She nods and then looks to me. “Okay, I’ll try.”
Those three words are everything.
For today, I can breathe again.
I can’t ask for perfection. I can only ask that she tries and hope she will find the light at the end of the tunnel.
Right now I’m going to count this as a win. In this game of life where we keep losing, I need to have something I can win. Let’s just hope in the end I win my sister back to who she is without the drugs.
7
Rhett
When the unexpected happens, some call it a blessing, but right now, I wonder if it’s my curse?
“Lo,” I answer the phone handed to me wondering who is on the other end.
The thing about rehab, I don’t have my personal cell phone. I have no computer access. I have nothing but hours upon hours of structure and therapy.
It’s not so bad now.
The first week was hell. Detoxing is a bitch. The second week, bitterness consumed me. An anger like I have never experienced before took hold. Now, I don’t know where I am, but I feel strong enough to take on today, which is good considering most days I don’t think I’m going to make it.
Thirty days in and I know I’m not ready to go home. I’ve extended my stay finally feeling like I am finding healing. It sucks being away from my family and my home, but I’m growing and learning.
Everyone keeps talking about visiting, but I’ve asked them not to. I want to be strong for myself before I give them hope only to fuck up and let them down. I’m done with promises I never intend to keep. This place is changing me.
I’m a better man today than I was yesterday. And tomorrow I’m determined to make more successful than today.
The unit alarm went off thirty minutes ago, I’ve had my coffee, and I’m getting ready to head to my morning workout. Routine is important when overcoming addiction. While it’s hard not to become obsessive over controlling every minute of every day, having a plan is crucial to getting through each day. Without a plan it’s easy to get lost in the depression or give in to the weakness. I want to be in control of my life. I want to determine my destiny, not piss it all away to a drug.
“Hello,” I say again into the phone. “Rhett Oleander.”
“Rhett,” Tommy Boy says with a tone in his voice that has me alarmed. “Givin’ you the heads up. Don’t know how you’re gonna take this shit. You told me to keep tabs on Jamison Rivera. She bought herself some legal trouble.”
“Fuck,” I reply hating that Jami is having problems and I’m helpless to do anything from here.
Since Red is busy with Kylee in his life and frankly Tommy Boy and I are closer, I asked him to keep up with Jami in my absence.
Years ago, I told Tommy about my agreement with Jenni to keep an eye on her sister because Tommy and I are together so much. In fact, until a few months ago when I opened up to Tommy about all the drugs, Red was the only one who knew about that first time I used hard drugs. I have never bothered to explain myself to anyone else or him.
What I’ve learned in my time here has grown me as a man. It doesn’t matter what started me down this path, I make the choice every time I get high to do so. That fact just sunk in two days ago. For the longest time, I wanted to tell people Jami did this. I’m this way because I saved Jami. In my mind, I justified using because it became a coping mechanism. I also made Jami my scapegoat to say it was on her I got hooked. The truth of the matter is I put the shit in my body each and every time. She didn’t do this to me. Even though the little voice in the back of my head likes to blame Jami, I remind myself of the truth. She might have been part of the first time, but what about the others?
Jami wasn’t there the second time I took the hit. Jami wasn’t there the third, or the fourth. It was me. I did this to myself. I have to accept it, be accountable for it, and forgive myself. I’m not there yet.
But I do accept I did this to myself. Forgiveness, I’m not sure how to do that, but maybe one day.
“Figure, out of respect for your past with Jenni, you’d want to help.” I find myself nodding as he continues because I would help. “I got Jami an attorney. Got her set up to go to rehab. It’s all under wraps, they won’t know it’s you footin’ the bill.”
I sigh to myself knowing Jami needs this help more than I do, and that’s saying something because honestly, this place is saving my life. Along the way, I’ve gotten updates of Jami’s location and her lack of a job. Given the updates also informed me of her continual drug use, I assume she’s been selling her pussy to make ends meet. If this arrest will help shake her up, I’m all for getting her on the path to a better life. “What do you need from me?”
He hesitates. “Wasn’t thinkin’. I was handlin’ shit without lettin’ everyone in on it. I’m sorry, Rhett. But you gotta know, I set her up to come there.”
No.
Fuck no.
This cannot be happening.
I’ve worked too hard. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to have her here. All the wrongs I’ve done and she’s a reminder of it. I’m still fixing me. I can’t have her here when I’m not ready.
“Change it,” I order. “It’s my money anyway, so get it fixed.”
“Not so simple. The attorney, he already got a judge to let her off easy as long as she completes a minimum of thirty days there. I go changin’ shit, it could fuck all that up.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Tommy, change it.”
“This is her freedom, Rhett. I’m not fuckin’ that up. Know you got history. Know that shit is dark, but I remember the girl with pigtails chasin’ me on the playground. I remember the girl that tried to kiss my elbow when I busted it on the monkey bars. Not givin’ up on you, and I’m not givin’ up on her. Hell, I saw that place on the video, they keep the women separate, mostly. You might not even see her. The common areas are large.”
I don’t have time for this. I end the call and hand the phone back to the resident aid. I can’t believe my brother did this shit. How am I’m supposed to heal when that first experience is going to haunt me having her here?
As soon as the aid exits my room, I pace the space.
The set up at Peaks Road to Recovery is nice. Each resident has a private room and private bathroom. There are three wings of the structure dedicated to being a line of bedrooms. When entering the main building, the first area is reception. No one gets beyond the double doors without checking in with reception. The double doors from there open into the common areas. The first area is an octagon shape with a large skylight done in stained glass casting multiple colored lights on the tile floor.
The first section to the right leads to the wing with all of the therapy rooms. The second section is the wing of medical rooms for patients experiencing illness and needing continual medical care. The third section is the recreational rooms. One room is tables and board games. Another room has a library, there is a room for crafts and arts, a room with instruments for music. What there isn’t is a television or a computer for resident use. The fourth section off the main entrance is the dining hall with a full kitchen at the very end. The other three wings are rooms for patients and staff.
My bedroom is small. It reminds me of a hotel room. There is simply a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a miniature fridge, and a bible. In the bathroom, I have a full shower separate from the soaker tub, a toilet, and a sink. I’m sure to some this is luxurious because the finishes are upscale. I’ve sold many houses with bathrooms that didn’t hold a candle to this one. My problem is this shit isn’t home.
Far from it.
I can’t believe she’s coming here.
Back and forth, I cross the room.
My frustration rises. This is not what I need! Faster and faster, I pace the space. My arms tingle, my mind blanks. Everything inside of me screams to escape.
Escape this place.
Escape my life.
I want to be numb.
I want the feelings to stop.
Des
peration builds inside me.
This craving is worse than any I’ve had since getting here.
If I could just turn it all off for a moment.
One single moment … no thinking, no being, no questions, no answers.
Nothing.
I want to find oblivion.
My skin tingles like something is crawling just under the outside layer of my flesh. My mouth is dry. My heart races. I feel the blood pumping through my body. I take a deep breath, the oxygen filling my lungs.
Time passes. I swear I hear the ticking of the seconds passing in my head. Each one getting louder than the last. Another reminder of the escape I crave and can’t find.
Nothing satisfies me.
I need the high.
I need the drugs.
Without them, I’m not me. I’m not okay.
The room spins. I keep at the back and forth. One foot in front of the other as my body and my mind want one thing.
Just one hit. Just to take the edge off.
I pace faster.
Think, Rhett. If I can just get one hit, I could think clearly. That single bit of focus would give me all the answers. Then, I will know what to do with Jami here.
I need the drugs.
No one understands.
My head isn’t clear without them.
I can stop again after this.
I just have to cope with the news.
Then I won’t do them again. One more, that’s all.
“Fuck!” I roar to the empty room.
My palms begin to sweat. My face feels clammy. Get it together, I tell myself, slapping my cheeks.
Stop the madness.
A knock comes to my door, and in a rush, I open it.
“Therapy,” Jonathon says, stepping aside for me to pass.
“Whoa man, you good?” he asks grabbing my arm and stopping me.
His eyes hit mine. Something inside of me changes. Jonathon has been here every day alongside me. When I have been at my sickest, he’s been checking in. Even when I’ve wanted to hide under the covers and shut the world out, Jonathon has remained steadfast. This whole center has grounded me mentally. Maybe this is what Jami needs.
Yes, I need to do something or I’m going to climb the walls. Therapy will be a good distraction.
I take long strides to the hallway and into Dr. Stanton’s room. See my routine is off. I missed my workout. I missed my breakfast. I lost too much time pacing a room, letting the craving crawl inside me and grow roots like a weed.
Dr. Stanton’s not in here, so I pace her space unable to settle myself.
I feel out of control. Everything is spiraling and I can’t stop it. My mind is spinning around and around with Jami coming. I’m beginning to think it might be a good idea, but still the selfish part of me worries about my own recovery process with her here.
Dr. Stanton comes in and shuts the door behind her. Dr. Angela Stanton who tells everyone to call her Dr. Angie.
She’s wearing jeans and a Peaks Road to Recovery polo shirt. Her blond hair is shoulder length with the ends tipped in red. She has a round face and is constantly smiling.
“Good morning, Rhett,” she greets.
Locking my eyes to hers, I let the anger out. “Not a damn fuckin’ thing good about it.”
She doesn’t flinch at my lashing out. “Well, I can see you are agitated this morning. Let’s discuss, shall we?”
I don’t sit as she takes her usual seat in the oversized lounger, waiting for me to take my place on the couch.
Instead, I pace. I don’t know what it is about the back and forth rhythm. It both amps me up and soothes me.
The craving is winning. I even find myself looking to the windows of her office and wondering if they are locked like the others in the facility. The only time the windows unlock is in the event a fire erupts and sets off the sprinklers. Then the windows are on an automated system to unlock when the sprinklers cut on. There is also a manual override, but where the computer that controls that is, well, it’s beyond me.
I want to get outside and not for the fresh air.
My mind takes me to a different place.
I think about the feeling of the powder up my nose. The burn as the cocaine works into my system. The rush as my heart speeds up and my mind focuses.
My mouth salivates for a drug of any kind.
Or the feel of the tourniquet on my arm tightening, constricting. The look of my vein as it pops up. The way I can feel my pulse steady through the tiny vein and hear it in my head as I prepare to stick the needle in. Quickly with my mouth, I release the tourniquet. The prick pierces my skin, making contact with the vein. I inject the heroin as the blood begins to freely flow again, taking the drugs with it. Everything relaxes. My vision clears. The noise, all of it stops.
I don’t like to shoot up, but I’m not opposed to it when that’s what’s easier to get. I blew my veins a few times before I learned I needed to use homemade tourniquets so I can release them by myself before I actually inject the drugs. Bicycle inner tubes work the best, or a belt. Yes, I’m so desperate for a high, I’m walking back through each and every drug I’ve tried. And I’ve tried them all.
Dr. Angie talks, but it’s all garbled as my mind tries to find a way out of here. That’s the thing about me, I function well.
I have my own business that is thriving. Money is not an issue, so I don’t have to buy the cheap drugs or the supplies second-hand.
Does that make it any better?
Maybe not to some, but to me, at least I’m being clean. I never share my stash, and I don’t reuse needles ever.
“I need out of here,” I mutter.
“Why?” she asks, completely unfazed by my behavior.
I stop in my tracks. “Are you incompetent? Surely, with a fuckin’ PHD, you don’t have to ask that question?”
She smiles at me. Yes, fucking smiles.
“I see you are rather frustrated this morning, Rhett. Let’s discuss it as adults. You need not filter yourself with me, but you won’t disrespect me. Are we clear?”
I throw my hands up. “I’m over here crawling out of my fuckin’ skin needing a fix. Any fuckin’ fix, and you wanna give me some shit about respect?”
Again, she smiles. “Well, the thing about addiction, Rhett. You lose all respect. Mostly, you lose respect for yourself. I’m here to help you with all of that. But in order for me to do my job, we need some boundaries.”
“Boundaries? I’m not a fuckin’ kid.”
“No, you’re not. The thing is, Rhett, when we dig into your past, into your relationships, into your triggers, I bet we’ll find you haven’t had the best of boundaries.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
She nods. “I don’t. So why don’t you share. Because I’m thinkin’ just from the bit we have spoken, you give a lot of yourself, Rhett. For your whole life you have given to your family. Your mother, your brothers, your grandparents. You give and give. You didn’t have boundaries for when the giving stops. Even when you’ve exhausted your emotions, you keep giving.”
“You don’t get to talk about my family.”
I have to shut this shit down. She doesn’t know them. They have all loved and supported me. Even though, yes, I gave my all when I was little trying to be seen, to feel a part of something, she can’t dissect my life. They have done too much for me. Put up with even more than anyone should. No, she’s not going to think poorly of any of them. “I have a good family. One where I don’t need boundaries.”
“Tell me, Rhett. What is the first thought you have when I say the word respect?”
“Fuck you,” I spit back. How in the hell does this shit stop me from giving into the craving?
“I can see you’re upset today,” she softens her tone.
“You keep sayin’ that shit. You fuckin’ think I’m upset? Fuck yeah, I’m upset. You want me to talk about respect. The very girl who I tried to save seven years ago is on her way to this very place. Who s
et that shit up? My brother. Who the fuck is paying for it? I am.”
“See, you have no boundaries, Rhett. How does that make you feel?”
“Angry!”
She leans back in the chair. “I see. What is this anger doing inside of you?”
“It’s ramping me up. The pressure in my chest is too much. I can’t breathe. The elephant is sitting on my chest. I can’t think. I can’t speak. I just need the fucking hit. Let me have one. Take the edge off. Let me get myself back on track after.” I let the words tumble out. “I’m the fuck up. I’m always going to fuck up. So, fuckin’ let me have this one last hit. I’ll clean up tomorrow. I won’t do it again. But I need this to get my head straight. I need this to see her.”
Yes, I am that man now. The one who can’t function without the drugs.
Where did I lose my way?
I’m pathetic.
8
Jennissey
One Week Later
There is no looking back.
I have to hold onto hope for the future.
I can’t dwell on what has gone wrong. Not anymore. I have to let it all go. I can’t think about what might have been if things weren’t exactly as they are today. Coping skills is how I compartmentalize it. If I dwell on things I can’t control, I’m going to lose what little bit of control I do have. March on. Do not look behind me because the past is not where I’m headed, but rather where I’ve already gone. Blame, anger, frustration I choose to release all of the negative emotions.
Which is why I’m climbing out of a taxi to visit my sister.
The upside to my life being a complete shit-show is moving doesn’t become a nightmare anymore. Then again, moving hasn’t ever bothered me. I guess when your home life is something you don’t mind leaving behind, somehow attachments aren’t really formed anymore.
Peaks Road to Recovery is an overall Health and Wellness facility. Not only do they deal with addiction, but mental health problems and family recovery as well. Truthfully, I don’t know how Mr. Calhoun managed everything he has. I’m still overwhelmed by the opportunity. Since life likes to kick me in the teeth repeatedly, I choose not to ask questions but instead be grateful for this chance.
Breathe for It: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride On Book 4) Page 6