In the Nick of Time

by Laveen, Tiana

  “Nick, we need to address this. You can’t run away from it.”

  “I’m not. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I’m not playing games or going through the motions. This is my life! This is serious! I’m a fucking drug addict!” he screamed, drawing everyone’s attention as he pressed his hand against his chest. “I’m a drug addict who has lost a hell of a lot, and no one sees it but me. It’s like…it’s like my crumbling world was invisible. Unlike most people who had to have someone else pull them aside and say, ‘You’re fuckin’ up, you need help’, I never had that happen to me, okay? At least not about this. I’ve even got a couple of friends of mine from the outside telling me I was stupid, that I coulda kicked this on my own. I avoid inbound phone calls for a reason… Do you see what I’m dealing with? What I’m up against? They have no fucking clue what they’re talking about!” His heart beat a bit faster.

  “They have no idea about all the horrible shit I’ve done because I was drunk, and that’s just the stuff I remember! I’m a police officer…and I am sitting here telling you these things that the news crews would absolutely love to find out about me, risking my reinstatement. You expect me to trust these other motherfuckers in here,” he said, pointing around the room. “I don’t know them, and they don’t know me, but my livelihood is on the line because all I’m aware of are two things, in order to last, in order to make money, Frieda.” He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to go the distance—to force himself through the mounting discomfort. “And those things are…” He held up two fingers. “Stealing and being a cop. Those two things can’t be done at the same time.” He smirked. “But that’s what I know how to do in order to make it, to survive. One I don’t want to do; the other, I lived to do…but it’s all on the line and this lying, sneaky asshole,” he pointed to Oliver, “won’t even admit to anything while the rest of us bleed on the damn floor every goddamn day!”

  “Oh would you just fuck off, Officer Vitale…” Oliver crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes hooded, his pose that of a man who didn’t care.

  “You have the nerve to say somethin’ to me, you goddamn fuckin’ pervert?!”

  “Nick!”

  “Open your mouth again and see what happens! I dare you, you roach looking son of a bitch! Look like a fuckin’ beetle with a turtleneck on and I’d like to stomp the hell outta you! Make the world a better place.”

  “Nick…”

  “I swear if I wasn’t in this place I would rip your head off, shit down your goddamn throat then make you tell me what I had for lunch!”

  “Alright, that’s enough!” Frieda leaned forward and waved her hands frantically. A few people chuckled while others appeared indifferent or looked in a state of shock.

  “So, Oliver, what Nick is saying is that he doesn’t feel safe.”

  Everyone minus Nick and Oliver burst out laughing. Frieda rolled her eyes, obviously not amused that her announcement was taken in jest.

  “Oh, you think?” someone mocked, causing more laughter.

  “Everyone, quiet! This is an open discussion, and we are all here to converse and heal.”

  “Oh, really?” Oliver protested. “You’re just going to sweep right past this, huh? Frieda, a cop just threatened my life! Said he wanted to decapitate me and then defecate on the remains!”

  Nick bowed his head and smirked.

  “No one has said anything to my defense, he’s still sitting here cool as a cucumber! Unbelievable!”

  “Oliver, he’s angry, but he has made a point. Address it, please.”

  “I share!” the man declared innocently, his hand over his chest as if that cleared his good name.

  “No, you don’t, Oliver,” Maurice interjected, agreeing with Nick, while others nodded. “All you talk about is the shit that doesn’t matter, or the good stories, the things that didn’t land you here.”

  Nick wanted to lay into him again, but kept his cool. “Everyone else in this room has disclosed something personal and taken some sort of accountability for why they are sitting here right now,” he said. “You haven’t claimed any wrongdoing; you haven’t disclosed anything worthwhile.”

  “Who are you to say what’s worthwhile, huh?” The man sat a bit straighter, his brows dipped in anger. “You’ve got your nose jammed so far up Taryn’s tight ass that you probably have no idea what’s goin’ on in here anyway.” He shot an accusatory glance across the room at the woman in question.

  A series of ooohhhs and aaahhhs and a few giggles and snickers followed.

  “Yeah?” Nick smirked as he glared at him. “Sure beats havin’ it rammed up a little boy’s… Kill yourself, man. Do everyone a favor. If you need help, I’d be happy to assist.”

  “Ohhhh, snap!” someone screamed out, instigating.

  “Nick, don’t say that again. It sounds threatening, and we take that sort of thing very seriously,” Frieda warned.

  “Fuck you! I didn’t hurt any little boys!” Oliver wailed. “Taryn told you that shit, didn’t she?” The man tossed the woman another evil glare, this one dyed in the color of possible revenge. Taryn looked unmoved, stoic even as she leisurely crossed her legs and simply looked at the man as if he were nothing more than a falling leaf from a dying tree.

  “No.” Nick shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything. In my line of work, I know the type and we’re all aware that the charges are true. I dealt with pedophiles like you for years, you degenerate son of a bitch. Fuck me? No, fuck you! Go to hell!”

  “Nick, this isn’t productive.” Frieda interjected. He kept right on, ignoring her as he got into his groove.

  “That’s not why you were arrested this last time though, so you don’t want to talk about it, but we all know that’s what’s wrong with you…you’re a fuckin’ sicko.”

  “How about you puttin’ everyone in danger, huh? How about you driving around in your little cruise car drunk?! Focus on yourself, New York’s finest.”

  “I am.” Nick grinned wide. “That’s why I’m here. There’s not an insult you can say to me, Oliver, that if it’s true, I haven’t already told myself a million times over. You think this is easy? Me standing here doing this? It’s not but at least I’m trying.”

  “Oh hip, hip, hurray!” The man obnoxiously clapped like a seal at Sea World. “What a martyr you are! You’re so self righteous, Officer Vitale!” He sneered as he lay back in his chair, making the thing groan, pleased with himself. “We’ve sat here and heard your horror stories; you probably made half of them up for sympathy! Just admit that you’re a liar, a thief, a drunk, like to snort coke, and then sit the hell down!” He rolled his eyes, turned away.

  “Nice try, Oliver. I don’t like to talk about myself, and that’s one of the many reasons why it took me years to turn myself in, to come clean. I knew what would happen and what was required, because I arrested bastards every goddamn day who had to go to rehab and were in and out like they were going through a revolving door.”

  “That’s right…” someone co-signed.

  “They’d be right out there, using again.” He pointed towards the door. “And it was because they weren’t ready to stop. I knew it was pointless if I wasn’t really prepared; I’d end up just like them and I’m only giving myself one chance to make this right—one!” He held up his finger. “I get no do-overs, so it is either put up or shut up, ’cause my secret’s out, my life is on the line, so end of goddamn story!” He jumped up from his seat and it smacked against the ground so hard, it seemed to rock the room as he raced towards the exit.

  “Oh, cry me a river!” Oliver blurted. “Can I borrow your tiny violin? Mine’s broken!”

  Exploding from the inside out, he arrived at the door, then burst free, blazing like a flame down the hall. His entire body heated with brand new waves of freshly launched rage. He heard muffled voices calling his name, telling him to stop, to halt, to come back, but he couldn’t … he wouldn’t. He had to get away, somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and com
forting—away from it all—to crawl back into his own shadow and feel the cold hardness of the world he was accustomed to.

  If I stayed in there one more second, I would’ve killed him…

  “Nick!” Frieda kept on, her voice now louder than the others.

  He finally slowed his trek, but kept his back turned, not quite ready for her to catch up. His heart pounded out of his damn chest, just like it used to when he’d get his coveted cocaine buzz. Her steps fast, she approached him, clacking, and anointed him with a delicate touch across his quaking shoulder.

  “Nick, I need you to take a few deep breaths.”

  Without argument, he bent down, placing a hand on each thigh, trying to ease himself into a comfort zone, set himself straight. His eyes burned with unspent tears, and he refused to release them… He was in control; he was the boss, and nobody would see him fall apart. Not here, not anywhere. Machismo…

  “Better?”

  He nodded after a few moments, then stood straight. They quietly walked back into the room, where he was greeted with nods and waves of greeting. Taking his seat, he got quiet while a woman in group discussed a problem she was having with her uncle over her mother’s estate. He swam in a preoccupied world filled with pitch-black obscurities that vied to pull him down under, drown him, hide him from his potential. He was suddenly embracing the hand of shame. Embarrassment struck a cord within and he refused to look up. He didn’t want to look at Taryn, make eye contact with the lovely being. He’d lost his cool, his control, and he had a big problem with that. When the patient had concluded her tales of property nightmares, he braved himself and dared to look up, but rather than Taryn staring at him, judging him, observing his weakness exposed for all to see…she was staring at Oliver.

  “Frieda, may I speak, please?” Shifting in her seat, she elegantly pushed one long leg in front of the other and gripped the steel arms of her chair.

  Look at her; she looks like a goddamn Queen. I feel like I should be falling at her feet or something…

  …And he meant that shit.

  “Of course, Taryn.”

  She stood to her feet, her slender form clad in a pair of dark skinny jeans and a lime green tank top under a light jade sheer blouse. Her face was forever changing, for now he could see her lashes. He seized a closer look at her body and took full notice of the tattoo on her arm now, clear as a cloudless day.

  That’s nice… real nice…

  He focused on that body art as the woman spoke, watched the details of the dream catcher catch light as she shifted ever so slowly, her muscles moving beneath her satiny, deep caramel brown skin.

  “First I want to say that I don’t appreciate what Oliver did today in group. He purposefully caused disruption.” She glared at the man and was met with a sickening wink and grin from the fiend. “Anyway,” she said with a sigh, “he isn’t worth any more time. He just wants attention.”

  “Go on with what you need to say, Taryn,” Frieda urged, a hint of warning in her tone.

  “The real reason I am standing here is because I had an upsetting conversation with my father this morning that I wish to share. Happened right before breakfast.” Her face grew tense as she clasped her hands together, her brows furrowed as she travelled in her recollections.

  “Okay.” Frieda nodded and crossed her hands over her lap. “Please share with us what happened.”

  “As I’ve stated for quite some time now,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve been through so much these past couple of years that my parents and I have had a strained relationship. It’s not completely their fault…” She looked down, fidgeting—nervous. “They want to protect me, put me under their roof as if I’m some child but my experiences have lent way to me wanting just the opposite. I wish to continue to fly on my own. I want to thrive.

  “I love my parents very much, so it hurts me to have to keep having these disagreements with them. Not only that; I feel as if I owe them, and I’m torn. If it weren’t for my mother, I wouldn’t have had the career I had. She is the one who went to bat for me, negotiating everything and making sure I wasn’t taken advantage of until I came of age and could handle it all my own.

  “My father initially wasn’t gung ho about my career but he came around and once he did, he did so without complaint. Once I began to make my own money, though, and take control over the process, I hired an agent, and wanted my mother to, well… go back to just being my mother. This caused a strain and resentment between her and I for many years.” The woman closed her eyes a moment then continued. “We worked through that somewhat, and then, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, she and I grew even closer… It gave me a sense of renewed hope that our relationship was back on track.”

  Breast cancer… This is what happens when you enter treatment late…damn! That explains it…

  “Well, fast forward to now.” She grimaced and crossed her arms as she tossed her head back, briefly closing her eyes as if needing a moment then continued. “My father knows my plans to stay independent in every sense of the word and I have recently begun refusing his money, right? I allowed him to pay for my treatment here, and help with my doctor bills, but that is it.” She waved her arm, causing her sheer sleeve to sway in slow motion. “I took over everything else and he simply doesn’t understand it…thinks I feel the need to struggle needlessly.

  “My mother has told him that I’m no longer interested in modeling, as I’d told her this over our recent conversations, and he feels that is foolish of me to totally give it up, despite everything that has happened. I mean,” she sighed, “I’m not completely giving it up, it’s my bread and butter, but it’s not what I’m passionate about any more! Things have changed, and it took a long time for me to accept that. I need something else! She is still upset about that, and so is my father. So, I’m in somewhat of a bad mood today and—”

  “Oh poor, pretty girl! Super model woes!” Oliver interrupted, leaning over just so as his bunched, dark olive green corduroy pants gathered around his crotch. “Daddy wants to throw his money at me.” He shook his hands in the air as if the sky were falling. “What’s a girl to do?!”

  BAM!

  “Ahhhh! Jeeeesus Chriiist!”

  “Oh shit!” someone hollered.

  People screamed out, rising from their seats, ranting and raving and racing about. Before anyone could say another word, Nick had the bastard pinned on the ground and the fucker’s collar wound tightly around his fists. He wished for nothing less than to choke him out so hard, he’d pass the hell out. He couldn’t stop himself and he got high off the man’s struggling body beneath him, loving how he gasped for air over and over again. His eyes watered and rolled and he kicked and squirmed beneath his weight.

  Just fucking die! Die, Oliver!

  “Nick! Oh my God! Stop it!” Frieda yelled.

  He felt like a raging bull upon entering the arena. Another round of losing his cool, and his adrenaline was flowing through his bloodstream so fast he was certain his head would soon explode into a million pieces. He’d lost against himself.

  His prey squirmed and thrashed about, gurgled, grappled, and gasped.

  “Shut up! Shut …your fuckin’… mouth!” he roared. Hands pawed all over him, pulling and lifting at his shirt, but no one could get him off of the bastard.

  “Nick! My dog! Come on, man! You gonna kill him!” someone yelled.

  “He ain’t worth it!” someone else screamed.

  “Nick, let him go! Let. Him. GO!” Out the corner of his eye he saw Frieda hysterically jumping about. The woman pushed and navigated the crowd as he stayed steady on the bastard, but watched her keenly from the corner of his eye. Oh no… she wasn’t going to spoil his fun! Nick moved the man around the floor like a damn shuffle board disc. He swept the damn floor with the son of a bitch, and he wanted that shit spic and span.

  “I need security in here immediately!” Frieda screamed into her phone.

  “I’m so goddamn sick of you! SHUT…UP!!!”
He paused, shook him so hard and fast, the man’s face appeared to be a goddamn blur. “Don’t you ever speak again! DO YOU HEAR ME?! If I hear your whiny voice so much as belch, I’ll snap you in half! I’LL SNAP YOU IN HALF AND CALL YOU A TWIN!”

  “NICK! PLEASE!!!” He could hear the door burst open and heavy footsteps approach.

  Oliver did as he was told; he didn’t utter one word, and the fear in the man’s muddy brown eyes was evident as they glossed over, waves of panic taking over his face. Nothing was going to stop him; no guards, no fellow residents, not Frieda… he wanted blood.

  But then, he heard her voice close by, as if she were right on top of him. “Nick…”

  He looked over and saw Taryn’s shoes. Shiny black flats, adorned with sparkly ballerina bows glimmering like Dorothy’s from the Wizard of Oz. Her light brown flesh contrasted with them, and he focused on the veins in her long feet, how they moved as she flexed her toes, evident from the patent leather rising up just so.

  She’s nervous…she’s scared…she moves her toes when she’s nervous…I don’t want her to be scared…

  So, slowly, he released Oliver, resisting the urge to connect the tip of his shoe to the fucker’s ribcage in a swift, nasty kick. Two security officers approached him, one pulling at his shirt. Oliver slumped to the side, then scrambled to get to his feet. Once he did, he stumbled about and glared in Nick’s direction.

  “I want this man arrested!” Oliver screamed, pointing towards him as he ran a shaky hand down his bruised neck. “Do you hear me?! Someone call the police!”

  The officers placed his hands behind his back.

  “Hold on,” Frieda interjected, raising her hand for them to stop what they were doing. “Oliver, I want you to get a physical exam, and Nick and I will need to speak in private.” No one assisted Oliver as he backed up and tugged away at his rumpled shirt collar, his eyes huge as golf balls. His large, reddened nose was covered in a layer of sweat. Finally, he slumped down onto a chair, drawing quiet, in a state of apparent shock.