run to a nearby gas station in the cold and he didn't want to place a delivery order for a single item.
But that was a problem for Future Angel.
Right now, he focused all of his energy on pulling the shower curtain back and was relieved to find it clean. A rust stain here and there, but much cleaner than he'd been expecting. He placed his travel sized bottles on the edge of the tub and turned the knob to get the water to highest heat he could while he stripped down.
His mind wandered to the horror stories he watched on social media about Airbnb hosts hiding cameras in bedrooms and bathrooms to spy on their guests. He wondered if Husk had them in the nooks and crannies, watching him right now.
Angel hoped Husk was satisfied getting his fill with his stringy hair and oily skin. He's sure he made quite the looker right now.
Angel sleepily chuckled to himself and climbed in, limbs feeling like they were lagging and brain feeling like it was full of mush.
The scolding hot water pelted down on him from the shower head and he stared blankly at the tiles of the shower wall while he let it seep into his muscles. He realized that for the first time in days, he didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to go for the foreseeable future.
Somewhere between scrubbing shampoo through his hair and putting conditioner through it, Angel began to cry. He didn't even realize until a sob punched out of him and echoed off of the shower walls. He quickly bit down on the inside of his lips and tried to force any remaining crying down until he could at least get into his room and hide under the covers.
Not that that really worked.
When Angel's skin turned pink from over scrubbing and the molten-hot water, he finally stepped out of the shower.
Angel forced himself to look in the mirror as he carried out a simplified version of his skin care routine. His fingers slid over his face to rub product in and the sickly paleness of his complexion and the deep color of the bags under his eyes became more clear to him.
Eventually his fingers slowed to a stop and fell away from his face…
Molly's skin was so cold when he found her. Her skin was so pale that he already knew, but he still had to touch to be sure. He had to try shaking her awake, had to try slapping her to scare her, and had to open each eye lid to check to see if she was simply playing a sick joke on him…
Obie barked somewhere in the house and pulled Angel back to the present. His face wash had gone dry and tight on his skin. He blinked rapidly to refocus and quickly rinsed his face before slapping some moisturizer onto his skin haphazardly. He dressed mechanically and scooped up all of his shit to take back to his room.
Angel could smell the salmon as he walked the short distance between the rooms and his stomach screamed at him in hunger but he couldn't bear to listen.
He locked the bedroom door and stared at the chair by the desk before deciding to lift it and, with much difficulty, carry it across the room to put in front of the door. He pulled back the comforter and slid into bed under them before tucking the fabric up to his neck and curled into a tight ball.
Angel tossed and turned as he tried to find a position that felt comfortable enough and each time he did, the bed frame creaked loudly and thudded against the wall. He worried it was loud enough to be heard downstairs and that he would be pissing Husk off soon. He eventually flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling still illuminated by the bedside lamp.
His eyes followed a few cracks here and there over the length of the ceiling and locked onto an old water stain. It seemed to mock Angel as he stared up at it. Its mildew lines shifted into a bastardized version of Molly's face.
Even this far away from home, she was still everywhere.
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt warm tears fall down the side of his face and into the dips of his ears. He had always cried more than Niss and his father made it a point to correct it when he was younger. But he had never cried this much.
Angel opened his eyes back up to stare at the water stain and cried to the point of exhaustion.