I handed him the vile full of heroin. “I love you too,” he said. “As long as you don’t shoot it up you don’t have to worry. It’s the people who shoot up who get hooked. Look at me, I’m fine. It’s safe.” He was sounding so convincing.
It’s not that I believed any of it. I just didn't care. What happened to Kyle wasn’t fair, and he needed me more than ever. All I wanted was my boyfriend back.
Kyle put a line of heroin on the mirror, lowered his nose until it almost touched it, and took it all in. When he finished, he put another line on the mirror and held the mirror up to my right nostril. He held my left nostril closed and whispered, “I love you baby.” Without saying anything more, I took one deep breath and the line was gone.
My skin felt warm and tingly as the heroin raced through my body. I felt a euphoria I’d never experienced before. The world suddenly felt amazing. All the hurt was gone. I had my boyfriend back, and we were close again. It was just like old times. I was immediately hooked.
Now that you know how the story ends, you might be thinking I got addicted to heroin like so many other people. That’s not the way it happened. Two months after trying brown sugar for the first time, I snorted another line like I’d done several times before. The minute I inhaled, my face grew pale. My tongue and my lips turned blue, and I was gasping for air. I felt my muscles spasm as everything around me started spinning around.
I knew I was in trouble, but it was way too late. I collapsed on the floor, and threw up all over myself. Kyle frantically rushed to my side. The last thing I remember is him taking me in his arms and shaking me. He started screaming, “Hope….Hope….Hope,” over and over again, but I couldn’t say anything back. Everything faded away, and I remember nothing else from that night.
I’d later learn that Kyle dragged me into a cold shower trying to bring me around, but I was gone. My blood pressure dropped, and my body started convulsing. I went unconscious and slipped into a coma. Kyle called 9-1-1. I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.
That night the doctors told my parents I’d probably never come out of the coma, and if I did I’d probably have brain damage. The doctors talked to my parents about taking me off life support. My dad refused to even consider it.
Just like he did with my brother, my father again blamed himself. Why he blamed himself, I never understood. As I lay in the hospital bed somewhere between sleep and death, I heard my father lay over me and cry. It was like I was watching us both from above the bed looking down on the whole thing. I’ve thought about that moment so many times. It seemed like I was stuck between two worlds not knowing where to go. There I was, sound asleep with tubes and wires coming out of everywhere, and my dad was laying over me praying. “Oh God forgive me. Forgive me for what I’ve done. Take me––just don’t take my baby. Take me… take me… take me. Take me and leave her alone.”
For three weeks he never left my hospital bed until that morning when I opened my eyes, saw him at my side and said, “Hi Daddy.” He lifted his head and looked at me in disbelief. He then buried his head back in my chest, took me in his arms, and cried like I’d never heard him cry before.
By noon I was surrounded by my dad, my mom, Grace, Ben, and half the kids from my high school. My boyfriend wasn’t allowed near me. He couldn’t even come near the hospital.
Two weeks later, I was lying in my hospital bed still connected to monitors and oxygen. I looked much more pathetic than I felt. I was determined to see my boyfriend. I yelled something about leaving this place unless he can come in. My dad finally agreed.
That evening Kyle slowly opened the door, walked into the room, and broke down crying. Seeing him standing in front of me caused my heart to leap from my chest. Everyone walked out of the room to give us some time alone. He came up to my bed and held me in his arms. He kept saying, “Oh, baby, oh baby, oh baby, I love you. I love you so much.”
I brushed his hair and said, “I love you too sweetie.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he cried.
I lifted his head to mine and said, “It’s not your fault.”
He brought his lips to mine and held my face. We pressed our mouths together so tight you’d think our teeth would break. “I thought I lost you,” he cried.
“I’m here,” I said still holding him. “I’m right here.”
“I don’t ever want to lose you,” he cried.
For the past three years, he’d been so good to me. He could’ve been with any girl in our school, but he chose me. Together we learned about growing up. We learned about love and sex. I finally closed my eyes and said, “Kyle, they want me to go to some rehab place.”
He was shocked. “Why? This wasn’t your fault.”
‘I know, I know, but I don’t have a choice.”
“For how long?” he asked.
“I don’t know. All they say is a couple of months.”
“A couple of months…. NO!”
“I have to Kyle. My dad insists.”
“I’ll talk to him,” he pleaded. “I’ll tell him it was all my fault. I’ll tell him it was a one-time thing. I’ll make sure –‘
“Stop,” I said cutting him off. “He knows…he knows everything. Nothing you can say will do any good.”
Kyle laid beside me shaking his head. He finally looked into my eyes and said, “Then I’ll visit you. I’ll visit you every day till the day you get out of that place.”
“It’s not here. It’s somewhere in Florida. It’s supposed to be one of the best places there is.”
“No, no, no,” he cried shaking his head more. “Hope let’s leave. Let’s get out of here. We can get married and be together.”
“Shhh,” I begged pressing my fingers to his lips. “Don’t do this.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “No matter how long it takes I promise I’ll wait for you.” He kissed my cheek and whispered, “I love you, Hope. I’m so sorry.”
He cried… and I cried. It’s like our whole world just dropped out from underneath us. Why? Why did I ever try heroin that very first time? If I’d just continued to say no we wouldn’t be here like this. He cried more… and I cried more.
When my dad walked back in, he saw my boyfriend crying beside me with my arms wrapped around him. At the sight of my dad, I raised Kyle off of me and kissed his lips one last time. He stood up, walked right up to my dad, and said, “Mr. Brunick…. I’m so sorry.”
“Kyle,” my dad said with a stern voice, “you’re a good kid, but you need to get help.”
“Yes sir,” Kyle said in a heavy voice never looking up. He walked out of the hospital room. This was the last time I’d see him until today.
That was seven months ago, but it feels much, much longer. I walk up the steps to Kyle’s parents’ house, ring the doorbell, and wait for him to answer the front door. When he opens the door he doesn’t look anything like the guy I last saw. He’s clean shaved, his hair is cut and brushed back, and he’s dressed in jeans and a collared Polo shirt. He immediately leans forward and kisses my lips, which takes me by surprise. “Hope… you look so beautiful,” he says.
The last month or so in rehab, I discussed this moment with Mr. Chastain in our one-on-one sessions and also in my group sessions. I acted it out so many times in my mind and now I’m here. I was supposed to keep my boundaries, but that “rule” went right out the window with his unexpected kiss on my lips. I put both my hands on his shoulders to put a little distance between us and say, “You’re looking good too.”
The truth is, he doesn’t look good - he looks great. He looks like the homecoming king who escorted me across the football field almost two years ago.
“Don’t stand there, come inside,” he says putting his arm across my shoulders and guiding me through the door.
“Where are your parents?”
“They’re not here. Please come in and talk to me. I have so much to say.”
Nothing is going as planned. His parents were supposed to be here. He
probably asked them to leave so we could be alone. Before I could object, he takes my hand and walks with me into the living room. We both sit side-by-side on the couch.
As soon as we sit down, he puts his hand on my leg. I start to feel all those old feelings return. For the last three years, we’ve been as one. He’d always hold my hand, put his hand on my leg, or hold me in his arms. It still feels so natural. I know I should move away, but I can’t. Instead, I rest my hand on his and stroke his hand with my thumb as we talk.
“It’s so good to see you, Hope,” he starts. “Thanks for emailing me. I know it had to suck being stuck in that place. I wish there was something I could do.”
“You know Kyle, it wasn’t so bad. I really learned a lot about myself.”
“What do you mean?” he asks. “Hope, don’t let them tell you there’s something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I shake my head and say, “Kyle, I almost died.”
“Hope, it wasn’t your fault. There was something wrong with that shit. I poured it right down the toilet.”
“Kyle, it was my fault. I never should have started.”
“You’re fine, Hope. Look at me, I’m fine.”
I don’t like where this conversation is going. Even though I came to end things, part of me wants us to stay together. I was hoping Kyle would break down and promise he’d never take heroin again. It’s clear that’s not his intention.
“Kyle, you’re not fine,” I insist. “You’re an addict. I was becoming an addict. The truth is, my overdose saved me. If you don’t stop you’re going to wind up in the same place I was.”
“Don’t say that,” Kyle says shaking his head. He gently takes my face in his hands and says “Look at me, I’m doing better.”
This sounds so familiar. So many girls came to rehab swearing they didn’t need help – they could beat it on their own. I know it doesn’t work. It’s too hard a habit to break without help. “Kyle, you can’t do it on your own. You need help.”
“I can,” he promises begging me to believe him, “I'm not like you. I just need to go slow. I can do it.”
“No,” I yell as I try to release his hand.
He holds my hand even tighter so I can’t let go. “Hope, I love you. Please don’t give up on me.”
Hearing his words clears my head. “Kyle, I love you too, but I can’t be with you.” I pull my hand away.
“Hope, don’t say that.”
“I’ll always love you, but I can’t be with you. You’re not good for me. You’re not good to anyone right now.”
He pulls my face closer to his until we’re touching foreheads and looking into each other’s eyes. His eyes are red and full. A tear shoots down his cheek. “Baby don’t do this,” he begs and another tear runs down his other cheek. “Please don’t do this.”
Seeing the love of my life who was once so strong and proud now completely broken is more than I can handle. I start crying, and he takes me in his arms. We’re sitting only inches away from one another both crying uncontrollably. “Don’t leave me,” he begs.
“Sweetie I can’t do this,” I say. “I’m not strong enough. If you love me – if you really love me – you’ll let me go.”
He doesn’t let me go. He pulls me even closer until our lips are touching. His lips are soft and feel so familiar. When he first kissed me four years ago, I felt like the luckiest girl on earth. I told all my girlfriends the next day at school. We’ve never been apart since that day when everything came crashing down. I turn my face, and we both open our mouths and press our tongues together. The second we start kissing I know it’s a mistake. “Stop…please stop,” I say trying to pull away, but he doesn’t stop. He pushes closer, and we continue kissing all over again.
This is the boy I once thought I’d die if I couldn’t be with and now I’m going to throw it all away? I can’t do it. I can’t do it to him. I can’t do it to me. I pull back, take his face in my hands, and look him in the eyes. “Kyle, I can’t leave you. I love you too much. Just hold me… please hold me.”
He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs to his bedroom. I’ve been here so many times before. I know his room almost as well as I know my own. I lie on his bed, and we pick up right where we left off downstairs. We kiss and then lay on our sides saying, “I love you” and “I love you too.” Again and again, Kyle tells me how sorry he is. Each time I tell him he has nothing to be sorry about. The only thing that matters now is our love.
I lie on the bed with him on top of me. As we continue to kiss he runs his hand under my shirt. Feeling his hands on my body brings everything back. He takes off my shirt and tosses it on the floor. We’re quickly undressed. I want him so much.
Suddenly he stops and slowly lifts himself off me. He reaches beside the bed and grabs a plastic box from his nightstand. He pulls out a small mirror and pours a line of brown sugar. He rolls a dollar bill, puts it to his nose, and takes it in. He puts another line on the mirror and brings the dollar up to my nose.
I stare at the line of brown sugar and the rolled dollar leading to my nose. I can see my reflection in the mirror. All the months of exercising, healthy eating, and going to bed early have done me a lot of good. My eyes are bright, my skin is soft, and my complexion is clear.
I know this drug well. This is the drug that came so close to taking my life. As a mentor, I helped other girls see how addictive this drug is. We talked all about peer pressure, how to avoid it, and how to avoid people who put your sobriety in danger. That is why I came here – to get away from my boyfriend and the drug he loves. I pull away from the dollar and look at him again. He gives me a little nod and whispers, “It’s okay. I’ve already tried it. It’s good.”
It’s one thing to talk about heroin in therapy, but it’s another thing when it’s only inches from your nose. I remember how I felt the first time I tried it. I can tell Kyle is feeling that right now. I want to feel what he feels. I cover my nostril and slowly breathe in until nothing of the line remains.
“That’s it baby,” he whispers in my ear.
He leans forward and fills my mouth with his tongue. It feels so good being together again. I lie back on the bed until the brown sugar is surging through my body. My skin feels so sensitive to his touch. I lie back and give him every inch of my body as we make love for the first time in such a long time. It feels so good to be in love again. We eventually fall asleep in a tangle of sheets.
I wake up about an hour before the sun comes up. I sit up in bed and stare at Kyle lying sound asleep beside me. Now the rush is over. It felt so wonderful last night, but now that all the thrill is gone I feel completely alone. I can’t believe what I just did. I put my hand on Kyle’s back and cry.
I need to get home. I move off the bed as quietly as I can, gather my clothes that are scattered across the floor, and quietly get dressed. I give him one last kiss on his cheek to make sure I don’t wake him. I move slowly across the dark room and open the door. I look back one last time before closing the door behind me. I walk down the stairs and out the front door, determined never to see him again.
When I return home, everything is quiet because everyone’s asleep. I know I let my father down––I let myself down––but I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I go upstairs to my bedroom and lay in my bed looking up at the ceiling. I messed up with Kyle tonight. I just love him too much. Part of me will always love him.
This is the night that I died to Hope––the little girl. My high school years are behind me now. I have to stop looking back. I have new dreams to dream. Tears fall down the corner of my eyes and run down my face as I realize Kyle and I can never be together again. I’m now sure that he’s addicted, and I’m too in love with him to say no.
I had two mountains to climb. The first one was so much higher and so much harder than I ever thought it would be, but somehow I got through it. One thing I know for sure, finding my mom will be a breeze compared to this.
– CHAPTER 6 –
I sleep until noon. By the time I walk downstairs my dad is gone to work, Ben is in school, and my mom is working in the garden. When I get outside, she stops everything she’s doing and asks if I’m hungry. As much as I tell her no, she insists that I eat something. This time she fixes pancakes, eggs, toast, and sausage.
She sits with me at the table while I eat. I’m sure she’s wondering what happened to me last night. She breaks the silence by asking, “You okay, sweetie?”
I try to look strong, but a wave of feelings wash over me. I know what I did was the right thing, but now I’m filled with regret. I wish I could go back – back before rehab, before the heroin, before that terrible football game. I wish I could make things like they were long ago– before everything went so horribly wrong. I knew breaking up would hurt, but I really thought I was stronger. The heartbreak is overwhelming. It’s all too much.
Without saying anything, I fall into her arms and start bawling. She knows I don’t want to talk about it so she simply whispers, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
She doesn’t ask anything more about last night. I lay in her arms until I’m able to sit on my own. Before letting me go, she gives me one last hug and a kiss my cheek
When my dad comes home from work, my little brother and I run to him and welcome him home. Mom is in the kitchen cooking dinner. She takes the skillet off the fire and comes to the door wiping her hands with a dishtowel. She throws her arms around my dad and kisses him as she always does. He then goes into his room and changes out of his suit. He comes back to the table and we all sit down to eat.
Without being told, we all bow our heads and my dad says the prayer. “Dear Lord, thank you for this meal that was so beautifully prepared for us. Thank you for blessing us with family and friends. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Lord please watch over Colt, and keep him safe in your arms. In Jesus’ name, we pray, Amen.”
My whole life we’ve always eaten dinner together. This seems so strange to some of my friends, but I’ve grown to appreciate it and my dad insists on it. It seems to bring the family together. It’s a time when my dad asks questions about our day and gets to know what’s happening in everyone’s lives.
The Beginning of Hope: The Highly Anticipated, Mind-Blowing Sequel to the Killing of Faith (The Killing of Faith Series Book 2) Page 4
