by J Grace
I, on the other hand, felt conflicted as fuck.
Cancer! Wait, what?
"I was in group when you told the story about the ATV accident, Malcolm. And now suddenly it's cancer! Which is it Malcolm because I'm trying really hard not to throttle you right now!" My anger was bubbling at an unseen level.
Fucking liar!
"I didn't want any of those fucking stares! You know the one I'm talking about. So, I said it was an ATV accident. It’s the truth, it just isn’t my truth. Don't worry, Dr. Banner knows. She didn't appreciate me lying, but she agreed on one condition," I raised my eyebrow silently asking 'what condition,' "I have to come clean before my last session or she won’t sign off on my discharge," he let out a long sigh and met my eyes, "You know, telling the truth wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. It's not like by lying I can somehow pretend it didn’t happen. For fucks sake, I'm missing half my leg!" He said pointing to the prosthetic part of his leg.
The conflict arose in me again. I couldn't fault him for his actions now that I knew the truth. Not completely. And, it wasn't like I hadn't done some questionable shit myself, but Megan was my best friend and he'd destroyed her.
"I know it isn't much, but if you have her address I'd really like to write her and explain. It wont take away what I did, but maybe it will take away some of the blame she put on herself." I chewed on my bottom lip mulling over what he said.
"It’s a good first step at least." I admitted. I wrote her address down on a slip of paper and then left his room. I don't know if we'll ever be friends, but at least, for now, I understand him a little better and I don't have to walk around with that Malcolm sized chip on my shoulder, which is a good thing because he's huge!
I stood in the middle of the common room staring at Marjorie’s door. I had just left her room not even thirty minutes ago, but something about her called to me, begged for all of my attention. I had met plenty of girls I found attractive and flirted with. A lot, in fact. Nothing ever came of it because quite frankly they were silly and vapid most of the time. They were nothing like her. She’s closed off and scared, but I see her trying her best to push past whatever it is that’s been done to her. Marjorie is strong though, stronger than they probably bargained for. Whatever it was or whoever it was only succeeded in one thing: making a fighter out of her. And if that right hook of hers is any indication- she’s gonna win.
Chapter 8
Marjorie
The day of my first group session was upon me and I was nervous. I didn’t know if any of my floormates were going to be there and I was unsure about whether I wanted them there or not. I liked them and I knew that eventually, we were all going to know each other's backstory, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that just yet. Sure Zachery and Avery had already told me part of theirs and I told Zachery mine, but they had to be holding out on part of it like me, right?
Why do I always read into things? Some things can be as simple as they sound, Marjorie!
I finished bathing and dressing quickly and headed to the dining room for breakfast without waiting around for anyone else. I was already wound tightly and wanted to avoid any potential conflicts with Avery and Malcolm. When I got to the dining room it was blessedly empty. I got my food quickly and sat at our table far in the back. Even though I was hungry I couldn’t eat much, the fear of a potential vomit attack or more looming over me, so I ate a Red Delicious apple and a piece of dry toast that I washed down with room temperature water. When I was done with breakfast and massive amounts of overthinking, I threw my trash away and headed to the front desk. I still had about forty-five minutes until my session and wanted a quiet place to sit and try to calm down, and I thought the front porch would be a great place for that.
“Excuse me?” I said to the Nurse sitting at the front desk.
“Yes?” She said looking up, a warm smile on her face. I read her name on her tag, having never seen her before.
“Hi, Good morning, Nurse Stacy. I was wondering if it would be possible to go out on the porch?”
“Let me check, what’s your name?”she pulled out the keyboard as she waited for my answer.
“Marjorie Long.”
please don't let me be restricted.
She typed in my name quickly then looked up at me. “Sorry, Marjorie. You’re restricted until you’ve had your first session with Dr. Banner. Once she clears you, you can go anywhere you’d like on property, but until then, you have to stay indoors.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling utterly dejected.
“Is there a specific reason you wanted to go to the front porch?”
Is she just being nosey? Or is she wanting to be helpful? I'll go with helpful.
“I just wanted a quiet place. Today is my first group session and I’m nervous.”
“Try the Library. There are a few private rooms for reading. They’re usually reserved, but not typically this early.”
“Thanks! I will. Have a good day!” I ran off to the elevators with her reply of ‘you too’ trailing behind me. A feeling of what I guess could be called excitement bubbled up as I ran up the stairs to the library.
Luckily, or by the Grace of God, there was a private room available when I arrived. The librarian, who I learned was an actual librarian and not a Nurse on duty, checked me in quickly, leaving me twenty-five minutes of uninterrupted quiet time. The room wasn’t as big as the bedrooms but was big enough to hold a large rocking chair, a few bookshelves and a desk with a preset timer. I sat down, closed my eyes and rocked, the tension fading away almost immediately. I could have stayed there forever, but in what felt like seconds the timer went off. I left the room reluctantly, but I felt more relaxed. I stopped by the desk to reserve a room for the next few days and headed to the therapy room on the main floor. Even if I didn’t use the private room before a group session it was still a nice, quiet place to relax.
When I arrived at the group therapy room, the door was propped open. My heart was pounding and the calmness I had found while rocking was completely gone. I stood outside the door and listened for voices, my nerves on edge again. I hated walking into a crowded room and having people look at me. I let out a shaky breath when I heard nothing but silence and walked in a bit more confidently, until I saw six people sitting there quietly, now taking notice of me. Shit! My temperature rose to a level that brought a light sheen of sweat to my forehead, and the edges of my vision started to go black when Nurse Astrid called my name.
“Marjorie, welcome! Come in and take a seat. We’re just waiting on one more person to arrive,” I sucked in a deep breath at the sound of her voice, suddenly feeling like I was breaking the surface after almost drowning. I took a step toward a chair, losing my balance. A hand gripped my bicep and then I face planted into a firm chest. The smell of sunblock hit my nose and I instinctively felt at ease knowing that it was Bodie who was there to catch me.
“Hey, I know you’re falling for me, but this is a little much.” My face had gone pale, the fall adding to my embarrassment and already shot nerves, “Woah, Marjorie, I was just joking. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse. Just breathe, ok. I got you.” He whispered in my ear as he helped me to the seat next to him. I stared at my feet trying to focus on breathing and not wanting to see any judgemental faces directed at me. Thankfully it wasn’t long before Nurse Astrid closed the door and began the session.
“Ok, ladies and gentlemen, we have a new resident in today’s session and I’m sure you're all anxious to learn all about her. But as you know, any sharing in these sessions is voluntary. And I’m sure you can all recall your first session and the nerves that came with it so in the spirit of being welcoming why don't we have a few of you share a bit about your journey and hope that Marjorie will feel comfortable with sharing her story with us. Who would like to go first?” There were quite a few blank stares, crossed arms and a lot of silence until Bodie spoke up.
“I guess I will if it will help Marjorie,” he looked at me with a solemn expressio
n on his face.
Is he scared that whatever he says will change my impression of him? Does he care what my impression of him is?
He looked away from me to address the group, “My name is Bodie and I’ve been here for about four months. I’ve seen a few of you in other sessions so this may be a bit repetitive for you. When I was six my older cousin Darren dared me to take a shot of my grandfathers bourbon at a family reunion. He was always daring me to do stupid shit like set the clock back thirty minutes or up the temp on the oven. But when he came up with this dare I knew he was serious. My grandfather loved few things more than he loved his Wild Turkey, including Darren and me. I also knew he didn't think I had the stones to do it, so that meant I had to. That day I had more than one shot and so did he. My grandfather found out and whipped us good, but it was worth it. I loved the way it made me feel. The alcohol, not the beating, to be clear," A few giggles could be heard. "Even now, I long for the rush alcohol gave me,” his throat bobbed and he wiped his hands on his pant legs, “Anyway, from that day on I was hooked and spent the next ten years as a functioning alcoholic. I didn’t know it at the time. I just knew that my body needed it to function. You might wonder how exactly does a child get alcohol, let alone enough to become an alcoholic? Well, when your family owns half the liquor stores in town, it’s pretty damn easy. It wasn't until my nineteen year old cousin, Darren, died from Cirrhosis that I realized that it could’ve been me,” his voice wavered and he took a moment to collect himself, “I was sober for the first time in ten years at his funeral. It was hard to see him like that and not have alcohol to numb me, but I owed it to him to see him and remember. I tried to go it alone, but by the end of the afternoon I was a complete mess. I was supposed to go home, but my mom had given me a shot to help calm me. I wish she hadn’t. I wish she had just let me… Instead of going home, I went to the nearest liquor store and got drunk. I called a friend and went on a three-day bender and almost died of alcohol poisoning. When I woke up I was in another state and learned that my parents had put out a missing persons bulletin on me. The thought of what could have happened to me, that I could have died and my parents would never have known or found my body made me realize that I needed help. When I was released from the hospital after a three day detox, I arrived at Brighton House. It’s been hard, but Dr. Banner and Dr. Reyes have really helped me, and I’ve come to realize a lot about myself and my dependence on alcohol. It hasn't been so good on my physique," he gripped his stomach for emphasis, "but one thing at a time, right?” Of course he had to finish on a funny note. That was also a coping mechanism, but who was I to judge, I had plenty of them. And none of them made people laugh.
The session went on and a few other people shared, but mercifully our time was up before I could satiate any curiosity they had. Bodie and I walked out together and headed to the elevator in companionable silence. I felt so much closer to him now and the ease with which he shared his struggles really boosted my opinion of him, which was already pretty strong. When we reached the elevators I turned to Bodie to say something, but he started talking first, “I have to start my kitchen shift in about fifteen minutes, but I wanted to say thanks for, I don’t know, not giving me that look after you heard my story.” I was confused, what look?
“What look is that?” He chuckled as he took in my confused expression.
“I guess you haven’t seen the look, but believe me, you’ll know it when you see it, and it doesn’t feel good.” I scrunched up my face in reply. He chuckled again, “It’s not that face. That face is adorable,” his eyes got wide at his admission and he spun quickly, walking away before I could reply, leaving me there as a blush bloomed on my face and a heat in the pit of my stomach took hold.
Oh, God, Marjorie, another one?
Chapter 9
Bodie
For fucks sake Bodie! Why would you say that to her? And could you have gotten away from her any faster?
Marjorie, for her part, was at least kind enough not to say anything. She was embarrassed if the redness on her face was any indication. I mean, it’s not like what I said was a lie. She is adorable. Downright gorgeous, but what would a girl like her ever see in a loser like me? Sure, we were both at a treatment facility so she obviously had her own issues, but I’d be willing to wager she had guys just blowing up her phone or facebook or Insta or whatever way they could get close to her. All I could offer her was a less than desirable body and corny jokes. I guess it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t come here to meet the love of my life anyway. Still, it might be nice to feel like I at least stood a chance, but with the likes of Zachery and his model good looks and affable charm, I didn’t stand a chance. Hell, even Malcolm with his surly demeanor and one and a half legs has a better shot at a girl like Marjorie than dumpy old me. Then, there’s Avery who steals as much time with Marjorie as possible.
Better not to dwell on that, Bodie. You'll only end up breaking your own heart and quite possibly your sobriety.
I’ve worked too hard to fuck this up, even for a girl like Marjorie. Her beautiful green eyes flash in my mind and I know I’m screwed. Maybe, just maybe. I mean, she didn’t shut me down, right? Of course, I didn’t exactly wait around for the letdown either.
I walk the rest of the way to my kitchen shift feeling lighter, letting that one iota of a shot bolster me to almost believing. For now, that’ll do, Donkey, that’ll do.
I was distracted for pretty much the entire shift, going back and forth with how I thought Marjorie would react. She wouldn’t be cruel, I knew that. I didn’t think she even knew how to be mean, but would she be open to my advances or stop them in their tracks? I was having just such a mental debate when a large pile of plates was unceremoniously dropped in the dirty soapy water in front of me, splashing me with water, soap, and bits of leftover food.
“Hey space cadet, get your head out of the clouds or get out of my kitchen. I don’t need an accident to happen because you’re not paying attention.” Sam the head cook said, shaking me out of my thoughts. He was right. I could get hurt or cause someone else to get hurt.
“Sorry, Sam. I should probably just go then. I’ll make it up to you and work a double next time.” he grunted, sloshing more plates into the water.
“That’s not necessary. This isn’t a mandatory thing so I’m not gonna make you do extra work to make up to appease me. I know where we’re at and you’re not my employee, but it is my responsibility to make sure this environment is safe.”
“I know. I guess I’ll just go then. Thanks, Sam.” I dried my face and hands on a dishtowel and dropped it into the laundry basket as I exited the kitchen.
When I got back upstairs I was covered in food splatter and smelled like dirty dishwater and hoped not to see anyone, but Marjorie was sitting in the living room reading a book. She looked up at me when I walked into the room and covered her mouth with the book, no doubt to suppress a laugh at my haggard appearance. “Did you get any of the food on the plate?” she giggled, no longer able to hold it in.
What a beautiful laugh. Sigh. Play it cool, Bodie.
“Ha, ha. How about you leave the jokes to the professionals, huh?”
Totally not what I was going for.
“Actually, this,” I said scanning my hands up and down my clothes, “is from washing the food off the plates.”
Marjorie's face suddenly turned serious and she shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Can we talk?”
Oh, great. Here comes the let down.
“Sure.” I made my way to sit, but she stopped me.
“Why don't you go change first. Unless you're comfortable in those clothes.” She scrunched her nose.
I stink, I know.
“I'll shower and change real quick. Be back in fifteen,” I said as I removed my outer shirt. I was freaking out thinking about how the conversation was going to go and my mouth watered a little. The old me would have had a few shots and God do I miss the old me right now. He was cool and confident, funny for laughs- no
t for cover-up, and he certainly was not the worrywart I had turned into in just a few short months.
No sense in stressing about it.
When I walked into my room my eye was immediately drawn to the picture of Darren sitting on my desk. I kept it there as a reminder of why I was here, even though it hurt like hell to look at it. As I stood under the hot water of the shower my mind drifted to the day of his funeral.
It was a cold winter day in Dallas. I was standing outside the church dreading the next few hours. I looked up at the sky and saw that it was overcast with a threat of snow, a blast of winter air smacked into my face, but I didn’t feel any of it. I had been numb to everything for days, even to the alcohol. I drank it anyway. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, steadying myself, then I headed inside. How is this possible?
Thoughts, fast and jumbled spun in my mind as I walked down the aisle. I was there at his house when Darren took his last breath and when he died, so did some part of me. He was my best friend and cousin. We did everything together- sports, games, drinking. If we were together we were at least buzzed if not full-on drunk, had been that way since we were six and snagged our grandpa’s whiskey. It started slow. At first, it was just a sip here, a sip there, but as we grew, so too did our thirst. We had slowly evolved into functioning alcoholics and all by the time he was thirteen and I, eleven. What I didn’t realize then was that in the moments we weren’t together Darren was getting drunk on his own. That's not to say that I wasn’t drinking too, but I was doing it to maintain, not to increase my buzz. How did no one notice?
