Blow

by Heidi McLaughlin

  The lady next to me, Susan, who I’ve learned is married with two children, was hooked on meth. She’s been here for two months now and has just announced that her husband is her trigger.

  “I struggled with losing weight after our second child,” she tells us, already wiping away tears. “I tried everything. Every fad diet I could find, I did it. Sometimes they’d be successful, but the holidays would come around and I’d eat. I didn’t want to pass up eating a piece of birthday cake, or having pie after Thanksgiving dinner. Once I did that, I always said I’d start over on Monday. Well, Monday came and so did the following Monday, and I was still eating, gaining everything back that I had lost. My husband started calling me ‘fat,’ ‘plump,’ ‘a little juicy around the sides.’ When I’d tell him that he was hurting my feelings, he’d laugh it off and say he meant it in a loving manner, but there was no love behind those words. He stopped touching me and wouldn’t go out on our dates anymore. So one day I looked up how to lose weight quickly and there it was. At first I used the pills that contained methamphetamine and saw the pounds coming off. I wasn’t hungry and I had energy to clean my house and go to the gym. When the pills weren’t enough, I started smoking it. There was a guy who hung out at the gym who had a suitcase of whatever diet supplement you wanted, so I bought from him.

  “And one day I didn’t wake up on time. My kids freaked out and called their dad, who came home from work. By then I was awake and World War Three was breaking out in my house because my children were late for school and he had to leave work because they were scared and the only thing I cared about was going to the gym so I could get high.”

  She wipes away her tears and inhales. “He took the kids to school that day and I went to the gym. On my way home I was in a car accident. I was so high that I was driving down the wrong side of the road. I ended up spending ninety days in jail because my husband wouldn’t post my bond and my parents had sold their house so they didn’t have any assets. I’ve been here for sixty days, and when you add that up, I haven’t seen my kids in over five months.”

  When she tells her story it makes mine look like a cakewalk. I didn’t lose anyone. My parents will still be there as long as I stay clean. She’s lost her family, all because her husband is a piece of shit and can’t accept her for who she is on the inside. He was too worried about the part that doesn’t matter—looks. My dad has always said my mother is the most beautiful woman he has ever met and says that her beauty runs deep inside her. He calls other women pretty, but my mom has always been beautiful.

  Dr. Rosenberg lets us know that group therapy for today is over. It ends on a somber note, leaving me uneasy. I don’t think that Dr. Rosenberg was prepared for that story today, and neither was I. From what I can tell, the woman speaking is like me, normally quiet and reserved. I’ve seen her a couple of times while I’ve been out walking—she was just sitting in a chair looking at the pond. I can’t begin to imagine how alone she must feel.

  —

  Today I’m cleaning the horse stalls. I have never done hard labor a day in my life. Sweeping floors or vacuuming, yeah, I’ve done those, especially when I had to clean up a mess I didn’t want anyone to know about, but this is something entirely new.

  I have a pitchfork in my hand and a wheelbarrow by my side. When they were handed to me, the guy laughed, knowing full well I don’t have a clue as to what I’m doing or what this tool even is. I do remember, from elementary school, what they’re called, though, so that’s a bonus point for me.

  After a short lesson I’m staring at the task in front of me—cleaning up the manure. Clad in jeans, rubber boots, a T-shirt, and gloves, I walk into the stall, much to the amusement of the horse in the next stall, and start cleaning. It takes me only a few minutes to get the hang of how to use a pitchfork, and honestly I find it therapeutic. Maybe this is why we have chores, because they’re some odd form of therapy. Once I have a stall clean and restocked with new hay, I go over to the next, moving a horse if I have to.

  The horses here are gentle and fairly easy to manage. Susan from group therapy this morning comes in. We make eye contact briefly before she takes a horse out of the stall. According to Kimberly there’s a network of trails throughout the property that we can hike, walk, and even ride on if we choose. I have yet to do anything except go to my therapy sessions and work. I find that time in my room, alone, is what I need right now. Besides, I can’t imagine going on a horseback ride by myself.

  A few others come in and take the horses out as I clean, and when the final stall is done, I sign out on the chore list and head back to the main house for a shower. I smell horrible, and between the stench of shit and sweat, I can’t stand to be around myself.

  “Where ya running off to?” Kimberly’s voice stops me dead in my tracks. She’s wearing shorts today that show off her tan legs. Once again her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but she’s left a few pieces of hair out that frame her face. And her eyes are as blue as ever.

  “I need a shower,” I tell her. “I worked the stalls today.” I’m sure she already knows this, but I feel the need to tell her anyway.

  “Well, I thought maybe we could go for a ride. I could show you around some more of the property.”

  “I need to shower,” I say again, stupidly. I chastise myself for saying something so dumb. I’d already told her I needed to shower, and since I reek, she probably didn’t need the reminder.

  Kimberly laughs; it’s sweet and melodic. I want to hear it again, but I’m in no shape to make her laugh. There isn’t anything about me that’s funny.

  “Hey, I have a better idea,” I blurt out, trying to hide my grin. I want her to think I’m serious with what I’m about to say.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” Her tone is playful and gives me hope. And I need hope. Not to score with her, but to get through my days.

  “You should join me in the shower.” I waggle my eyebrows at her and rub my hand over my abs, pushing up my shirt a little so she can see what’s underneath.

  Kim shakes her head, but her smile tells me that she likes the idea. She covers her mouth to stifle a laugh, and I chuckle.

  “Go shower and meet me in the barn. I’ll get the horses ready,” she says, waving me off. I stand there and watch as she heads up the hill toward the barn, hips swaying, and I wonder what they’d feel like under my hands. It’s just a fantasy, really. And when she turns around, I slowly pull off my shirt and show her exactly what she’s missing. With another shake of her head, she disappears from sight.

  It’s funny to think she’s out of my league considering who I am, but she is. Women like her don’t have time for dumbasses like me, regardless of what our bank statements say. Besides, who the fuck hooks up with someone from rehab? Not someone like Kim. She could do so much better than someone like me.

  I rush off to shower and change as quickly as I can, afraid she might change her mind if I take too long. Our showers are dormitory style, with a changing area adjacent to the shower. All our soap and shampoo is provided for us, and if you need to shave, you can request to use one of the electric razors they have on hand. Regular razors aren’t allowed because of the threat of suicide.

  Once I’m showered and dressed, I find myself running back to the barn, hopeful that Kimberly is still there. When I spot her brushing one of the horses, I sigh in relief. I don’t know why I need to spend time with her, considering that every time I do I’m left with an ache in my groin, but I do. I need the torturous pain of blue balls to remind me about my fucked-up situation. If we were away from here, I’d be done chasing her. I don’t spend too much energy trying to get a chick, which is probably one of my many problems in life, but she’s different. She’s like my fucking reward for being a good boy, even when I want to be so fucking bad when I’m around her.

  “Have you ridden before?” she asks as I approach her.

  “I used to, when I was kid. My parents had a country house and we’d go there for holidays and vacations, but their
careers soared, the house was sold, and vacations were spent on yachts and in ritzy hotels instead.”

  “Sounds like a tough life.”

  “It was,” I say, sounding ungrateful. She looks at me oddly, and I shrug. “When you’re a kid, you want friends. You want to run outside, play baseball, and chase girls. I always had nannies, and the cameras followed my mother everywhere, so being dirty was never an option.”

  I refuse to look at her and see the pity etched on her face. She’s far too pretty to bestow pity on someone like me. I check the saddle on the horse I’m going to ride and walk him out of the barn. Once there, I mount him as if it’s second nature. It’s been years, too many to count, since I’ve been on a horse, and I remember only a few things.

  Kimberly doesn’t say anything as she mounts her horse and brings him to a halt next to me. I have a feeling that she’s looking at me, but I’m staring straight ahead. I don’t want to talk about my childhood or hear about the things I missed because my parents were too busy. I may not have grown up normal, but I did things. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve met important people who have defined our world. I’ve done things that most people only dream about. So what if I missed things?

  She takes the lead and I follow. We’re going slowly, which is perfect for me. The last thing I want to do is fall off the horse. Besides, the scenery needs to be admired. Through the trees I see fields of wildflowers. On the trails there are animal tracks that Kimberly is pointing out. She tells me about the land and how her father acquired it for his dream of helping others.

  “Where’s your mom?” I ask, being nosy.

  “She lives in the city. They divorced a few years after Serenity Springs opened. My dad is so dedicated to his work that she felt he abandoned her, so she filed for divorce.”

  “That must’ve been hard on you.”

  If she’s annoyed, she doesn’t say anything. “It was, but I dealt with it. I’d spend my weekdays with her while I was in school and my weekends here. Holidays were the worst, though, but we managed. Now that I work and live here, I see her on the weekends and she occasionally comes up to see me.”

  “You live here too?” I don’t know why the thought of her living here surprises me. I guess I thought she had a normal life away from all of this.

  She turns and looks at me over her shoulder, showing me that she’s without a doubt the most positive person I have ever met.

  “I do, along with my dad and most of the staff. We have staff housing on the other side of the ranch. My dad provides housing for those who need it. Some of the employees that you’ve met are former patients as well. I’d say about half live on the grounds, some with families as well.”

  “That’s pretty nice of your father.”

  “He’s doing what he thinks is best.”

  We come to another clearing, this one with a pond. She dismounts and takes her horse down to the pond to drink. I do the same, petting him while he hydrates.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asks.

  I shrug, not sure how I feel aside from being worthless and stupid. “It’s hard to say.”

  “What about the craving? Is it gone?”

  I’m afraid to look at her, fearful that she won’t like my answer. Hell, I hate my answer. I can honestly say that if there was a bump sitting out in front of me, I’d take it just so I could feel that high one more time. Instead of answering, I shake my head and look down at the ground.

  “It’ll get better,” she says soothingly.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’ll find the one thing that replaces that high. It’s different for everyone. If we knew what it was, we’d bottle it and sell it, but we can’t. Each person has to dig deep in self-discovery and hold on to the one thing that gives them hope and gives them the rush they need to get through the day.”

  “What if I think I found it? The one thing that will replace the high that I’m craving?” I step around my horse and come face-to-face with her. The sunlight kisses her, making her eyes sparkle. They’re as blue as mine, but different. What I see in hers gives me hope that I can be a better person.

  “Then you need to do what you can to hold on to whatever it is that you found.”

  I step a little closer, trying to quell my dirty thoughts. With the amount of privacy we have out here it’d be so easy to fuck in the grass or up against the tree. She’d be able to scream out my name as I make her come all over my dick and no one would be able to hear her. That right there would be my high. The exhilaration alone would be enough to sustain me.

  “You sound like Dr. Rosenberg,” I say, trying to change the subject before I do something both of us will regret.

  “Oh, I don’t think I’m that bad, Bodhi. I want you to succeed. Maybe it’s because you have such a promising future—I’ll get some small gratification from knowing that your success is well earned. You’re not going to fail as long as I’m your friend.”

  “You want to sit in the crowd while I’m up onstage and know that you had a hand in my being there?” I step a bit closer to her, and her chest heaves. She can step back, but she doesn’t. Kimberly licks her lips and meets my gaze.

  “I’m not much of a concertgoer.”

  “So the idea of watching me onstage seduce the women who fantasize about me isn’t something you want to see? Or do you want something in private? Do you want your own show, Kimberly?”

  She shakes her head slowly, breaking our connection. Gently I pull her chin toward me so I can see her eyes. Her cheeks flush from my simple touch, causing a stirring in my groin.

  “Yes and no,” she whispers among the trees, horses, and other wildlife.

  “Which is it, Kimberly? Do you want to see me onstage or would you like a private show?”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as my fingers move down her neck. The attraction two people feel toward each other is never wrong, unless one or both of them are married to other people.

  “This…the touching. The way I feel. I know better.”

  “Do you want me to stop touching?” My hand ghosts over her exposed skin from her neck to her shoulder and along her collarbone. Feather-light touches meant to entice.

  “I’m not sure anymore.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of anything.” Her chest heaves as she says that.

  My hand grazes her side, and as if that is her trigger, she launches herself into my arms. I stumble before righting us, careful not to drop her. Her tongue pushes into my mouth as her arms wrap around my neck and her fingers weave into my hair. Finally, after a week of watching her shake her fucking ass in my face, my hands are gripping it and pulling her to me. I open my eyes briefly to check my surroundings and find a tree a few steps away. That is where I take her, and we swap fluids.

  With one hand holding onto the branch slightly above, I push her into the tree. She arches her back, grinding herself against me. I’m fucking hard and loving every minute of this little vixen’s attempt at getting off.

  “Fuck, I want to touch you,” I say against the hollows of her neck. She nods, whimpering as I bite along her collarbone.

  Letting go of the branch, my hand slides easily into her ridiculous excuse for shorts until I’m touching a flimsy piece of cloth covering her already wet pussy.

  “I bet you taste fucking divine,” I tell her as my knuckle swipes along her core. She bucks, showing me what she wants. “Look at me, Kimberly. I want to see your face when my fingers push into your cunt.”

  She does, and my cock screams, begging to be freed from the confines of my shorts. First one, than two fingers enter, and her eyes roll back. I pump my hand and try to maneuver so my thumb can go to work on her clit, but I’m unable to unless I want to move to one side, and I don’t because the pressure from her rubbing up and down my body is giving me the biggest high ever. I never realized sex could be a drug.

  I speed up, watching her face morph into bliss. Her fingers dig into my skin and he
r mouth falls open, inviting me in. I slam my mouth down on hers, taking her moans deep into the recesses of my soul. It’s a fucking thrill, knowing I’m making her feel this way.

  She bucks her hips and starts fucking my hand. I look down where my hand disappears into her shorts and feel my cock get even harder. Watching her get herself off is the single fucking sexiest thing I have ever witnessed.

  “Look at you fuck my hand,” I say. “Don’t you wish it were my dick?”

  “Yes. Oh God, yes,” she says, going faster. Her head pushes back against the tree as her back arches. The tightening of her pussy around my fingers is fucking amazing, and I can only imagine how my cock is going to feel when it’s finally surrounded by her walls. I give her a few more finger thrusts before she stops pulsing, her breathing labored and her eyes hooded with lust. I kiss her deeply as I pull my hand out, and I make her watch as I lick my fingers, sucking each and every one of them clean.

  I set her down gently; her legs wobble, and I smile within, knowing that I did that to her. Her hand reaches for the button on my shorts, but I stop her before she can get it undone because all I can see is Aspen and the way she looked at me the night that everything changed. And as much as I want to watch Kim suck my dick, I don’t want her to think that was why I just got her off. Fuck, I hate sounding like a pussy.

  “I want a turn,” she says, her eyes finding mine. Oh, how I want to watch my dick move in and out of her mouth, but I can’t. The last image I have of getting a blow job is with Aspen, and I shouldn’t be thinking about her right now. It’s not fair to Kim.

  Instead I do something I never thought I’d do in front of another person, let alone someone who I enjoy spending time with. I step back, undo my pants, and reach into my boxers to pull my dick out. Her eyes widen and I swear to God she licks her fucking lips, but that’s not enough to make me change my mind. I stroke myself once, stop briefly to spread my pre-cum around as some lubrication, then continue to move my hand up and down my shaft without taking my eyes off Kimberly. Each motion brings me closer to the edge, closer to blowing my wad in front of this woman. I want to know what she’s thinking. Does she think I’m weird? Probably so, but it’s the heat of the moment and nothing can change what we’ve done out here, away from everyone else.