by J A Heron
The knock comes on the door and I release a breath, letting the air rush from my lungs. “You took your time,” I say, swinging the door open for the second time. “Shit!”
Dan stands in front of me, looking all tall and gorgeous. “Hi. Jess said you wanted to see me.” That bitch! Just as that thought occurs, Jess walks along the corridor behind Dan as she passes by my door. She gives a smug, ‘don’t fuck with me’ grin as she slinks by.
I’m going to commit murder while I’m here. ‘You’re dead’ I mouth at her, and I hear her laughing her ass off as she walks to her room.
“Do I know you?” He recognises me, and now I don’t know what to say.
“I just wondered if you needed any help settling in.” I ignore his comment about knowing me. He squints at me, the lines around his eyes emphasized as he scrutinises me, in deep thought. He sees right through my lie.
“I do know you. Kat, right?” I nod. It’s all I can do. I wasn’t prepared to answer questions about our fleeting time as friends so soon. “How have you been? Long time no see.”
He looks genuinely pleased to see me, and although I still remember the time I called him when I was rejected, I can’t say I’m not happy to see him. “I’m good. Here for, well, you know, stuff, but good nonetheless.”
“Me too.”
The silence is a little awkward at this point. It feels like we both want to ask why the other is here, but we’re too afraid.
I break the silence first. “Well, if you need any help, with, err… settling in, you now know where to find me. This is me. Room six.” I tap the number on my door. “Just give me a knock sometime.” I’m impatient, keen to escape this clumsy exchange, wanting to close the door as quickly as possible.
The door almost closes all the way when I hear, “Lovely to see you, Kat.”
I really wish I had a phone. If I did, I’d call Benny. I’d be bending her ear about all this stuff, asking her opinion and wanting to know what she’d do in my position. I could go down and use the phone in reception, but I’m afraid I’ll run into Dan again. When did life get so shitty?
When Mum and Dad died. My conscience answers for me.
I lock my door and collapse on my bed, raising my knees to my chest. Lying in the foetal position is calming, soothing, and if I was able to have a drink, I’d be downing it like it was going out of style right about now. It’s the first time in days that I’ve felt the cravings for alcohol get out of hand. They’re there most of the time, but I’ve managed to keep myself in check and control the urges. But today, after seeing Dan, and a small part of my teenage years coming back to prod me with a sharp stick, I feel the need to drink anything I can get my hands on. The thing that makes me laugh about this place is that there isn’t any kind of cleaning solutions that could potentially contain alcohol. That tells me someone has tried drinking window cleaner here before. I chuckle at my thoughts, and although alcoholism is no laughing matter, the thought of someone drinking anything to relieve the craving brings a smile to my face. I feel desperate to have something, anything that will balance the feeling of pain, heartache, and the need to feel that warm swell through my veins. The swell that comforts me and makes me lose all sense of self-doubt.
I have dinner to contend with later, so I use this time alone to work on plucking up the courage to face Dan at the next meal time. He’s bound to see me, see the mess I’ve become. I’ve seen myself in the mirror lately, and I’m under no illusions that I look a complete zombie. I should try, but then he’d see the effort I’d put in, and he may judge me for trying too hard. I need to get a grip; I’m pathetic.
I decide to take a shower, blast drying my hair, throwing it up in a high ponytail, and wearing some clean, matching sweats. My favourite ones, mind. I laugh at my thoughts. The dark blue is a warming colour against my pale skin and dark hair. My green eyes look a little clearer than they have in a long time, and I surmise it’s the lack of alcohol in my system that has improved my overall appearance. My eyes are less sunken, my complexion is brighter, and my hips are a little fuller, mainly because I’ve taken a fancy to the mini packs of Jaffa Cakes from the snack machine. If I see anyone with a pack of my favourite cakey biscuity type things, I give them the evil glare. If my looks could kill, they’d be stone cold dead. I’ve been eating them like the manufacturer has just announced they’re not making them anymore, along with other kinds of junk food. I’m gaining a little weight, and although I’ve replaced one addiction with another, the latter is far less unhealthy. I could take up smoking, but apart from trying a little marijuana when I was with Lisa and her friends one night, I never much liked it. I endured an almighty coughing fit and swore I would never smoke – illegal substances, or otherwise – again.
I will my legs to step one in front of the other, and take my time descending the stairs, scanning the reception area as I go. No one is around. I take a deep breath then feel the rumble of my tummy telling me it must be dinner time. The noises coming from my midriff and the smell of deliciousness in the air makes me head straight towards the dining hall. The menu here is amazing. Tonight, we have another four-course dinner comprising of soup, then a meat dish or vegetarian option, a dessert – usually something gooey, chocolatey, or all of the above – then followed up with tea, coffee, and after dinner mints. Normally chef will cook something extra for one of us if we don’t fancy the stuff on his chosen menu. Me, I’ll eat anything and everything he puts in front of me. I’ve been homeless, where food was scarce, and I appreciated anything I could get my hands on. A pasty from Greggs would sometimes be dropped onto my lap by a generous passer-by, or a warm cup of tea, and if I was lucky, I got both. I would rarely get any money, because the public usually presumed I was a drug addict. In their eyes, homelessness equals a habit, and in some tragic cases, it’s true, but in my case, I’d have loved the money to buy myself something to eat and drink.
I try not to dwell on the past too much, but sometimes the memories spring to mind at the most unexpected times.
I think I’ll have to explain all this to Dr. Hart at some point. The nosey guy wants the dirt on my sordid and depraved past, but he’ll just have to wait to climb in my head until I’m good and ready to let him in.
I take my place in my usual spot in the dining hall; a small table close to the window, with my back to the entrance. It won’t be long until Jess joins me and starts making slopping noises as she eats. The hall is filling up with diners, and I notice the two guys in here for sex addiction swap tables, choosing one closer to mine tonight. For the last few days, they’ve been on the other side of the room, close to the doors that lead into the garden. Their usual table is free, so why they’ve chosen this side is a mystery. The guy who Jess had sex with in the garden has it bad and wants a second helping. I smile to myself for thinking like this, but if he didn’t have a crush on Jess, I’d think there was something wrong with him. The other guy he’s with glances over towards our table every so often. He notices I’m looking in that direction then quickly averts his gaze.
Something’s up.
“Hey.” Jess grabs my shoulder, giving it a subtle squeeze as she passes by, then takes a seat opposite me. “You made it out of the room then?”
“Just.” I chuckle. “I thought about ordering room service but changed my mind.” We both laugh out loud.
“What you having? It all smells freakin’ delicious,” she states, sticking her nose in the air and following it in the direction of the kitchen. “Chef is a wizard. I’ve totally polished off everything he’s cooked since I’ve been here. I’m surprised I haven’t gained a hundred pounds.”
I’m quickly reminded that Jess will be leaving in two days, and I’ll be alone here. I don’t know anyone else that well. I feel like I’m cheating or something as I scan the room, looking for someone I could become good friends with. Someone to take Jess’ place, and that makes me feel like a total shit, but I’ll need someone to bounce off, and I’m sure they could use a friend too. I scan the ro
om again, this time locking eyes on Dan as he walks into the hall. He towers above everyone in this place, and his broad shoulders sway with a little swagger as he walks. He has an air of ultimate confidence that surrounds him as he struts towards us. As he gets closer, the dark lines and tell-tale signs of a recovering addict are clear to see on his face. I turn back around, giving Jess a ‘help’ glance, but watch the all-knowing grin lift the corners of her mouth. “Hi, ladies,” Dan says as he reaches us. “Room for one more?”
Before I can object, he’s pulling up a spare chair, spinning it on its legs to our table, then sits down on it with his front to the back of the chair. He even does that confidently.
Jess slams her elbow down on the table then rests her chin on her upward facing palm. The ‘isn’t he dreamy’ look she’s giving him makes me want to punch her in the head. I kick her under the table, gently, but with enough force for her to sit up straight and behave herself.
“What was that for?”
“You’re being a tramp,” I tell her, reminding her of earlier today.
She smirks then chooses to ignore me as she resumes her idolising position. “Get a grip.” I kick her again, this time a little harder, making her rub her shins.
I kept quiet all through dinner and just let Jess do her thing. But Dan’s eyes kept meeting mine, and through all the conversations, and Jess’ incessant flirting, I got the feeling Dan was more interested in me. I remember the way he looked at me the night of the party, the last time I saw him, and his expression indicated genuine fondness. Jess was completely oblivious. Dan was making it crystal clear he wasn’t interested, but Jess plodded on regardless.
The two guys who were sitting close by kept themselves to each other, deep in conversation with the occasional glance at us. I still feel a little uneasy around them, but I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt for now.
The last few days, I’ve really settled into a routine of meal times, bed times, shrink times, and group session times. Coming up soon, they want to arrange family discussion sessions, but I’m too afraid to get to the root cause of my alcoholism. I know why I drink, Benny has a shred of knowledge, but no one else knows about my past. I’ve not wanted to share information about such a sad time in my life. Dr. Hart is remarkably close to squeezing all the juicy morsels from me, the fuel he needs to turbo boost into full blown shrink mode. I can see he’s itching to climb inside my head, rummage around to his heart’s content. Right now, though, I’ll keep my cards close to my chest.
Tomorrow, Jess leaves, and I can tell she’s chomping at the bit to be free to do as she pleases. She’s already assured me she won’t be falling back into her old ways. Her coke dealer is behind bars, so her usual supplier won’t be able to hook her back in. She’s promised to stay in touch too, and I’m so pleased to finally have another friend to add to my phone list. I think Benny and Jess would be good friends. They have a lot in common, mainly because they’ve both come from privileged backgrounds, with overbearing parents.
I can’t wait for the day when we’re all able to meet over a cup of coffee and put the world to rights. It means I have something to look forward to.
When I was talking to Jess last night, I got the feeling there is more to the girl than she’s letting on. I’ve tried so hard to delve a little deeper, but just like me, she’s trying to keep her private life private. Dr. Hart is privy to her history, and as much as I’d love to ask him about her, I know it’s unethical for him to disclose information about his patients.
Jess and I have decided to spend the night together in my room. We have snacks, soft drinks, and we can share a set of headphones as we listen to music on my iPod. I’d really like it if she would talk to me, confide in me, and let other people help her apart from the staff here at Witchfield Manor. I like to think we’ve become good friends in the fleeting time we’ve known each other. I can only hope she feels the same way.
This is my farewell, but not goodbye, because like the coffee date we’ve yet to arrange, I plan on seeing this sassy lady again very soon. I’ll be happy, mainly because the next time we meet, it won’t be under such oppressive conditions. This place is good, but the longer I stay here, the more I’m feeling stifled.
Jess and I are like kindred spirits, drawn together via dark pasts and evil forces that have tried – and thankfully failed – to drag us down into the pits of Hell.
“I’m going to miss you, and I hope it won’t be long until we see each other again.” I speak with as much passion in my words as I can muster. I’m trying to convey how much I like her, that she means a lot to me. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I’m so happy to have met you.”
I don’t get much of a response. She sits quietly, looking down at her clasped hands, with the occasional lift of one hand to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Something isn’t right. Perhaps she’s just nervous about leaving this protective bubble.
“Jess. It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
“Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Her gaze lifts to my searching eyes. The affirmation I seek in hers isn’t there. Her expression certainly doesn’t match the waver in her voice. She remains steadfast, aloof, but her voice breaks.
I decide to let her work through it in her own mind, hoping she’ll snap out of this funk she’s in.
We munch on all kinds of dietary crap, sipping full sugar soda. I don’t know about Jess, but I’m loving every mouthful.
“So, tell me your plans. What do you want to do first tomorrow?” I ask. The awkwardness of the silence has gone on for long enough.
She takes a deep breath, releases it heavily, then takes another. “I don’t know, really. All I know is, I’ll be free to live my life – without narcotics, of course – but I know I have to use this ‘clean’ opportunity to finally make something of myself.”
I’m sure she means every word by the way she emphasises the word clean. The definition in her tone is a true testament that she’ll stay off the white stuff, or anything else, for good.
Yet something isn’t right. She looks so solemn.
When I speak next, I wonder if she actually hears me. “You know there’s life after rehab, right? The support network for ex-addicts is amazing. You just have to look at the information overload downstairs to see that there are so many organisations that want to help people like us. All is not lost.” I try to reassure her that there are people out there with their hands outstretched, willing to be a pillar of support, and all we have to do is reach out and take one or more of those hands. We have to want to help ourselves too.
On a personal level, I’m hoping that once I’m dry and I leave here, I’ll be a lot happier, in a place where I feel my life can finally start. It’s my duty – if I’m to class myself as a good friend – to help her visualise a life after addiction. I’m trying to get to that point myself, and I will get there. Jess should be in that place already, but I don’t think she is.
I’m concerned that she’s not ready to leave yet. I’m worried that she may need more time to recover, to get her mind in a place where she’s leaving rehab in a state of positiveness. Perhaps I should say something to someone, but I know this rehab runs a course of six weeks. Six weeks to kick a habit, six weeks to stay flat-footed on the wagon, and six weeks to grow from someone who was oppressed and leave a fully-fledged pillar of society.
I have an idea.
“Fancy a dance?” I ask her. She looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“We only have headphones,” she responds, humour dancing a slow rhumba in her eyes.
“An earphone each, and two dancing feet. That’s all we need for a party.”
“Err, I don’t know,” she says as she looks around the room. What she’s looking for, I don’t know.
“It’s only you and me here,” I assure her. “Listen, you’ve worked your arse off to get to this point. The point where you’re a recovering drug addict, fit to leave rehab
and get your shit together. Come on. Let’s live a little, let loose, and celebrate life.”
“Okay.” She jumps up, and when I join her, we connect via shared headphones and start to move in time with the beat of the song playing on a shuffled playlist. We dance for a minute or so before the song changes. Annie Lennox sings about a Little Bird, and it’s one of my favourites. My hips begin to sway a little sharper than before. The simmering humour in Jess’ eyes transforms into a full-blown jive of happiness.
Our moves are limited because of our proximity, but we’re still able to shake our bottoms in time with the beat. When Annie sings the chorus, we sing along at the top of our voices. The freedom I feel is uplifting, and just like the song, I wish I could spread my wings, soar into the sky, and fly away.
As soon as the song finishes, we collapse onto the bed with a hefty bounce, throwing our arms above our heads. After a few minutes of trying to catch our breaths, the silence is broken. “I’ll always be around, if you need me,” I tell her. “When I finally leave here.”
“Thanks, Kat. It means the world, but I wouldn’t want to burden you, especially when you’re already dealing with your own… stuff.” I can hear the sorrow, and it breaks my heart.
“Trust me, Jess. I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean every word.”
I sit up cross-legged on the bed then look down at her. Her eyes are closed, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. She’s still trying to control her breathing after our fun exertion. A single tear slips down her cheek. I grab one of her hands, grabbing her attention at the same time. She opens her eyes, looking straight into mine.
“Thanks,” she simply says.
“Open up to me, Jess. I don’t judge people. I won’t judge you. I want to help, really I do.”
“You’d give Dr. Hart a run for his money. You know that, right?” Her smile almost breaks her face as we both start laughing. But on Jess’ part, her mirth is quickly replaced by that heart rendering sadness that breaks me a little more.
