My friend's story, I just wrote it.

[redefine_you]

You want to know what's scary about love? Everything! Being nineteen isn't easy at all! I wish I were dead sometimes, you know, because of love. My heart belongs to Adam, but my mind...my god you don't want to know what's in my mind. This isn't really about my heart break, but more or less how I broke his heart. Adam and I met accidentally. I always hung out with his younger brother Andrew, who was the guitarist in my ex's band. Boy did that band suck! Anyhow, I digress, I was hanging out with Andrew and we were on our way to the movie theatre where he worked. Once we got there his boss came out and asked Andrew to work, because they were short staffed for the day, he was about to decline when Adam came out of nowhere and said “I'll entertain her for the night!”. Adam told Andrew how he was freshly finished his shift and had no plans, so he could entertain me while Andrew finished. Of course, being the reckless nineteen year old that I was, I went along with it.

We went for a drive around, and he kept asking me questions in the spirit of getting to know me better. I was rebellious and careless, I would do anything to feel more alive. Adam brought me to a friend's place. This is when he pulled out that innocent looking bag full of icing sugar. Why was he carrying around icing sugar? I don't get it. I smiled coyly pretending I knew exactly why he had it, trying to keep up appearances, you know? Stupid, clueless, reckless nineteen. This is when I realized that it wasn't sugar at all, it was cocaine.

That night he introduced me to a whole new dark decrepit underworld of substances. A mind-shattering heart wrenching world of insufflating that white powder that numbs your face and slows down your mind while speeding up the rest. I tried it. I liked it. I liked him, too. I watched him for what seemed like ages, sitting in front of the piano. His friend sat beside him and he started playing as she sang a song whose melody haunts me to this day; “I'm on the ground and I'm feeling down, so I think I'm fucked...”

Over the next little while, I grew closer to Adam. His pain was feeding the fire inside of me. This anger, this rage that I was so good at keeping hidden, undetectable to the outside world. Finally I had found an outreach, something that was mine - Adam. I'm quite certain looking back that he thought of me as a new skinny toy, someone to screw and forget. From that first night we spent together we were a couple. We shared the same unbridled love for reckless adventures. Many of the things we did together, could be considered solely evil and self-serving, like the new Bonnie and Clyde.

I moved out on my own, feeling drunk with freedom. I'd have parties every night at my new apartment - we called it Never Ever Land - where you never had to grow up, just like Peter Pan. I was Wendy Bird, and all my guy friends were the Lost Boys. Only now do I realize my Peter Pan was always by my side, my man, my love, my Adam. If I knew then what I knew now, I'd have let him know that he truly would never grow old. Crazy, clueless, reckless, stupid nineteen. How I hated that age.

He brought me to meet his family. I was nervous, worried what they'd think of me, concerned they'd judge, but they didn't. They were a wonderful, loving group of people and they took me the way I was, because Adam wanted me there. His mother was a teacher, his father was a pilot, they were both wonderful and special in their own brilliantly unique ways, and they gave him everything. It made me revel in the stability, and also turned my stomach simultaneously. It made me sick with jealousy to see what a family could be, things mine never was, emotions I had never felt; love and unconditional acceptance.

This man quickly became my everything, my Adonis, my rock star. He worked two jobs, had his own studio for making music and drove everywhere. He seemed glad to have me too, if only to have someone else to drag into the depths of hell with him. He taught me how the rich behaved, and how to love the bourjoisie. He taught me that ignorance is bliss, and with all of this, I learned not to trust him.

Between you and I, I was crazy. Mad with love, or was it lust? Obsession? Infatuation? Either way, I didn't care. It felt so good to feel so strongly about him, and it felt good to feel secure, taken care of. He bought me clothes, booze, drugs. I did them all, while secretly hating them, and myself for doing them, as if going to rehab at sixteen hadn't been a big enough tribulation...I was so upset with Adam, I felt he was trying to drag me down, and sometimes I cared. It became such a problem that his friend had kidnapped me for two weeks as I got harder into drugs. He took me because I asked Adam to stop doing drugs. I didn't think he would, I thought he would lie. Drugs lie.

My great escape happened when my kidnapper (let's call him Mr. White) ran out of drugs to keep me docile, willing, he had to go out for a drug run. That moron, so caught up with his drugs, he forgot to lock the bedroom door. I waited fifteen agonizing minutes to make sure he was really gone. I remember looking at the clock on the wall, ticking, teasing me. Then I bolted. Didn't even search for my personal items, phone, nothing. I just fucking ran. I wanted, no I needed to get out. I was so fucking pissed with Adam. It was his fault! I knew it! I was sure of it. It was August or September, I think, close to my birthday. I walked out of that house, watching my back the whole way. I ran down two streets, my heart was pounding. I realized then, that I was lost.

I am not a lucky person, good things, just don't happen to me. That day, I was standing on the street corner, staring around frantically wondering which way to go next, hoping he didn't find me on his way back home. My friend Pogboy is walking in my direction with a case of beer. I'm not religious, but I guarantee I thanked whatever big invisible sky-daddy was up there watching over me at that moment. I ran towards him, and he brought me home with him so I could use his phone. My first call? You guessed it, Adam. My demon, my saint, my love, my pain.

Adam said he was right on his way to come get me and how he was so worried about me while I'd been gone. I could tell by his voice that something wasn't right, though I couldn't pinpoint it. I tried to ignore my gut, because I was so relieved to hear from him, and hear that he missed me, and was coming for me. I looked around me at my surroundings, trying to understand, and slow my racing heart. Pogboy's house was right above a laundromat. You could tell he was a bachelor, cheap and dirty. He had all sorts of interesting things, drum sets, mikes, amps, some recording instruments and of course, drugs.

Pogboy was like a super-hero, who swooped in and saved me from a mess when I needed him most, but I wasn't ready for the mess that was to come. Adam came to pick me up, you could tell he was scoping out Pogboy's stuff, though at the time I didn't understand why. Stupid, fucking naive snobby bitchy crazy clueless nineteen...

Never Ever Land's popularity grew over time, now that I was back. Pogboy came over to join in, and be a part of the festivities after he rescued me. While he was over one night, Adam and Mr. White went and robbed Pogboy's house. I didn't know they had been planning it together. If I had known, I would have told him not to come. Adam had used me, like a fucking pawn in chess. Checkmate, bitch. I was filled with rage when Pogboy told me what had happened, I in turn told Adam. He was acting suspicious, and confessed with some pressing. I called Pogboy and forced Adam to track all his stuff down to return it.

Turned out Mr. White had already pawned most of the valuable pieces. Adam returned what he could, but it wasn't good enough. I lost Pogboy, my super-hero, as a friend. I'm sure it made Adam happy. I think he secretly hated the fact that I would always hang out with guys that weren't him. He was jealous, and he had to take it away from me.

My twentieth birthday I checked myself into rehab. I needed to get out of this “Never Ever Land” mentality and fucking grow up. Own my existence. I was hoping Adam would too, but he chose to leave. He left to go study to be an air traffic controller, he was the youngest student to attend. In spite of that I had great success in my rehab. Adam was very proud of his studies, and was excelling in his program, he was also pleased with me for my personal advances, or so it seemed. We talked about our future together, what it could be. I was so excited to come back to our home, and within the few hours of my return, Adam called and it all started to spin out of control again.

He sounded off, something wasn't right. He told me he had the weekend off and asked if he could come over. I said yes of course. When he arrived, he sat down on my old blue foam couch before reaching in his back pocket and pulled out the powder. He proceeded to dump it onto my coffee table and cut two lines, one for each of us. He looked at me with an empty treacherous look in his eyes, before rolling up a crisp new five dollar bill and snorting his line. My heart stopped, my chest felt tight. I was panicking.

In my mind, I was thinking “Please don't ruin me. Don't ruin this life we were trying to create. Why are you doing this...why?” but I couldn't say anything. Watching you do that rail, something snapped inside me. I stood up instinctively, and began my verbal rant towards him. “Adam, you've ripped out my heart, threw it in a blender and fed it to a fucking rabid dog. Then you took the dog's shit and shoved it down my throat! Who do you take me for?! What do you want from me?”

He sighed, looking down at the second line on the table, and raising his eyes to meet mine, he said “I failed.” I was pissed at this point.

“You failed what?” I shriek in exasperation, chest heaving, body trembling with rage.

“I got a ninety five percent on my exam.” he stated in a monotonous drawl.

“That's great!” I exclaimed, temporarily forgetting my anger. That boy could make me do foolish things I tell you.

Then, he hung his head in shame, and put the rolled up five dollar bill to his nose to do the other line off the coffee table. Something clicked in me then, I knew it wasn't right. I asked “Well then, what did you mean by fail?”

His reply was saddening, “On this exam, we needed a ninety-eight to continue with the course. I only got a ninety-five.”

I stood there, wanting to stay angry, wanting to scream and yell and hit him about how selfish he was. I quickly said “No. That can't be right. Can you redo the test? Take the course again in January?” I was pleading, looking for any way to get him through this, so he would be okay.

“It's not that simple.” he muttered, eyes still down staring at the powder residue on the table. I didn't understand it. My head was spinning. A guy with this much love, support, potential, crashing like a misguided plane from a neglectful air traffic controller. I was speechless. I had no words. I breathed deeply until I found my voice.

“Adam,” I started slowly, my voice trembling, “I can't take this, I went to rehab, I want to be a better person. You know, growing up is what we have to do to move forward with our lives. I know you don't believe your life is going anywhere, but it sure as hell won't if you keep up this way.”

“We are NOBODIES!” he exclaimed, face contorted in anger, glaring at me harshly. In that moment, my love for him curdled like sour milk. Suddenly, he stood up and left, leaving a line of cocaine untouched on my table. I scooped it up with a piece of paper and washed it down the sink. I was so fucking tempted to stick it right up my nose, but I didn't. I've had enough of this stuff. Trying to stay young, I knew Adam had had enough of it too, but he didn't know how to overcome that fear.

He was smart as hell, this kid, yet so impulsive, and misguided. I believe that he knew that day, that he had lost me forever. His Wendy Bird had flown away from Never Ever Land. She wasn't his anymore. I spent days crying for our loss. Adam had drawn the lines for so long, and now I was alone. Suddenly I realized, I was twenty, smart, ambitious and finally learning to grow up.

It had been a little over a week since I had heard from him. He called me one night, a little after six in the evening, and asked if he could come over, because he needed to talk. I conceded, saying sure, and he hopped on the bus to come over, which was very odd considering how he always drove everywhere. Once he arrived, he rushed to me, and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. He didn't let go. I was afraid of how much I still loved him.

When he finally let go, he lead me over to the couch and sat me down beside him, taking a deep breath, he began, “I crashed my car into a lamp post last night.”

I was shocked. “Are you okay?” I exclaimed, but he wasn't finished.

“It doesn't stop there. I kept driving. The cops followed me, and I drove right into them. Crashed my car into the cruisers and kept driving. Finally a fire truck blocked my way when we were getting close to my house. I drove into that too.” He was stating it all so calmly, and collected, like he was telling me about how he walked down the street to mail a letter to his grandmother.

“You're going to be in so much trouble!” I said, before he went on to tell me not to worry. He had a good year with me, and mumbled something about how it was all the Zoloft's fault. “The court is going to believe your antidepressants caused this?” I scoffed incredulously, it sounded insane!

“Yes.” he lamented with an eerie confidence while nodding his head slowly in affirmation. I could tell he was in his own personal hell, with pig-like politicians, blurred realities, corruption, a heavy black mist and an inescapable feeling of emptiness. I could read it all in his eyes. The percocet's he'd been mixing with booze were making his pupils as small as a pinhole.

At that moment, I truly felt like he was a living, walking, breathing corpse. Making it through the events of the night before that he'd described to me, it sounded like he had lost it entirely and tried to kill himself. I felt like his situation could not be more obvious. The days past of us blaring our music and driving recklessly, spontaneously to Montreal were over. This wasn't just because he no longer had a vehicle, but simply because it would never be what it once had seemed. We would never again ride down the highway, singing off-key in unison feeling free.

I am twenty, and smart. I am better than this, and I am motivated now. I thought this, trying to convince myself. Why do I still feel like this broken ragdoll of a nineteen year old? I'm totally discouraged. I knew then that he was empty, like an empty gas tank. He needs fuel. He needs help! Why can't anyone help him? Why was he so calm about this? We were silent, and somehow ended up melded together, cuddling, clinging to the easiest closest form of comfort. We held each other and drowned our dialogue in movies for the rest of the night. Then he left.

A few days later, he called again. This time to tell me that the city dropped the charges and he was safe. I wondered if he'd ever really be safe. I felt he was still lost in Never Ever Land. I had been lost there once, but no longer. It's a dark place with hellish images and blatant corruption. I am safe now. Or so I thought. Adam always told me that I could do better in life. Maybe he was right, but I couldn't know.

Three months pass, and for that time I avoided all contact with him. I told him to spend his time with his family. I spent mine with the other Lost Boys of mine. We partied hard, because we knew soon Never Ever Land was going to disappear. No one would talk about it, but we all knew it was happening. The day after Christmas I called Adam. I told him I've grown up a lot, but he didn't believe me. That night, I went out to the club with the Lost Boys.

It didn't take long before I chose my victim. The DJ, I was going to use him, and Adam would get the message pretty fast. Apparently not. Months passed, and I was dating my DJ. I had VIP access to clubs, and was living the life! Adam knew what I was up to, he knew what I was trying to do. I knew I needed to step up my game if I wanted it to work, so I left the DJ. He was just a tool. I made him feel good for a while, and then tossed him, looking for the next big thing.

Another month passed and I met a new guy. He was drug-free, and none of my friends liked him, but I could not have cared less. He was perfect. It wasn't long after we started going out that he knocked me up. “That'll show Adam.” I thought smugly to myself. And it did.

He called me up one night, when I was a few months into the pregnancy. He was with Mr. White, my kidnapper. I could hear his voice through the phone. Adam was agitated on the phone when he asked me “I have a heap going on, someone told me you were pregnant.” I confirmed his statement, and added that I was having a boy. The line went silent for a minute before I heard him say to Mr. White “Well, I guess I owe you twenty dollars...” then to me he said, “We really need to talk one of these days. I miss you.”

I smiled silently, and answered simply with “I know you do, but I'd rather not.” I was twenty, and free! I didn't hear from him any more after that, aside from some random e-mails here and there, and some messages on Facebook. Weird compliments like about how he was upset that I didn't let him father me a child, and how he was obviously not good enough for me. But he was. He would have been. Sad fact is, he chose the drugs, he loved them more. That made me jealous. To know I could never make him as happy as that bag of white powder did. I emailed him telling him that I killed Never Ever Land, and advising him to grow up before it killed him in kind.

I should have bit my serpentine forked tongue.

I didn't hear from him until my son was around five months old. He wanted to go out for coffee. He desperately needed to talk. I could hear on the phone how his voice quivered, he probably hadn't slept in days. He even stuttered a bit. A long pause followed by, “I miss you buttercup.” I melted. I agreed to coffee on a Wednesday, I think, and it was a Friday when we spoke. I knew I was going to Hamilton for a family reunion until Monday. I felt worried about him, but I didn't know why.

I was at the computer, and I remember this part like it was yesterday. I received a message from one of his friends. I was scared. It just said “Call me, Adam is dead.”

Dead? I laughed, and typed my reply “If you think you can trick me into seeing him early it wasn't going to work.” Not even a minute later I get a reply, saying “Just call Andrew.”

I couldn't. I called Adam's phone. No answer. Then I called Andrew. I said “Andrew, pass the phone to your brother.”

He sighed, voice shaking, “I'm sorry - he's dead. He hung himself. I have to let you go, I'll tell you more when mom is better.” I could hear her crying out in anguish in the background.

“No! My baby! Why?” She screamed, I could hear through the phone before it died.

At that moment, my heart felt like it had been eaten by my stomach and I was about to throw it back up. The following week, I went to Adam's funeral. I was surrounded by memoribillia of the time we were together. All the music he'd made with his bands, and ironically, a song I had written called “Game Over”.

It really was game over for him. That song wasn't meant to be for him. I had brought a red rose to give him. His parents informed me that he was cremated with it.

My Peter Pan is for now and for ever in Never Ever Land. I think of him often, and all his misadventures. We really can't stay nineteen forever...