unDefeated

by J.C. Valentine

  Pressing her thumb against the tab, she forced the plastic lid open and…

  No. Nonononono! Gone. It was gone. Panic quickly replaced relief and Olivia shoved her arm into the cabinet again. Bottles spilled onto the floor creating all kinds of racket, but she didn’t care.

  Where is it?

  “I threw it out.”

  Olivia’s head jerked up at the sound of Spencer’s voice. In her frantic search, she’d failed to realize that he’d turned on the light. There he stood, watching her with a kind of cold detachment. As his words registered, she began to grow angry.

  “What?”

  “I wondered how long it would take for you to look for it. To be honest, I was hoping you never would, but I just couldn’t take the chance. I threw it out, along with the pack I found in your bottom dresser drawer.”

  “You went through my things?”

  “You’re damn right I did.”

  Standing on shaky legs, Olivia’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “You had no right,” she snarled. “No right!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need it!”

  “No, you don’t.” The way he stood there, so calm, so utterly clear of emotion, made her furious. Flying at him, Olivia threw herself against his chest, her hands slapping at him.

  “I hate you! You bastard, you had no right! You don’t know what it’s like!” The louder she yelled, the more he agreed with her.

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t know what it’s like for you. But I do know what it’s like to be under the thumb of a disease that holds the capacity to destroy everything I love,” he said fiercely.

  Gripping her shoulders tighter, he gave her a sharp shake. “That’s why I won’t back down, Liv, no matter how hard or loud you rail at me.”

  She hit him, her hand connecting with his cheek so hard, his head snapped sideways. Other than the hardened look in his eyes, he didn’t react, and that pissed her off more. So she did it again. The harder she hit him, the tighter he held on, until she was so worn out, that she couldn’t do much more than collapse against his chest and sob into his t-shirt.

  Through it all, Spencer maintained a steady, even voice of encouragement, reminding her how much he loved her, that she was worth saving, and most of all, that he would never abandon her.

  When her legs finally gave out, Spencer bent down, scooping her into his arms, and carried her to his bed. Curling up against her back, he held her as she cried until finally, blessedly, she wore herself out enough to fall asleep.

  TWENTY

  The funny thing about addiction is that Spencer had never realized just how powerful it was until he watched someone else’s struggle with it. Seeing Olivia broken down like that, completely at the mercy of the voice in her head that whispered sweet lies, he finally realized what he must look like to others.

  Or, rather, what he must have looked like before he’d gotten help. Was he perfect? No, far from it, but for all the worry and fear he’d expended on the idea that he might return to that lifestyle, where nothing mattered more than the next win, he finally realized that he needn’t have bothered.

  For the first time in his life, he was seeing—feeling—the change in him. He kept telling himself it was true, just to get through the next day, but Olivia was what finally changed his outlook.

  What once would have triggered his need to gamble—stress like the kind he’d experienced while helping her cope—was curiously missing.

  When it had finally gone away, he had no idea. He was too busy being in awe that he felt none of the cravings he usually did when faced with this type of situation. He just was.

  His take on the day was simple: While Liv slept deeply after a long night of crying and self-deprecation, he downloaded the morning paper using an app on her phone and searched through the job listings. As a high school dropout, there wasn’t much to choose from. After exhausting that option, he fixed a light breakfast and forced Liv to eat it, and then pushed her into the shower.

  It was a workday for her, but he knew she wouldn’t want to face that kind of responsibility with her emotions still so raw. She confirmed this when she called in sick.

  He was playing the day by ear, but he had a few plans up his sleeve that he hoped would smooth it along.

  After Liv was clean and dressed, they took a walk down to a local park and he pushed her on the swings. It was such a mundane thing to do, but it felt good. Conversation consisted of brief, one-word answers that were mostly in response to his asking what she wanted to do next.

  Hoping to wrap the day in happy memories, Spencer held her hand as they traveled on foot to the museum. She loved the mummies, so he took her there first. The library-like atmosphere created an unspoken rule of quiet which served as a natural barrier between them. When they were through with the exhibits, he led her to a nearby bakery where they purchased cheese danishes and munched on those until they reached their final destination: Dr. Peterson’s office.

  “This was your master plan?” she asked furiously. The last of her danish was thrown to the ground and Spencer watched absently as a sparrow dropped from an overhead tree branch to capitalize on the discarded treat.

  “Come on, Liv. You know better. Last night was bad, even by my standards. You need this, and you know it.”

  “Oh, so now you’re the authority on who needs help? As if you’re so perfect?”

  “I’m not perfect and I’m not going to stand here arguing with you,” Spencer said firmly. “But I do want you to go in there and talk with the doctor.”

  The simple truth was that Spencer didn’t have all the tools necessary to help her. As much as it stung to admit it, he couldn’t be everything she needed. Liv needed someone with a clear head who could walk her through the stages and get her where she needed to be. All Spencer could do was help support her when she needed it.

  Liv stood there, glaring at him like a petulant child. She was so stubborn, it made his lips twitch. He wanted to flip her over his knee and give her ass a few good smacks, but she’d probably just end up punching him in the balls.

  “Are you walking or am I carrying you?” he asked, staring her down so she’d see in his eyes that he wasn’t backing down from this. He’d drag her in by her feet if he had to if it meant her having a chance to get the help she needed.

  Huffing, Liv spun on her heel and marched inside. They rode the elevator and got off on the right floor in complete silence. The waiting room was empty when they arrived and when the receptionist saw them come in, she buzzed Dr. Peterson.

  “You can go on in,” she told them with a pleasant smile.

  Liv’s rigid shoulders didn’t ease up as they walked inside and took a seat on the couch. After Dr. Peterson gathered his tablet and took his usual chair, he noted the distance Spencer and Liv had placed between them and lifted a graying eyebrow.

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  Spencer found himself wanting to laugh at the massively understated comment. “We had a bit of a setback last night.”

  “Hence the emergency.” Dr. Peterson nodded grimly in understanding. “Please, fill me in on what happened.”

  Looking to Liv, Spencer waited to see if she felt like doing the honors, but she was too busy stewing in her anger to notice.

  Inhaling deeply, Spencer took the lead. “Yesterday I took the liberty of cleaning the apartment, and in the process, I threw out the razors Liv keeps hidden away.”

  Dr. Peterson sent her a pointed look. “Are these the razors you use to cut yourself?”

  “Yes,” she hissed, her upper lip curling. Folding her arms tighter across her breasts, she wedged her body deeper into the side of the couch.

  “I see. And what made you want to throw them away, Spencer?”

  Dumbfounded, Spencer stared at the man. “Because she hurts herself with them. I didn’t want her to be tempted.”

  “Was she tempted?”

  “Yes,” he said, passing Liv a pointed look that she ignored
.

  “I see. How did she react when she found out what you’d done?”

  Why did he sound so accusatory? As if Spencer was the one who’d done something wrong. “She went ballistic. Tore apart the cabinets, spent most of the night crying.”

  The doctor made a few notes, and then lifted his head to regard Liv. “By your own accounts, you’ve been doing well. What pushed you to need the razor?”

  She glared at him. “You know why.”

  “I’d like you to tell me in your own words.”

  “Because I needed to. I needed it all to go away.”

  Sighing, Dr. Peterson sat back in his chair. “Sometimes, those who care about us can find your reaction a little confusing or unsettling. However, this anger you’re displaying is a perfectly natural reaction.

  “That razor was your security, like a child with their blanket or an alcoholic with their private stash,” he explained. “You need to know it’s there to feel safe. When Spencer threw it away, you didn’t feel safe anymore. Would you say that’s accurate?”

  Blinking, her head moved a fraction up and down. “I guess.”

  Redirecting his attention to Spencer he said, “You’ve spent some time in an intensive treatment program, so you probably learned some of this before. Addiction is complex. Most people assume that it stems from some kind of trauma or a need to fit in, and that can very well be true. But it’s also a product of the environment we live in.

  “You and Olivia come from very different backgrounds. Hers was privileged, while you lacked many of the basic necessities.”

  Hearing his words, Spencer’s throat tightened. He hated thinking about how he’d grown up. The filth, the loneliness, the hopelessness. He tried never to look too hard on his past.

  “So you might ask yourself, how did she get here? This is something I’ve considered and studied extensively, and I see it like this. While your situation was dealt with on an immediate surface level, hers was buried beneath social expectations. Her world was all about maintaining appearances while beneath it all Olivia’s world was effectively falling apart.

  “She learned to distrust at an early age, and she found that the only reliable person in her life was herself. This is not uncommon to see in my line of work and often with the same results.

  “You’ve both lacked true connection in your life, so you’ve both learned to cope by latching on to the one thing that’s allowed you to feel connected to something. For you, Spencer, that was gambling. For Olivia, it’s cutting herself.” Setting aside his iPad, Dr. Peterson’s expression took on the kind of warmth Spencer expected a parent to direct toward their child. It was as if he really understood what they were going through.

  “Human beings thrive on connection and love,” Dr. Peterson continued. “Without it, we’re forced to seek it elsewhere. Unfortunately, our society is designed to separate us from others. Our phones, internet, and games--they all serve to isolate us, rather than bring us together. People with addictive personalities will find it even harder to fulfill their needs because of this.”

  “So, you’re saying we’re screwed pretty much,” Spencer said despondently.

  “Not at all. I’m saying that looking at you two, I see potential. I see two people who care enough about each other to look out for each other’s well-being. By coming here today, you’ve shown your commitment to her, Spencer, which I’m sure you know is something that Olivia needs and values highly.”

  He turned his attention to Olivia. “And, Olivia, do you recognize that Spencer bringing you here today wasn’t out of malice, but concern? He wants you well, just as you want him well.”

  She glanced at Spencer, her expression softening. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

  “Good because this is exactly what I want you two to work on. Communication and simply being there for one another is an excellent tool that both of you can use to help reconnect yourself with the outside world. It’s what you need to develop healthy, long-lasting relationships. There’s something to be said about that old adage Love conquers all.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Spencer said, leaning forward in his seat. “You’re saying if we stick together, work to understand each other, and support one another, then we’ll be okay?”

  “Essentially.”

  Cocking his pierced eyebrow at Liv, Spencer smirked. “Told ya.”

  “You did not,” she huffed, although, he noted, she was fighting back a smile. His goal had been achieved. Leaning back, Spencer spread his arms across the back of the couch.

  “I’m glad you two seem to be back on the same page, but I do want to address some deeper concerns I have, and that is your need to cut again.”

  Olivia’s expression shuttered instantly, and her lips pressed into a firm line. It was back to business, and Spencer sensed that Dr. Peterson wasn’t going to go easy on her.

  “I’m afraid that you might be slipping back into old habits, Olivia. It’s only been a couple days since you were last here, and you didn’t tell me about any problems you might be having that could lead to this.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t having any problems,” she protested.

  “While I think you might believe that’s true, I’ll remind you that I’ve seen this from you before. When was the first time you recognized that you were feeling anxious?”

  Spencer watched her out of the corner of his eye as she fidgeted with her t-shirt. “I don’t know, when Spencer came back I guess.” Her voice was small, barely above a whisper, but Spencer caught every guilt laden word. He’d caused this?

  “But you love Spencer, and he says he loves you, so what about that would cause you anxiety?”

  “It wasn’t like that at first,” she said, tossing her hands up, as if it were common knowledge. “Before a week ago, I never knew where I stood with him. Spencer’s always been…hot and cold.”

  “So, his behavior caused you to feel unstable,” Dr. Peterson surmised. Olivia nodded solemnly and glanced up at Spencer, her sparkling eyes peeking out from beneath her lashes as if to apologize.

  Spencer smiled faintly, telling her without words that he wasn’t angry. At least, not with her. He was plenty pissed with himself, though, thinking he could have been the cause for her downward spiral.

  Dr. Peterson finished the remainder of the hour digging into the heart of why Liv had reacted the way she had, and at the end of it all, Spencer was tempted to say fuck it and walk out. He was the bane of her existence. If he counted up every bad thing he’d ever done, every grievance he’d ever caused, he’d qualify as one of the very demons the Bible spoke about.

  He brought misery to every single thing he touched, and yet…he still wasn’t ready to let go.

  “I’m going to write you a script to help manage your anxiety,” Dr. Peterson was saying as they stood to go.

  “I don’t want any pills.”

  “For now, I want you to take them,” he insisted, holding it out to first Liv and then Spencer when she refused to take it. “It’s only for a short time until you’re feeling strong enough—and I agree—to try it again without them.”

  Incensed, Olivia rushed out of the office leaving Spencer to hurry after her. She didn’t like the idea of being drugged, and he couldn’t blame her. Some of that crap made you feel worse than the actual addiction, but if it helped Liv get back on track, then he was going to make damn sure she followed doctor’s orders.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Olivia tossed her lunch in the trash. Spencer made it for her, and she knew he was spiking her food with her meds. How did she know? Something told her that feeling like she was walking with her head in the clouds after every meal wasn’t because it of its heavenly flavor.

  It pissed her off to know that he was going behind her back to drug her. She’d explained to him how she felt about taking those pills. She didn’t like how they made her feel, and she’d gone over a year without them. If she could make it that long without wavering, then she could do it again.

/>   She could control the urges if she wanted to. And she did. Really.

  The subtle sting on the underside of her arm as the loose fabric caught on fresh scabbing told a different story, but she pointedly ignored it. She could stop whenever she wanted to. She just wasn’t ready yet.

  Now that some of the irritation and anger over Spencer getting rid of her razors had gone away, she could understand why he’d done it. He was just looking out for her. It was no less than she would have done if their roles were reversed. If she’d caught him mutilating himself, she didn’t think she would have remained half as calm as he had.

  So, she was cutting him some slack. But this crap about drugging her behind her back wasn’t going to fly. There was no excuse for lying to her like that, and she fully intended to confront him about it after work.

  Today she was working at the salon. Business was slow for a weekend, but not for the lack of customers. Feeling overwhelmed with everything that had been going on lately, Olivia thought it best to tread lightly and had directed some of her business to the other hairdressers. She couldn’t exactly afford the drop in income, but she couldn’t afford to lose her mind either. Cutting had always been a readily accessible coping mechanism, and even though she wasn’t at its mercy, she knew how quickly it could spin out of control.

  Mentally and physically taxed, she needed a break. Since she hadn’t built up any vacation time yet and she’d already dipped into her sick days, the only place she could cut back was on clientele. As soon as she felt strong enough, it’d be the work of a minute to fill up the open spots on her calendar.

  Olivia spent the afternoon taking simple jobs—trimming hair for a few walk-ins, shampooing for other hairdressers, and cashing people out. It was busy work more than anything, but it gave her the time she needed to center her thoughts.

  Thoughts that had quieted to a dull roar by the time she began traveling back home later that evening.