Reprieve

by A. E. Woodward

  “I am.”

  Part of me wants to free my hand but the other part, the fickle side, wants to enjoy the moment. So I do. I revel in his touch. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s small and insignificant because it’s the first genuine, caring touch I have had in so long. It makes me feel warm and numb—almost like I’m high. And it’s just what I need. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Sometimes I’m just so frustrated.”

  He squeezes my hand gently, reassuring me that he’s not going anywhere, and it makes me think that maybe, just maybe, he actually cares about my recovery; cares about me. “First off there’s no need for you to be sorry. You have every right to be frustrated. This is hard work.”

  “I feel like being a junkie is easier.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Surprised, I look up and our eyes lock. I wasn’t expecting him to agree. My mouth hangs open as I stare at his face, willing him to provide an explanation. Breaking our gaze, he removes his hand from mine and rubs the back of his neck. My hand is cold without him, the loss tangible in its significance.

  “You’re completely right. Being a junkie is easier—for you. It prevents you from feeling, from living. But what about the people around you? The ones left to carry the burden while you take the easy road.” His voice has an edge I’ve never heard before. “The same road that leads to nothing but destruction and death. So if it’s the easy road you’re wanting, you might as well leave right now, before we’re in too deep.”

  Tears well in my eyes and I move my attention to the window of his office. I focus on the sun illuminating the lush green grass, hoping I can keep myself from breaking down. I want to be pissed at him for snapping at me, but he’s right. My life before here wasn’t about living at all. It was about slowly finding my way to death.

  We sit in silence, neither of us knowing the right words to say. A lone tear escapes and slides down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. I hear him fidget in his seat as he clears his throat.

  “Well, now I’m the one needing to apologize,” he starts. “I’m sorry, Tegan, but you’ve been given a gift here. I can see you starting to live again and I’d hate to see you throw it all away because the going got tough. I only want what’s best for you.”

  Feeling a little more invincible, I turn to look at him, noting his dark eyes and furrowed brow. He’s not lying; his concern is written all over his face. I want to say something, to acknowledge he’s right. My mouth opens and closes a few times, my mind struggling to find the right words.

  Sensing the sudden thickness in the air, he slaps his knees with his hands and shoots to his feet. “How about a change in scenery?” he asks.

  I nod, grateful for the change of topic. I don’t care where we go. I just need the feelings to stop.

  The hurt.

  The confusion.

  The realization that my illness has been killing me, and that it still can, is crippling. This is just the beginning of my journey, and that scares the shit out of me.

  “Take my hand.”

  Frozen in place, I can feel tears streaming down my cheeks. The sadness is winning, but I’m past caring if he sees it. He stretches his hand out, willing me to take it. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, “ I promise, I’ll take care of you.”

  ASHER HASN’T LET go of my hand since we left his office. Despite looking over his shoulder every ten seconds, his fingers remain locked with mine even as we navigate our way through the center, out a side door, and through a clearing. From there he leads me down an overgrown path, pushing branches out of our way until the trail clears and we find ourselves in a parking lot.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, my voice colored with laughter. My heart races and it strikes me that this time it’s not because of heroin, or even wanting heroin. It’s beating to live.

  I’m alive.

  He looks back and smiles, glancing in both directions quickly before tugging at my hand and running toward the parking lot. “I wasn’t so sure until right now.”

  “And now?”

  We stop in front of a yellow motorcycle and he finally drops my hand. I miss the feel of his skin on mine immediately and the thought, though fleeting, catches me off guard. He grabs a helmet off the back and tosses it in my direction. “Put this on,” he demands, throwing his leg over the machine and turning the ignition as I fumble with the headgear.

  “Is this yours?” The question sounds dumb but I’m coasting on very little information. The thought of getting out of here, with him, has me excited and nervous at the same time.

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “Of course it is.” His voice is loud, having to compete with the sound of the motor and he, again, checks to make sure we’ve gone unnoticed.

  “Well, I didn’t know.” I slide the helmet down over my head, thankful I left my hair down today, and slide onto the seat behind him, my arms resting awkwardly against my thighs. I’m not really sure where I’m supposed to put them. “You haven’t exactly been super forthcoming about what’s going on here,” I yell, aware that my voice is muffled by the helmet.

  “Well then, let me rectify that,” he calls back, revving the throttle for effect. “This is my motorcycle and I’m taking you for a ride.”

  “Are you supposed to take me off site?”

  His body stills, the muscles in his shoulders straining against his shirt and I can only imagine what he’s thinking or about to say. The seconds drag by and I begin to wonder if he’s changed his mind. He turns his head, his eyes filled with seriousness.

  “No.”

  Somehow, his answer makes my gut clench, my abdominals contracting and releasing at a thrilling pace as my heart swells in anticipation. There it is again; the delicious feeling of illicit behavior. It creeps through my body, wrapping itself around me like ivy, finding the chinks in my armor and infiltrating my senses. Knowing that we’re doing something we shouldn’t makes my skin tingle in anticipation. He revs the engine and his eyebrows lift up expectantly.

  “What?” I ask, knowing that he’s waiting for me to say or do something.

  “Are you going to hang on?”

  “I would love to, but where am I supposed to put my hands?”

  Before he turns back, he grabs both my hands and wraps my arms around his waist. I can feel his muscles tense underneath his shirt as his body moves in preparation for take off. “Hang on tight!” The words have barely left his mouth when I’m jolted forward, clinging tightly to Asher as we speed out of the car park and down the road. Trees pass us at lightning speed and the noise of the engine reverberates around my head. Scared to death, I press my head against his back and close my eyes, letting out a small squeal.

  This is a bad idea.

  I’m going to die.

  His whole body hitches. He’s laughing at me but I’m too frightened to care. The wind rushes past us as we drive, but I never open my eyes. I’m conscious of changes in direction when I feel Asher rock from left to right, each movement causing me to grip tighter to his shirt until my knuckles burn from the effort.

  Eventually, the motorcycle slows until it comes to a complete stop and Asher shuts off the engine. It’s only then that I open my eyes, seeing nothing but a huge open field.

  “Are you alive back there?”

  My arms are still tightly wrapped around him and I feel my cheeks redden as I release. “Sorry.”

  He shrugs, getting off the motorcycle and turning to help me down. My legs are like Jell-O and it takes me a second to get my land legs back. And even when they are, I felt like they don’t belong to me.

  Once my eyes adjust from being squeezed shut so long, I suck in a sharp inhale when I see the field laid out before me. It’s vast and seemingly endless, the tall grass dancing lightly with the slight breeze passing through. “What is this place?” I ask, my ears smarting as I pull the helmet from my head and shake out my hair.

  “This is my sanctuary,” he replies calmly.

  I start to wonder why he brought me here. We could have jus
t finished the session in his office. Unless he brings all his clients here.

  “I’m sure it doesn’t make sense to you.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  He looks slightly unsure of himself, unusual for him, so I flash a small smile, which he returns before explaining, “You seemed out of sorts today . . . like you were crawling out of your own skin. I remember that feeling. I know you’re starting to feel trapped. As though there’s no hope. That all of this, your pain and struggle, is for nothing. But it is for something. It’s for beauty like this.” He swings his arm out to the open field and my eyes follow. The high grass seems to go on forever, the trees that line the edge seemingly miles away.

  Suddenly, I want to stretch my legs. I want to enjoy my moment of freedom. It’s something that has been out of reach for me for a while now. I’ve been a prisoner to my addiction for far too long and now is my chance to rectify that. I grin and look over at Asher, who’s still admiring the beauty of the land in front of us, before reaching over and playfully slapping his shoulder. I catch him off guard and he hesitates.

  “Race ya!” I call out, taking off into the tall grass. I hear footsteps behind me. I giggle as my feet step lightly against the ground, the wind blowing my hair behind me and I throw my arms out wide as though they’re wings. The grass tickles the skin against my legs and arms as I blaze a trail through the field. Still laughing, I look over my shoulder at Asher. He’s running as well but he hasn’t yet caught up; even so, I’m just able to make out the crinkling in the corner of his eyes as he smiles at my childlike behavior.

  Eventually, I reach the edge of the woods and, exhausted, I throw myself onto the cool ground, flattening the grass around me. I look up through the grass at the bright sky, watching the sunshine chase away the few clouds that threaten to hide it from sight. It’s so peaceful. I close my eyes, enjoying the moment.

  But the moment is short-lived as a shadow is cast over me. I open my eyes to see Asher. “Well, that was unexpected,” he says between breaths. I laugh at myself and he lies down on the ground next to me. Even though our shoulders are almost touching I swear I feel the warmth of him over every inch of my body. Something inside of me is awakening. A piece that I thought was long gone is back, and as much as I thought I loved misery, I’m beginning to realize that life is so much better.

  “See what I mean about this place,” he says to the sky. “It’s completely liberating. Something about its beauty just puts me at ease.”

  There are no words that fit this moment so I stay quiet, choosing instead to take a deep breath, allowing the fresh air to fill my lungs. It feels good. We both lie there staring up to the sky, the sun beating down on our skin, warming us. Neither of us feeling the need to speak.

  Our silence says everything.

  Moments pass. My eyes close and all the tension in my body slowly seeps out, losing itself in the grass. I’m almost falling asleep until something brushes lightly against the back of my hand. My eyes snap open and I clutch my hand to my chest, wondering if it had been a bug or a snake. Seeing nothing around, I settle myself again. But then I feel it once more: the softest brush of skin on skin. I slowly roll my head to the side.

  Asher is already looking at me and I watch his lips move as he says, “Seeing you come to life is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed.”

  With my heart thundering throughout my body, I nod. He waits a moment, his expression saying everything and nothing all at once before I feel his fingers entwine with mine and watch his face as his mouth breaks into a breathtaking smile. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, his voice barely audible over the slight breeze.

  “It feels good to be free,” I answer, my voice shaky.

  “I promise you, it only gets better from here.”

  DRUG USE. IT’S A slippery slope.

  From that first hit, I was doomed. I’d foolishly thought that it was innocent. It started out fun. A hit here and there at a party—what did that matter? But then it became more . . . so much more. It was a way to turn my brain off. Then it was about being emotionally void, until it was about survival. Everyday became a rat race. I didn’t just want to get my next fix; I needed it. Without it, the sadness would creep back in, overtaking every cell of my being. My skin would crawl. Tears would fall. The finally, reality would set in and above all, I had to avoid that. It didn’t matter what it cost me.

  Possessions, who cared? Things were just things.

  Money? It was easy to steal. Especially from my friends and family.

  Until they were gone.

  And then, without warning, I found myself at the bottom of my slope. There was nothing left for me to ruin. Nothing left to fuck up, or anyone to fuck over. Nothing except myself. And because of that I was about to go where I had never gone before. I had nothing left but my body. A body that had been craved by men all my life—especially by my dealer. Really, I had nothing else left to lose. Nothing.

  My hand didn’t tremble as I dialed the familiar number. There was no fragment of shame, pulling me back. No conscience whispering in my ear. The angel on my shoulder packed her bags long ago. It was like I was disconnected from my body, looking down on myself as I fell further and further down the rabbit hole. Deep inside I knew what I was about to do was the absolute worst, but my desire for a hit was far greater than any little bit of self-respect I had left.

  “What do you want?” he answered, his voice flat.

  “You,” I purred, trying to steady my voice enough to sound seductive.

  He laughed. “You’re so full of shit, Tegan. I know you just need some H.”

  “I want that too.”

  His laughter petered out and he cleared his throat. He’d made lewd comments and remarks ever since I’d started buying from him. I’d known for months that he wanted me, but it wasn’t until this moment that I considered allowing it to happen. I was running out of options. “I’m in your neighborhood,” he said. What a coincidence.

  “Good.”

  “I can be there in about ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  The line went dead and I ran straight to the bathroom, an acrid stench filling the air as I hung my head over the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of my stomach. I blamed it on the withdrawal but in reality I knew it was the thought of the situation I was about to put myself into. For the first time, I was about to sell my body for drugs.

  An all-time low—even for me.

  Once I was done throwing up, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and fell backward against the wall, the cool tile floor soothing my heated, sweaty skin. I didn’t eat much so once my body was void of heroin, I had no energy reserves to draw from. Some days, even lifting my arms to brush my hair proved too difficult. Those were the days that I stayed in my pajamas, if you could call them that. The material was beyond threadbare, covered in small burn marks where I’d been too clumsy, or more like simply being too out of it to care or know what I was doing. It took a moment to regain control of my stomach and gather the energy needed before I reached up and flushed the toilet. Then with a deep breath, I grabbed the edge of the pedestal sink and helped myself to my feet. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. In just a few short months I had undergone what could only be described as a “make-under.” I was a “before” picture. A mess.

  Turning the faucet on, I placed my hands under the cold water and splashed some onto my face. In the mirror, I made eye contact with the broken woman staring back. The little girl within me pleaded with her, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

  A knock on the door diverted my attention and brought me back to the present. All I needed was a hit of heroin. No matter the cost. Almost jubilant with anticipation for the impending high, I raced to the door and opened it, finding him leaning against the frame, a smug smirk on his face. He knew he’d won—that this would just be the first time of many. “Well don’t you look a hot mess,” he laughed, brushing past me.

  Conf
ident he couldn’t see me, I glared at his back and slammed the door, trapping us both inside my small apartment. “Did you bring it?” I asked, slightly breathless.

  “Of course.” He pulled a small baggie from his pocket and held it in front of his face, teasing me with it. “What do you think this is, amateur hour?” My heart raced with excitement as I thought about the high that was just a few moments away. All that stood between me and my heroin was a little sex.

  No big deal.

  I did my best to push aside my disgust and made eye contact, watching his mouth slowly turned up into a grin, his eyes never leaving mine, even as he fell back onto the tattered couch. “I’ve been waiting to fuck you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  I’d always known it, but I had never thought that I’d be low enough that I’d actually have to fulfill his fantasies. I bit my lip and took a few slow steps toward him, playing with the hem of my T-shirt, rolling it between my fingers before pulling it up and over my head. Bras cost money I didn’t have, so that left me naked from the waist up as I stalked as seductively as my legs would allow across the room. When I reached the couch I dropped the shirt to the ground next to me, lowering myself to straddle his lap.

  “I know you have.”

  His hands landed on my hips and he pushed himself up to me. I could feel that he was already aroused and I thanked God. With him like this it wouldn’t take long.

  “Why now?” he asked.

  His question caused frustration to bubble up within me. Was he really making this take longer than it should? I wanted nothing more than to punch him. He knew why. It was about the drugs. Not him. No matter how much he wanted it to be, it wasn’t. He was testing me. Swallowing back all the hatred I had for him, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his and licked my lips. “Because I have needs too.”

  “Oh yeah.” His voice was low and husky. If it were anyone else I might even have found it attractive. “And what are those?”