He chuckled, feeling free, feeling alive, loving the sweetness she’d left in his mouth…
Peppermint and chocolate…
Beautiful…
As they reached the front of the building, they slowly let go of one another, their fingertips lingering, touching, for a second or two, and then they waved goodbye to each other. The release of limb from limb was instinctual, and they did it on cue, as if rehearsed—a choreographed action. He opened the door for her; let her inside as silvery tinsels and Christmas decorations twirled from above the doorway and an instrumental version of ‘A Holly Jolly Christmas’ played. He smirked as he caught sight of a bushel of hanging mistletoe right above the doorway, the very spot at which they stood…
So, they began the trek to their rooms, walked their separate ways, without looking back and pretending none of it had happened…but it had. His proof was the woman’s lingering fragrance all over his clothing, becoming a part of him, feeding his obsession of her—and once he realized that she was gone, away from his body, his core and his spirit, he missed her so very much, as if she’d been missing for years, and not mere seconds.
He wasn’t sure when it started, or what the final straw had been; nor was he convinced that even mattered, but the truth of the situation lay at his doorstep, begging to be acknowledged and let in.
I don’t just like her. I’m in love her…
Chapter Nine
“But this is the time, Nick. You’ve been doing so well. Why stop now?” Frieda asked as she ran a small white cloth over the lens of her reading glasses. Back and forth she went, then counter clockwise once more.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now, that’s why.” He clicked his tongue against his inner jaw, drawing increasingly more unnerved. His hackles rose, and he felt much like a human pre-heated oven; yet, the only damn thing cooking however was his stress level, and the shit was soaring, right along with his temper. The woman kept pushing and pushing, feeding his frustrations to the point where he wanted to stand up like a lawyer in a damn courtroom and scream, ‘I object!’
“You’ve been quite irritable this week, Mr. Vitale, and that’s normal.” She kept her eye on her cleaning, slowing just a bit from her chore. “It is one of the many phases of recovery.”
“Right, I’m still in early recovery stage, but becoming upset and cantankerous all goes with the territory as well as at times experiencing feelings of joy, elation… I’ve already read the information over and over; you’ve told me many times. I got it!” he snapped, tired of the textbook lingo.
“Exactly. The first stage proved acknowledging that you had a problem. You weren’t certain of the extent, but you knew something wasn’t quite right and that the drinking lay at the center of it. Secondly, you had a willingness to change. That took many years for you to achieve, but you arrived, and that’s what counts. Third is the investigation stage – it’s you proactively finding out what your options are. You did that and you did it well and you informed others of your decision. Fourthly, detoxification. That was a rough phase for you. You were quite upset with our staff…you used profanity at an escalating rate.” She grinned wide.
“Yeah.” The last thing he wanted was to relive the entire sordid ordeal. “Sorry about that… I wasn’t myself at the time, wasn’t feeling well, and the realization of everything had set in. Much time has passed and I can tell you—you didn’t deserve the names I called you. I apologize.”
“I know, and I understand.” She paused, tilted her head slightly to the left and smiled. “But you’re doing well, Nick. You’re in early recovery now just as you stated. It’s a great time, but also a hard one. It’s when you wake up, physically and mentally, and you become a new person—the person you were always supposed to be. During this process, your moods will shift. It isn’t about whether your temperament will change on and off like a crazy dial going haywire; it’s when will it stop, settle down, then start up all over again. And this is one of those ‘when’ times.
“The final phase is advanced recovery, and you’re not there yet, but this is the time when you lay the foundation. Anyway, I knew after you attacked Oliver that we were entering this phase within a phase, so to speak. He infuriated you, rubbed you the wrong way, and you were already in an argumentative mood.” She set her cloth down and placed her glasses gently over her eyes.
The corners of his mouth drooped downward in displeasure as he sat further back in his seat. He crossed his leg, ankle resting on thigh, and clasped his hands over his lap.
“Yes, that guy aggravates me and it’s not just because I’m in this phase you are talking about. He is just a king-sized prick! He’s disrespectful to almost everyone here and purposefully keeps shit going. He’s nothing but a bunch of drama. We all come from drama; none of us need this mess! Why is this happening here?”
“Why is what happening here, Nick?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?!” His voice escalated and he frowned in frustration. “I feel like I’m in some strange dream, or sleep walking. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He projects so that he doesn’t have to address his own shit!”
She nodded in understanding, but offered no explanation as to why the bastard was still chillin’ like a villain amongst decent folk.
“I’m not drunk anymore,” he quipped. “Alcohol won’t drown him out. I was a lot more relaxed when I was intoxicated and high, or anticipated being drunk or high soon enough. I can’t tune him out, shut him down or drown him behind a bottle of booze. Now I’ve got nothin’ but my own laurels to rely on. I thank you again for allowing me to redeem myself, for the second chance, but the further I get in my recovery, the more he irks me. It’s the damnedest thing. I’m clear-headed and can feel and see every damn thing he’s doing and saying…and I can’t take it, Frieda…I just can’t.”
The woman kept that silly, plastered, plastic grin on her face and nodded, as if he were on some shrink’s couch confessing his darkest secrets.
“And you were right; I don’t feel safe with him in the group. He’s the type of man that would run to the news stations and tell everyone that I was in rehab and now back on the streets, in uniform, just to be spiteful, not because he cares. Can we take a vote?” He threw up his hands. “I’d like to do like that one show.” He punched her desk with his index finger. “Vote his ass off the island. He annoys everyone.”
“Yes, he does annoy many people, but what you all don’t understand is that we are working with Oliver. He has circumstances that you and the others are not privy to. Due to confidentiality issues, I can’t disclose them, but you didn’t physically assault him until a specific moment in time and that simply can’t be ignored, Nick. He’d said many things up until that point you may have found objectionable, but you turned the other cheek or at least stayed in your seat after a heated word or two. Do you know when that was?”
“When what was? When he said something objectionable? Every damn time he opens his mouth it’s something objectionable, yet, I’m the one with a warning under my belt! This is fucking nuts!”
“No.” She shook her head. “Do you recall what was going on in your mind the exact moment when you lost your cool with him? Do you understand why it was at that pivotal point that you erupted?”
He readjusted his seating position and forced himself to relax. The lady had the damn wheel and he knew where she was driving.
“You know, don’t you? Of course you do.” She grinned, and a touch of sarcasm kissed her tone. “You perceived him attacking another person…a young lady, to be exact.”
He said nothing, offered no details, juicy information, or true confessions. Surely she was itching for a nibble, for him to confirm the rumors, find the actuality buried behind the facade, the sweet truth of the matter.
“Now, let’s get on to other business.” She shuffled a few papers around and rested her hands atop a manila folder with a dark brown coffee ring stain in the center of it. “I asked you to write a letter, a different one, for your new assi
gnment, and you refused to read it in afternoon group. That’s essentially why I called this meeting with you today.”
“I did the assignment,” he mumbled.
“I saw that you had it; however, you still refused to recite it in group. Do you mind reading it to me now in private?” She cleared her throat, as if waiting for something important to be announced.
“Yeah, actually I do mind. I am not ready for that. This is much more…” He looked away from her, his agitation festering within. “Just forget about it, okay? Too much has happened now. I’m not reading it, and that’s final.” He was in recovery, not in a damn soap opera. This was his life! He didn’t have to share every nuance of his life with a bunch of strangers.
Isn’t anything sacred around here?!
“Nick…”
“Don’t say my name, okay?” He raised his finger in the air as a ting of panic set in. “Don’t say anything else to me about it.” He fidgeted in his seat.
“Nick,” she said calmly as she clasped her hands together. “That’s not how this works.”
“Oh, so there’s rules, huh? They seem to apply to only a few people. You’ve defended that man, talking about his special circumstances. We’ve all got special circumstances, Frieda! So fucking what! I’ll give him special circumstances, all right! How about permanent disability?! Would that be special enough for him?! Medical leave until he draws his last damn breath!”
“Nick, stay focused. I need you to calm down and pull yourself together.” She removed her glasses, set them down, and tee-peed her hands, using them as a stand of sorts beneath her rounded chin. “Are you tempted right now, Nick?” Her voice was calm, almost relaxing, despite his blood pressure rising high as the ceiling.
“Leave me alone, please!” He waved his hand in her direction. “I am asking you nicely to leave me alone.” He turned away, fighting himself, itching in his own skin. He’d never felt this way before until he’d entered this damn facility. So out of control, so wishing he could find a way to make her stop, go away. The place was doing something to him, and he spent more time being hurt and ill-tempered than feeling loved and healthy…
It’s the process. I’m purging. I’m detoxing mentally now…but I hate this shit.
“You want a drink, don’t you?” She leaned forward, studying him, making him feel like some freak under scientific observation.
“What gave me away? The sweat dripping off my damn face or the pissed off way I’m speaking? Let me sign you up for a rocket science class, pronto!”
“Nick…” she said. “Focus…”
“Nothing gets past ol’ Frieda’s sharp eagle eyes now, does it?! A fuckin’ genius you are!”
“Nick…”
“Yes! Yes, I want a damn drink! A big ass drink that is so fuckin’ huge,” he spread his arms wide towards the ceiling, “I could jump in it like a goddamn pool and swim a million laps! I want that son of a bitch to be rimmed with cocaine like fucking margarita salt, and for it to be as wide as your ass!” He seethed with rage, moving about in his seat like an incensed animal trying to break free. He glared at his nemesis, hoping to get a rise out of the woman but she didn’t flinch, not even a little bit—so, he continued.
“You gotta big ass, you know that, Frieda? It’s kind of sloppy, but fun to watch, like silly putty in the summertime. I bet your husband likes to knock it around, rub on it real hard, and watch it jiggle.” He wanted to be kicked out! He wanted her to grab her phone and dial someone to come haul his sorry ass away, second warning and DONE! He needed someone to rip him out of his seat by his collar, slam him out on the sidewalk with his half packed bag in tow, and scream, ‘Adios!’
DO IT! DO IT! KICK ME OUT! I’M NOT READING THAT GODDAMN LETTER, FRIEDA! I WON’T DO IT!
“Nick, none of that is going to work. You’re being rude and disrespectful to divert. I know what you’re doing.” Her temperament stayed the same, as if he’d only told her she had a snowflake in her hair. It was the damndest thing; she didn’t even cringe. This seasoned woman had seen his kind before, and nothing he said made her do his bidding. He hated her for resisting his instigator ways. “Stay on topic, please.”
“I want to go buy an entire liquor store.” He hung his head as he spoke, his words hooked to a whopping, exhaustive sigh. “I want to own that store and drink every damn thing in it, wall to wall. I want every glass bottle on every damn shelf, and I want it now. If I don’t get something, Frieda…I’m gonna lose it!” Sweat poured down his face as if he were standing in the damn shower rinsing the Aveeno shampoo right out of his hair. His body went from hot to cold in a nanosecond, and his damn brain began to pound within the tight confines of his skull. There wasn’t room for one more thought, a sentiment, an idea or a notion. He must have been seized with an emotional fever. How strange that one’s temperament could derail any semblance of good health.
“You want to use because you are in a very stressful situation. Work through it, Nick. Use these emotions to master the next hurdle. Right now, you are teaching your mind and body what to do while under stress. You have to retrain your brain, Nick, with different responses than using. Let’s talk about it. What do you believe caused your stress at this very moment?”
“What caused the stress? This letter you made me write… now you want me to read it, relive it all over again!!!” He reached into his pocket, retrieved the crumpled up thing, and tossed it on the lady’s desk in an angry huff. He wished he could set the thing ablaze with a mere glance.
“Nick, no one said recovery is easy. Your resolve has nothing to do with it. Each day is a challenge and you must face it. I’ve heard you say that many times yourself. You are having a difficult day. It’s one day, Nick…not the rest of your life.”
“A challenge is doing my job right each and every day. This is no challenge, it’s torture.”
“No, whatever you wrote is one of your triggers. Our triggers are the key to the problem. Once we know the triggers and how to use them to our advantage and navigate through, we can find healthier alternatives. Your upset, your prompts have been activated and that means the contents of this letter need to be explored.”
“Explored? Go call Dora and have Carmen San Diego and ‘Where’s Waldo?’ jump in for shits and giggles! I don’t want to find anything or do any goddamn exploring! Yeah, this is a trigger, okay? I remember all that shit you talked to us about regarding triggers. You told us to avoid our triggers, but here you are, pushing the issue, making me play Russian roulette with you. Kick me out of the program if you want; I’ll find another that will understand my plight. I will get my treatment with or without you but nobody makes me do shit I don’t want to do. Not now, not ever!” He pointed across the desk, a barrier between sensibility and insanity. He wasn’t certain which side he was on…
“Is that how you see it? A ‘me against you’ situation? You believe that this will somehow kill you? It won’t, Nick. You have to trust yourself more than that.”
“It’s not about trusting myself. I trust myself just fine.” He pointed at his chest as he shifted to the edge of his chair. “I wrote the letter, yeah, I did…and then you made me do this, took it a step further, wanted me to read it aloud. Wasn’t the first time enough? Do you know what happened to me after I read that first letter in group?”
“What happened?” She leaned back in her seat, looking genuinely concerned.
“I went back to my room and threw up, that’s what the hell happened.” He clasped his hands over his knee. “I also tried to find that cough medicine you all took away from me, the little travel bottle of Nyquil that I had forgotten was in my jacket pocket when I checked in… I think I’m coming down with something. Can I have it back?”
“No.”
“I asked you not to do this, Frieda,” he said woefully. “I said give me something else to do, anything, and I’d do it… but you just wouldn’t stop. Anything but this. I can’t do this in front of you or those people. I wrote it; that should be good enough.”
He gnawed at the side of his lower lip, eliciting a dull pain and exposed skin, but he just kept right on, chewing it to bits like some rat on a chunk of cheese.
“It’s not enough. We need witnesses, Nick. I’ve already explained this to you. You are a logical person, but you are being illogical right now.”
I’m not readin’ shit!” He clenched his teeth, dared her to cross the line, reach her hand into his cage and find out what lions are really made of.
“Okay.” She took hold of the balled up paper, wrinkled like wet boxer shorts shoved in a dresser drawer and long forgotten. As she moved, she kept her smile, maintained her precious peace, and didn’t let him rock her off her post; it was driving him crazy. “I’m opening the letter, Nick. However, I do require your participation in your recovery.” She said these words like he should give a bourbon flavored fuck, and he almost did, but thought better of it.
She scanned the thing, and an unmistakable look of sadness washed over her expression. Quickly pulling herself together, she registered a stiff upper lip. “You may not help me right this moment, but you do want to heal, Nick. Because you’re serious about your recovery, I know that you are willing to do this work. Charles, your teachers, everyone is pleased with your progress and dedication to your recovery. You are working hard in here.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. Does that now mean that everything goes? Do I not have a say anymore?”
“Every time you are about to break free, cross over another barrier, you’ll encounter these sorts of internal problems. We’ve all been through it, Nick. I’m pushing you not to hurt you, but to help you help yourself. You’ll have to deal with it sooner or later. So are you ready now?”
He simply stared at her, sucking in air, feeling forlorn.
“Is the heat on in here? You all tryna to save on the bill or something?” He shivered and hugged himself as if he were outside, naked and freezing his ass of in a blizzard.
“I can have maintenance turn up the heat. Are you ready to read me the letter?”
In the Nick of Time Page 22
