by Molly Lee
“Was that before you came here for help?” Thomas asked him.
Conner shook his head. “Nah. That was a few years ago.”
“I see,” Thomas said, writing notes on his clipboard like he’d jot down the insight to our souls at some point and crack the code on the cure to our afflictions. Good fucking luck.
“Was he an asshole?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Conner chuckled. “Hell yes. Dick was always hitting on the waitresses and working them to the bone. I’m not sorry for going after him, just sorry I can’t remember it.”
I reached over and gave him a fist-bump. Thomas sighed audibly and glared at me, his pen in hand. He scribbled something else down, and I cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to try to get in my head.
Not a place you want to be, dude. I tried to convey the message with my eyes, but he didn’t flinch—which was the typical response from the general population when I fastened them with the look.
Unless you were Blake.
In the beginning, she’d hand it right back to me, her hands on her hips. I’d worn her threadbare by the end, though, so much that she’d crumble in on herself and do whatever I’d tell her. I’d convinced myself the satisfaction in her submission was out of the most primal pieces of my soul, that relationships worked that way, that she was supposed to cower under my anger, and rise to my passion. It wasn’t until she’d pushed back when I’d almost…
I swallowed a mouthful of bile that crept up my throat. I needed a fucking drink. Her voice was too clear in my head, her frightful scream right in my ear.
The foggy glass over my relationship had been shattered that night by my own hand, and only got worse the clearer things became over the course of weeks afterward. The beat down I’d gotten from that tool, the only fight I’d ever only half participated in, had been another shot of truth to the face.
I had fucked up. I was fucked up. And I had no clue where to go from there.
Apparently, the answer had been prison. And now rehab.
“Thanks for sharing, Conner.” Thomas’ voice cut through my thoughts. “Group will meet in the promenade tomorrow, same time. I encourage you all to take advantage of the beautiful weather and explore the lake or boating house for your leisurely activities today before mess bell.”
A couple of people from the group bolted out of their chairs, their quick efforts to leave as fast as possible not lost on Thomas by the look of his strained face. I almost felt sorry for the guy. He genuinely seemed like he wanted to help these people—even me—but the part of me that knew he was fighting a useless, endless battle, knew better than to pity him.
Conner stayed in his chair and his laid-back lounged position made him look like he’d been in the situation several times before. I leaned my elbows on my knees, motioning to him with a nod.
“You didn’t tell me this wasn’t your first clinic.”
Conner shrugged but chuckled. “Didn’t realize we were to the sharing stage of our relationship.”
I shook my head. “How many times you do this?”
He rolled his hazel eyes upward like he was mentally counting. “Five?”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing his palms together. “Never sticks. The craving hit me early on, and I’ve been powerless to stop it since.”
I pressed my lips together. “I hear that, man,” I said, leaning further back into my chair. I’d started drinking right before my aunt and uncle turned me out on the streets, and it had only gotten worse the more I realized it was the only thing that took me away from myself…someone I’d grown to hate without even realizing. By the time I did, I was so deep into it I couldn’t stop. And more so, I didn’t want to.
The taste of vodka pulsed on the back of my throat, teasing me with thirst, with the sensation the clear liquid could offer if I got my hands on a bottle. I cracked my knuckles, wanting to punch Devlin in the face. Why couldn’t he sneak me a bottle in here? Why did it only have to be drugs?
Clenching my eyes shut, I took a deep breath and tried not to think about how many more fucking days I had in this place. How many hours it’d be before I could take a drink. The pills stashed in the pocket of my jeans grew hot, and the temptation was there, but I’d tried pills before. They didn’t numb me like the drink did. They only made me over analyze every aspect of the past that haunted me, and I did enough of that sober.
“How many for you?” Conner asked.
“First time.”
“Damn. The first one is the worst,” he said, taking his pack of cigarettes out and smacking the lid against his palm.
I nodded. “It’s no Disneyland.”
He chuckled and popped a cigarette toward me, motioning toward the doors that exited to the grounds behind us. I took the cigarette and followed him, the sun near blinding as we stepped outside.
My aunt had spared no expense when securing me a room here. The facility was more like a resort than a rehab clinic—if you overlooked the fact that its “guests” were all some form of junkie or alchi with or without various other mental health issues. The building itself was a stucco mansion, with more rooms than I could count, and it sat on over a hundred acres of plush green grass, complete with a crystal-clear lake, and every kind of toy—from jet skis to horseback riding—you could want. If you were into that sort of thing. Which I wasn’t.
Conner chose a spot at one of the wooden picnic tables resting underneath the shade of a massive oak tree, and I straddled the bench across from him, lighting the end of my cigarette.
The smoke felt good in my lungs but barely made a dent in the pulse-pounding thirst that wouldn’t quit throbbing.
“You think this time it’ll stick?” I asked, continuing our earlier conversation.
Conner sucked in a sharp breath, blowing out a stream of smoke so slowly I assumed he didn’t know the answer. “I want it to.”
“Really?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not trying to get all touchy feely here, man, but I call bull shit.”
He laughed, taking another long drag. “I’m exhausted. Being two different people—the one I am inside,” he said, touching his chest before flicking his ashes to the side, “—and the one I wish I was—it’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from.” He shrugged. “I’ll have periods of clarity, where I can see how my life would play out if I just stopped…but then the need hits me, and I’m sunk. Can’t fight it. Even when I’m clean for a while…” he grabbed his neck. “it’s like the craving is constantly there like a collar just waiting for me to choke.”
“Truth.” I nodded, breathing in the smoke in an attempt to erase the memory of the taste in my mouth.
“It’s easier when I have people around me. Like my brother,” he continued, grinning. “That dude is a pain in the ass, but no one keeps me grounded like him.”
“Wouldn’t know,” I said, putting out the end of my cigarette on the sole of my boot.
“You don’t have anyone?”
“Nope.”
“How’d you afford this place?”
“My aunt paid for it, but she’s not my family. She kicked me to the curb at sixteen and only recently popped back up.” I shrugged. “She got me out of jail, though, so this was the price.”
“Not too steep. Assault?” Conner tilted his head.
I cut my eyes to him. “Is it that obvious?”
“You have that look about you.”
“You see? I chuckled. “I’m fucked.”
“Nah, man. It’s never too late. You can’t change. No one can do that, but you can rearrange how your trigger works.”
“How do you do that?”
“Once I figure it out, I’ll let you know,” he said.
“While you work on that,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. We were alone on the grounds, but I still leaned over the table. “If you need help…weaning, I’ve got you covered.”
His eyebrows twitched, and he licked his lips. “Yeah?”
I nodded.
I pushed off the bench. “No worries, bro. You know where to find me if the withdraws get too rough.”
He immediately smacked his pack against his palm again, a little too rapidly. “You know if you get caught you’ll go straight back to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred-dollars.” He sucked through his teeth. “I wouldn’t want to do a stretch that long inside. I’d rather be here. We’ve got women, and cookies.”
I laughed, understanding his position but ignoring the free advice. I didn’t care at this point, plus I had no intentions of getting caught. “I feel you, though I haven’t seen one cookie yet.”
He slapped me on the back. “Just wait.”
2
Restore me to Sanity
“You do understand that I fill out progress forms, don’t you, Justin?” Thomas steepled his fingers over his immaculate mahogany desk. He’d set his pen down a half-hour ago after I’d refused to speak to him.
“I did not know that,” I said, shifting against the plush leather couch I was currently sunk into.
He slipped his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Carefully cleaning the lens with the sleeve of his cardigan, he shook his head. “I want to help you. I really do. But if you don’t talk to me, I’ll be forced to tell the judge that you aren’t cooperating in the program, which would be like saying you’d rather be in jail than here.”
Fuck. I didn’t want that, but I didn’t want to talk to him either. Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. How much could I say without really saying anything? My mind calculated the possibilities while he stared me down, waiting for me to make the choice between a full-sized pillow top mattress and a twin-sized board pinned inside three concrete walls and a set of bars.
“Fine, Justin. Your choice.” Thomas pushed back from his desk, his hand gripping the knob of his door. Clearly, he’d taken my hesitation as my preference for the latter.
He jerked the door open, and I stood up, fully prepared to take my dismissal.
“Come with me,” he said, stepping into the hallway.
“Where?”
“Just follow me.” He walked through the clinic, which I had easily learned the massive layout of in the past two weeks I’d been here. It was amazing the useless shit I could accomplish when the day didn’t revolve around locating my next drink.
Thomas took a sharp left, his sneakers not making a noise against the polished marble floor. “Give me the room, please,” he said as we entered the facility’s gym which consisted of a weight room, an array of treadmills and ellipticals, and a full-sized boxing ring.
There were several other guys in there, plus a few chicks I had yet to meet officially. Conner set down the twenty-pound dumbbells he’d been curling and sauntered over to us. He flashed me a silent side-eye, and I shrugged as he led the way outside. After the room had cleared, Thomas walked to the right of the ring where they kept the gloves. He scooped up a pair and tossed them at me.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, stripping off his cardigan, leaving him in just a t-shirt and jeans.
“Holy shit,” I interrupted him. “You almost look normal.”
He slid his hands into a pair of gloves. “Funny. Now, if I land a hit, you have to answer a question, and it has to be the truth.” He hopped up on the side of the ring, lifting one leg over the side and stepping in its center. “If I can’t touch you, I’ll give you a good report for the entire month.”
I scoffed, immediately slipping on the pair he’d tossed me. “You’re on.”
No way Mr. Rodgers could land a hit. I’d been fighting all my life, and it wasn’t with kid gloves either. I met him in the ring, shaking out my limbs, getting a feel for the weight of the gloves that covered my usually bare knuckles.
“You have to be honest, though, Justin. I need your word.”
I shook my head. “I’m an asshole, not a douche.”
“I figured this wouldn’t be a hard sell.” He bounced around, cracking his neck with one big rotation.
“Yeah, is that why you cleared the room? Didn’t want any of your other “patients” to see you get your ass handed to you?”
He pointed a gloved hand at me. “That,” he chuckled. “And just in case I get lucky. You have to tell the truth and sessions are strictly confidential.”
“You always play by the rules?” I taunted, adrenaline surging in my gut. I hadn’t had a decent fight since the bedazzled boy who started this whole mess, and I could really use a good scrap.
“You think this would fly under the facility’s code for conducting therapy sessions?”
I circled him and shrugged. “Figured it would. The whole place runs more like a celebrity-nap-house. With activities.”
“Better than prison, right?” He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I couldn’t wait to punch it off his face. I hated that he had any sort of power over me but the fact that he could give me a bad report and make it look like I wasn’t participating in my deal, effectively sending my ass back to prison, made it kind of hard to ignore him.
“Take your best shot,” I said, raising my hands in a block position.
He took a deep breath like he was about to meditate, not fight, and I laughed.
Then he struck out with the speed of a blink, and I barely dodge his jab.
“Shit, Doc. You the Flash’s dad?”
“Maybe,” he danced around me, and I countered, darting a right jab toward his vulnerable jaw.
He dodged it, only to bolt a left jab to my kidney. I doubled over, the weight of the hit like a truck, pushing the air out of my lungs. I glared up at him.
“When did you start drinking?” He asked, though he never stopped moving.
“Seriously?” I straightened myself, the air returning to my lungs.
“I take this very seriously, Justin.”
That much was evident. “No,” I shook my head. “Seriously, or the actual point in life I took my first drink?”
“Both.” He blocked my second attempt at that jaw of his.
“First drink at fourteen.” I advanced, jabbing left twice and then hooking right. The dude was quick as if he could anticipate my moves, and it made my blood boil.
“Did I not tell you what my sponsor made me do to forget about how bad I wanted a bottle of whiskey and no interruptions?” He faked left and swung right, his thick glove socking my cheek so hard my head snapped back. “Boxing. Hours and hours of boxing.”
“You hustling, asshole.” I spit pink on the white mat.
He shrugged. “So, the first time you realized you couldn’t go a day without drinking?”
I sighed through clenched teeth and danced around him while searching my mind. He didn’t attempt to toss a punch while waiting for an answer. At least he didn’t fight dirty.
The road to the memory was fractured—from when I’d blacked out, or when I’d blocked out certain chunks of time. Hunting for a specific time in my past was like jumping hurdles, only not the standard track kind, but instead large, gaping holes filled with sticky black tar. One wrong move, one slip, and the memories would suck me downward, drown me, and spit out my shell.
“Around the same time I started avoiding mirrors,” I said after a few moments. It sounded girly as fuck, but it was the truth.
My heart pounded against my chest, the adrenaline surging through my veins, a defense mechanism every time someone tried to dig beneath the surface, and it was doubled up due to dodging hits.
I swung a hard right hook, lashing out when he seemed contemplative of my answer and made connection with his left side. He hissed, and satisfaction rippled through me at the feel of flesh giving underneath my strength. It only amped up my rage, and I went after him in a fury, which is exactly what he’d expected.
He countered my attack and landed a gnarl
y jab of his own.
“Fuck.” I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet to shake off the sting in my rib.
“Tell me more about the mirrors.” He asked when I hadn’t answered him. “Was it an appearance issue?”
“No,” I shook my head and threw my gloved hands in the air, not really knowing how to explain. “It just…happened. I woke up, saw myself, and didn’t recognize who looked back at me. It wasn’t that I’d changed physically, but…” I sighed. “I had no clue who that was. I just knew I didn’t like him.” I swung left, then right, over and over, trying frantically to land a hit. The more he dodged my attempts, the hotter my skin grew, the heavier my arms became.
“Just like that?” Thomas snapped and lashed out, his movements quicker than I could catch my breath. Fuck I needed to quit smoking. “No change in your life forced this to happen?”
“I don’t know.” I swung out and missed. Fuck.
“You have to know. Think harder. What changed that day? That week? Month?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” I annunciated every word for the Ph.D asshole and jabbed three times with no success. Shit.
“I don’t buy it.” He held off, bouncing backward toward the thick red ropes.
I glared at him, hating him even more in that instant. The itch to break his face seared from the fingertips under the gloves but he was as fast as he was annoying. I advanced, striking again but missing.
“You know you wouldn’t stand a chance against me if this were a legit fight,” I said, the breath in my lungs sharp and hot. I was two hits from dropping or ten swings away from collapse.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself. Now, if you want me to start giving you good reports, you have to give me something. Dig deeper.”
