The Permanence of Pain

by Desiree Lafawn

  She’d caught her stride now, and I watched as Chessie’s hands tightened around the mic and she started walking, pacing the stage as she spoke. “I learned about the dangers of drug abuse as a kid, but when I got into a car accident on a delivery one night everything, I learned about drugs was thrown out the window. It was a drunk driver, if you can believe it.” Her hollow laugh was void of any actual humor, and I found my throat tightening at the beginning of her story. I wanted to hug her already, this diminutive young woman baring her soul on the stage. I did not know this woman, I did not know a soul in the room besides Cody and Beck, but I couldn’t even look in their direction. I was transfixed by the young woman in the center of the stage, whisper-talking her secrets and shame into a microphone that blasted it across the large room. I held my breath as she continued.

  “A middle-aged guy on his third DUI came at me head on. Broke several ribs, one hip and shattered my pelvis. There were surgeries, plates, screws, and rehab and, Dear God, the pain. The pain was excruciating. Pain when I was doing nothing but lying in bed because I couldn’t even move—pain that made it impossible to breathe but you had to do it anyway. The kind of bone-deep agony that made me wish for anything, anyone to please just take it away. Even just so I could sleep, be at peace for a few hours, so I could heal. Please. Anything. When it hurts that bad you will fucking beg for the medicine, I assure you.” Her eyes were two slits as she narrowed them and spoke, not seeing anyone in the auditorium, lost in the memory of how she began her fall into madness.

  “The medicine comes as frequently as you can possibly ask for it in the beginning. In the hospital, in recovery, and even after, through rehabilitation. But there will come a time when the doctors decide that you don’t need that anymore, but by the time that happened, I had already been on the medications so long I was addicted and didn’t even realize it. To me, I was simply taking my medicine like I ought to—and it didn’t become a problem for me until I couldn’t get it anymore. I had been euphoric on my pain meds so long that simply the act of living without them was excruciating. I couldn’t even remember what life was like before I had them, it must have been such a struggle to just . . . be.” Chessie paused for breath, and I realized that I had been gripping the auditorium seat so hard that the nails from my right hand had bitten little half moons into the cheap foam stuffed upholstery. I put my hands in my lap to keep from destroying the chair, but I had to stay, I had to listen to everything she said, I was invested now—in Chessie and her struggle. I had to know what had happened to her, how she had found Beck and become so important to him.

  “I will tell you, that getting that medication without a prescription may not have been terribly difficult, but it was expensive. And even though I lost my place at school, my boyfriend, and my apartment, I did whatever it took to get my pills. And when I couldn’t afford those anymore, my dealer introduced me to something much more readily available, and much cheaper.

  I was two years post-surgery when I got my first fix. That’s the amount of time it took from me to go from a legitimate user of prescription pain medications, to getting hooked on junk. Two years.” Oh God, she was addicted to heroin. Holy shit, this was a support group for substance abuse. No, no, no. Thoughts of my last encounter with Chessie and Beck had the contents of my stomach rising into my throat. Oh God, what had I accused him of? What had I done?

  “Smack is cheap, highly addictive, and effective as hell. I was hooked after my first time, and after my parents stopped paying the rent on my apartment, out of desperation, I went straight to the streets. None of that mattered, not my friends, not my lover, and not my family. I needed to get that next boost. And before you ask how I could let myself get that far gone, let me tell you, I had already been there for some time. There is nothing like a heroin high, people. It is a onetime hook. You can’t do it once and then be fine, it’s a high like no other, like ascending to heaven. The downer is being cast straight to earth onto the concrete. Coming down from a heroin high is pain to the point that just being alive is agony. And I was so fucking tired of hurting all the time.”

  The tears were already silently pouring down my face. I couldn’t control them, it was like I wasn’t in charge of my body at all. I was a living, breathing embodiment of Chesapeake’s suffering and all wanted to do was curl up into a ball around her and hold her until I stopped crying. But she wasn’t crying.

  No one was moving from their seats to give her comfort either. Not Cody or Beck in the front row, and not Bailey in her chair off to the side of the stage. No one was rushing to coddle that broken woman on the stage, they were just letting her struggle there, letting her get it all out and leave it.

  “I would love to tell you that I had an epiphany and made the decision to stop on my own,” she continued, looking down at her feet instead of out at the audience like she had earlier. “But that’s not what happened at all, as a matter of fact, that almost never happens. I had a forced detox when the cops raided the abandoned house me and several other people were crashing at. I had od’d in the corner and they found me face down in a pile of my own puke. I had to be resuscitated twice, and when I came to, I came up swinging. There is no one more angry or ungrateful than a junkie revived from their bliss by a sniffer of Narcan. I popped that cop in the face twice before they got me down, and instead of just rehab, I got charged with assaulting an officer. Jail time and then a halfway house—that’s where I found myself. Twenty-three years old and looking like I was in my forties. I was about to lose my space in the home I was staying at too. I’d been clean and well-behaved for the time I was there, but everything is temporary, and I was about to be released into the public again. The problem was, I had nowhere to go and no job prospects. There was a one-hundred percent chance I was going to chase that next fix and end up back where I started—or dead.

  I don’t know if it was chance that brought Bailey to the home I was staying at, or that her brother randomly came with her that one time, but I do know one thing. If she hadn’t reached out to me with the Bailey’s Choice foundation . . . if Beck hadn’t offered me a job and one of the little one-room studio apartments above his gallery, I would absolutely, without a doubt, be dead right now.”

  I could barely see through the curtain of tears pouring from my eyes. I wiped my nose on my sleeve the best I could, still trying not to make noise as I grieved for this woman. I was shit. I was lower than shit. I didn’t know how I could ever make amends, but I did know that it would wreck me until I found a way. The way I had spoken to her and Beck, the way I had treated her. Like she was something dirty, when all she was trying to do was get clean.

  Fuck me. I treated her so badly.

  “The deal was every Wednesday, right?” She looked first to Bailey and then over to Beck, who nodded. I couldn’t see his eyes but I imagined they were kind. I didn’t deserve to have a kind look from him anymore. He was so fucking good, and I was such a selfish piece of shit.

  Fuck me. How would I ever fix this?

  Chessie continued, a small smile on her face for the first time. “I’ve been here though, every Wednesday, like you said, for the last three years. And I never have to go alone because Bailey is always here.” Chessie swallowed, tears clogging her voice for the first time during her whole monologue. “I never have to be alone, I never have to fight alone, because you guys have helped me so much. These meetings, my job at the gallery, and helping around at the shop. I’m going to school again now—I don’t dance anymore, but hey—baby steps, right? Thank you, Bailey. Thank you, Cody. Thank you, Beck. You are the best brothers and sister a recovering junkie could ask for. Because you guys think I’m worth something, sometimes I almost think I’m worth something, too.” Chessie handed the mic back to Bailey, who gave her a tight squeeze before Chessie walked off the stage and back over to her seat. There was a smattering of applause, and a hooting from Cody, but Beck didn’t make a noise. I wondered if he felt me staring at him, he made no signs that he did.

  Fuck
me, I didn’t want him to know I was here, but I still wanted him to turn and look at me.

  “Thank you, Chessie,” Bailey said into the mic again as she rolled her chair forward into the middle of the stage. I never get tired of hearing your story, even after all this time. I am so proud of the strides you have made and you inspire me to keep getting stronger, too. To remember that there are people who love me, and help me, even when the pain is too much to bear. You are a beacon of support in this organization, I look forward to an infinite amount of Wednesdays with you.” Bailey smiled and looked out at the audience. “Is there anyone else who would like a turn to speak tonight?”

  Fuck me, was I really going to do this?

  My hand raised before I could give the signal from my brain to fucking stop it right now.

  “I have some things to say.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I was up and walking down the center aisle of the auditorium before I even knew what happened, my shoes making soft shuffling noises on the stubby carpet. I turned right in front of the stage and walked over to the end and up the short staircase onto the stage. I couldn’t go left, to go left I would have had to walk in front of Beck sitting in the first row, and there was no way I could handle being that close to him yet.

  There was brave, and there was suicidal.

  Bailey smiled at me as she handed me the microphone. There was no way she could know who I was or why I was there. To her, I was another lost soul seeking refuge, I could see the acceptance in her gaze. I wonder if it will still be there when I say what I have to say?

  The microphone was heavy in my hands, warm from being held by the two previous people. The lights were bright on the stage, and anyone past the first row of chairs was just a faceless silhouette. The lights blocked out anyone, save those who were right in front of me. It was time for me to be brave. I had witnessed something amazing tonight, and I was about to push myself past whatever limits I previously had. The only way I was going to be able to do that though, was to start talking, because if I didn’t get started now, I never would, and I would lose my nerve and leave without ever saying a word. Nothing would happen then. Nothing at all.

  Well, I was tired of nothing.

  “My name is Regina Harlow O’Shea, and I’m not even supposed to be here.” There were no titters of laughter at my obvious use of an iconic line from a Kevin Smith movie, nor did I think there would be. I really sucked at this, and nervous jokes were not going to help me. This wasn’t the place for jokes, this was the place for the raw release of emotion. For admitting your pain openly and letting it out into the universe. Hadn’t Chessie just showed me that?

  Filling my lungs with oxygen, I took a deep breath and plowed right through. “I’m sorry to be a nark, and I know you asked me not to say anything, but I have to put it out there tonight. Thank you, Cody. Thank you for caring enough about your friends to call me and ask me to be here, even if just for clarification and understanding. I know you called me because you love them, and you wanted me to understand. I do, I think. So don’t be mad at Cody, he meant well.” That last part was directed at Beck, but I couldn’t look at him. I could only look at the space above him and several rows to the back. I had to talk to Beck while looking at an empty seat, because if I saw the same rejection in his eyes that I saw that night I would completely break down.

  “I’ve never been to a meeting like this. I’ve never been around so many people who are hurting and healing, and can I just tell you how humbling an experience this has been for me? I don’t have the struggle with addiction that some of you have, I will probably never know the level of pain you have gone through, or are currently going through, but thank you for letting me be here and learn from you for just a little bit. I’m not being condescending, really I’m not—I’m actually fumbling a little bit right now, trying to come up with the words to explain how awe-inspiring this whole evening has been for me.

  Chessie, can I call you that?” I looked her in the eye as I said it. Her, I could do that for, she deserved every ounce of my undivided attention for the next words out of my mouth. “I am so, so sorry. I treated you so poorly, and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m struggling too, and it’s not an excuse, but if I can explain myself to you, and I have a ghost of a chance at you accepting my apology, then I am going to take it.” Her eyes got wide and she dipped her chin briefly. I’m sure she had no idea how to handle me, a perfect stranger on the stage, begging for her attention.

  “I’m hurting too, real bad. Hurting so bad that when I saw you with B-Beck,” I fumbled on his name, but gripping the mic tighter helped me feel grounded, and I was able to move on without any more tears falling. “When I saw you with Beck, I didn’t see you actually, either of you. What I saw was a different man and woman who had hurt me, and I superimposed my own insecurities and my own hurt over you and your situation. I didn’t even ask. I didn’t give you the courtesy of a five-second hello. I just judged you, unfairly, unnecessarily. You didn’t deserve it, either of you, and for that, I am so sorry.

  I’ve listened for the past hour or so, and I just sat there and wondered, how did you get so strong? You are so amazing, and I feel so inadequate standing here, like I don’t deserve to even hold this microphone. You’ve come so far, and I know you say you owe it all to Bailey and Beck and Cody, but a lot of that is you. I am grateful I got to meet you and hear your story, I am only regretful of the circumstances. I am sure it didn’t have to be this way, if I didn’t suck so hard at life, we maybe could have been friends.”

  This next part was going to be hard, oh God, so hard. I swallowed over the lump in my throat, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the wavering in my voice as I began my apology to Beck. “Beck... ” The tears clogged my throat and my voice cut out, making me start again to be heard. I still couldn’t look at him, but I talked to him while making eye contact with that empty chair several rows back. “Beck. Thank you, for letting me know a little bit about you. Thank you for taking a chance on a crazy lady on a date with herself in a bar. For being amazing, for loving me briefly, even when I certainly didn’t deserve it. Thank you for helping me realize some things about myself that I didn’t know, even if one of those things was how much of a shit I was, because I really did need to see it. Thank you for my amazing tattoo and breaking my bed and for making me feel so fucking important. Thank you, and I’m sorry I broke that. I’m sorry I took your loving heart and made it something dirty. I’m sorry I tainted you.” There was no way to hide that I was crying now, tears from my heart. The ugly kind of cry that was a mix of tears and maybe a little snot. Scrubbing my face with the unused sleeve of my shirt I carried on. Looking over at Bailey, who was watching with a look of shock on her face, and maybe just a little bit of pity, I continued, “Bailey, you have no idea who I am, and we will most likely never meet again after tonight, so just be patient with me for a moment. For years you were just a painting on my wall. A beautiful painting that I could only guess the meaning of. Then I met your brother all these years later and learned just a little bit about your real story. How amazing to find out that Beauty Sleeping was actually Bailey Gallagher, a real woman with a real-life story. Believe me when I say, I am so very happy to see you sitting in that chair right now.” Walking over to her on shaky legs, I stood in front of her chair.

  “Thank you, everyone, for letting me be here tonight. Thank you, Chessie, for letting me hear your story, and apologize like I should have done immediately when I met you. Thank you for letting me unburden myself here, even though I didn’t have a right to do so. Now, if you will excuse me, that is about as brave as I can be tonight, and I really need to run away. Like right now.” The last part was said out of the ear of the microphone as I slipped it back into Bailey’s hands. She grabbed my hands then as if to keep me there, but the tears streaming down her face ripped me to shreds and I couldn’t stay another second.

  I didn’t bother with the stairs this time, just hopped right down
from the center stage and high-tailed it down the aisle. “Regina!” I heard Beck call my name, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t turn around. I had used up every ounce of bravery I had, I couldn’t stop, couldn’t see the rejection on his face. I had to at least have this, let me leave without that humiliation.

  I knew I was pulling a Cinderella again, but at least this time I was leaving with both of my shoes, and my panties intact, if not my pride. I’d said what I needed to say, now I needed to go home and cry.

  Forty-five minutes. That’s how long I was home before the doorbell rang. Long enough to get in the house, scrub the makeup from my already red and ruined face, and throw on my comfiest and ugliest pair of flannel pajama pants, complete with no bra and a grey t-shirt with a hole under the armpit. My bangs were pulled back in a messy clip on the top of my head and I was settling into my bed on the couch with a glass of wine when the harsh ding-dong of the bell sounded throughout the first floor. It was followed, very quickly, by some heavy-handed pounding when I didn’t immediately answer the door.

  “Regina! Answer the door, Regina!”

  Holy shit, it was Beck, and even though some romantic movie watching part of me had fantasized about him following me home from the meeting, the cynical real life part of me thought no way in hell would that ever happen. The pounding was going to have a neighbor calling the police if I didn’t move quickly, and my body moved on its own anyway. Opening the door just a crack, I peered out the one-inch space and took a look at the menacing man on my front porch. Under the glare of the porch light he looked terrifying—like he had just been sprinting for miles. Beck’s hair was standing up in dark spikes, looking for all the world like he had been running his hands through it like crazy. His chest rose and fell rapidly as if he couldn’t get enough air to breathe, and the look on his face was just . . . dangerous. I should not have been turned on by him standing out there looking so distressed, but it was so good to just see him standing that close to me again, I just stood there and drank him in.