Phoenix: The Beauty in Between (A Beautiful Series Companion Novel)

by Lilliana Anderson

  Rolling my eyes, I nod my head. I don’t see a way of getting out of this.

  Justine drives us in her car. Out the front I see a sign on the door that says ‘NA meeting inside’. Advertising it seems to take away the anonymity in my books, but whatever, I guess people have to find it somehow.

  As expected the meeting is filled with people droning on about their hard lives, essentially making excuses for their drug use. I don’t want to hear it. Each time one of them breaks down and cries over stealing their mother’s jewellery, I want to stand up and scream at them – At least you have a mother to steal from! But I don’t. Of course I don’t. Everyone’s pain is their own. I do understand that. I also understand that talking about it is making them feel better. I understand that they need that.

  But I can’t talk. I can’t feel better. No amount of words, no amount of talking, no amount of admitting what I did, is ever going to change anything.

  Talking. Talking. Talking. It’s forever torturing me. I hate being here.

  Justine sits quietly beside me, as I lean back in my chair and look up at the ceiling. Avoiding all eye contact, I only half listen as they introduce themselves and share their stories. I’m more focused on the ticking of the clock so I can get out of here, than I am on the people around me.

  But a voice and a name I’ve heard before brings my focus to the group.

  “Hi, my name’s Braden, and I’m a drug addict.”

  My head snaps forward so fast, that I almost pull a muscle. Braden! Fucking Braden is here?!

  My eyes grow wide, as they land upon the face of the person, I had thought of as my friend. The person who I had grown to care for. The person who betrayed me.

  “I need to go,” I say to Justine.

  “Paige. You need to stay for this whole meeting, or I’m going to put in my report that you aren’t properly completing your program.”

  I fold my arms and sink back down in my seat, then focus all of my anger and hatred into my eyes, so I can shoot it like daggers into Braden. Just looking at him is making my blood boil.

  “Hi Braden,” the room choruses, in that deadpan way a group does.

  “I started taking drugs when I was about 13,” he starts. “It’s the usual story - I started with pot and worked my way up to more illicit things. At first it was purely recreational, but using made me feel like the rules of the world didn’t apply to me.

  “As my need took over, my morals went out the window. I ended up taking a job with a really shady character. He asked me to procure certain…things for him.

  “At first I didn’t mind. I’d find him what he wanted, deliver it to him and get paid handsomely as a result. I didn’t want for much, the money paid for my schooling, and my lifestyle, and I still had a little left over. I chose what he wanted carefully and didn’t consider that I was hurting anybody. At least until I met someone.

  “I had seen her around for a while and she seemed, let’s say – ideal. But something happened, and I found myself helping her out, instead of using her like I normally would. As I got to know her, we became great friends, and together we starting working on something different that would fund both of our habits.

  “It was all working really well, and we didn’t consider our drug use to be a problem. At least until my boss found out that I had goods I wasn’t delivering to him.

  “He threatened my life, and to save myself – I hurt my friend.

  “After that, I hit the drugs really hard, and it wasn’t long before I overdosed. I guess I wanted to die. The drugs had taken over, and I wanted it all to be over.

  “But - I survived. I got help. And now, I’ve been sober for nine months.”

  As the group claps their hands to congratulate his sobriety, Justine places her hand on mine and squeezes me reassuringly.

  I turn my attention to her and blink rapidly. Tears spill from my eyes.

  I didn’t even realise I was crying.

  ***

  When the meeting is over, we’re invited to mingle over coffee or tea and some biscuits. I don’t want to stay, but Justine insists that I do.

  “You need to find yourself a sponsor,” she reminds me.

  I nod at a few people, who smile at me to be friendly, and make my way to the coffee urn.

  “Paige?”

  I close my eyes. I knew he’d come over to me, but I’d hoped he’d stay away. I turn to see him standing beside me, a pained expression on his face as bites his lip, waiting for me to respond. “Braden.” There is no emotion to my voice as I regard him. Even after his story, I still hate him.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that you’re ok,” he breathes.

  “I can’t tell you how unhappy I am to see that you’re ok,” I retort.

  He sighs. “Alright. I guess I deserve that.”

  “And then some,” I laugh humourlessly.

  He busies himself, readying his own cup of International Roast coffee, piling in the sugar to make it palatable, before speaking again.

  “You know that girl in the story is you right?” he asks “You have to know that I didn’t want to take you to him.”

  “Then why did you?”

  He stands in front of me and takes a breath, as if he is planning on trying to explain, but he stops himself.

  I lean in close and speak so only he and I can hear. “Do you know what he does to his girls Braden? He keeps them constantly medicated and uses their body like it’s a toy. And he shares his toys. He’s very generous like that. He likes to play with his toys until they broken Braden, and then he throws them out. Just like that,” I tell him, snapping my fingers for emphasis. “It’s people like you who allow him to do that. You keep his meat fresh, so he’s never left wanting.”

  His eyes are wide as the colour drains from his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  “You could say sorry to me ten times a second, for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough. There is nothing you can do to change what happened. Nothing that can take it all away.”

  “Let me try Paige. Please. I need to try and make it up to you.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” I say as I step away from him and move back toward Justine. “I attended,” I say when I reach her. “Can we go now?”

  “Do you know that guy?” she asks, looking over at Braden.

  “No. I don’t think I ever knew him at all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Counselling sucks, and I can’t seem to escape it. I hate talking about my feelings. But it’s a part of my program. I have to attend NA meetings, go to school, pass drug tests and have regular counselling. I have to keep my life on track in general. If I don’t, I’ll lose my flat and my benefits. I feel like I’m caught in this never ending revolving door, and I can’t find the exit.

  I do everything I’m supposed to, but I still don’t share at the meetings. The most I have ever said is “Hi, I’m Paige and I’m a drug addict. I never wanted to be one, but somehow I got caught up in it, and the destruction it causes. I don’t want to go back to it. I don’t think I’ll ever go back.”

  Braden keeps trying to talk to me, it’s like he needs me to forgive him so he can move forward. But I can’t. Not yet anyway.

  “So um, I’ve been working in a tattoo parlour. You should come and check it out sometime,” he tells me after a meeting. Every time he talks to me his voice has a slight shake to it. I make him nervous.

  “Why would I want to do that?” I ask. It seems like every time I speak to him, my voice loses all feeling. But maybe that’s just how it always is these days.

  “I don’t know. You used to like looking at my drawings. I thought you might like to see some of my designs.”

  I look over his arms and wonder why he isn’t displaying any of his work in his body. “Where are your tattoos? Seems strange to be designing them but not displaying them.”

  “I only have one,” he says, pressing his lips together lightly.

  “Did it hurt too
much, and you can’t handle getting any more?” I ask sarcastically.

  “It was worth it.”

  He busies himself, placing granulated coffee in his foam cup, along with his usual mammoth amount of sugar. I watch him. I have to admit that curiosity is getting the better of me.

  “Where did you get it? The tattoo… can you show me or is it somewhere private?”

  “Nowhere you haven’t seen before,” he grins, glancing at me as he presses the lever on the urn to add the hot water.

  “On your arse?” I ask.

  He shakes his head as he adds his milk and turns to me. “No. It’s on my chest. Over my heart.”

  “Oh. Well… what is it?”

  He pulls the neck of his T-shirt down, so I can see it. It’s a symbol about the size of my palm, done in black ink. I’ve never seen one like it before, it’s a circular shape that has spikes and arrows evenly placed around it as they jut out of some sort of irregular square shape in the middle.

  “Does it mean anything?”

  “Yes. It’s the symbol for sorrow and despair. I got it over my heart to remind me to stay strong. To remind me of what I did to you.”

  My throat thickens and makes it hard for me to swallow. “Don’t Braden. I don’t want to hear it,” I whisper, tears burning the backs of my eyes as I shake my head no.

  “But I loved you Paige, and I threw you to the wolves. Handing you over was the worst thing I have ever done. I need to remember. I need to be reminded every day when I look in the mirror that my drug addiction destroyed not only my life, but that of my friend’s as well.”

  “It wasn’t just my life you destroyed Braden. Every girl you ever took to him was destroyed. Why don’t you have a tattoo for each of them?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the only one I tried to keep for myself. You’re the only one I didn’t want to take to him.”

  “You’re talking like we were lovers or something Braden. I think you’re romanticising what was between us.”

  “I’m not Paige. I did love you. You were my family. My best friend. You knew me. What we had was better than some stupid relationship where you fuck for a while and it’s over. We were real together.”

  “You know what? I have to go.” I say, thumbing over my shoulder. I can’t stand here and listen to this anymore. “Congratulations on your job. I’ll see you around.”

  I spin on my heel and make my way out of there as fast as I can. Trying not to think about the emotions that are boiling up inside of me. Having Braden back in my life is messing with me, and making me feel things I don’t want to. I hate that he felt so strongly about me and still handed me over. I hate that he has a tattoo on his chest that represents me. I just have so much hate – so much disappointment inside of me.

  I want it gone. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

  I hold on until I get back to my flat. I hold on as I rush to the bathroom, turn on the shower and get inside. The water is still cold, but as soon as it hits my face, I let go.

  There’s something about crying in the shower that makes it ok. It’s like crying with the water doesn’t make it real, and I can pretend it never happened. I can pretend I’m still strong. But I’m not. I never have been.

  Chapter Forty

  “Paige, we’ve been having these sessions for a few months now. I’m not going to sign off on your treatment until we actually discuss something important,” my counsellor, Erin, says to me at my next appointment.

  “Don’t you think the most important thing is that I stay off the drugs? Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here?” I retort.

  “Yes, that’s part of it. But the loss you’ve experienced makes you a high risk of relapse. Counselling can help Paige. But only if you’ll let it.”

  “I’m not going to relapse,” I insist, looking at a print of an Australian bush scene hanging on the wall in her office, and wishing that she had a window so I didn’t feel so trapped whenever I came here.

  “What makes you so sure about that?”

  “Because I won’t.”

  “I admire your determination Paige. I really do. But right now, you’re living in a guided situation. You have regular contact with people whose job is to make sure you have all the help you need to move on with your life. This situation won’t last forever. Eventually, you’ll be on your own. You’ll want to have relationships, maybe even start a family. And all of these things can be extremely difficult. If we don’t address your past. How can you possibly have a productive future?”

  I adjust myself in my seat and fold my arms over my chest. “Firstly, I don’t want to have a relationship, or a family. I don’t want to address my past either. It’s been one huge disappointment after another, and I really don’t want to think about it.”

  “You might not want to think about it Paige. But our minds have a habit forcing us to deal with things.”

  I drop my head against the back of the couch and look up at the ceiling. During the day, I’m able to keep busy. I focus on my school work, or I read. I tidy my flat, and I cook. Life is very normal during the day. But when it’s time to sleep, my mind won’t stop.

  In those moments before I drift off, I remember everything. My dreams remind me about everyone, and everything in my past. Then every morning when I wake, the first thought in my mind is of Phoenix, followed by the knowledge that I’m the reason she didn’t survive.

  “You know, when my parents kicked me out of home, I thought I was better off on my own. That I didn’t need the help of homeless shelters, or the charities that run them. I thought that being put into foster care, or a girl’s home would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But now, I know that if it wasn’t for programs like this, then I would be dead.

  “Honestly, I think that sometimes that would be better too. I’m not going to kill myself, so don’t worry about that – but I do know that if I could choose between my daughter’s life and my own, I’d choose hers. Every time I’d choose hers.

  “I wish I was sitting here with a little girl in my lap talking to you about how hard it is being a single mother without an education. But I’m not. I know what I did. I know what I lost, and I don’t want to talk about it. I am not going to relapse. I don’t want to take drugs to forget. I need this pain. It’s the only thing reminding me that I’m still alive.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  By the time my recovery program is finished, I have my School Certificate. It isn’t enough to get me into a university course, but it’s enough that I can continue on and do a diploma or apply for an apprenticeship.

  At the community health centre, they also offer career counselling. There are a lot of pamphlets about jobs in industries that need workers.

  I pick up the pamphlet that talks about trades you can learn and wonder if I’d be any good at hairdressing. I figure that I have so much hair of my own, it might be nice to learn what to do with it.

  The great thing about these community outreach programs, is that they put you in touch with employers who are willing to work with troubled kids. My counsellor made a few calls and within a week, I had an interview at a local hair salon, where I met Tina.

  She had left home at an early age by choice, she told me that she was getting roughed up and couldn’t take it anymore. The day she got her first job, was the day she left home and moved into a share house.

  Life was difficult for her, but she was careful with her money, worked hard and eventually, started up her own salon.

  Now she’s at a point where she can afford to hire an apprentice, and she wants to give someone else the same opportunity she had. I guess I’m lucky that ‘someone’ is now me.

  I’m still attending NA meetings, but I only go once a week now. Braden and I are slowly starting to talk more. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. I don’t think we’ll ever be as close as we once were. It’s too hard to forgive him that much, but I don’t feel so much like stabbing him whenever I see him anymore.

  I still haven�
�t gone and seen the tattoo parlour he works at, although he has been bringing sketch pads with him to meetings and showing me what he’s working on.

  He’s planning sleeves for himself, and every part of the tattoo will tell a story. The left side, he wants to represent his past, and the right side his future. It will be a huge undertaking, but I’m sure it will look fantastic when he’s done.

  Talking about the symbolism of his ink has got me thinking. I really like the idea of having something that will permanently remind me why I’m living my life the way I am.

  “Braden?” I ask one evening after a meeting. “I’ve been thinking – do you remember how you said you’d do anything for my forgiveness?”

  This got his attention, suddenly he was one hundred percent focused on me instead of the sketch pad on his lap. “Of course. What is it?”

  “I think I want a tattoo.”

  “Sure. What do you want to do? Something on your shoulder? Your hip? Your ankle?”

  “My back. I want my entire back done.”

  His eyes practically pop out of his head. “You want your whole back done for your first tattoo?”

  “Yes Braden, and before you start trying to talk me out of it, I know it’s going to hurt and I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about the tattoo you have, and how it’s there to remind you about the worst thing you’ve done. I want something like that too. My worst thing is much bigger than your worst thing. So it needs to be large. It needs to take over my body.”

  He just nods his understanding and waits for me to continue. “I want a phoenix, flames and all. In my mind, it rises from my hips and its head goes up to one shoulder and the wings are diagonal around me. Can you do something like that?”

  “Of course I can Paige. I’ll do some drawings for you to show you next week… or I can always call you and we can meet up. Have a coffee or something?”

  “No. Next week is fine.” I stand up and turn to leave, but I pause.

  “Thanks Braden,” I say over my shoulder and then head home.

  Chapter Forty-Two