Breathe for It: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride On Book 4)

by Chelsea Camaron

  Jami is pissed at me. She keeps staring at the needle like it’s going to change. Nope, I got all the drugs in me. She doesn’t get this high or the next because I’m going to get her out of here. I don’t know how yet. It’s all mixed up in my head.

  Everything is a blur.

  A cloud glazes over my eyes. I talk, but what I say doesn’t matter, no one is listening. My stomach rolls, I feel the need to puke. It’s all too much. Every sensation is intensified.

  Then as quick as the feeling of super powers fills me, the darkness engulfs me.

  Time goes on, but I’m not aware. I wake in the trailer alone. My phone keeps ringing, over and over. I’m slow to react. Sliding the screen to answer the call, it’s my brother.

  “Rhett, where you at?”

  I ramble the directions and hang up without explaining and promptly pass right back out.

  Red arrives. When he sees the state I’m in, the disappointment in his eyes hits me like a punch to the gut.

  I shake my head as I fight off the feelings. In that moment, I felt like I let down the world. I failed Jenni, I failed my family, and my brother—my big brother who looked at me with disgust.

  That single decision set me on a path to destruction.

  “I didn’t get addicted on the first hit. Not from a chemical standpoint. Mentally, I was already rattled, the high only intensified the problems I had. Those feelings, though, the feeling that I was strong, that I was invincible, that drove me back time and again. From one drug to the next, I’ve done them all. Each time chasing a moment of peace from the disappointment I knew I had become.”

  “Studies show birth order—” Cecilia tries to explain, but I raise my hand to stop her.

  “There is no justification for the pain I’ve cause. Birth order is shit. My brother, Red, he’s been the best. Solid example as I grew up, and a solid man even today. I’m not an addict because I lived in my brother’s shadow.” I sit back in the chair and really feel the passion inside me coming from a raw place, but it’s a place of real healing I’ve never reached before. “I’m an addict because of the choices I made. Plain and simple. There is nothing to explain. I made decisions that put me here. I gave the drugs the power. And I refuse to lessen the wrongs by some bullshit way to justify the why. I made a choice. It was a conscious decision every single time. That’s on me, not some birth order or mommy issues or daddy issues or whatever else you tell yourself to explain it all away. The man I am today and the man I’m going to continue to be will own up to all of my mistakes and shortcomings.”

  I begin reciting the steps I’ve learned in my own words, “I am powerless to my addiction. I have no control. I accept that now.” I keep my eyes on Jami. “There is a power greater than what’s inside of me. The power which can restore me. I have faith I didn’t have before. Faith in God to fix my life, faith in my family to give me another chance. The morals I knew to be true, I turned from for the drugs. The past is the past, and I will hold myself to a higher standard. I have lied, cheated, betrayed, manipulated, and ruined every relationship I had. Only through God can I overcome the failures in my character. Only through God can my weaknesses and shortcomings become strength and testimony. In time, I’ll make amends with every wrong I’ve done, but first, it starts with you, Jamison Violet Rivera. I failed you that night. I should have scooped you up and gotten you help.”

  The emotions inside me become too much and tears build in my eyes. I keep my eyes on hers as I let myself be vulnerable to a woman I once considered family.

  “I failed you, Jamison. I made a vow to protect you in your sister’s absence, and I didn’t. I knew there were secrets between you. I had a feeling something was off at home. I didn’t fix it. I didn’t save you from it. Instead, I left you out there in the wind chasing the freedom only the drugs could provide. I’m sorry.”

  She gets up from her chair and comes to me. I stand and embrace her as she cries on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rhett. I’m sorry I messed up for us both.”

  “Shhh,” I try to console her.

  “I love you like a brother, Rhett Oleander. My sister loved you. Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t give up on me,” she whispers the last sentence.

  I pull away and cup her chin to make her look at me. “Never gonna give up on you. And no more giving up on myself either.”

  I have been to rehab before, but this time it’s different. This time I want more for myself. I want my future. I want my life.

  I want my sobriety.

  I know shame.

  I know guilt.

  I know anger.

  Every negative emotion available to feel runs through me daily. I wake up each day with the weight of who I have been on my shoulders.

  I have embarrassed my family.

  I have ruined my name.

  They don’t trust me.

  Hell, I don’t trust me.

  The things I’ve done all for another high are pathetic. The things I’ve done knowing I would hurt the people I love the most, unforgivable. Yet, I still live and breathe, and somehow they still support me.

  I don’t know how, but I do know I have a purpose in this life.

  There was a time I couldn’t say that. So right now, I’m embracing these new emotions.

  The positive ones.

  Like hope.

  Like the pride in having the moral fortitude to choose right instead of slipping back down the path of wrong.

  Like the promise of love from my family.

  And forgiveness. I have to hold onto the belief I can be forgiven.

  Everything I lost, I will earn back. One step at a time.

  In the mornings, I open my eyes and the cravings begin. My skin tingles, especially in the shower. It’s taken me time, but I have learned to talk myself off the ledge.

  I don’t need the drugs to take away the fears, the anxieties. I don’t need the drugs to turn off the emotions.

  Feeling is a powerful thing.

  Even the painful emotions are still powerful. I can’t turn off life only to enjoy the smooth parts in the road. Life is indeed a journey, and I have to hug the curves.

  I still have things to learn. I have things to fix inside myself.

  But the man I am today is a far cry from the one who came into this facility weeks ago.

  I thought seeing Jami would set me back.

  Holding her in my arms right now, I don’t feel anything bad. No, having her right in front of my face is motivation to get better.

  I want to do what I couldn’t do all those years ago … I want to give her someone to turn to instead of the drugs.

  Looking at her, she’s lost in her own pain. She’s full of remorse for all the wrongs she has done for the sake of her addiction.

  I hear the buzzer letting us know therapy time is over. I don’t release Jami, though.

  “Even if this falls on deaf ears right now because you aren’t ready to hear it, Jami, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I failed us both. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for both of you so Jenni didn’t think her only way out was to join the Navy. I’m sorry for so many things, but mostly, Jami, I’m sorry I turned my back on you. I’m going to stay sober, and I’m going to be supportive of you every way I can. I need you to know, you are not alone.”

  “I’ve been so alone,” she whispers, “for so long.”

  “Not anymore. I know the battles you face every waking minute of every day. I know the way each breath you take is a pull to want a high of any kind. I’m here to tell you, Jami, it gets better. You don’t have to breathe for the next high anymore.”

  That weak feeling makes each and every addict desperate to turn it off.

  No longer do I breathe from one high to the next. No, I breathe for family. I breathe for forgiveness.

  I breathe for my sobriety.

  And Jami will one day, too.

  10

  Jennissey

  I want to say so much, but the words have left me.

  �
��How you doin’?” Cheyenne greets as I walk into work.

  “Can’t complain,” I tell her honestly. Cheyenne is a nice woman. She’s in her thirties with two kids at home. She works hard and always has a smile on her face. Over the years, I haven’t really bonded with my co-workers. In the Navy you built relationships because really it takes teamwork within a unit. Since getting out, my life has been chaos with Jami’s addiction. There hasn’t been time for friendships.

  “That answer tells me so much,” she jokes with me.

  Really, I am happy right now, so I can’t complain. I have a nice place to stay. One I couldn’t afford, therefore, I’m enjoying it while I have it. I have the peace of mind that my sister is safe which hasn’t happened … ever. I managed to find a job cleaning houses with this company which is a nationwide chain of franchises. If I do well, I have the opportunity to move somewhere else and still secure a job. With Jami in rehab, I can actually leave my purse on the counter and not worry about waking up to no money. Yes, I have nothing to complain about. Life may not be at the very best this moment, but it damn sure could be a lot worse.

  I clock in, and we load up supplies. Driving out to our first house, Cheyenne is her usual self, dancing behind the steering wheel high on life.

  It’s refreshing.

  Some songs, I find myself dancing too. I haven’t been able to let loose and enjoy anything in so long that I truly value the little things like dancing in the car.

  “We only have one today,” Cheyenne informs. “Realtor called. Said it’s a rental, but we need to know it was an eviction. According to the agent, all the furniture was taken out by a moving company. Top to bottom, ceiling to floor, we gotta go over every inch. They have a dumpster out back for trash.”

  I nod as she parks the car, and we begin to unload. The house isn’t messed up from the outside like one would expect from an eviction. The neighborhood is nice and super quiet. It’s all the same style single-story homes throughout.

  My mind begins to daydream. Is this a family who is down on their luck? Maybe the dad lost his job unexpectedly. While this isn’t some overly-expensive place I imagine a working class family living here. A dad, mom, and two kids all making memories together in the walls of this home. Then life being life, shit happens and they lost the home.

  I know what it is to struggle to make the rent and keep the lights on. Thankfully, I don’t have kids to worry over, but I hope when that time comes I’m not living from payday to payday feeling my account balance in the negative.

  Cheyenne and I work well together. We have a system and it begins as we pile our supplies just inside the front door. Going through the house, we make mental notes of the layout. Entryway leads to the living room, and from there is an eat-in kitchen with double doors leading to the back deck. To the right of the living room is a hallway where we have two guest rooms on the right, a bathroom on the left, and at the very end of the hall to the left is the master suite.

  We start at the master bathroom. I clean the shower while she handles the toilet. Cheyenne loves music, and since the house is empty, her phone plays some rock jams for us as we clean. There is a lot of trash, but not as much damage to the house as I expected. I assumed as an eviction it would be ransacked, so I’m thankful for the ease of cleaning so far. From the bathroom, we hit up the bedrooms. The walls aren’t full of holes where someone hung a bunch of pictures. We wipe them down and move on. I start to clean the kitchen when Cheyenne runs from the guest bathroom.

  “Out! Jenni, gotta get out.”

  I don’t hesitate or question her as I rush out the front door right behind her. Is there a snake? Cheyenne doesn’t mind spiders, but snakes and mice bother her. With her phone to her ear, I listen as she talks to our supervisor. “Drugs in the guest bathroom.”

  She pauses as Stella replies.

  “Not sure, there is a spoon, a glass pipe, a syringe. Didn’t stay in there to look though either.”

  Again, there is a pause for Stella to speak. “Okay, we’ll wait here.”

  She clicks the call off. “Gotta wait for Stella to arrive. She’s calling the realtor and the police.”

  I nod, overwhelmed by it all while Cheyenne looks to the sky and begins to pray. “Dear Lord, whoever is using those drugs, please give them a peace only you can give.”

  I’m stuck in place. Cheyenne and I have never discussed religion. We also haven’t discussed addiction and drugs.

  When she finishes, I ask, “Do you believe in prayer?”

  She nods. “Not gonna push my religion on you. But yes, I have known God’s love and grace and I believe.”

  I don’t want to offend her. I’ve never been to church. I know of God but I don’t have first-hand experience with prayer or anything like that. She is shaken in a way I’ve never seen from Cheyenne.

  “Do you have experience with addiction?”

  She looks me in the eyes and I see the tears threatening to spill over. She takes a deep breath. “I am an addict.”

  Her words are direct, bold, and the pain evident in her eyes. “Well, you aren’t an addict anymore,” I clarify.

  She shakes her head. “I am an addict. I will always be an addict. The minute I tell myself I’m not an addict, I will slip, and that’s a slope I don’t want to fall down again.” She sighs, “It’s embarrassing, but it’s my reality. I have to be open about it. I am an addict. Four words that were the hardest to say. To recover means to be aware of myself at all times.”

  Her words hit me deep. To recover means to be aware. Will Jami learn this? Will Jami live this?

  “How did you get sober?”

  The tears fall unchecked from her eyes. “My brother died. He was my strength. I could give you a list of excuses of our shitty childhood, like being poor. I could tell you all the reasons we had to get high from the first time to the last. In the end, what I know is we made decisions, poor ones. We lacked coping skills. We lacked maturity. We lacked a lot. I’m older, wiser, and it was all excuses to justify using.”

  I blink taking in everything she just shared. She’s being so open with me.

  “My sister is going to end up dead if she doesn’t get off the drugs for good this time,” I share for the first time with anyone. I find relief in opening up.

  “We thought it would never happen to us. Then it did.” She blows out a breath. “I wish I could tell you losing Josh saved me, but it didn’t. That was not my rock bottom like I thought it would be.”

  “What helped you change?” I hesitate. “What was rock bottom?”

  “I got pregnant.” She rolls her shoulders back, looking for strength, I assume. “I didn’t know who the father was because I had been selling myself to get money for the next high. It was a cycle. Get high. I would have a good few hours, then I needed to start planning my next fix. Meth is like that. My life was one hit to the next. As soon as I could clear my head from the high, I was out selling myself to scrap together enough for the next dose.”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders giving her a squeeze in comfort. “I don’t know what that feels like, but my sister, Jami, that’s where she’s at with her addiction.”

  “I lost the baby. Too much garbage in my system. I remember the day I bought the pregnancy test. I found change in the parking lot to cover the dollar fifteen at the dollar store. If I had to do all that now that I’m clearheaded, I would be so humiliated. In the moment, though, I just kept thinking about the next high.”

  In this moment, I’m grateful for Cheyenne’s honesty. “I can’t imagine.”

  She gives me an awkward laugh, “Jenni, the only reason I took the test was to know if I had an STD. My period was late, I had these horrible abdominal pains, and I thought I really caught something.”

  “What actually turned things around?”

  She leaned against the car while we waited for the police and Stella. “I went in that dollar store bathroom, I peed on the stick. Then the positive sign popped up. I thought okay, time to fix myself. At fir
st, this was going to turn me around, I just knew it. When you’re on drugs, you think you’re in control. You aren’t, but the mind is a powerful thing. I left the bathroom and went back to the busted-up car I was living in. I hadn’t eaten much in the last few days. I figured I didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant since I already was. I found a guy and sucked him off for a quick buck. He didn’t want to fuck me, said I was too frail, he’d break me. What he didn’t understand was I was already broken.”

  My heart hurts for her as she recounts this time in her life. I also think about how brave I find the whole thing to be. The courage it takes day in and out to move on from past mistakes.

  “Anyhow, I planned to get some food, but the crawling under my skin started. My eyes weren’t able to focus, and all my head kept saying was to take one more hit. Just one more hit to curb the craving. After that, you’ll stop. I chose the drugs. Again and again, day after day, knowing I had a life depending on me, but still, I couldn’t deny the cravings. Then I went back to the same dollar store so I could use the facilities to wash up. My whole body hurt regularly unless I was high. Mostly, it was malnourishment, but at the time, my mind wasn’t clear enough to see it. I sat on the toilet in agony. I thought it was constipation. Only with the plunk in the toilet, I hadn’t passed a stool. I looked down and the blood in the toilet with this sack stared at me.”

  She lifts her shirt to wipe her face. “I lost my baby, and that was the day I realized I lost my way completely. Something had to give.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went to Peaks. I thought they would turn me away since I was homeless and a mess, but they didn’t.”

  If Peaks Road to Recovery can help Cheyenne, I really can believe in the place to help my sister. “Jami is there.”

  “Best place to be.”

  I never would have known any of this looking at Cheyenne now. The police cruiser pulls up just as Stella joins us. Immediately, they ask for our identification, which we both provide.