Ruined Wings

by Ashley Fontainne

“Truth hurts, brother.”

  Sherry stopped writing, peering over the rim of her glasses. “Excuse me?”

  “I, uh, nothing. Internal thought slipped out.”

  “You’re aware we test the blood, not just urine, correct? To make sure we know exactly what’s in your system and give you the right medication to help you during detoxification?”

  Biting her nails too close to the nub, Callie grimaced as the taste of blood filled her mouth. “I’m in here for taking pills, yet the plan is to give me more to get off them? Makes perfect sense. Not.”

  Leaning forward, Sherry smiled. Rather than pleasant or kind, it was downright creepy. “When the withdrawals kick in, you’ll be begging for the Naltrexone. Trust me. I’ve been in your shoes. Been clean now for six years. Detox is rough.”

  Sherry finally finished grilling Callie then excused herself to bring in a nurse to draw blood and take vital signs. Rubbing her arms, Callie closed her eyes and reached out to Colton. I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you again.

  “You won’t, Sis. Just play their game. I’ll help you, and before you know it, the thirty days will be over. Piece of cake. This little hiatus will give us plenty of time to dissect where you went wrong, how you got caught, and how to stay under the radar once you leave.”

  Then what?

  Callie waited for the answer to whisper inside the corners of her mind. The silence made the tears come, along with the shakes. Anger rumbled inside her chest, making her skin tingle as it spread. People who claimed they cared betrayed her trust. Her love. The more she let the thoughts of their actions take over her mind, the anger continued to rise.

  I’ll do this to shut them up. I’ll be truly free from prying eyes once in college. Truly free to live life the way I want.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Three Weeks Later

  The noise level was ridiculous. The sounds of children yelling for attention competed with the voices of loved ones trying to converse with those they’d come to visit. The entire spectacle made Callie want to scream. She was already jittery and didn’t need the added stress. The withdrawals, just like Sherry mentioned the first night she arrived, had been horrible during the first nine days. Thankfully, she’d finally stopped shaking and throwing up. Now, her biggest issues were insomnia and agitation.

  She couldn’t stand all the tears; the accusations hurled across the plastic tables; the heartbreak on the faces of both addicts and their loved ones. The interactions were pathetic at best, downright disturbing at worst. It was yet another reason she never added anyone’s name to the visitation list. The thought of sitting in the cramped room, struggling to be heard over the racket while staring at the disappointed faces of her mother or Kevin made her skin crawl.

  Turning, Callie headed back to her room. She made it halfway down the hall when Sherry called out her name. “Callie? A minute please?”

  “I’m not feeling well. Can’t it wait until later?”

  “No, it can’t. My office, please.”

  Gritting her teeth, Callie followed Sherry down the hall. Just one more week. Just one more week and I’m out of here.

  Once inside the small, sparsely decorated room, Sherry pointed to the chair across from the desk. “Sit.”

  “Is there a problem?” Callie asked, sensing the tension in the room. “Is something wrong with my mother?”

  “No, your mother is fine, considering things.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Considering her daughter’s in rehab and refuses to see her, that’s what.”

  Callie’s temper flared. “You called me in here for that? You told me the night I came in it was my decision whether or not to have visitors, remember?”

  “Yes, though most of our clients want to see a familiar face. You are a rarity.”

  “I’ve already explained why, Sherry. I don’t want them here, seeing me like this. It’s embarrassing.”

  Nodding, Sherry paused as though searching for the right words. “Is that your excuse as well for not sharing in group therapy and your insistence to not attend out-patient meetings once you’re discharged? Embarrassment?”

  Callie’s anger intensified. “It’s hard to get a word in since everyone else is sharing all their war stories. I don’t see the therapeutic benefits of rehashing our past mistakes. It’s almost like a freaking contest to see who has the worst story. And in terms of when I get out of here, I’ve already told you I have a therapist. Mikki Taylor, remember? I'll continue my weekly sessions with her.”

  “That’s great, but it won’t be enough. Sharing our troubles with others like us who understand our struggles allows us to look at who we were so we don’t return to the lifestyle, Callie. It’s called—”

  “Lancing the wounds. Yes, I know. Great expression, by the way, that seems to work wonders. The people who’ve been in here four, five, even six times, are proof.”

  “It does work if you follow the program, take the right steps when outside, learn to avoid triggers,” Sherry responded.

  “Look, Sherry, I’m not like those people out there! Those are hardcore meth heads, junkies, and God only knows what other drugs! Most of them are here because the courts forced them to seek treatment. Some have lost custody of their kids! One girl even sold her two-year-old daughter for a week’s worth of heroin! I’m just a normal girl who got injured playing sports and found out I liked the way the Vicodin made me feel. End of story. I’m clean now and won’t go back to using. I have nothing in common with them!”

  A spark of anger flared behind Sherry’s dark eyes. Callie felt the electricity level in the room rise.

  “You’re wrong, Callie. The common thread is all of you are addicts. The type of drug isn’t the connecting link—the behavior is. Lying to those who love you; hiding your addiction and doing things you never thought you could be capable of just to get high. You didn’t care about the feelings of those around you or yourself. Plus, you didn’t just use drugs. You stooped to the level of selling, too. What if someone who bought from you overdosed and died? I bet—no, I know—you didn’t even think about that. All you cared about was making enough money to buy more.”

  “Whatever,” Callie muttered.

  “I assume you had a dealer you bought from?”

  Callie said nothing.

  “Uh-huh, thought so. You made him or her a lot of money. Once you leave here, they’ll show up, wanting to know if you ratted them out, and if you’re lucky enough to convince them you didn’t, they’ll push you to start selling again. That scenario isn’t an if one—it’s a when. How are you going to handle that? Do you really think thirty days in here has made you strong enough to walk away?”

  Callie refused to answer. Instead, she stared at the floor.

  “You’re a dual threat—addict and dealer. In other words, you are just like everyone else here, so stop deluding yourself. Now, as I’ve mentioned many times in group, we insist on honesty from all our clients. Ready to tell me the truth?”

  Again, Callie remained quiet even though it was a struggle. A thousand nasty comebacks danced on the tip of her tongue.

  “Your injury was only a few months ago. Xanax isn’t a painkiller as you well know. Based on what I’ve read in your file, you started not long after the death of your brother and father. Look how fast your life changed once you started getting high.”

  The anger turned to rage. Callie stood, shoving the chair back so hard it crashed into the gray wall. “I’ve told you before I will not talk about their deaths! I won’t!”

  “You loved them both very much, that’s easy to see. Emotional upheaval is a common trigger point in addicts. We don’t handle the stressors of life very well. Instead, we seek out something to numb our pain.”

  “See? Once again, you’re way off base. You think you know me and understand my motivations? You’re wrong.”

  “How so?” Sherry queried.

  “I started using to reconnect
—” Callie clamped her mouth shut, realizing she’d just walked into Sherry’s trap.

  “I understand Colton was your fraternal twin.”

  Callie nodded, angry at letting her real emotions slip out. She’d been careful to keep them hidden the past three weeks during group and individual therapy.

  “I’ve heard identical twins share strong bonds, sometimes feeling each other’s pain, or they possess the uncanny ability to know what the other is thinking. Is that true with fraternal twins, too?”

  Unable to look Sherry in the eyes, Callie stared out the window. Tufts of white, fluffy clouds rolled by, revealing the brilliant blue sky. It was close to the same color as the butterfly on her foot.

  “Yes,” Callie whispered.

  “You were close to your father but shared something really special with your brother. The loss was too much to handle.”

  Sherry’s words were a statement rather than a question. Callie hated the fact the woman had the ability to see right into her heart. Hearing another person say them made the pain all the more real. “I miss him so much. Everything I did—all my achievements, they weren’t for me. They were for him! Colton was gifted. He drew and painted such stunning work. His life was over before it really started.”

  “And you feel guilty because you’re still here and he isn’t. Right?” Sherry pressed.

  Warm tears slid down Callie’s cheeks. “No, I feel guilty because I knew something was wrong—I suspected he was doing more than Xanax, but I ignored it! I was too wrapped up in trying to make the future brighter for him that I lost sight of the present. I’m angry at the same time, which makes no sense. I’m so angry at Colton for dying; for killing our dad and breaking Mom’s heart. Yet, more than anything, I’m scared because the connection we had is gone. It’s like I’ve been wandering around in the dark, only able to see when his light comes back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Callie had never spoken her true feelings out loud, not even to Mikki or Kevin. The enormity of the emotions made her sob. “My mom gave me a Xanax one night without telling me. When I realized what she’d done the next day, I was furious. We had a huge fight. I was really mad at her but at the same time, almost grateful, because Colton came to me. Inside my head, not like a ghost or something. The connection was back. Not the same or as strong, but back. Then, when I got hurt and started taking the Vicos, well, I don’t know how to explain it. I felt whole again.”

  Sherry’s brow furrowed with worry. “You’re saying you started using because your brother—your dead brother—urged you to?”

  “I know, sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I felt him! Saw his face inside my mind. We talked all the time! It was amazing. But, ever since I’ve been here, I can’t feel or talk to him anymore, and it’s tearing me apart.”

  Sherry rose from the chair and walked over to Callie, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. “Did he encourage you to use, or was he upset about it?”

  Wiping the wetness from her face, Callie whispered, “Urged.”

  “Oh, Callie! Don’t you see? If it was really your brother talking to you, he would’ve been urging you to stay strong! He died because of drug use and kept his addiction a secret. If he really thought it was okay for you to walk down this path, he would’ve said something to you while still alive, but he didn’t. The voice inside your mind wasn’t your brother. It’s the monster we know as addiction. It roared to life after your first taste of drugs! People who love us and truly have our best interests at heart don’t encourage us to do something that is so detrimental to our health.”

  The tears came faster. Callie collapsed on the floor, sobbing. “You’re wrong, Sherry. It was Colton. He just needed me to help him. He’s all alone!”

  “Callie, he’s gone. Departed from this world forever. I don’t know what you believe about life after death, but I do believe the soul—our essence if you will—continues on. Colton loved you, so why in the world do you think he’d guide you down this path? Look where you are! You weren’t just using drugs but dealing them as well. Honestly, do you think that’s the life he wanted you to lead?”

  The sobs lessened as the anger from before resurfaced. “I didn’t come here because I wanted to, Sherry. I was forced—given no choice! Betrayed by those who love me, so which is worse? The actions of the living or the dead?”

  “Stop blaming others for your decisions, Callie. That’s the first step to recovery! You made the choices, good and bad, in your life. Take responsibility for them and learn new ways of coping with the grief. The path you’re on now only ends in one of three ways: prison, the streets, or death.”

  “You don’t know that, Sherry,” Callie answered.

  “Wrong. Years of experience with addicts, and being one myself, back me up. I do agree with one thing you said though, and again, years of experience prove my point.”

  “And that is?”

  “You aren’t broken. Until you, as the expression goes, hit rock bottom, you’re just wasting everyone’s time here, yourself included. Until you're ready to admit you have a problem and truly want to fight this disease, you’ll continue to use.”

  Callie brushed off Sherry’s hand and stood, furious at the callous words. “Like I said earlier, you don’t know me and have no right to judge me. One more week and then I’m out of here, and I promise, you’ll never see my face again.”

  With that, Callie stormed out of Sherry’s office, ignoring the others milling around in the hallway. Once inside her room, she slammed the door, fuming. I’ll prove you wrong, Sherry. I’ll prove all of you wrong. Mark my words.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Six Weeks Later

  “Callie? I’m home.”

  “Be down in a minute, Mom. Just got out of the shower,” Callie yelled back, wondering why her mother was home so early.

  While dressing, she couldn’t help but smile. Once her mother stepped into the kitchen, she’d be surprised to see Callie had fixed dinner and set the table. Ever since coming home from rehab, Callie tried to make up for all the drama and pain she’d caused. Making amends gave her something to do—to think about—when the cravings kicked in, or when missing Colton became too much to handle.

  Looking at life through sober eyes opened her mind up to really see how frail her mother had become. In a little over a year, Annie Novak had aged way too fast. The few gray hairs had multiplied and now her headful of lovely blonde hair was almost all white. Dark circles rimmed her eyes no matter how much concealer she put on. Deep worry lines creased her forehead, eyes, and around her mouth. Callie hated the fact some of the changes were her fault.

  They’d had several heart-to-heart talks in therapy, saving the real gut-wrenching discussions for home. Each really bared their souls and truly talked about the emotional impact of losing the two men in their lives. The only thing Callie lied about was where she’d gotten the pills. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother all the times she’d been out running at night wasn’t at the track. Her mother would have a heart attack or stroke if she knew Callie had been running across town over to the “hood” and buying drugs from a street thug. Instead, she continued to let her mother think she’d gotten the pills from other kids at school.

  Callie apologized for what she’d done, and her mother did the same, breaking down at the kitchen table after an intense counseling session with Mikki, begging for forgiveness for giving Callie Xanax on the sly.

  The weeks had been difficult yet certainly better than rehab. Her cell phone was shut off and the burner phone long gone. She was glad she’d never texted or called De’Shawn from the number. The thought of anyone connecting her with him made her shudder. Someone—her mother she assumed—found her stash of money under the bed and had taken it. Colton’s voice inside her mind stopped talking, and though she hated to admit it, Sherry was right: it wasn’t really him. Though she missed him, she was learning to live each day without his presence.

  The first month
was awful since she had a wicked case of insomnia. Once she started running again two weeks ago, it helped, but not much. When she did manage to sleep, she was plagued with horrible nightmares. She’d basically been a hermit, rarely leaving the house, spending each day exercising to the point of collapsing. Another new obsession was learning to cook. For some odd reason, throwing ingredients together, creating something worth eating, gave Callie a sense of accomplishment.

  The only big issue Callie hadn’t addressed was her relationship with Kevin. She was still angry at him for what he’d done—the ways he betrayed her—and refused to take his calls or see him when he came to visit the first week she came home. The way she figured, they were over. Too much damage had been done. Neither one would ever trust the other again. Besides, school would start soon, which meant time and distance apart. It was best to just let the relationship fizzle out as they grew up and apart, rather than have some wicked showdown and things get ugly.

  “Bullshit. I’m just afraid to face him,” Callie whispered while yanking on a t-shirt. “I don’t want to see the distrust and sadness in another set of eyes. The pain in Mom’s is bad enough. God, if he were to ever suspect about what happened between me and De’Shawn, how I cheated on him, I’d just die. He’s better off without me anyway.”

  Shaking the thoughts away, Callie pulled her long hair into a ponytail then bounded down the stairs. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother the good news. When she entered the kitchen, her mom was at the table, eyes clouded over with tears.

  “You’re crying already? You haven’t even tasted the food yet! I promise I followed your recipes,” Callie said, laughing. “I expected you to be shocked, not crying!”

  “It’s just so sweet of you, honey. And I’m not crying. These are just a few tears of happiness.”

  Callie took the roast and potatoes out of the oven while her mother scooped out salad and buttered cornbread. Once back at the table, Callie noticed her mom was really pale. “Are you okay, Mom?”