After our plates are full, she leads me to an empty table. I’m grateful because the last thing I want to do is be social. I don’t mind talking to her, though.
“Do you eat dinner with all the patients?”
Kim puts her fork down and clasps her hands in front of her. “Well, I don’t see all the patients. I’m more like a patient advocate, and usually I work with only one or two patients at a time. For dinner I’ll usually eat with them the first few nights until they’re comfortable. I also show them around and help them get settled. All of this can be scary, especially if you’re coming down from a high or haven’t had a drink in the last hour or two. I’m here to be your friend, and my door is always open.”
I don’t say anything after that and focus on my food. I took a little bit of everything, unsure of what I wanted or whether I’d eat. I’m not hungry, but feel nauseated and cold. What I need to satisfy my cravings isn’t allowed. That need is what landed my ass in here to begin with.
“You’re not hungry?”
I shake my head and put my fork down. Nothing looks good. I think about trying to trick my brain into thinking it’s all laced with blow, but that probably isn’t a good idea.
“I feel like I have the flu,” I tell her honestly. There’s no point in hiding anything from her, since she can probably see right through my shit. What is it about her that makes me speak without thinking? I’ve never done that before. I’ve never told some random chick that I just met that I don’t feel well. I don’t give a shit if it’s her job to know or not. Being open about how I’m feeling has never been something I’m comfortable with, and yet here I am telling her.
Once Virtuous Paradox took off, my life changed. I was used to keeping my lips sealed about my family, always playing coy with the media, but being in the group sent me into a tailspin. Now someone was telling me what to do, what to wear, how to act, when I could eat, when I could sleep, and who I could date. It’s crazy how much fame truly costs a person and how much of yourself you lose. The label was running my fucking life. The only thing they didn’t tell me was when I could take a shit.
“When was the last time you took a hit?”
I immediately break eye contact with her and look at my surroundings. For some reason, hearing her ask me makes me feel ashamed.
“It’s okay if it was today, Bodhi.” Her hand rests on my arm, as if that’s supposed to give me the confidence I need to tell her.
“It was yesterday, before my dad staged an intervention with your father and my manager.”
“So the comedown started last night?”
I shake my head. “I got a massive nosebleed yesterday. My first one. I’ve had people tell me about them, but I never thought I’d get one. Sometime around three this morning I started puking. My dad . . . my father is one of the biggest movie directors in Hollywood, and he was holding my fucking puke bucket for me because I was too weak to walk to the bathroom.” I throw my napkin down and move my tray away. I’m pissed at myself for allowing my dad to do that. He doesn’t know that I heard him crying in the corner when he thought I was sleeping, but I did. I heard him whimper and choke back a fucking sob because his only son is destroying his life.
“Let’s take a walk,” she says, getting up from the table and carrying her tray over to a large window. I quickly follow her, not wanting her to leave me behind. Not that I think she would.
We walk to two huge glass doors and head outside, right into the setting sun. The warmth does help, but the shivers are still there. I know Dr. Rosenberg said she’d help, but I’m not sure I want to take anything to combat this. Maybe I need to suffer so I don’t forget what it’s like to go through withdrawal.
“Wow!” We walk to the edge of the yard and stop. The property dips down into a valley where there’s a pond, and the way the sun is focusing on it makes everything seem magical.
“Over seven hundred acres of natural beauty, and it’s all yours to explore.”
“Seriously?”
She nods and motions for me to follow her again. We walk along a path until we come to a horse stable and go inside. She says hi to a man who’s in there, but otherwise doesn’t introduce him to me.
“You can borrow a horse anytime you want, but usually not after the sun goes down. Horses spook easily, and there are snakes and coyotes out there.”
“So if I want to ride, I just come out here?”
“Yep. You write your name on the list, and whoever is working will help you get saddled up. Same thing with the pond—if you want to go swimming, you can.”
I stop and pet one of the horses, rubbing my hand over her mane. When I was kid, I had a horse at our country home, but the busier my parents became, the less we went. The house was sold and I never got a chance to say goodbye to the horse.
“We’re here to help, Bodhi. I know you’re struggling, but we’re going to help you figure things out so you can go back to living your life.”
I laugh and shake my head. “What life? I’m a puppet controlled by a master who is brilliant and scary at the same time. It’s not her fault I’m here, but she’s also to blame.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
I look at her and wonder if she realizes who she’s dealing with. She hasn’t said anything—not that I’m expecting her to, what with her being a professional—–but even the people we passed earlier knew who Bodhi McKnight is. “Do you know who I am?”
There’s a glint in her eye that matches her smile. “Of course I do, but the thing is, I don’t care. Sure, some of the patients might, but I bet you know how to deal with it. To us, you’re Bodhi. You’re here to get better, not entertain us or be a source of gossip. We want you better so that when you’re back onstage, we can sit back and be thankful that you came to us for help and that we were able to help you overcome your demons. Most of all, we want you to relax. So if anyone is bothering you, you tell me and I’ll take care of it.” She places her hand on my bicep, and the burning I felt earlier is back, even through the thickness of my sweatshirt.
Five
Bodhi
After the tour, Kimberly drops me off with Dr. Rosenberg, who greets me with a smile. She tells me to look around and make myself comfortable. I’m getting the feeling that Serenity Springs is big on making sure everyone is relaxed, so that when they start trying to reprogram your brain and thoughts it’s easier.
Dr. Rosenberg’s office is unlike any other medical office I’ve ever been in, not that I’ve been in many. She has a large sliding glass door that gives her office access to the outside, and from what I’m gathering she sometimes holds sessions out there. I suppose being outside can be therapeutic, although I think some people might be inclined to run if given the opportunity.
“Where’s your couch?” I ask, noticing that her office lacks the standard couch for people to lie down on and divulge all their secrets. There are two big chairs and some large beanbags in the corner.
“Would you be more comfortable sitting on a couch and not a chair?”
“If I said yes, would you get a couch?” I say in a pretentious tone, wondering if she’s a patsy like all the other people I’ve encountered in my life.
“I would not, but I would ask why you feel you’re entitled to a couch when I have two perfectly good chairs and an assortment of beanbags that you can sit in.”
My mouth drops open in amazement, and she cocks her eyebrow, almost as if she’s challenging me. I can’t remember the last time someone called me out on my shit. Rebel has tried, but even with her I still win out. I imagine sometimes it’s easier to give in than to fight with me. But that doesn’t seem to be the case with Dr. Rosenberg. I think maybe I’ve met my match. With my tail between my legs, I take a seat in the chair nearest me.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I don’t answer her. She should be happy knowing she’s already succeeding in calling me out on my bullshit. Instead I focus on the ladybug painting she has on her wall. It’s large and incred
ibly detailed, showing the smallest features of its body and legs. I never thought of a ladybug as being creepy, but staring at this now makes me think otherwise. Out of the corner of my eye I see one crawling toward me. It’s bigger than the average one you see on a flower; this one is on steroids and getting larger the closer it gets to me. I pick up my feet and place them on the chair so it can pass by without touching me.
“Please put your feet on the floor, Bodhi.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asks.
I look at her incredulously and point to the ground.
“I don’t see anything there.” She’s calm. Is she mocking me?
“How can you not see the bug?” I say, my voice higher than normal. My eyes feel like they’re coming out of their sockets as I watch the bug lift its giant wings and more bugs come tumbling out. They’re scurrying fast, heading for me.
“Oh, God,” I scream as I jump from my seat to step on them. They land on me, crawling over my skin, into my ears and nose, and under my clothes. I try to bat them away, but they keep coming. They scuttle into my hair and start biting, attempting to burrow into my brain. I hit them, listening to the satisfying crunch as they die.
And now they’re gone, being replaced by a warming sensation coursing through my body. I look around and find unfamiliar faces staring at me. They’re blurry and mumbling incoherently. I try to reach for them but my arms are gone. The bugs must’ve eaten my arms.
I scream and try to sit up, but I’m being held down. With deep grunted breaths I try to break free, but can’t. Again I try, spraying saliva all over my face. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain I hear my name being called, but I can’t answer.
Another bout of warmth rushes through my body and everything goes limp. My eyes are heavy and my body is sagging into the floor. I try to focus on my surroundings and the faces hovering above me, but I don’t know them.
“Bodhi?”
That voice. I know that voice. I turn toward her and try to smile when our eyes meet. Her fingers run through my hair, removing the bugs I killed earlier. I hate that she has to remove those nasty things with her fingers, but I’m thankful because the bugs are trying to eat my brain.
Now I’m moving. There are voices around me, but none of them make any sense. And where is my dad? Where am I? The overhead lights hurt my eyes, so I close them and wish I were elsewhere, as long as the woman holding my hand by my side could be there too.
“Welcome back, Bodhi. You gave us a little scare.”
I know that voice too, but I can’t place it. I move my head in that direction and see a familiar white coat. The person inside it is playing with a bag of liquid, hanging it from a metal pole. Hazily I follow the tubes hanging out of the bag and barely see them disappear into my arm. My arm, which I can’t move. Hard realization sets in as I comprehend what’s going on. I try to pull free, needing to break away from their treatment. They’re trying to turn me into something I’m not.
“I’m not an addict,” I grunt out as my hands fist and I grit my teeth to try to pull away from their restraints. Pain radiates up my arm, and when I look down, the white sheet covering me is blood red.
The lady in the white coat touches my arm. I yell out when she stabs me, but almost instantly the pain is gone. She moves about, my eyes following her. She’s going to kill me and there isn’t anything I can do about it. This is part of natural selection. I’m a waste to the community and they think no one will miss me. They’re wrong. I have so much more life to live.
“We know,” Kim’s soft voice whispers into my ear.
“Why the fuck are you trying to kill me?” The panic is real, and my voice quavers.
“We’re trying to save you, Bodhi,” the doctor says. Now I remember who she is: Dr. Rosenberg. I don’t believe her, and look at Kim.
“I can’t fucking move,” I tell Kim, fear coursing through me.
“It’s going to be okay, Bodhi,” Kimberly says, offering a sweet smile. “We had to secure your arms and legs until the paranoia broke.”
I look at her with complete confusion, not having a clue as to what she’s talking about. Behind me I hear a constant beep, and I crank my head as far as I can to see where it’s coming from. The machine behind me is blinking with red numbers and lines.
“What’s wrong with me?” I twist and turn, trying to get a look at what’s going on around me, but my arms and legs are pinned down.
“Hey, Bodhi,” Kim says as I turn my head toward her. “Wow, has anyone ever told you that you have really pretty blue eyes?” Her question confuses me, but I respond in kind.
“You too,” I say, before adding, “We match.” I swallow hard and close my eyes at her soft touch along my forehead. I open my eyes and admit something to her that any man would rather die than utter: “Kimberly, I’m scared.”
She adjusts her position, moving closer to me. “I know, but Dr. Rosenberg is trying to help. While you were in her office, you had an episode. They’re common and sometimes they can be pretty scary where you check out of reality like you did today. Do you remember it?”
I nod. “There were ladybugs everywhere.”
“Ladybugs can be so pesky, can’t they?” She smiles, letting me know that what I was feeling is okay.
“Bodhi, I’m going to free your arms now, but you have to promise me that you’ll leave your IV in, okay?” Dr. Rosenberg says from behind me. I nod, unwilling to take my eyes off Kimberly. I can’t understand why she’s being so nice to me and don’t want to believe it’s because of who I am. She’s probably here because of some fangirl obsession and will be secretly blogging about my experience later. Thing is, I don’t care, because there’s something about her that makes me want her next to me for the next thirty days, regardless of whether she’s a fan or not.
As soon as my arms and legs are freed, I shift to my side and tuck my hand under my head to give myself a bit of comfort. Kimberly’s hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she has this look about her. I’m not sure what it is, but it seems to extend beyond her role as an employee dealing with a patient. Does she do this with everyone? Part of me hopes not. I’d like to think I’m special, that maybe she and I bonded or had a moment that I missed. The other part of me is being a realist: this is her job, she does this with everyone, and I shouldn’t feel special, because the next person who checks in will have her attention the same way.
I’ve been here for only a few hours and I’m already depressed about the thought of someone taking her time away from me. That shouldn’t be crossing my mind. My recovery should be at the forefront of my mind. But she’s different. She talks to me differently, like Brayden and Carson did when we met. They never gave a shit that my parents are famous, and it seems like Kimberly doesn’t care that I am. I don’t care that I just met her; deep in my gut I can feel that she’s genuine. That she fucking likes me for me.
“How long do I have to stay in here and be hooked up to the machine?”
Kimberly looks up, and I’m assuming it’s at Dr. Rosenberg. “You need to stay the night. Right now we’re making sure you’re hydrated, because more often than not you forget to take care of yourself when you’re using. You lose your appetite, which results in weight loss; you don’t care about your appearance, and personal hygiene becomes an issue. We’re going to help you. It’s a long process, one that you’ll have to practice after you leave here, but we’re going to make sure you have the necessary tools to live a healthy life.”
I notice that she never says “drugs,” “junkie,” or “addict” and that she avoids calling me a loser even though I know that I am. I shouldn’t have been so stupid, but I’m fucking weak and liked how I felt when I was high. I could do anything until the high went away. Once the high was gone I felt like shit, so I snorted more. Part of me blames Aspen. She quickly went from being my friend to being my dealer and started controlling my life. Thinking about her now, while Kimberly is sitting at my bedside, makes my stomach roll, but
my desire to get high is stronger. I bet licking a line of coke off Kimberly’s tits would be fucking glorious and give me the biggest hard-on.
I shouldn’t think about Kim like that. She’s too fucking pure and wholesome for a fuckup like me. If I want a chance with her, I’m going to have to straighten my shit out. She sees losers like me walk in and out of her life every single day. I have no doubt I’m the same as the last piece of shit to walk through the front doors. Someone as nice and sweet as she is needs to be romanced, to be wined and fucking dined at the best restaurants, and to have her body worshipped at the end of the night. I can’t do that for her, not yet, but I’m going to fucking try.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I ask, “What about my dad?”
“He came by, but we told him you were busy. Since you’re an adult, he doesn’t get to know anything about your treatment unless you want us to tell him. He did say he’d be back for family day next week.”
“But he came back to see me?” I ask, unsure if I’m hearing her correctly.
“Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?”
I shrug, playing it off. Kim doesn’t need to know that my dad and I don’t always see eye to eye or have the best relationship. I have no doubt my dad is freaking the fuck out, asking where he and my mother went wrong while they were raising me. Being home would’ve been nice, but that’s not for me to say. Growing up, he gave me everything, minus a fucking set of parents that were around. I guess what matters is that he was there when I needed him and he didn’t pussyfoot around the situation. He could’ve easily turned a blind eye and told me to take care of my problems. I am an adult, after all.
“You should sleep,” she says. “Your body needs to heal, and sleep will help.”
Blow Page 4
