Jenna knew Dr. Thomas wouldn’t be happy that Ethan had just quit cold turkey, but he didn’t communicate it. Instead, he asked, “How are you feeling now?”
Ethan was looking in his lap. After a few moments, he said, “Lost.” He inhaled deeply. “I guess the best word I can think of to describe what I feel inside is despair. I don’t have hope for the future, for myself, for anything. I just…want it to end.”
“Would you be willing to try different medication?”
“Maybe.”
Dr. Thomas shifted in his chair, but his voice remained calm. Jenna had never seen the man in action. He was good. Ethan was actually listening to him and, she could tell, he was taking the doctor’s words to heart. “Tell me what bothered you about the medicine you were taking before.”
Jenna looked at Ethan, wondering what he would say, if he would tell Dr. Thomas the same things he’d told her. His voice was low when he answered. “I still had a lot of down days. The medicine wasn’t helping, doc.” He closed his eyes. “And I lost my creative edge. I haven’t written anything in a year. Nothing. No music, no words. It’s like they’ve dried up.”
The doctor leaned forward slightly. “And what about now?”
Ethan looked up from the hands he’d folded in his lap. He shrugged. “Still nothing.”
“So…stopping the medicine didn’t make your creative juices start flowing. Did you expect that to happen?”
Jenna could tell Thomas was being sincere, but she could see how someone like Ethan might think the doctor was being sarcastic. The look on Ethan’s face, though, looked tortured, not offended. He said, “I don’t know, really. I guess I thought it would help. But…I know what would help.”
Jenna felt a knot twist her belly, and she thought she might throw up. She didn’t notice that she was holding her breath, waiting for his answer. She was afraid of what he might say. Instead, when Dr. Thomas asked him to elaborate, Ethan told him what had happened the past week.
Chapter Thirty-two
THE GUY’S NAME was Richie. Ethan had known him for years. He was the most discreet dealer Ethan knew, and he could get Ethan anything he wanted at a moment’s notice. Ethan had been spiraling into a deep, dark hole again…and he knew the fix.
He fought against it. He didn’t want to go there again…but he felt helpless to resist. Once again, the world had become a dark, ugly place, and he needed to find his way. He needed to soften the edges, and there was one thing that always did it.
He’d bought a bottle of Everclear the day before, but alcohol wouldn’t be enough. That was for later. Or maybe he’d start with it. Whatever the case, he’d have it handy for when he needed it. He hid it in the bottom of the drawer where the kitchen towels were stored so Jenna wouldn’t see it when she came over.
The next day, he’d found his resolve…or perhaps it was his weakness that had finally overtaken his will. He looked up Richie in his phone—probably the fact that he’d never deleted the guy’s number out of his contacts list was a sign that Ethan had known he would ultimately fail—and called. He got the guy’s voicemail the first time and hung up. A few minutes later, he called again. Richie answered it. “Ah, it’s my rock star client. What can I do for you, buddy?”
Ethan hated himself at that moment. He was so fucking weak. Pathetic. He frowned, wanting to die and be done with it. Instead, he was going to live the one way he knew how. “Well…”
Richie wasn’t one to pussyfoot around. “Your usual?”
Ethan closed his eyes. “Yeah…the usual.”
Before he knew it, Ethan was climbing the stairs to his apartment with a small bag of black tar in his pocket. And there was Jenna. She called his name and he responded by telling her to go home. When she refused, he repeated himself. “I said go home.” She was touching his arm, and he could see in her eyes that she really cared. And then he felt like he couldn’t let her down. So she came inside and they talked. He knew he mattered to her, and he knew she wanted to help. He even believed that part of her understood him and what he was going through. But he needed to be alone.
She finally left. Feeling her strength through her presence helped him deny the pleasure of reacquainting himself with his mistress that night. But when he awoke the next morning, she was singing to himagain. He’d already called Valerie and told her he couldn’t have Chris over that weekend, giving her a lame excuse about being sick and needing to stay in bed. She’d bought it.
Then he sat at the kitchen table. It was all there, all laid out. The spoon, the lighter, the cotton ball, the sandwich bag of junk, the syringe, a small glass of water. It was a clean needle, so he wasn’t going to worry about spreading alcohol over his skin. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d manage to kill himself this time.
He started going through the steps, a ritual he’d performed hundreds of times before, but this time he was keenly aware of what he was doing. He kept seeing Jenna’s face in his mind, followed by Chris’s. He tried to ignore them as he held the flame under the spoon. Soon, bubbles formed around the edges of the brown mixture.
“Goddammit.” He set the spoon down as a drop of liquid fell, first from one side of his face and then the other. He was angry then, wondering if crying like a baby would dilute the junk when he was ready. But his eyes were like fire hydrants, and they wouldn’t stop. With his forearm, he shoved all the items across the table and lay his head on his fists, just letting the tears fall. More than fifteen years’ worth of pain he’d held in came crashing down that morning. Until then, he’d felt empty, emotionless, but something had broken loose. That morning, he cried a tear for every time his father had laid a finger on his mother; more tears for every time his father had hurt him; an onslaught of tears for the pain he’d caused the people he loved—Valerie, Brad, his mother, Chris, Jenna; and at last he cried a tear for himself, for the man he’d never become.
He fell asleep with his head on the table and awoke a few hours later. He sat up. He still wanted to die, but he didn’t want to give in anymore. He no longer had any excuses. Jenna had told him (and he’d promised her back) that they could go through it together. He had to trust her. He couldn’t rely only upon himself anymore.
He stood up and threw it all in the trash. That wasn’t good enough, though, so he dug the heroin out of the trash and threw it in the sink, running the water and the garbage disposal until he was sure it was gone. Then he dug out the bottle of Everclear and poured it down the same drain. He let out a long sigh as he threw the bottle in the trash, and then he climbed into bed where he stayed until it was time to face the music.
* * *
“Ethan, you realize that what you did was a step in the right direction?”
He nodded. Jenna could tell Ethan felt ashamed that he’d done it anyway, but she grabbed his hand that had been resting on his thigh and squeezed. She wanted him to know he was not alone. And that he’d managed to ignore his addiction, even when it was right under his nose? That said so much to her.
“So…let’s try some different medications. It’s not enough for me that you’re alive, Ethan. I want you to have quality in your life. I want you to feel that it’s worth living…so let’s see if we can get you there.”
Jenna was familiar with the two medications Dr. Thomas started telling Ethan about, and she realized that they might not help either, but she took his recovery seriously. He looked like a man on the edge, one ready to end his life, tormented inside, and she felt as though she’d failed him.
When they left later, she insisted on filling the prescriptions immediately. They sat in the supermarket pharmacy waiting area, and Jenna grabbed his hand again. When he looked at her, she felt like she could drown in his green eyes that shone like playing marbles, in spite of the fact that she knew he was tired and worn down to the soul. She loved this man, though, and she would carry him as far as he needed to become the man he wanted to be. Until today, part of her had wondered if he really wanted to get better, but she saw it now. He wanted it to end and eith
er be whole or be gone. She intended to help him heal.
She held his hand in hers and whispered, “Ethan?”
He was still looking at her. She’d never seen him look so gentle or so exposed. He looked raw. He didn’t say a word, instead just looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“I’m going to be a little pushy. Now, this doesn’t have to be permanent, but I want you to stay with me for the next month or so—or longer if need be. I just…feel like I need to support you as best I can, and I feel like you need someone there to help.”
God, what was he thinking? Was that skepticism in his eyes or something else? His voice was low and gravelly when he said, “I don’t think that’ll help, Jenna.”
She hoped she’d managed to hide the frown. “Why not?”
He shook his head and looked down at her hands around his and brought his other hand over so hers were wrapped in his. “It never helped before.”
“Ethan, you forget. I’m trained in this field. I’ve studied addiction, and I have experience helping people in recovery. That’s my job. It’s what I do. But I want to be there as much as I can. I feel like I’ve failed you.”
“You haven’t failed me.” He touched her cheek. “Not by a long shot.” He pulled her into an embrace that felt awkward because of the arms on the chairs, but she returned the hug anyway. “I just…think I’m past saving.”
She didn’t raise her voice but tried to sound stern nonetheless. “Ethan Richards, don’t you ever say that. There is no such thing. I thought that the first time I worked with a meth addict who’d been using a long time. She’d smoked so much over the years, her teeth were nearly nonexistent and she looked like she was in her thirties at the age of nineteen. She was still emotionally numb the last time I saw her, but she was living a healthy life. She got implants so her face looks normal even if aged, and she started going to school. You know what, though? In spite of all the shit that girl went through, she had hope. Last time I saw her, she’d been clean for over a year. If she could do it, you could.” He had a worried look in his eyes, but it was different. That he was worried told Jenna he might be clinging onto hope…and that was good. “You’re strong, Ethan. Look at everything you’ve gone through. But when you’re not feeling that way, I want to be there to help.”
He drew in a deep breath and looked down again. “I can’t do that to you, Jenna.”
The pharmacy tech called Ethan’s name, and he got up before Jenna could respond. He signed for the prescriptions and handed the woman a wad of cash. She gave him his change and stapled the bottles inside a small white paper bag. They walked outside in silence, but when they got to her car, she grabbed his hand again. She took a deep breath. She had to just put it all out there. “I need to tell you something. This is hard for me, but it needs to be said. I…love you, Ethan, and I can’t just stand by and not be active in your recovery. Now, if you don’t really want it, I can walk away and leave you be. But if you want support, if you want help, if you need someone to talk to, someone to lean on, I’m here. I want to be part of your recovery…part of your life. I know it won’t always be pretty…but that’s okay.”
He blinked. “You said the other day you knew what being addicted is like. Were you ever hooked on anything?”
She closed her eyes, remembering a time that seemed so long ago. “It might sound lame, but I was addicted to cigarettes. I never tried anything harder, but I discovered I have an addictive personality. I won’t touch anything that could cause me to give in. It would be so easy. But I know what withdrawal is like. The physical part’s easy. It’s the psychological bullshit that drags you down, the games you play with your mind, the way you try to justify just one more time. I get it, Ethan. I’ve been there. And that’s why I know you’re strong.”
His eyes looked clear then, as though he’d had a revelation. He took her face in his hands and kissed her with passion. It wasn’t sexual, but it was emotional. They were connected in a way that few people were, and she hadn’t realized it until that moment. She’d never believed there was such a thing as a soulmate…until now. If she had one, it was Ethan.
“I love you too, Jenna.” He kissed her again and she felt hope surging from him to her. He leaned his forehead on hers then. “I just don’t want to put you through this shit. You have enough guys like me you have to help.”
She sucked in a little breath, finding the courage to say what needed to be said. “I don’t plan to be with them as long as we’ll be together.”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. She hadn’t seen him smile in weeks and his expression infused her with hope too. It didn’t last long, though, and he said, “Last chance. You know what you’re getting into.”
She nodded, feeling a steely determination course through her veins. “I’m here for the long haul.”
Chapter Thirty-three
TWO MONTHS LATER, Ethan told Jenna he felt happy for the first time since childhood. It was a foreign emotion to him. He’d felt relief, euphoria, pleasure, satisfaction, confidence, pride, and love…but happiness had been elusive. It was that goddamned dark cloud that had followed him for years, but for some reason, this new combination of drugs Dr. Thomas gave him triggered something in his head.
He’d started thinking of Jenna as his rock. He knew Valerie had loved him and stood by him back in the day, but she hadn’t known how to get through to him. Truth be told, sometimes he would use because of her. He didn’t blame her, but he felt so unworthy of her that he’d drown in a well of drugs and alcohol. Jenna somehow felt more down to earth to him, like someone who’d been in back alleys and seedy bars, someone who’d seen the dark side and been tougher for it. She understood him in a way that no one else in his life ever had. He loved her for that, and that love grew deeper every day.
He’d taken just a few things over to her apartment that day Dr. Thomas had prescribed new medicines for him. He’d still slept a lot, but Jenna would come home from work and sit on the bed next to him, bouncing and giggling, tickling his ear with her lips, whispering silly things to him until he’d roll over, unable to tune her out. She’d drag him to the movies or dinner. One time she took him to play mini-golf. They went to Barnes & Noble another time, and she refused to leave until he picked out a book that looked interesting to him. When they got home, she drew a gigantic bubble bath and made him get in. She got in after, resting her back against his chest, and read to him. He’d just closed his eyes and rested his head, enjoying the smell of the fruity bubbles, the feel of her hair against his cheek and her body up against his, the sound of her voice as she read the words that painted a picture in his mind.
They made love that night for the first time in ages, and he held her close until morning.
The next day, he asked her to move in with him. His apartment was bigger and more comfortable. She’d told him to wait a little because she wanted to make sure it was what he wanted.
A week ago, though, they’d hauled the last of her things over.
And today, he sat on the edge of the bed. He’d been awake for the last hour and had just been gazing upon her. Even asleep, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. Her red hair was striking against her pale skin and, asleep, she seemed peaceful and vulnerable, the latter a quality she never exuded awake.
Now he was staring at one of his guitars, his favorite, the one in a stand by the dresser in his bedroom. He hadn’t held that black beauty in months. He was afraid he’d lost his mojo. He hadn’t been inspired to write or even play over the last year, and he was starting to think he was washed up. Sure, he’d be able to live on residuals for a while, but they wouldn’t last forever. Besides, what the hell would he do with his life without the music?
Jenna stirred and he felt her arms wrap around him, one around his torso, the other over his shoulder. She kissed his ear. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
He sighed. “I can’t, Jenna.”
“You’re just nervous, Ethan. It’s okay. Just pick it
up and play an old song. Get reacquainted.”
She had a point. So he picked up his black baby. She wasn’t the guitar he’d had the longest and not even the one he took onstage the most, but he’d written more music with her than any other. She wasn’t even the one with the richest tones, but she was always honest with him, and he would get a solid feel of how a song would sound both onstage and recorded when he played her, and she stayed in tune longer than a lot of his other guitars. Jenna was right—he should start with her.
So he picked her up and set her on his lap, resting her shaft in his left hand, running his fingers over the strings, one fret at a time. It felt good. He leaned over and grabbed a pick off the stand as well and strummed a G chord. The strings vibrated against his left hand and somehow felt right. He closed his eyes and thought of one of the first songs he’d written that had become part of Fully Automatic’s permanent playlist. It was called “Blacker are My Days.” He’d only sung it three or four times onstage and then Val had joined the band. After she left, Brad stepped into the frontman position while Ethan sang backup and clean vocals on their heavier songs, so he’d never sung it again…but the tune was emblazoned on his soul. He could hear the words, hear the entire band in his head while he started playing the tune. It was a song that started out slow and quiet and then turned hard and heavy one verse in. It was one of those songs that had encapsulated how he’d felt at that time…his world had been a dark, ugly place, and he’d hoped to exorcize some of those feelings with the song. The band had loved the song, had said, “It’s brutally metal,” but no one had understood he’d meant every fucking word he’d written.
It hurt, feeling all that pain again, but it was a reminder to him that while life wasn’t blue skies and flowers, it was better. Jenna sat next to him, her hand on his back, while he played.
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