Clean

by Amy Reed

  But I was sober, and that bathroom was cold. I opened the door and the light was bright and I knew he was there behind the tile wall. The smell of cleanser was sharp in my nose. I did not want to see him. I did not want him looking at me. Suddenly nothing felt right in my body. I could feel too much. I could feel myself not wanting to be there. But I could feel him there wanting me, and I knew what I had to do. So even though everything inside was telling me to turn the other way and run out that door, I tried to be with him. He has to know I tried. But it was like there were voices inside me telling me to do something else, like they had been there all along but I’d always been too drunk to hear them. And when he touched me, they were screaming. They said “Stop,” but my mouth couldn’t. They said “No,” but my body tried to follow his. The more he touched me, the louder they got, until it was too hard to kiss him back, until it was too hard to pretend.

  There was something else too. There was more than Jason and me in that room. There were memories like blurry images in the darkness, shades of gray and shapes that looked like people. I felt the pressure of him against me, but the air around us changed, became thick like smoke suffocating, and we were replaced by ghosts. When I reached for him, I lifted the arms of a girl who resembled me but was not me, a girl with eyes filled with terror. And the taste in my mouth was not him, it was only the shadows of him, it was a dusty basement four years ago, it was vodka and orange juice and a girl who had no idea what she was getting into. And then it was not Jason in that bathroom with me. It was that older boy four years ago, and it was not the fuzzy maybe memory. It was suddenly sharp and hot and fiercely in focus. And it was not fine, okay, no problem, numb—No, it was not any of those things I wanted to believe it had been.

  Because some things are stronger than vodka and orange juice. Some things like pain and fear and ripping apart. And his hands like stains on my body. And his violence so cruel inside me. Jason, it was not you, but it was all of you. It was all you boys and men who never even had to ask. It was all you boys who took me. Because I gave myself away like I was worth nothing. Because if I let you have me, you couldn’t take me like he did, couldn’t hurt me like he did.

  Chris Henderson. I remember. You hurt me. I did not say yes.

  I can taste the memory of vodka and orange juice. I can taste you sour in my mouth. I can taste the pain, still raw, still fresh, released from its hiding place, swarming around in truth like torture, and there is no sending it back.

  DRUG & ALCOHOL HISTORY QUESTIONNAIRE

  QUESTION #4:

  Have you ever tried to stop or cut down on your own? What happened?

  I made a schedule. I planned how many pills I would take each day. But I could never follow it for long. I always needed more.

  I’ve never tried to quit. Why would I want to quit?

  I told myself I wouldn’t drink until the weekend.

  I said I’d take a break for a month.

  I said I’d take a break for a week.

  I said I’d take a break for two days.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t get wasted.

  I’d only have a couple drinks.

  I wouldn’t lose control.

  I woke up every morning and promised myself I wouldn’t smoke that day.

  I didn’t want to quit. I just wanted to stop for a couple weeks so I could get my tolerance back.

  I just wanted it to be like it was at the beginning.

  What are you supposed to do when you forget what normal feels like?

  Somehow those drinks always made it into my hand and into my mouth.

  Somehow they kept coming and coming and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I promised God this time would be the last time.

  Imagine wanting something you hate.

  God, what’s wrong with me?

  I was able to quit for two weeks once, but it felt like torture.

  It felt like I was holding my breath the whole time.

  My hands were shaking.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I couldn’t eat.

  This isn’t normal.

  This isn’t the way normal people live.

  I tried to switch to beer. I thought it couldn’t get me into trouble. But I kept drinking until it did. I kept drinking until I didn’t care about the promise I’d made, and it wasn’t long until I was back to everything else, and it was even worse than before.

  Normal people don’t need to get high every day.

  Normal people can go a week without drinking.

  Normal people can keep promises they make to themselves.

  Imagine an obsession so strong you can’t think

  about anything else.

  Imagine starvation.

  Now imagine something worse.

  I can’t remember what it feels like to not need to drink.

  I don’t know how many times I tried to control it. I told myself only on weekends, only at night, only at parties, never alone, never at school, never while babysitting, never while driving. I’d be able to do it for a while, but things would always fall apart.

  I couldn’t do anything but sleep and eat.

  You get to a certain point and it’s not you making the decisions anymore.

  You get to a certain point and there’s no turning back.

  I needed it to feel normal.

  I had no choice.

  I wanted to die.

  I tried, but I just needed to make the pain stop.

  It was the only thing that I knew would make the pain stop.

  I always meant it. Every single time. I always planned to keep those promises.

  You can only fail so many times.

  I thought one beer couldn’t hurt. But that one beer turned to three, then five, then eight, then it was back to the coke, then I don’t remember.

  I am not normal.

  I will never be normal.

  It’s like I’m possessed, like there’s this demon inside me and as soon as it gets a taste of what it wants, it takes over. It’s like the other part of me disappears, the part of me that wants to be good, and there’s nothing left but this demon on a rampage, and the good part of me just hides and tries to stay out of the way.

  Imagine everything feeling wrong. Imagine a hole in your chest the size of God.

  Nothing else mattered.

  All I could think about was getting high.

  Imagine trying to live without air.

  Now imagine something worse.

  CHRISTOPHER

  Today’s a big day.

  There’s about to be a major news announcement. Everybody’s been buzzing since before breakfast with rumors about something exciting that happened last night, and apparently I slept through the whole thing. I guess I’m the only one who actually sleeps in this place. I’ve been trying to catch up all morning, but there are so many weird theories floating around. The various clues have led me to believe the events in question involved some kind of contraband, the Heroin Addict, and/or the Satan Worshipper. We’re all sitting here on the edge of our seats, waiting for community meeting to start, watching Ponytail AC’s face for any kind of clue about what to expect, but he’s just standing against the wall like he’s trying to be invisible, and his eyes are all sketchy, darting back and forth. All the ACs have this same look of fear in their eyes to varying degrees, like they’re waiting for us to erupt in some kind of Lord of the Flies mutiny. Except for Lilana, of course. She’s the only one who’s never impressed by anything we do.

  One of the counselors from another Group walks in, and Ponytail immediately relaxes. I guess it must be a huge relief to not have to be responsible for a room full of teenage drug addicts anymore. Really, we could turn on him at any second. I’d be scared too. The counselor in charge looks like he could protect him, though. He’s a big guy with tattoos and a big deep voice, and if anyone can protect Ponytail from us, it’s probably him, and maybe Lilana. As soon as he stands up there, everyone calms down and looks straight at him,
and I swear it’s the best behaved we’ve ever been. If someone walked in right now, they’d probably think we were some kind of honors class instead of a bunch of criminals.

  “Good morning, everyone,” the Buff Counselor says in his gravelly voice, and I hear the Pregnant Girl whisper to her friend, “He is so cute,” and then they both giggle, but I think he looks like one of those wrestlers on TV, the fake ones who are always yelling and pounding their shaved chests with their fists, and I honestly don’t see what’s so cute about that, but of course I’m no expert on what girls think is cute.

  Buff Counselor says, “We’re going to skip introductions this morning if that’s okay with you guys. We have a lot to cover and no one new is joining us today.”

  No one objects, but I bet Compulsive Liar is secretly fuming because everybody knows he loves listing off in front of an audience every morning all the drugs he pretends he’s addicted to. Everyone’s always making fun of him and calling him crazy behind his back, but I can kind of understand how someone would end up that way. I mean, if no one ever pays attention to you telling the truth, then it probably makes sense to try lying for a change.

  Eva leans over and says into my ear, “I heard they found needles in the Heroin Addict’s room.” Then Kelly leans over on the other side of me and says, “No, it’s worse. They found him OD’d on the floor of the bathroom.” Then Eva says, “Someone on the outside snuck a baggie through the patio fence.” Then Kelly says, “It was his girlfriend.” Eva says, “He has a girlfriend?” And I’m happy for them that they’re getting along, but I’d prefer it if they found another way to communicate than through my head.

  “I know there are a lot of rumors circulating this morning about events that occurred last night,” Buff Counselor says. “There are some things I can’t share with you, but I can tell you that, as of last night, Erik Vine is no longer a member of our community.”

  “I knew it,” says Eva. Then Kelly says, “His name was Erik?” and everyone’s talking all over the place, and I must admit it is pretty exciting compared to the usual community meeting where we go around in a circle introducing ourselves for the five-millionth time.

  Jason’s all the way over on the other side of the room because I guess Kelly got custody of me and Eva in the separation. He’s been moping around for the last couple of days, but she’s gone the exact opposite direction. Nobody’s said anything about it out loud, but it’s kind of drastic how much she’s changed. I have to say I think she’s a lot prettier au naturel, but that could just be my own personal beauty aesthetic. Also, I think she looks a lot nicer without makeup, like, less mean and scary, not that she was ever particularly mean and scary, but she definitely belonged in the intimidating category. She’s also dressing differently now, less sexy and grown-up and more like the girls I’m used to. It’s like all of a sudden she decided to not try so hard anymore.

  The weirdest thing isn’t that she’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, or even that she’s talking to Eva; it’s something else completely, but I can’t really explain it. It’s not one thing in particular like a specific behavior. It’s more like a general feeling, like something new you feel when you’re around her, like now you’re not as sad anymore, not as weighed down. It’s crazy how just being next to someone can change your feelings like that. It’s like Kelly likes herself better without all that makeup.

  Buff Counselor is fighting off everybody’s questions now as people try to get to the bottom of things. Someone asks if he’s going to jail, and someone else asks if he OD’d in the bathroom, and someone asks if he escaped, and someone says, “Who’s Erik Vine?” and someone answers, “The Heroin Addict.” And the other someone says, “Oh.” Buff Counselor isn’t saying anything; he’s just standing up there like a big silent rock while Ponytail looks more nervous the louder and more unruly the crowd gets.

  The rest of the Scary Guys might know something, but Gas Man left yesterday for a high-security boarding school in the Arizona desert, and I don’t know anyone brave or stupid enough to talk to the other two. Buff Counselor says, “It became clear that Erik did not belong in a community of recovery. That’s all I’m going to say.” Could he be any more mysterious? It’s like he wants to torture us. The crowd is obviously not satisfied with the answer, but they calm down because Buff Counselor gives the impression that there’s no hope of getting anything more out of him, and the excitement in the room is replaced by disappointment.

  Just when it seems we’re sufficiently settled down and ready to move on, Hippie Girl raises her hand and says, “I have something I’d like to bring up with the community.” I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I can see her Group members rolling their eyes and looking at each other, and even though she’s really annoying and always hanging on to Eva, I kind of feel sorry for her to be that disliked by her own Group.

  “Yes, Sophie?” Buff Counselor says, and Kelly goes, “Her name’s Sophie?” and Eva nods, and I realize I didn’t even know that even though I’m around her all the time and she introduces herself at community meeting every day.

  Sophie says, “I would like to discuss the censorship of nontraditional religious books and how basically it’s against the Constitution that you took away… that guy… um…”

  “Yes, Sophie?” says Buff Counselor.

  “Um, his books,” she says, pointing at Satan Worshipper. He smiles a wicked grin, and I swear his teeth are black.

  Now that I think of it, does anyone know anyone’s name in here? Are we really that self-absorbed?

  Buff Counselor says, “I believe this matter has already been settled between Shawn and his counselor, and if I’m not mistaken, it doesn’t involve you, does it, Sophie?”

  “It does involve me if it involves another human being’s goddess-given rights to free speech,” she says, and the whole room groans in unison, even Ponytail, and it’s actually quite a lovely sound, like we’re the Rehab Tabernacle Choir or something. Sophie the Hippie is always trying to protest something, which I find kind of endearing, but which makes Eva want to kill her. But it’s nice to see someone care about something, you know? First was the use of Styrofoam cups for tea, then something about genetically modified meat in our lunches, which shouldn’t really concern her since, of course, she’s vegan.

  This time Eva leans over and whispers, “Someone finally complained about his Satan worshipper books, so they took them away,” and Kelly says, “It’s about time,” and I wonder when they decided to become best friends, because last time I checked, they didn’t even talk to each other. Maybe Eva decided she’d be nice after Kelly stopped showing off her boobs. But who knows how girls think?

  Buff Counselor says, “The administration decided that the books were a distraction and not appropriate for this environment, and Shawn willingly agreed to let us keep them for him until he goes home.”

  Eva says, “I bet we’re going to see him on the news in a couple months for blowing up his school,” and Kelly says, “Totally.”

  “But you have no right to decide what religion is appropriate for someone else,” Sophie says, and her voice is even whinier and more desperate than usual. Someone throws a wadded-up piece of paper at her, and Satan Worshipper is just sitting over there laughing like a maniac, and people are starting to get restless, and Kelly says, “How embarrassing,” and Eva says, “She probably thinks he lights candles under a full moon and casts spells for a bountiful harvest.” Then they’re both laughing like crazy, and now the whole room is laughing. Buff Counselor says, “Okay. Time for Group,” like Sophie isn’t even there, and everybody gets up and starts walking to their rooms. Sophie’s just standing there with her mouth hanging open, and it just amazes me how many ways there are to humiliate someone.

  GROUP

  SHIRLEY: Eva, let’s talk about your mother’s death.

  EVA: Let’s not.

  SHIRLEY: It’s obviously had a huge impact on your life. Don’t you think it’s a good idea to address it?

  EVA:
I don’t need to. I’ve talked about it enough with all the shrinks my dad sent me to. It’s over. She’s gone. End of story. Can’t you just read my essays or something?

  SHIRLEY: What does the Group think?

  JASON: Bullshit.

  KELLY: Bullshit.

  CHRISTOPHER: It sounds like you’re still really angry.

  EVA: Jesus, you people drive me crazy.

  SHIRLEY: How do you feel about what Christopher said? Do you think you’re angry?

  EVA: Of course I’m angry. Wouldn’t you be? When she died, it just gave my dad permission to forget about me, so basically I lost two parents at the same time. That’s a lot for a kid to deal with.

  SHIRLEY: But you said yourself that he got you counseling. Can you give him some credit for that, at least?

  EVA: All that proves is that he wanted to hand me off to someone else and let them deal with me.

  KELLY: Do you blame him for your drug use?

  EVA: Do you think you’re the counselor now, Kelly?

  SHIRLEY: It’s a good question, Eva. Do you hold your dad responsible for your addiction?

  EVA: It probably wouldn’t have gotten so bad if he’d been paying closer attention.

  SHIRLEY: So you blame him for not catching you sooner? That’s a big responsibility to put on him, don’t you think?

  EVA: Jesus, Shirley, whose side are you on?

  SHIRLEY: What do you guys think? Do you think she’s being too hard on her dad?

  CHRISTOPHER: Maybe.

  OLIVIA: Yes.

  KELLY: She hasn’t talked a whole lot about him, or about anything, really, so it’s hard to tell.

  EVA: You want to know what it was like after my mom died?

  KELLY: It might help us understand better.

  EVA: There’s nothing to understand. Before she died, we were a family. We were happy. Then she got sick and everything fell apart. It was my dad’s job to keep it together. It was his job to stay strong for us, but he didn’t. He was selfish. He let things fall apart. He didn’t even think about what I was going through.