“Paige, we’ve been having these sessions for a few months now. I’m not going to sign off on your treatment until we actually discuss something important,” my counsellor, Erin, says to me at my next appointment.
“Don’t you think the most important thing is that I stay off the drugs? Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here?”
“Yes, that’s part of it. But the loss you’ve experienced makes you a high risk of relapse. Counselling can help, Paige. But only if you’ll let it.”
“I’m not going to relapse,” I insist, looking at a print of an Australian bush scene hanging on the wall in her office, and wishing that she had a window so I didn’t feel so trapped whenever I came here.
“What makes you so sure about that?”
“Because I won’t.”
“I admire your determination, Paige. I really do. But right now, you’re living in a guided situation. You have regular contact with people whose job is to make sure you have all the help you need to move on with your life. This situation won’t last forever. Eventually, you’ll be on your own. You’ll want to have relationships, maybe even start a family. And all of these things can be extremely difficult if we don’t address your past. How can you possibly have a productive future?”
I adjust myself in my seat and fold my arms over my chest. “Firstly, I don’t want to have a relationship, or a family. I don’t want to address my past either. It’s been one huge disappointment after another, and I really don’t want to think about it.”
“You might not want to think about it. But our minds have a habit of forcing us to deal with things.”
I drop my head against the back of the couch and look up at the ceiling. During the day, I’m able to keep busy. I focus on my school work, or I read. I tidy my flat, and I cook. Life is very normal during the day. But when it’s time to sleep, my mind won’t stop.
In those moments before I drift off, I remember everything. My dreams remind me about my past. Then every morning when I wake, the first thought in my mind is of Phoenix, followed by the knowledge that my self-destructive decisions are the reason she didn’t survive.
“You know, when my parents kicked me out of home, I thought I was better off on my own. That I didn’t need the help of homeless shelters, or the charities that run them. I thought that being put into foster care, or a girl’s home would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But now I know that if it wasn’t for programs like this, I’d be dead.” I brush a finger across the top of my nose as I focus on the carpet. “Honestly, I think sometimes that would be better. I’m not going to kill myself, but I do wish I had sometimes. Because if I could choose between my daughter’s life and my own, I’d choose hers. Every time I’d choose hers.” I choke up and struggle to keep going. “Every time I think about her growing inside me, it hits me that all she ever knew was drugs. All she felt was my misery. She never knew love. She was dead before I knew she existed, and I hate myself for that. All I ever wanted was someone to love me. For my parents to love me. And she died without a single hope, a single breath. I wish I was sitting here with a little girl in my lap talking to you about how hard it is being a single mother without an education. But I’m not. I know what I did. I know what I lost, and I don’t want to talk about it any more. I am not going to relapse. I don’t want to take drugs to forget. I need this pain. It’s the only thing reminding me that I’m still alive.”
Forty-One
18 months sober
By the time my recovery program is finished, I have my School Certificate. It isn’t enough to get me into a university course, but it’s enough that I can continue on and do a diploma or apply for an apprenticeship. They also offer career counselling, showing me a lot of pamphlets about jobs in industries that need workers.
I pick up the pamphlet that talks about trades you can learn and wonder if I’d be any good at hairdressing. I figure that I have so much hair of my own, it might be nice to learn what to do with it.
The great thing about these community outreach programs, is that they put you in touch with employers who are willing to work with troubled kids. My counsellor made a few calls and within a week, I had an interview at a local hair salon, where I met Tina.
She left home at an early age by choice, she told me she was getting roughed up and couldn’t take it anymore. The day she got her first job was the same day she left home and moved into a share house. Life was difficult for her, but she was careful with her money, worked hard and eventually, started up her own salon. Now she’s at a point where she can afford to hire an apprentice, and she wants to give someone else the same opportunity she had. I guess I’m lucky that ‘someone’ is now me.
I’m still attending NA meetings, but I only go once a week now. Braden and I are slowly starting to talk more. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. I don’t think we’ll ever be as close as we once were. It’s too hard to forgive him that much, but I don’t feel so much like stabbing him whenever I see him anymore.
I still haven’t seen the tattoo parlour he works at, although he’s been bringing sketch pads with him to meetings and showing me what he’s working on.
He’s planning sleeves for himself, every part of the tattoo will tell a story. The left side, he wants to represent his past, and the right side, his future. It will be a huge undertaking, but I’m sure it will look fantastic when he’s done.
Talking about the symbolism of his ink has got me thinking. I really like the idea of having something that will permanently remind me why I’m living my life the way I am. A tattoo feels like just the thing.
“Braden?” I ask one evening after a meeting. “I’ve been thinking, do you remember how you said you’d do anything for my forgiveness?”
That got his attention, suddenly he’s one hundred percent focused on me instead of the sketch pad on his lap. “Of course. What is it?”
“I want a tattoo.”
“Sure. What do you want? Something on your shoulder? Your hip? Your ankle?”
“My back. I want my entire back done.”
His eyes practically pop out of his head. “You want your whole back done for your first tattoo?”
“Yes. And before you start trying to talk me out of it, I know it’s going to hurt and I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about the tattoo you have, how it’s there to remind you about the worst thing you’ve done. I want something like that too. My worst thing is much bigger than your worst thing. So it needs to be large. It needs to take over my body.”
He sits quiet for a moment then nods his understanding. “I want a phoenix, flames and all. In my mind, it rises from my hips, and its head goes up to one shoulder and the wings are diagonal around me. Can you do something like that?”
“Of course. I’ll do some drawings to show you next week… or I can always call and we can meet up. Have a coffee or something?”
“No. Next week is fine.” I stand up and turn to leave, but I pause.
“Thanks, Braden,” I say over my shoulder and then head home.
Forty-Two
The next week, Braden has pages of phoenixes drawn for me.
“Wow, you’ve really been working hard on this,” I comment as I go through the images. They’re all beautiful and very similar to what I asked of him. Although, some are more detailed than others. A few pages in, I find it. “This one.” I tap the page. “This is exactly what I imagined.”
“Done,” he says quietly, taking the sketch pad off me and looking more closely at his drawing. “I think a phoenix is really fitting Paige. Because you made it out. You’ve turned your life around.”
I shake my head minutely as a coldness seeps into my heart, sending me rigid and making my pain stab at my insides. “The phoenix has nothing to do with me, Braden. It’s for my daughter.”
“I didn’t realise you have a daughter.”
“I don’t. She’s dead.”
“Oh God. I’m so—”
“Just do the tattoo, OK? That’s all I need from
you.” I can’t hear his sorry.
He nods. “When do you want to start?”
“As soon as possible.”
Forty-Three
It takes over a month of work and healing to get the tattoo complete. We work on it after hours so it doesn’t get in the way of Braden’s paying customers.
While he works, we talk. Sometimes it’s just general chit chat. Sometimes it’s more serious. But it’s different to therapy. It’s different to meetings. It’s two people with a shared experience, finding a way to get over it.
“How did you end up living out west?” I ask him.
“I got so hooked on heroin that I qualified for the methadone program in St Marys. I stayed in a group home for a while and fought really hard to get off the stuff completely. Sally, my sponsor, has been really great. He’s helped me a lot. But, I met a lot of people who weren’t so lucky. They just moved from heroin to methadone and never got off it.”
“Your sponsor’s name is Sally?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “You’ve seen him before. He’s the guy with the big black beard and the shaved head.”
“Really? I never would have picked him for a ‘Sally’,” I comment, laughing to myself.
As the days wear on, Braden tells me about his life and how he got involved with Reggie.
“I was buying more than I could afford, and to work off my debt, he took me on as a dealer and his sometime… um… companion. I’m sure you know by now that Reggie likes it every way there is. He didn’t have a big group of girls back then. He had one or two that stayed with him and everyone else got a call whenever he wanted to party. Anyway, after a while, I started recruiting new dealers, and I bragged that I could get anything I wanted—a really stupid thing to say around a guy like Reggie, but I was high, and I wasn’t really thinking.
“He told me to find him a girl. One that no one would miss. He needed to increase his stock levels. So I started paying attention to the girls who slept around a lot. The girls who always seemed to be on something, or seemed really lonely… lost… I’d take them home and play the gentleman, then tell them I knew a guy who would treat them well and give them anything they wanted. Then I’d hand them over.”
I have my back to him as he works on my tattoo, so I can’t see his face as he speaks. But, the air around us is completely sombre, and so filled with regret that I close my eyes to gather some strength before speaking. “So you’re the reason for Reggie’s girls?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “And I’m going to rot in hell for it.”
He pauses in his work, so I take the opportunity to turn and face him. “I’m pretty sure this is hell, Braden. Living with what we’ve done. This is hell.”
“What did you do that’s so terrible, Paige?”
“Everything. I did absolutely everything I was told to do. And then some.”
Forty-Four
The tattoo is finally complete and properly healed. I’ve seen it in the mirror. But Braden is at my flat, taking photos of it so I can see it all properly. It really is something, a real work of art.
“It’s wonderful, Braden. It’s like she’s holding me,” I whisper, looking at the images of the phoenix on my back.
I trace the image with my fingertips as I study the intricacies of the design. The flames erupt out of my lower back as the phoenix rises with its beak open as it calls out over my right shoulder, its wings outstretched. One wing reaches up over my left shoulder and the other, down around to my ribs on the right. It’s as if it’s hugging itself around me protectively. My baby. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, but I’ll carry you with me always. The phoenix's tail feathers fan out near the flames, curving around my body until they reach my hip bone in swirls of yellow, orange and red.
“I love it. It’s better than I imagined,” I tell him in a whisper, still focusing on the images.
“Will you tell me about her? About your daughter?” Braden asks as he moves to sit beside me.
I continue to stare at the pictures as tears drop quietly from my eyes, then I clear my throat. I’m ready. “She um, didn’t even to get to breathe. I didn’t know I was pregnant. I was just so caught up in the drugs and that stupid lifestyle he gave us. I didn’t even notice.”
“Was she Reggie’s?”
“Who knows? But she was mine, and I didn’t protect her. I was even worse than my own mother. I ruined her before she was even born. She didn’t have a chance.”
“What was her name?”
“Phoenix. Her name was Phoenix,” I tell him, wiping at my eyes and taking a deep breath. “That’s the whole meaning of the tattoo. I want to remember her always. I want to carry her with me.”
“Like your cross to bear.”
“Exactly. She was innocent. She was perfect. And I destroyed her.”
Forty-Five
Five
Four years later. Still sober.
“How does it feel to be a fully-fledged hairdresser?” Tina asks when my apprenticeship is finally complete. She’s taking me out to dinner to celebrate.
“It feels great. I’m actually really proud of myself,” I tell her, leaning forward to sip on my coke through the red straw. I haven’t gone to that many restaurants in the past few years, so it’s kind of nice to be in one.
“You should be proud. You’re wonderful at your job.”
I smile and think about how much my life has changed since my stay in rehab. Without the encouragement and support of my boss, Tina, and my caseworker, Justine. I don’t know that I would have made it this far.
I’m proud to say I’m what’s called a ‘functioning member of society’. I have a job. I have a handful of friends, and I have a home. It’s a rented one, but I got it off my own merits, it’s not a government subsidised one anymore.
I moved out of the flat in Lemongrove, and into a new one in Westmead. I needed a change of scenery, and I needed to move away from Braden. While spending time with him when he did my tattoo was therapeutic, the best I could do was not hate him. I still can’t be his friend.
A waiter brings our food to the table and places four dishes between us, each containing different types of Malaysian cuisine. The scent of exotic spices fills my nose and makes my mouth water as I help myself to some rice, and a beef curry.
“I’ll miss seeing you every day,” I say after a while.
“Me too. But you’re new job is with a much bigger salon that will teach you more than I ever could. I’ve loved being your teacher so far, but you have a great talent and you should go out there to learn how to make the most of it,” Tina says. “Besides, Justine is bringing me a new trainee next week. I won’t be on my own for long.” She winks, balancing a large chilli prawn between her chopsticks and placing it in her mouth.
I watch her eating for a moment. I really am going to miss her. But I knew this day would come. Tina’s salon isn’t busy enough to pay two full-time hairdressers, so I needed to start job hunting before I finished my training. In a way, it’s for the best. Me leaving means Tina can train another girl and give her the same chance in life I now have.
Next Monday, I’m starting work at a busy salon in Parramatta. I’m nervous that I won’t be good enough to perform well under the pressure of a constant stream of clients. Tina assures me I’ll do great. But, time will tell.
Forty-Six
“Who’s next?” I ask our salon hand, Tiffany, as I finish taking a client’s payment for her cut and blow dry.
“That guy over there,” she says, indicating a blond man sitting in the chair to the furthest end of the salon. “He’s just after a trim.”
“Great. Thanks.” I grab a black topped stool and slide it down the salon so I’ll be able to use it as I neaten up this client’s hair. Selecting a black salon cape, I shake it out and slide it over his clothing, introducing myself as I do.
“Hi, I’m Paige. What can I do for you today?” I ask, as I secure the clasps behind his neck and smile at him via the mirror. Holy shit.
“
Paige.” A grin lights up his features, his blue eyes dancing as they meet mine via our reflections.
“Matthew. I didn’t…I never…” I stammer, completely stunned at his sudden reappearance in my life.
“Never thought you’d see me again?” he finishes for me. “I didn’t either. I can’t believe it’s really you.”
“Um…” My hand flutters up and touches my temple as if there’s a pain there, but I’m just uncomfortable. Seeing Matthew reminds me of so many bad decisions, and I don’t want to think about one of them.
“How are you? How have you been?” he asks, his voice too happy for the cascade of emotions I’m struggling under.
“Um…” I say again. My words seem to evade me, so I turn to the safety of business instead of answering. “What kind of hair cut were you after?”
“Just a trim,” he tells me, watching me intently in the mirror.
My face feels like it’s burning. I’m not sure how to handle this. Never, in a million years, did I think I’d ever see him again. I’m not prepared.
I focus on cutting his hair, doing my best to avoid any sort of eye contact as I work as quickly as I can.
“Won’t you talk to me?” he says after a while.
I glance at him briefly and shake my head. “Not here, Matthew. This is my work.”
“Well, can I meet you later? Talk over dinner or even drinks?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please, Paige. I’d really like to spend some time with you. What time do you get off work?”
“Six.”
“Then I’ll be waiting outside at six.”
* * *
I hang back and offer to clean things that don’t need cleaning. I can see Matthew waiting for me outside, and I don’t particularly want to go out there. I wanted to tell him no earlier, but something made me agree. There’s something about him that clouds my judgement, the same as it did all those years ago. I’ve made enough stupid decisions to last me a lifetime. I’m hoping that if I stay inside long enough, he’ll get bored and leave.
Forever: Beautiful Series, book two Page 41
