Reception

by Kenzie Jennings

  The guy gave me a perplexed grimace, his nose crinkling, eyes all narrowed. “That’s pretty creepy.”

  “It’s creepier when someone says it right in your ear, and you can’t even see them,” I said, gauging his reaction carefully. One thing about being in a rehab center, you can learn a lot about how to lie effectively, and you can pick up on the ones who try it out and fail at it. It’s too bad none of us had the patience enough to play poker.

  He took a long, hard look at me as well. We might as well have circled each other, like a standoff. We were in the territory for it. He stuck out his hand, motioning for the flashlight.

  I held it away from him for a moment, eyeing his hand. Then I looked him in the eye and said, “You try anything funny, anything weird, and I will beat you down. I’m not kidding. I will beat you down.”

  The guy chuckled and then froze, realizing I wasn’t joking. “Oh, I believe you. You’re sparking there, girl. What’s your name?”

  “It’s not ‘girl.’ That’s just patronizing.”

  He held up his hands in defeat. “Wasn’t trying to be.” He held out a hand, this time for a shake, and managed a somewhat decent friendly grin. “Charlie Dughall. I’m in the wedding happening here this weekend.”

  The name clicked, but his face didn’t register. I tried to remember if he’d been at the engagement party. Couldn’t recall. There’d been so many people milling around my parents’ house then. Shay liked big parties with lots of company, not my thing. I’d stuck with a couple of fellow introverts in the den, watching their kids play some card game with spells, weapons and characters out of a Tolkien series.

  I shook his hand anyway, which was rough with callouses and warm. “I’m Ansley. Unlucky bridesmaid in the wedding party.”

  His expression suddenly shifted as realization crossed his features. “You’re the one who’s in rehab.”

  My face went hot. “And you can fuck right off,” I said just before I snatched his flashlight from his grasp and tromped past him, shoving him aside, heading back to the cacti to find my phone.

  The fact that my family informed complete strangers of my goddamned personal business was infuriating enough, but the guy, whateverthefuck Charlie, tailed me, attempting lame apologies again and again, and that pissed me off even more. I didn’t need apologies about the truth of the matter. I didn’t need pity either. I just wanted certain things in my life not to take the forefront of every damned bit of information about me.

  I didn’t even want to know just how many people at the wedding knew that about me. I was pretty sure my epic meltdown at my workplace, followed by my arrest, had also been mentioned, a little side tidbit of gossip, cutting and real.

  “Hey, I’ve had problems with alcohol myself. Still do. Among other things I’m not proud of. Hasn’t gone away. Hell, everyone has their vices,” said Charlie. “But you…you, on the other hand, you’re doing something at least. The rest of us, just a buncha cowards when you think about it.”

  “I don’t think about it. I live it, and I’m reminded all the damned time,” I muttered, willing the guy to leave me alone. “And I never had a vice. I wasn’t addicted. Newsflash, buddy: Not everyone who’s in rehab is an addict.”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t need to say anything,” I said as I wove the flashlight beam around the prickly plants. “It’s what everyone leaps right into. All that conclusion jumping.”

  “Okay, so why were you there?” he said. He blinked hard and rapidly for a second, squeezed his raw eyes shut, opened them wide again, attempting to clean them out.

  I guessed he hadn’t been told everything, which was a relief. I watched him for a good minute before answering, “I’d been overprescribed medication by some shrinks needing an obvious kickback. Apparently, people aren’t supposed to quit them cold turkey, but no one gave me any warning. So I’ve been like this ever since.”

  “What’d you need the medication for?”

  “Just full of questions, aren’t you, Charlie?”

  “Well, maybe you didn’t need any medication, I don’t know. I’m just gettin’ to know you s’all.”

  “I didn’t need the medication I was prescribed, no. No one needs that shit.” I swiveled the light at Charlie’s face. “You know, I could do with some help. I dropped my phone somewhere around here.”

  “Give me back my flashlight, and I’ll be glad to assist,” he said flatly, wiping at his eyes with the back of a hand.

  I wasn’t about to oblige. There was just something off about his voice, his overall demeanor, something chilly there skirling underneath the surface warmth. It didn’t help that he liked to talk, and I hated it, all that forced, nosy conversation. Folks around this area of the country loved to talk and talk, and there was nothing particularly engaging about whatever it was they’d kept talking about. My father hated it, too, and when forced to converse with another husband and/or business associate, he often managed to twist the conversation around so that it was on subject matter that was best left to showing off rather than talking about. From what I’ve learned from Mom and, primarily, Shay over this past year, it was how he and Rex (kind of sort of) bonded over guns and mutually agreed-upon paranoid conspiracy theories involving government takeovers. They went sometimes to the local range together whenever they felt overwhelmed by chit-chatty types, not even offering to take another stray introvert along with them. As much as my father stresses needed civility, how important it is to be polite, quite often, when forced into an uncomfortable social situation, he doesn’t abide by his own tenets.

  I could feel Charlie watching me as I swung the beam this way and that around the prickly growth, searching for the cell phone. “Eyes off my back please,” I said over my shoulder. “I don’t like people staring.”

  He eased a bulbous bit of cactus aside for me with his boot. “There ya go,” he sniffed. “Right there, kitty cat. Careful now. It scratches, too.”

  I shined the light right at his face again, blinding him once more. “Really?”

  “What? What did I do this time?” he said, squinting against the beam, holding up a hand at it.

  ‘‘Kitty cat’? Because I’m assertive? You know, you could be a little more original, a little less archaic. I don’t think comparing women to cats is trending online these days.”

  Charlie scowled at me, glaring in the bright light. His eyes were still raw and watery from the pepper spray. His cheeks, shiny-wet. He reached down, shoving the cactus plant aside, and picked up my cell from off the ground. He took my hand in his own and smacked the cell right into my palm.

  “Hashtag Here’s-Your-Goddamn-Phone,” he said. Then he grabbed the flashlight out of my other hand and turned to leave.

  The thought of being in the dark, alone again, with whoever else it was out there, kept pounding away at me, strumming my fear in my ears. I tugged Charlie back towards me, grasping his wrist, pulling him in, willing him not to leave. “Wait a minute,” I said, pleadingly.

  But he snatched his arm away and held a warning finger out for me not to touch him, to back off.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said. The desperation in my voice made me inwardly cringe. “Please don’t take anything I say personally. I’m sure you’ve also been warned about my wayward acidity. Overt bitchiness. It’s just a coping mechanism. That’s all.”

  Charlie suddenly widened his eyes and rapidly blinked out a stream of tears. He then rubbed at them again with his free hand, aggravating them further, groaning as he did. “Burnin’ like a hellfucker,” he mumbled.

  He pulled at the bottom hem of his tee, yanking it up to his face, his eyes. He blotted at the corner of his eyes while I got a pretty decent view of the taut lines of abdominal muscle laddering down, a thin line of dark hair in the center pointing one in the right direction.

  Of all times, of all places.

  “I gotta get back and wash this shit out of my eyes. Can’t be blind and take care of the groom, stumbling down
the aisle like a jackass,” he said, dabbing away at the burn.

  And my head felt as if there were searing pokers prodding away inside, behind my eyes, through my temples. The pain, it wasn’t out of sympathy for him. It was a signal that I needed to get back to my room, drink a gallon of water, and try to get back to sleep.

  “Come on,” I said, taking him by the arm, willing to risk it a second time. “My room’s probably closer, just around there. I owe you a hand at least. You can wash that crap out before you go back.”

  Charlie hesitated, which was certainly understandable, all things considered. I offered up what I hoped was a genuine smile. It felt real for once.

  And it seemed to do the trick because he tightened his mouth in a grim line, gave me an exasperated sigh, and then waved me with his flashlight hand to lead the way, so off we went to my room.

  I’ve always known there are some moments you just simply can’t turn around and high tail it back, start fresh and clean, rewind the reel a bit with renewal. When Charlie finally acquiesced and took my offered hand as soon as I opened the door to my room, we could have done that differently.

  We should have done that differently.

  #

  I don’t know how it happened. Or even why it happened. It just did. One of those quick snapshots in time exists there, permanently sealed now in my memory photo album. They’re just brief images, flashes of what once happened or might have happened. Some of them appear a lot better, much more colorfully, clearly happier, than they actually were.

  Charlie was there, sitting on the foot of the bed, head back, putting the drops in one eye at a time. I had a towel at the ready for him, so that he could blot. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut after each application, temporarily rendering him blind. His hand tightened around mine, and he gently tugged me in towards him, his legs on either side of me. I handed him the towel, thinking that was what he’d actually wanted, but the part of me on fire got the other signal first. Naturally, it was the wrong signal. It always was. I just wanted to make the burning stop, any distraction would do, and one was right there, one strong hand pulling at the back of my head, moving me down into his kiss. His lips were soft and pliant against mine. He tasted of smoky scotch and peppermint. Inhaling the heat of him in was too much, too intense, too raw even for me.

  I untangled myself from his hold, pulling away from the kiss. Charlie looked at me quizzically, and I could feel his hand roaming my back, tugging at the hem of my tee shirt, wrapping it, knotting it in his grasp. Neither one of us had anything to say, nothing rational, no excuses or apologies. I just didn’t know how to proceed. That sort of impulsiveness was something I’d been long used to, but I didn’t care for one night stands with strangers. After Simon, I’d certainly had my share of regretful nights, waking up in bed with this guy and that, all of whom held the same facial expression upon realizing who was really there beside them, one of either confusion or disgust or a combination of the two. Clearly, beer goggles had played a hand in the night before. I never understood it. I’d just never thought of myself as physically appealing. Leon had instructed me again and again not to succumb to such thoughts about myself, and while I’m not quite as bad about it as I had been, every so often, that nagging, sticky sliver of self-hatred edges its way into my psyche.

  When a guy like Charlie comes around though, well, it’s kind of a turn on. I’d like to think it’s the poison in me that does it.

  “Sorry. It just seemed right, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the idea of a wedding. Expectations. Something there,” said Charlie, his gaze tight on mine. While his face clearly marked his apology, his hand played naughty, lightly teasing along the creases of the rear of my shorts. “Kinda cheap turn though, right?” he whispered. “I mean, we already had a bachelor party for the guy. Enough is enough already.”

  I reached behind me, halting his roaming hand in a firm grip. He flinched and withdrew his hand, held it up to me in another apology. “I’ve overstepped. Again, I am sorry. This is weird. It’s weird, right? It’s just that…You’re just…You’re a beautiful woman. No matter what though, I respect boundaries. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m serious, I’m sorry,” he said, bracing himself to stand up.

  I gently pushed at him, forcing him back down on the bed. I ran a finger around his jawline, memorizing its angles, the feel of his prickly skin. “Fair warning,” I said as that finger traced his lips, idling there. “You’ve already been told I have issues. And I’m not into regrets, so if you’re the kind of guy who later pretends like it never happened, you’d best run along now.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, something dark and unidentifiable, but I caught it and held it, filing it away in storage just in case I’d need it at some point. It was gone though, replaced with need. His hand slid back around me, but I caught it in my grasp and moved it to my front, gently shoving it down past the waistband of my shorts, forcing it underneath, guiding his fingers onward. He was awfully good with those fingers.

  He kissed me properly then.

  Later, he kissed me where it mattered in the moment, and when his teeth found my clitoris, the lights behind my eyes went hot, and I finally let go.

  FOUR

  It’s not like I’m not used to men leaving. I am. Beer goggles, remember. I just don’t particularly care to be reminded that they do. The scent of Charlie’s skin was strong, like wet grass and diesel. The smell was what woke me from a drowning sleep, so, of course, I thought he was still there, wrapped up in musty sheets and scratchy, thin blankets with me. Wasn’t so lucky, as it were. His smell lingered in my hair, the pillows, the sheets. In the weak light of the bedside lamp, I couldn’t even see an indentation there in the bed. There was only his scent left behind as a cold reminder. He was just like the rest, apparently, ready to high-tail it on out of there once he got a clear look at the woman lying next to him.

  Not like I wouldn’t run into him during the wedding and reception.

  Hell if I regretted anything.

  Scratch that. Hell if I regret anything, present tense. (Oh, but I do. I really do.)

  I always hated sleeping naked in hotel sheets. It sounds a lot sexier than it really is. My skin felt tight and crawly all over. When I managed to roll out of the bed, blood pulsed loudly in my ears at the sudden strain of movement. My back muscles burned, so I stretched, forcing myself to crane my neck forward, my arms stretched out in front of me. The crackle-pop of bones, tendons, ligaments shifting there, an ever-present reality, not of aging necessarily, but out of utter apathy. I’d stopped caring much after Simon. When I bent my arms, grasping at each elbow behind my head, one at a time, everything went red and spotty. Pinpricks of light darted about in front of my eyes. The pain forced me to my knees on the chilly, damp concrete floor. The worst part was that I had to keep myself from reaching for my pills. I was allowed to half it and take a crumb in the morning and a crumb at night, if I needed to. I stupidly decided a single dose at night would be best, as I’d only needed something to sleep since nothing else had ever worked. However, that would inevitably leave the day – from sunrise to sunset – wide open for every goddamned symptom that suddenly popped up out of its own raw oblivion.

  At some point, I was to begin a liquid titration, and the mere thought of it made me queasy. The process of it, whittling the tab down even further and further, until I was finally free, gave me no sense of comfort whatsoever, no sense of relief.

  Breathe, Leon whispered from somewhere deep within. Whenever you feel tight inside, just breathe. Four-seven-eight, little sister. Recite that. Remember that. Four. Seven. Eight.

  I breathed in for four seconds, held for seven, released for eight. Breathed in, held, released again. The burning sensation in my temples and up and down my back fizzled down to a low simmer. My eyes were watery, and all I could see was a crimson wash of color. I had to blow my nose as well. It was as if every bodily fluid was stuck inside with a need to be released along with the knots of tension all over my body.
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  My cell lit up red from its spot on the nightstand, announcing its dying battery life at a meager 20% remaining. When I reached over for it, my head suddenly went fuzzy, spreading a dry numbness down my spine and across my neck and chest. Heart attack. Wasn’t that a symptom in women my age? Numbness? Tightness? Shortness of breath?

  You’re fine, said Leon, reminding me that I’d been through this before. You’re experiencing more symptoms of your withdrawals. Your heart rate will increase due to panic. Focus on the sounds around you. Block out everything else. It’s just noise. That’s all it is.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t take in a breath at all. I was dying. It was happening.

  You’re not dying. Block it out.

  But I couldn’t take in any air. I needed to lie down.

  Get up, little sister. Don’t lie down now.

  If I lay down, I could just stay there, die in bed. Slowly decompose, a wilted corpse. Cute.

  Get the fuck up.

  Someone pounded hard on the door, jolting me from my panic. Cold, clammy air surged in, forcing me to move. I was up on my feet, moving, moving.

  Now answer the door. It’s wedding day.

  “We’re eating, Ansley.” My dad, on the other side of the door. I could hear the hesitant note there in his voice. He never did know what or how to say much to me. Even when I was young, he just said it as it was. Little emotion. All business. He wasn’t like that with Shay, his golden source of fatherly pride. I suppose it ought to have bothered me more than it actually did.

  “It’s eight fifteen. You need to join us for breakfast before the kitchen closes at nine,” he said.

  And I’d almost forgotten how much he always hated it when I slept in.

  Just like that, though, I could breathe. I never would’ve thought it would be my father responsible for breaking me out of my tight, choking panic. I quickly slid on my shorts that I’d apparently shed on the floor beside the bed along with my sleep tee. As for the underwear, I had no idea where it could be. Commando would have to do.