Addiction
Page 11
Ivan shook his head vehemently. “Not at all. Actually, it feels like freedom. Freedom from the temptations that imprisoned my family. I want a better life for myself. I want a career. I want to get married and have children and raise them right. The cycle stops here, with me.”
Owen wanted an ounce of Ivan’s motivation and passion. In that moment, Owen wanted to give up. Dex wasn’t going to take him back, so what goal was he working toward?
"I wish I had something to look forward to like you." The helplessness was consuming him. That feeling was a constant lately.
Ivan had the patience of Job. Ivan went round for round tirelessly every time Owen got sucked into the despair.
"You have lots to look forward to! Think of rehab as a journey to a clean slate. That clean slate gives you endless possibilities. Anything you want, you can go after." Ivan reminded Owen of Sammy at times. They were both animated and spoke passionately.
He missed Sammy, but he’d stuck his neck out too many times for Owen. Without Sammy on his side, he certainly would have been fired sooner than he had been. Sammy had actually cried when he told Owen not to come back, that he no longer had a job at the hotel.
"But do I deserve anything? I fucked it all up. I burned every possible bridge I could've had. And what happens when new people find out I'm an addict? No one will want to give me the time of day." Owen wanted to rip his hair out by his roots.
"With that attitude, no. No one will want to give you a chance if you can’t give yourself a chance first. You made the choice to come here; no one forced you. That’s a huge step and shows me that, at one point, you thought you had a reason to better yourself.”
“I do. Well, I did.” Owen clenched his fist. He had the urge to punch a wall until his knuckles split open.
Ivan reached over and covered Owen’s fist with his own. “Owen, give yourself some time. You haven’t been here a week. Your body and your mind need to heal. Work with James, participate in group therapy, take your meds. In a few weeks, you’ll be able to think more clearly.”
“What am I going to do without you? You’re too good at talking me off a ledge.”
Ivan smiled fondly at Owen. “Give it some time and you won’t need to be talked off a ledge. You might find yourself talking someone else off that ledge.”
“Now you’re pushing it.” Owen smiled for the first time that day. "You know, you could be a therapist here. You've got a unique perspective as someone who's personally dealt with addiction, and your bedside manner is miles above James’ on a good day."
Ivan ducked his head. Was he blushing? "I've looked into the course curriculum for a bachelor's degree in psychology. It would take years to actually get licensed as a therapist."
Owen sat up straighter. "Does this mean you're planning on pursuing a career in mental health? You would be excellent, Ivan! I think this is your calling."
"Maybe? I would have to go for a master's, and then there's clinical hours…" Ivan trailed off.
"Here's the part of the conversation where I tell you to have faith in yourself." Owen smirked at Ivan. "I can say, from personal experience, that you would be an incredible therapist! You're compassionate and understanding. And let's not forget patient."
Ivan almost preened at the praise. "Yes, well. We'll see."
* * * * *
The interview room of the police station smelled of stale coffee and mildew. Owen squinted at the form on the metal table in front of him, tapping his pen on the paper. He had days to figure out what he wanted – needed, really – to say.
When Officer Linden approached Owen for a victim impact statement, Owen's first instinct was to refuse. He didn't think of himself as a victim. Well, maybe a victim of himself, of his own choices.
Whitney, the victim's advocate assigned to Owen by the district attorney's office, stressed the importance of his statement. "Let me tell you, Owen, you have been through some shit. We don't want anyone else to suffer the same. What that means is, you get to tell your story. You get to let the judge know how much of a son of a bitch this guy Leroy is."
Owen liked Whitney's frank, blunt way of speaking. It put him at ease when his default setting was on edge. Today, she was wearing one of her trademark power suits, this one in eggplant. The crisp white blouse underneath her jacket, her sleek hair, and simple pearl studs in her ears completed her no-nonsense look. She was fierce, and judging by her male colleagues’ reaction whenever she was near, she was well respected. Owen suspected they were all in fear of losing their balls should they cross her.
He could use some of her confidence. Every time he thought about how he suffered at the hands of Leroy, he came right back to blaming himself. It was his fault he hadn’t practiced in the heels before attempting to perform on stage. It was his fault he over-medicated himself to the point of reliance on a chemical substance to get through the day. It was his fault he allowed that dependency to become more important than the love he had with Dex.
He pushed his chair back, the scrape and squeak of metal on the tile floor making him cringe. Grabbing his crutches from where they were propped up on the side of the table, he hobbled to the lone, dusty window. It had started raining, and the sidewalks were steaming at the contact of the cool rain against the heated ground. The summer heat had been relentless.
How was Dex spending his summer? When they were together, Owen would binge watch television shows and movies that Dex didn’t have the time to watch during the school year. Was he watching those shows by himself? He hoped Dex wasn’t lonely.
Why did he care about Dex? Dex abandoned him, again. No visit or phone call since he dropped off the clothes that night a week ago. Dex had virtually disappeared, and Owen was pissed off about it.
He hobbled back to the chair, fuming about Dex’s apparent lack of concern for Owen. What if Owen had had complications from his ankle surgery? Would Dex have any idea? No, of course not, because Dex was back in his shiny, perfect world. Owen slammed his hand on the table, cursing Dex under his breath.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Whitney’s blonde head poked in the door. “How’s it coming along?”
“It isn’t," he snapped.
Whitney gave no reaction to Owen's sour mood. “How can I help?” She walked over to Owen and rested her backside against the table, crossing her ankles and her arms.
“I don’t know that you can. I want to forget the bad crap and writing about it isn’t doing me any favors.” The blank page seemed to glare accusingly at him.
He was the state's strongest witness for its case against Leroy. He knew that because he’d been told so several times by numerous people. It was a tremendous amount of pressure to put on his shoulders. He was in recovery for drug addiction, for Christ’s sake! The added stress made his brain hurt.
The panic attacks he experienced after his ankle surgery continued to plague him. The withdrawal symptoms coupled with the nightmares of the attack left his body and mind exhausted. The Suboxone helped, but it wasn’t a miracle.
He was moody all the damn time.
“Owen, honey.” When Whitney broke out the “honey” he knew he better listen up. "You won’t be doing yourself any favors by not pursuing your rights under the legal system to punish a criminal who assaulted you. ‘Cause let me tell ya, that cut on your face is going to make a pretty little scar that you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. Will you be satisfied looking at yourself in the mirror everyday knowing you lost the chance to put Leroy behind bars?”
Fuck, she was brutal. “Yeah, you’re definitely not helping.” Despite the bite of her words, Owen’s mood improved a smidge, and his lips stretched into a hint of a smile. “I’ll give it a go, but I can’t promise my mood will improve.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, Owen.”
12
DEX
SAMMY HAD FINALLY GIVEN UP the way-too-young-for-his-age hairstyle. The bleached faux hawk he'd sported the past few years that Dex
had known him was outdated and more appropriate for someone a third of his age. Dex only had to look at his students for proof.
Now, his hair was light brown, close cropped, and longer on the top. He looked more his age, and Dex was happy to see that.
Sammy was Owen's friend first. The arrival of Dex in Owen's life included Sammy. The three of them hung out often until the break up. Actually, things had been getting tense between them and Sammy before Dex left. Dex noticed Sammy distancing himself, and Dex chalked that up to Sammy being Owen's boss.
But Dex knew in the back of his mind the boss-employee dynamic was not the reason for Sammy pulling away. Both he and Dex were unprepared and helpless to cope with Owen's addiction. Maybe Sammy blamed Dex for how bad it got or hated him for leaving Owen.
Today, he was going to find out how Sammy felt about it all.
Dex had asked Sammy to meet him at the coffee shop where Dex and Owen had their first date. He didn’t know why he chose that place out of all the other places in the city they could have met. Hell, they could have met at the bar in Sammy’s hotel.
Dex avoided looking at the booth where he and Owen had sipped hot chocolates and had gotten to know one another. In his mind, it would forever be “their booth.”
Dex took the chair opposite Sammy at the small table where Sammy was sitting, staring miserably at his cup of coffee. Dex set his own cup down.
“Thanks for meeting me. I, uh, wanted to let you know how Owen was doing.” He rubbed his palms on his jeans, not sure why he was anxious about this conversation.
“This coffee is shit,” Sammy said by way of response. “How can I enjoy anything on this wretched diet? Ugh.” He pushed the cup away as if it had personally offended him.
Dex chuckled. “What kind of coffee did you get? I’ve never had anything bad here.”
“This disgusting excuse for a beverage is a nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte with almond milk. Does that even sound like coffee? What atrocities have you seen, baristas?” he called out to the coffee shop staff.
The barista closest to their table rolled his eyes and continued wiping down the counter.
“Why are you drinking that? I’ve only ever seen you drink sugary, whole milk drinks with lots and lots of whipped cream.”
“Oh, my sweet summer child. You are getting up there in age, too. Our bodies don’t bounce back like they used to. Remember fondly the days of being able to eat pancakes and bacon for breakfast, a hamburger and greasy fries for lunch, and fried chicken for supper? Not to mention the beer and desserts. Yes, all those desserts! I know how much you like to bake. The baking part is fine; it’s the eating that’ll get you.”
“What are you going on about? I’m four years younger than you!”
“Four years isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of life. Don’t waste away your years, Dexter.”
Dex lost track of the number of times he’d explained to Sammy that his name was simply Dex, that it wasn’t a shortened version of another name. Yet Sammy still insisted on calling him Dexter. It was funny, considering how he liked for people to call him Sammy and not his full name, Samuel.
“So, what’s with the super modified coffee drink?”
“Forty is looming around the corner. My body is a temple and must be treated as such. No one will want a flabby, over the hill, but still fabulous, man. I’m running out of time!”
“Running out of time for what?”
“For finding a husband! I’m nearing my expiration date, and I must do everything in my power to maintain my sparkle until I snag my One True Love!”
Oh boy. Dex had forgotten how much of a handful Sammy could be when he was in one of his dramatic moods. “Did something happen, Sammy?”
“Brace yourself, Dexter. This may come as a shock.”
What was to come, Dex could only guess. "I'm braced."
“Louis left me.”
“Who’s Louis?”
“‘Who’s Louis?’” Sammy parroted. “Louis was the man of my dreams! We were meant to be together until Friday night when he dumped me!”
“Oh, that Louis.” Dex had no clue who Louis was. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Break-ups are rough.” Like his break up with Owen. He rubbed at his chest, over his heart, to soothe the burning ache that plagued him whenever he thought of the collapse of their relationship.
Dex was purposely staying away from the hospital. He was afraid he would end up never leaving Owen’s side if he went back there.
Besides, Owen didn’t need false hope that they would get back together. Dex’s presence would surely convey the wrong message. He wanted Owen to make decisions for himself and not for the hope that Dex would take him back. Dex suffered too much already from having that hope himself. He couldn’t be Owen’s cheerleader.
“He was the love of my life,” Sammy whined. “He told me I was old and getting pudgy around the middle!” Sammy sniffed and turned his nose up. “Pudgy! Can you believe that? Do I look pudgy to you?” He stood up and twirled around with his arms extended for Dex’s inspection.
A group of teens at a table across from them were staring at Sammy. He saw one of them covering her mouth with her hand to disguise a laugh. He would never allow such disrespectful behavior in his classroom.
“Please, sit down. You’re not pudgy.”
Sammy slid back into his chair. “But I am old and running out of time. I must keep myself in tip top shape if I’m going to compete with all the young, virile gay men in this city."
“You’re not old, and you’re not running out of time. Lots of people find love later in life.” Dex would have to remind himself of this pep talk in the coming years if he were still single.
He hadn’t thought about dating since leaving Owen. At the moment, he wasn’t ready and didn’t know if he would ever be ready. He gave his heart and his soul completely to Owen, and he wasn’t sure he could offer that to anyone else. A vital part of his being was obliterated with the demise of their relationship. He couldn’t put himself through something so devastating again.
“That’s not what Louis said.” Sammy heaved a sigh that Dex thought was excessive, even for Sammy. “Henceforth, I am on this horribly restrictive diet.”
“Well, I think it’s unnecessary, but if it makes you feel better…” Dex shrugged. Examining Sammy’s logic in restricting his diet to attract a partner was not on today’s agenda. The conversation needed to be moved along or they would be here all afternoon. “I’ve been in touch with Owen. I thought you might want to know how he’s doing.”
Sammy’s face fell. “Please don't give me bad news."
"The news starts off bad but improves if that's any consolation. It's been about a week since I last saw him. I have it on good authority that he's doing well, given the circumstances."
"What circumstances?" Sammy perked up. "Did he get into serious trouble?" Worry lines on his forehead deepened, but Dex wasn't going to mention that. Sammy would probably run out of the coffee shop to the nearest dermatologist for Botox injections.
Dex relayed the tale of Owen's attack and injuries. The tan on Sammy’s face was washed out by the time Dex had described all of Owen’s injuries. “He’s got orders for three months of physical therapy, and he checked himself into the ninety-day rehab program. The PT and rehab run concurrently, so he’ll be at the hospital for the duration of both.”
Tears welled up in Sammy’s eyes. Dex grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser on the table and handed them to him. Sammy dabbed at his eyes and looked forlornly at Dex. “It’s my fault Owen is in rehab. All my fault, Dexter.”
“It isn’t your fault, Sammy. Owen had to be in the right frame of mind to get help. He wasn’t there yet. Until now.”
“No, what I mean is, I got him hooked on those stupid painkillers. I had pain pills left over from my wisdom tooth extraction, and when I saw he was suffering between prescriptions from his doctor, I gave him my pills. I shouldn’t have done that.” Tears were steadily streaming down his face.
Owen's disfigured face, his ratty, smelly clothes, and his dirty, banged up car were images burned into Dex's brain. Despite the conviction in his words, Dex knew he would always carry around some of the responsibility for Owen's misfortune on his shoulders.
Sammy mopped his face of tears. “I'm overreacting, aren't I?" He didn't wait for Dex to respond. "He was my closest friend, and I let him down. He should have been able to trust me."
“Believe me, he would have found another source some other way. In fact, he did. That’s how he got involved with Leroy.”
“And how did you get involved with Owen again? I thought you were done?" The questions held no malice, only curiosity. Sammy was probably the only other person who could relate to Dex's conflicted emotions and sense of obligation when it came to Owen.
"I was still listed as his emergency contact with the hospital, and they called me when he was taken in. He was unconscious and needed someone to sign off on his ankle surgery."
Sammy clasped his hands in front of his face. "Dexter, thank you for being there for Owen. Would I have been as selfless? I would hope so, but one never knows until one is faced with such a dilemma."
Dex shook his head and smiled. "Sure, you would have. There isn't a vengeful bone in your body. I'd like to think anyone in Owen's life would have stepped up to the plate and done the right thing."
But that wasn't true at all. Owen's dad wouldn't have made the cross-country trip to see to Owen's medical treatment. When Owen phoned to tell his dad about their engagement, the call lasted all of five minutes, if that. Dex didn't get the sense Owen's father was homophobic, just that he had placed more importance on his other family, Owen's stepmother and half-siblings. Owen never gave him the full story, just that his mother died when he was a toddler and his father remarried soon after. Owen said he inherited his mother's features, and his father couldn't stand to look at him.