Scott, part 2

The following spring Scott moved out of the place he was living and into a basement apartment with of all people, Gillian's best friend.

As terrible as that sounds, it really was a step up. He had been living in the basement of what could only be described as a crack house. It was an awful little space, not even a room, just a bed and couch next to the furnace.

At least in this new place there was a fridge & stove, a shower and bed and less chance of being robbed, or worse, in your sleep.

Gillian's friend, who was also named Teresa, could barely tolerate me. Why would she? I had made her best friend miserable, stolen her boyfriend, and god knows what else. It did not make it easy to hang around there, but I wanted to be with Scott, and I was not going to let her stop me.

Unfortunately, things went from bad to worse there. Scott and Teresa were not getting along, Gillian was always hanging around, and Scott's drug use was getting worse and worse.

He was so depressed, not wanting to live there. His moods got darker, almost scary. The way he would talk, saying things about hurting those that hurt him, he actually started to scare me. But I was in too deep, and I did not know how to get out.

The rumours were flying. Scott's friends were turning their back on him, accusations were being made about me, it was everything we feared it would be if we came out about our relationship. In breaking up with Gillian, treating her the way he did, Scott managed to alienate everyone around him.

I hated what was happening. The people I thought were my friends, those I thought I could trust were turning their back on me. It was like Scott had made it so that it would just be the two of us, no one else.

Eventually Teresa moved out of the apartment, leaving Scott there to himself. I thought it would be better, we told ourselves we only needed each other. We could care less about what people were saying about us.

It was quickly decided that I would leave home and move in with him. I was miserable at home, always getting into trouble, my brother was treating me like crap. I wanted out.

We had it all planned out, I would go on student welfare, take the bus to school everyday and finish the semester. I would get a part time job, and in the summer we would get married.

Of course things did not work out that way. Within weeks I had dropped out of school, I could not find a job, and Scott was not even looking. He just sat in the house all day, reading or watching TV. He never did anything, the place was a mess, we hardly had any food, and no one ever came to see us.

He started getting mean too. Not hitting me or yelling at me, just saying mean stuff. He would tease me about what I wore, what I read, what music I listened to. One night it got really bad, he was teasing me relentlessly because I wanted to watch 90210. Calling me a silly girl, telling me to grow up. I was washing the dishes, frustrated at the fact that he had been sitting in the same chair for hours on end, not doing a thing. I filled a glass with hot water & threw it at him. I told him he was never to treat me like that again. He of course sulked for hours, making me feel guilty. Eventually I was the one that apologized to him, and he just went back to his old ways.

There we were, barley 18 years old, living in a tiny, dirty apartment, never going out, sitting around all day, getting high and watching TV. We sat and talked about how hard the world was on people like us, how it wasn't our fault we ended up like this, we managed to find a way to blame everyone else but ourselves.

The only good day was the day the welfare cheques came. We would take a cab to the grocery store. Spend a bunch of money on food, things like Pop Tarts and Kool-Aid, peanut butter and a few loaves of bread. Then we would buy a few cartons of cigarettes, enough to get us few the next couple of weeks. On the way home we would see our dealer, stock up on some pot or hash and then grab a case of beer. Usually more was spent on drugs and beer than groceries, and within days the money was gone.

I was incredibly, terribly, unhappy.

I missed my friends, I missed school, I missed home. But there was no way in hell I was going to admit that to anyone. On occasion I would walk the three blocks to the nearest payphone to talk to one of my friends, I would pretend everything was wonderful, I was so happy, and so in love. Living on my own was great I would tell them, I could do anything I wanted, no one told me what to do.

Thank goodness I still had my parents on my side. As I wrote about in 5,601 Days, I was lucky my father gave me a second chance. He helped me get a job at CIBC, and within a few months I had stopped doing drugs and was heading in the right direction again.

I think watching me pull away; making a life for myself really scared Scott. At first he became more withdrawn, even more depressed. He never left the house, hardly spoke to me and would spend hours staring at the walls, not saying a word.

Eventually though, he seemed to come out of his shell a bit. Perhaps the fear of losing me was greater than his fear of being out in the world. We started going out on occasion with some of his old friends, playing pool, going for a drink. But he refused to join me in any bank functions. I went to BBQ's and Christmas parties on my own.

He still refused to get a job; he had every excuse in the book not too. When I was at work he sat at home, reading, watching TV, drawing or writing. He never cleaned, never did any laundry, never did anything productive.

However, if you asked, I would never complain. I still insisted he made me so happy, told everyone he was so good to me. I never let him know what I thought, I was so afraid of hurting him, so afraid if one more person let him down, he would break.

The following summer, my parents split up. It had been coming for a long time, and I think having me leave home might have been the final straw. Dad bought a house in Oakville, and Scott and I agreed to move in with him, eventually turning the basement of the house into an apartment for the two of us.

I was excited to be getting out of the little apartment we had been in for more than a year. I was sick of sharing a shower with the other people that lived there, having to hoard toilet paper, and having nothing more than a tiny little window to look out of.

Scott on the other hand was not too keen on the idea. He liked being alone, having no one to bug him, I think he knew that my Dad would try and push him out into the world, force him to tidy up after himself, and make him do some work. We moved in the house in July, and within days it was obvious it was not going to work.

Scott and Dad were constantly clashing. Dad wanted Scott to do more, get off his ass. Scott wanted to close the door to his room and go back to watching TV or reading. I was stuck in the middle, having to listen to Dad complain one minute, and then turn around and listen to Scott. I loved them both, and I did not know what to do.

One good thing that did come out of the situation, Scott was suddenly more willing to go out more, he wanted to get out of that house. Only trouble, he seemed to spend the time I was at work hanging out at friends houses getting high all the time. I would come home from work and he would be no where to be found, eventually coming in smelling of pot and beer.

Our relationship really started to suffer, but just when I thought all was lost, we would have one of those moments, one of those times where we clicked. I knew somewhere inside of Scott was my soul mate, the person I was meant to be with, and I was not going to give up without a fight.

To be continued…..