by Hart, Lane
Maybe Cynthia has something in hers…
“I almost died because of him,” she tells me. “And I still have trouble sleeping sometimes thanks to the nightmares where I think he’s dead, but then he comes after me again.”
“I haven’t slept normally in days,” I admit to her.
“Things will get better,” she promises. “You’re safe here.”
“I know.” Too safe, because Cedric watches me almost as closely as Lowell did. I know he does it out of love while Lowell just liked to control me, but the feeling of being a prisoner is still the same. As we’ve been talking, Cynthia has guided me further down the hall, until we’re standing outside of the apartment she shares with Reece.
“Do you mind if I use your restroom?” I ask.
“Ah, sure,” Cynthia replies with her brow furrowed, probably wondering why I would want to use hers when I could go to Cedric’s right down the hall.
“Thanks!” I say before hurrying into the room and shutting the door like it’s an urgent need.
Slowly and quietly, I open up her cabinet over the sink and hit the jackpot. As soon as I see the word “Oxy”, I know I’m in business. The date on the prescription was like a year ago, so if she hasn’t used them by now, she probably won’t need them. Instead of taking the entire bottle which would rattle and be harder to hide, I dump the contents into my palm, pop two into my mouth and then shove the other pills into the pocket on my shorts.
Quickly, I put the bottle away, flush the toilet to make it sound like I used it and then wash my hands.
Deep down I feel awful for the theft, but the addict inside of me doesn’t feel even a shred of remorse. There’s nothing but relief.
Chapter Seventeen
Cedric
“Cedric, you got a second?” Reece asks when he comes into the apartment that we’ve converted into our surveillance room about an hour into my shift. The main room is dark other than the glow of the row of monitors.
“Sure. What’s up?” I ask. “I thought you would’ve crashed by now.”
“Soon,” he replies. “First, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay?”
He scratches his head with his eyes lowered, and then paces around the small space a few times.
“Reece, man, what’s up?” I ask since I’ve never seen the normally blunt man hesitate over saying anything before.
“You know Cynthia got hurt bad last year,” he begins. “Her ex,” he growls.
“Right, yeah, I remember.”
“Well, she got banged up pretty bad and was in a ton of pain.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter since I know that too. Where’s he going with this?
“She had some pain meds the doctor prescribed, but she was stubborn and didn’t take many once she got home.”
He pauses, and I keep looking at him waiting for him to get to the point. “Okay?”
“They’ve disappeared recently,” he says. “And, um, Evelyn came to our room yesterday…”
“Oh shit,” I huff as I scrub my palms over my face. “You think she took them?”
“I don’t like to point fingers about shit when I don’t have any proof, but, uh, if I had to guess, yeah, she did.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I had no idea.” Now that I think about it, Ev’s been better, less depressed today than the days before when I could barely get her out of bed or convince her to eat.
“I’m not telling you because I’m pissed or because Cynthia gives a shit about the pills. I’m telling you because I thought you would want to know that your girl may have a serious problem if she’s going around taking shit from other people’s medicine cabinets.”
“Right. Thanks,” I say as I swallow around the knot in my throat. “I hate she put you in this position, but I’ll talk to her.”
“If you need anything, let us know,” he says. “You’re not alone in this and neither is she, all right?”
“Yeah, thanks. I will,” I tell him before he walks out the door, leaving me sitting there wondering how the hell I’m supposed to help the women I love if she doesn’t want to be helped.
I struggle with that question for the rest of the night through the end of my shift.
And when I get back to my apartment, while Ev’s sound asleep, I grab her purse and take it into the bathroom where I can turn on the lights to go through it.
I don’t like doing it. In fact, I hate invading her privacy, but I care about her too much to let her keep hurting herself.
It takes digging through every single one of the pockets until I finally open up her change purse and find the stash of round, yellow pills.
“Fuck,” I mutter aloud as I stare at them, trying to figure out if I should flush them or let her keep them. I have no goddamn clue what I’m supposed to do in this situation.
I stupidly thought that Lowell would be the biggest obstacle that I would have to overcome before I could be with Evelyn and spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy.
Boy, was I wrong.
She’s going to hate me if I put her on the same lockdown Lowell had her on and search her shit on a daily basis. But what other choice do I have?
I would rather she hate me than keep hurting herself. That’s why I make the decision to flush them.
Back in the bedroom, I put her purse away, then get undressed before climbing into bed in my boxer briefs. I lie there on my back with my hands behind my head, staring at the dark ceiling, waiting for Ev to wake up so that we can talk.
* * *
“Mmm, good morning,” Evelyn says when she rolls over and cuddles up to my side where I’m still lying on my back.
“Morning,” I reply.
“I missed you last night.”
“I missed you too,” I tell her.
“Everything okay?” she asks, pushing herself up to see my face when I don’t move my hands from behind my head to touch her.
“Reece came and talked to me last night while I was working.”
“I thought you worked at night so he could sleep,” she says.
“I do. He wanted to talk to me about you.”
“Me?” she asks with her nose crinkled. “What about me?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t act like you have no fucking clue what he said about you, and don’t fucking lie to me. I found the oxy in your purse, the ones you stole from Reece and Cynthia. I know you’ve been struggling, but I thought you were determined to fight this shit.”
“I tried,” Evelyn says as she lets her hair fall across her face, refusing to look at me. “It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she says. “Until you’ve been addicted to something, you don’t get to throw stones or whatever.”
“I am an addict,” I admit to her. “I’m addicted to you, and I have been for so long that I don’t remember a time when you weren’t the only thing I think about constantly. Which is why I worked my ass off to help you and Rita. I love you too much to let you keep hurting yourself. I flushed the pills.”
“Why would you do that?” she huffs.
“I just told you. You’ve got to stop this, Ev. Whatever it takes.”
“What if I don’t want to stop?” she asks.
“I’m not exactly giving you the choice.”
“It sounds like you’re giving me an ultimatum, either give up the pills or leave.”
“I’m not letting you leave,” I tell her. “I don’t just mean that I’m not going to let you leave me, but I’m not letting you leave this fucking room without me until I trust you not to fuck up your life!”
Ev gasps and then rolls out of bed, most likely surprised that I’m putting my foot down with her when I’ve never done that before. “You can’t keep me locked up here all the time!” she shouts at me as tears fill her eyes while she staggers around looking for clothes to put on. It’s obvious from watching her that she’s not just groggy from sleep. “If you try, then-then you’re no different from him!”
“I a
m nothing like that son of a bitch, Lowell!” I get out of bed and go stand in front of the door, leaning my back against it with my arms crossed over my chest, blocking her only exit. “He kept you locked away out of jealousy and possessiveness. I’m doing it for your own good, so you won’t use again.”
“I won’t! Okay? Why can’t you believe me?” she asks while jerking a shirt over her head and then pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Because I know how hard it’s been for you and how far you stooped to get more pills. I want more for you than being fucked up all the time! That’s all, Ev. I swear.”
“If you care about me, you’ll let me go.”
“I won’t let you go because I do care about you,” I correct. “Does Rita know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re addicted to pain killers? Do you steal hers from her cabinet?”
“I would never do that to her!” she exclaims as she shoves her feet in her shoes.
“You wouldn’t? Really? I have a hard time believing that when you just stole from one of my brothers!”
“Fuck you, Cedric!” she throws back at me. The words may as well have been knives for the painful impact they have, slicing through me. It’s the addict talking, not her. Still, it’s hard to differentiate when the words are coming out of my Evelyn’s mouth.
“I love you, Ev, and I know that you love me too even though you’re pissed,” I tell her calmly. “I can handle it, though. Yell at me, hit me, kick me, do whatever you want, but I’m not going to let you leave this room again unless it’s to see your mother or go to an NA meeting.”
“NA? Seriously?” she scoffs. “I don’t need NA! I’m not…I’m not like that, not that kind of an addict. Pills are all that kept me alive for two years. Not you. Not my mother. The pills that pushed down the pain I felt in every inch of my body having to live with Lowell!”
“I’m sorry, Ev. More than you’ll ever know. If I could’ve stopped him, stopped you from leaving with him that night, I would have. But I couldn’t back then. I wasn’t strong enough for you or for us two years ago. Now I am, and I won’t let you down again. He left you with a disease, Evelyn. And I promise you, we will cure it together.”
Chapter Eighteen
Evelyn
No matter how much I thrash against Cedric or yell at him over the next several days, he doesn’t budge. Someone brings us food, and occasionally Cedric carries me into the shower and bathes me while I cry and beg him to find me some oxy or Vicodin, anything to make the agonizing pain stop.
Days and nights blur together until eventually I can breathe without the craving bearing down on me with its crushing weight.
“You slept all night. Finally,” Cedric says from the doorway of the bathroom where he’s running a towel over his dark hair and another one is slung around his hips. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I reply while drinking him in. A craving is back, but it’s not one for pain meds. And while I may want Cedric, I’m not sure if he feels the same about me after what I’ve put him through. Withdrawals are not exactly sexy.
“How long has it been? How long have we been here?” I ask while sitting up in bed, propping my back against the headboard.
“Five days.”
“Five? Wow,” I mutter.
“You feel like getting out of here today?” he asks.
“God, yes.”
“Good. You’re going to see your mom, and then I’m taking you to an NA meeting,” Cedric tells me, not asks, before he heads back into the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving me in the dark again.
Oh yeah. He’s pissed. And he has every right to be angry at me. I fucked up. He’s worked his ass off trying to help me, and this is how I repay him, by being an ungrateful bitch addict.
The worst part? I know that the urge and need for pills is just another reminder of Lowell, like we’ll never be rid of him and he’ll always come between us.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t. Because I love Cedric so damn much. I would do anything for him just like I would do anything for my mother, even if it means suffering through the withdrawals, fighting against the demons inside of me.
It’s the least I can do for him, damn it! So if he wants me to go to NA meetings, I will.
Today is going to be a fresh start for us. One where I accept responsibility for my addiction and refuse to let it ruin my life.
* * *
The closest NA meeting is held in the basement of a local church every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at six p.m.
Cedric offered to come inside with me, but I told him I wanted to do this on my own. Besides, I wasn’t sure if he was offering out of moral support or because he was worried I would try to make a run to the closest pharmacy.
When I take a peek out of the high windows, I see it’s likely the latter, because he’s leaning against his bike in the parking lot, scrolling through his phone. Occasionally, he lifts his eyes to the entrance as if confirming it’s not me making an escape.
“Hey, how’s it going?” a woman comes up and stands beside me while I’m watching Cedric.
“Good, you?” I ask.
“Good, good,” she replies. “I need some coffee. Can I fix you a cup?”
“Sure, I guess. Lots of sugar,” I say when I follow her over to the refreshment table.
She grabs the pot and pours us both a serving in the Styrofoam cups; then hands me the container of sugar packets and I take two.
“Thanks,” I tell her after I pour in the sugar and grab a straw to stir it around.
“No problem,” she replies while taking a sip of her coffee. “So, who are you here for?”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Who are you here for?”
Glancing around at the other three people who are milling about the room rather than taking a seat in the metal folding chairs formed in a circle, I tell her, “I’m here for NA. This is where it’s held, right?”
“Oh yeah. But who are you here for? Mother? Father? Boyfriend? Brother or sister?”
Sipping my coffee while I consider her odd inquiry, I say, “I’m not sure I understand your question.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have this look about you, like you feel guilty and are only enduring this meeting to make someone else in your life happy.”
“Ah, okay,” I respond with a nod of my head. “Then, I guess I’m here for my boyfriend.”
“Then you should go ahead and prepare yourself and him for a relapse.”
“What?” I ask in confusion. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me. I’m done with pain killers once and for all.”
“I may not know you, but I am you,” she says. “I came here for a boyfriend once; and then a few years later, I came back for my grandmother. But it didn’t take until I decided to come here for myself, because I was tired of being an addict, tired of the piece of shit I had become after hitting rock bottom. You’ll figure it out for yourself eventually, but probably not until you reach your rock bottom.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter. “But I don’t think my life, the things I’ve done for pills could get any worse.”
“I hope not. Good luck,” she says before she walks away and takes a seat in a metal chair. Once she’s sitting, the two men and another woman follow suit, each sitting with a chair in between them.
An older lady looking like a peppy Golden Girl with a big, poofy, white hairdo comes speed walking into the room a moment later. “Sorry I’m late. Are we all ready to get started?” she plops down into a chair, and then they all look at me as if silently asking if I’m staying or leaving.
I stay, sitting as far away from Debbie Downer as I can get.
And for the next hour, I sit and listen to the others, and even Betty White, talk about their addiction to narcotics and how they have tried and usually failed to overcome it.
Finally, the Debbie Downer, who is certain I’m going to fail, stands up and starts
to talk.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Tammy, and this time I’ve been sober for four hundred and eleven days.”
Everyone claps for her, so she pauses to wait for them to stop.
“Do I think that I won’t ever do heroin again?” she asks aloud. “Nope. I won’t make that prediction or take that bet. But now I can admit that I hate myself when I’m using. I became a shell of the person I once was – a college graduate with everything I needed to succeed in life. I decided to waste it all away on chasing a high instead. I couldn’t give up heroin after I got pregnant, which is why I lost my baby. And I couldn’t give it up for my grandmother who died while I was locked up in a jail cell going through withdrawals. But this time, I’m determined to try and quit for myself, for the woman I used to be years ago before the first time I tried heroin at a party. It’s a night that I will always regret, because the drug and the addiction changed me without my permission. It took things from me, things I will never ever get back and will always haunt me. So, I’m not going to be a slave to the addiction any longer. I hope. Thanks,” she says before she sits back down.
Chapter Nineteen
Cedric
“How was the meeting?” I ask Ev as soon as she comes out of the church. She looks a little wide-eyed.
“Informative,” she says.
“That’s good, right?” I ask while offering her the spare helmet.
“Not exactly informative in a good way.”
“Oh,” I mutter. “Do you want to see if we could find another meeting someplace else? There’s probably several in Wilmington…”
“No, this one is fine,” Ev tells me as she puts her helmet on and fastens the chin strap. “I’ll come back on Friday.”
“Good,” I say. “That’s really good to hear.”
