The Fix

by Kristin Rouse

  “Like hell.” My voice is craggy and whatever smile I might have donned fades fast. “I feel like hell. The only things I can remember are pops and flashes of stupidity, and when I woke up, I’d ended up in here with a fucked-up leg. Were you expecting I’d feel just fine and dandy?” I shouldn’t snap at her and I know it, but it doesn’t stop me from doing it.

  She bristles, but she takes it. It’s a year ago all over again. She’ll smile at me when she wants to cry for me. She’s my best friend, my sponsor, the person who knows me best.

  “I’m just so glad you’re… alive. That someone found you,” she repeats.

  I scarcely feel alive even though my heart is beating, even though my brain is racing. Maybe it was just the bad night’s sleep and the deep, unyielding sense of shame, but I feel like I’m going out of my gourd. What did I do the last three days? Why did I go into that stupid bar? Why did I chuck my phone out my window? What was I thinking? Why am I such a fucking moron? When can I have another drink?

  “I’m really not up to company right now, Anja. Can you…?”

  “There’s some things I need to say first. I got a substitute for my class for the morning only, so I’ll be quick. But Ezra, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

  “Don’t act like this is anyone’s fault but mine.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just—Juliana texted me that she had to go in, and I should have tried to get a sub and….”

  This grates on me, the thought of the two of them talking about me like I needed to be coddled, needed to be watched like a teenager left alone in a house full of flammable things—even though I did end up burning the proverbial house down, didn’t I?

  “I didn’t call you,” I say, my voice still too sharp. “I didn’t ask you to be there. I wanted to be on my own.”

  “I should have been there. That’s my job. I was supposed to be there for you to turn to when you started craving.”

  I rub my eyes. “You’re not my babysitter. I didn’t pick up the phone. I didn’t reach out to you. That was my mistake, not yours.”

  “We saw what happened. Mat and Jules and Luk and I… We went to your apartment and saw the window. Your cat is gone… I’m guessing you know that?”

  I nod. It hurts my head to think about it and my heart to know I lost that part of Mac because I was so careless. “I was chasing after her. She took off and I went after her. She ran in the direction of the bar.” Did she? Did she really? Or did I just want an excuse?

  “Oh, Ezra….” She was trying to be supportive and loving, but she’s finally let the disappointment edge her tone. She should be disappointed in me.

  “Look, I know it’s your job as my sponsor to make me feel like shit because I fucked up, but can you please just wait until later? Is one day of self-pity too much to ask for? If you want my chips back, they’re there.” I point towards the bedside table where I’d dropped the little tokens last night when Constance came in.

  She sighs and runs her fingers along her temples. “We need to talk about that, too. I… I don’t think I can be your sponsor anymore.” She says it like she wants to shield me from it. But this sort of rejection can’t be shielded. “I know some people who can be your new one, but I need your permission to tell them what happened first.”

  I stare at her in disbelief. I knew she’d be angry at me, knew she’d be disappointed. I never pegged her to just up and waltz out on me, especially now, when it feels like I need her the most.

  Maybe she’s sensing my thoughts, because she moves so she’s sitting on the side of my bed and grasps my hand in both of hers. “You need a sponsor you can trust, one you can call anytime, day or night, whenever you feel the urge come on. How long did you feel the need for a drink coming on without calling me?”

  I gape at her. Apparently that’s all she needed to know.

  “I’m not giving up on you. I’ll never, ever give up on you. You’re my best friend and I love you more than you probably understand right now. But I need to be just your best friend for whatever comes next. I can’t be your sponsor and watch you… I can’t be your sponsor. I’m sorry, I really am….”

  “There isn’t anyone in the world I trust more than you. You have to know that.” It’s true. I trust Juliana and Mattias and Lukas, but Anja is the only one who knows what’s going on in my head. So why doesn’t she know that right now it sounds an awful lot like she’s breaking up with me? It’s not you; it’s me. We can still be friends. I love you, but….

  “If you trust me so much, why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you come over after you broke your phone, go to Mama A’s, something?”

  “I didn’t have my car! I left it up at Juliana’s, and I was going to take the train, but… Anja, you can’t do this. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

  “I feel like shit about this, Ez, I really do, but you have to understand I’m trying to do what’s best for you. If something like this happens again—”

  “Then it will happen because it will be my mistake to make! All of this was my mistake to make! I thought I was doing the right thing at first, I really did, but everything just fucking snowballed on me all at once. The fucking cat was crying and I know it was because of Mac and I started to miss him so much I couldn’t breathe or think straight, and then Dylan texted me something nasty—”

  “Oh, Ezra.” Will it ever again be possible for her to say my name without sounding so sad? “I’m sorry. I know it must have been bad, because I know you wouldn’t fall back without something pushing you. But I think we’re too close, and maybe that’s why you didn’t call me. Is it possible you didn’t want me to see you at your worst? I think that might be why friends aren’t supposed to be sponsors.”

  “This is so fucked up, Anja. This is so, so fucked up that you’re telling me this now.” I can’t sift through the betrayal, the abandonment in my brain to know that maybe this really is for the best, and that maybe we just need to be friends and not sponsor/sponsored. Maybe that’s how it always should have been. But I can’t appeal to that higher sense right now. Right now, she’s the enemy. She’s the one giving up on me. Right now, I get to hate her fucking guts.

  “I know it is. And you can hate me all you want. But I’m doing this so you get better, so you don’t end up like this again. You’re so much stronger than you believe you are, and I don’t know how to get that through your head. I’m hoping someone else can.”

  “That’s just a pretty way of saying, ‘I’m giving up on you, you loser.’” I’m unable to keep the spite in my voice in check and maybe not even trying.

  “No! No, that’s not it at all! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears roll down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I snarl. “I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up that you can’t be bothered with me anymore.”

  “Ezra, stop, you know I don’t—”

  “Get out, Anja. Just… go away. Leave me alone.”

  “Ezra, please….”

  “Get. Out.”

  She drops my hand and is out the door so fast, I hear something like an echo of the sob she makes as the door closes behind her. I’m not proud of making her cry. But it’s either her or me. And if it’s going to be her and me, I want her gone before I start.

  ***

  My mother isn’t back for hours after I chase Anja off—I’m guessing she doesn’t want to expose Gemma to me with as volatile as I am right now. I decide to let whoever in, because I can’t possibly be any worse to Jules or Mama A than I was to Anja. But just because I am slowly coming around to understanding why Anja is giving up on me, it doesn’t mean I have to like it. It doesn’t feel like any less of a kick in the ass while I was already down for the count.

  No one comes, not for a while. I’m about to press the call button and ask for something to knock me out so I can sleep the rest of the day when yet another nurse comes bustling in. What the hell is it with this hospital? Why are there so many nurses constantly coming in here? Isn’t there supposed
to be some great nursing shortage?

  It becomes clear she isn’t here to take my temperature or change out my IV, which I probably don’t even need anymore. I’m ready for someone to show me how to navigate some crutches so I can limp out of here with my tail between my legs, but this woman isn’t here to do that, either. I don’t think the first thing an occupational therapy nurse, or really, any nurse, should offer me is to wheel me outside so I can smoke. I sort of want to kiss her.

  I was on my way to get cigarettes, I remember as she wheels me to the elevator. Did I ever end up getting any? The nurse pulls a pack of Marlboros out of her scrubs pocket and hands me one. I’m so desperate for nicotine I won’t dare complain they aren’t my brand. I study her name badge as she holds her lighter up for me to lean the tip my cigarette into the flame. Before I puff out the first acrid drag, I resister her name, Lydia, and her department, Outpatient Rehabilitation Services.

  Rehab. I let the word swirl around in my brain, and I think she’s letting me before she says anything.

  “You’re ready to be discharged any time now, Ezra,” she says like we’ve talked about things like this before as old friends. “Technically, the hospital doesn’t really care if you go out and drink again, so long as you don’t mess up the wrapping job on that leg of yours.” She lights a cigarette of her own, and something tinkles around her wrist—a bracelet with what looks suspiciously like an AA medallion strung on it. Is that a six I see emblazoned on it, or an upside-down nine? It’s not a months chip; it’s one of the lacquered ones that denote years. What must it be like to be sober for that long? Will I ever be sober that long, or am I doomed to repeat my failure every year on Mac’s anniversary, or birthday, or….

  “It has to be your choice what you do next,” she says between drags. “We can’t and won’t make you do anything other than ask you to come back in a few weeks to have your cast taken off. I can answer questions about our rehabilitation programs if you have any, or I can sign off that I spoke with you, and your doctor will release you as soon as you learn how to work a pair of crutches. It’s up to you.”

  In a way, it feels like she’s giving me permission to go out drinking again. And God, is that tempting. I want to skip the hangover, of course, avoid the hospital stay and bills, but to drink just enough until I’m happy and carefree and not hating everything the way I am right now… I ended up missing out on three days of work, so my ass has probably been fired, so that wouldn’t interfere….

  I can’t believe what the hell I’m thinking. I stare at the woman and her half-ash cigarette and realize what clever reverse-psychology she just employed. She wasn’t being lazy or unkind or uncaring… She must get a hundred people to sign up for rehab like this.

  “Pretty sure this fuck-up of mine cost me my job,” I say. “I’m pretty much broke.”

  “We work with everyone from white-collar workers to homeless individuals. Don’t worry about the money, at least, not for a minute or two. Do you want to get clean again?”

  “I don’t want to end up like this again.” It’s true. Sitting in a wheelchair, a sharp breeze drifting up the back of my hospital gown chilling my ass and spine, smoking a cigarette like it’s oxygen—I think this is even worse than being socked in the nose by my twin brother, as far as rock-bottom moments go. “I let everyone I love down. I can’t do that again. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I don’t.”

  “All right then.” She flicks her cigarette into a nearby sand ashtray. “Let’s go back inside so we can talk in private and see if one of our programs might be a good fit.”

  I greedily puff down the end of my own and let her wheel me back in. Something feels lighter, feels less awful. Maybe it’s the nicotine. Or maybe I know that I can be better, if I want to be.

  ***

  It’s only about an hour later when everyone arrives all at once: Constance and all the Almeidas. I’m not sure who I’m more surprised about seeing—Anja or Juliana. I wouldn’t have blamed Anja for never wanting to see me again after how I treated her. The nurse, Lydia, is clearing away the intake paperwork she’s been going over with me, and holds out her hand to shake mine. She says she’ll see me soon and hurries out, letting my whole sordid, strange, wonderful family get a good look at the loser I am right now.

  Mama A rushes to me and kisses my cheeks. She asks again and again if I’m all right, even though it feels like nothing will ever be all right again, I keep telling her that I am because I know that’s what she needs to hear. Mattias and Lukas find chairs near me and drop down into them, their shoulders hunched, their faces tense and nervous. Anja stands by the door, her arms crossed tight over her chest. I can tell she’s still hurt from this morning, but it means a lot to me that she’s there, and that she’s not looking at me like she completely despises me. And that she’s not glaring at me, like Juliana is. It makes me feel about three inches small, but I want to cling to the fact that Jules is here. She’s here when she probably shouldn’t be, not after what I have put her through the last few days.

  “Thanks for coming.” My throat is so dry it’s difficult to talk.

  “We all wanted to see you yesterday, but we get that you weren’t ready,” Lukas says, his own voice surprisingly emotional.

  “You okay, brother?” Mattias asks. Maybe Anja didn’t tell him about the nasty way I spoke to her. He wouldn’t be so concerned if he knew what a dick I was to his wife.

  “I’m fine. I mean, I’m not right now. But I will be. And I’m really sorry.” I look from face to face to face. Mattias and Lukas are still concerned. Anja is still angry, but willing to forgive me. Mama A looks like she’s trying not to cry. Constance is steady, and it soothes me to look at her. I have no idea what Juliana is thinking. It kills me that I don’t know what she’s thinking. But for the next few moments, I can’t let her be the center of my awareness, because she’s far from the only one I’ve hurt. She’s far from the only one I’m about to hurt.

  “I feel like I must have put you through hell this week, disappearing like I did. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry if I had you all worried.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Mattias says. “Not to us.”

  “I need to. I need to explain myself,” I say.

  “It’s okay, brother, really. We’re all just… so happy you’re okay,” Lukas says.

  Constance circles around the bed and sits next to me, her arm snug around my shoulder. “Was that paperwork for…?”

  “Rehab,” I affirm, then look at the other baffled faces staring at me. “The hospital runs an outpatient rehab program. I’m starting it immediately, so this doesn’t happen again.

  "I… I want—no, need to let you all know that I have no hard feelings if this isn’t something you can handle,” I say without a quaver in my voice. I’ve practiced these words over and over in my head as I signed every piece of paper Lydia put in front of me so I could get through them without breaking down. “I love each and every one of you, but I can’t expect you all to stick around, not when it’s gonna be hell. I don’t want to put you through it. I just—if you guys choose to walk away, to not let me be a part of your family anymore, I need you to do it now. That’d be the best way, I think. For me, anyway.”

  Mattias and Lukas and Mama A look between one another, the looks on their faces so confused that they actually startle when Juliana says, “He’s trying to give you all an out.”

  I startle, too. But Juliana knows my ‘out’ speeches. No wonder her voice sounds so bitter.

  “No, I’m letting you all have one,” I say to her.

  The look she shoots back pains me. But I’ve thought about what Anja said this morning good and hard—if this isn’t something Anja can handle, who’s been through it before and knows exactly how hard this will be this time around, I won’t—can’t—expect any of them to sign up for this.

  Lukas looks at his sister, then at everyone else before he stares me down, groans, and rubs his face. “Bullshit. Fucking bullshit.”


  “Lukas!” Mama A starts, but Lukas cuts her off.

  “I’m sorry for my language, Mama, but no, fuck that. Fuck that. You’re my friend, Ezra, all right? You’re practically my second brother and I’m not gonna bail just because you’re sick. I get it, all right? This is a disease, and you’re about to start your own different version of chemo or something, so you’re gonna be tough to swallow for a bit. But family doesn’t bail because shit gets rough. I’m not letting you take off anywhere, no matter what you say,” he says, his face defiantly set.

  “You don’t ever get to ask us to walk away, Ezra. That’s not how this works,” Anja says.

  I feel sobs threaten to overtake my chest. “You didn’t tell them what I did to you this morning, did you?” I say to Anja. “I made her cry, guys. I was angry at myself for fucking up and I took it out on her. Chances are good I’ll do that to all of you, and hell, I might not even have the decency to apologize after. That isn’t okay with me, but I know I’m gonna do it. It’s only gonna get worse. I can’t take it back, but the least I can do for you all is to keep it from happening again. And if I can’t control the terrible things I say and do, I can at least control whether or not I see you.”

  “I did tell them,” Anja says, and there’s her significant look. “But I know why you did it. I can handle it. And it’s not like you’re going to be that way because you want to be. I know how this works, remember? They know how it works because of me. That isn’t what I meant when I told you I can’t be your sponsor, Ezra. It meant I want to be your friend more. We all do.”

  Mattias says, “Look, man, you’re family. You’re in my blood. I’m in. We’re all in.”

  “We can handle you being an asshole. We can’t handle you not being in our lives. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. We’re staying put. You’re not gonna shake us that easy,” Lukas says. He gets up out of his chair and leans down to embrace me. It’s not an awkward guy-hug—it’s a proper embrace. Before I know it, they’re all doing the same thing, until we’re a mass of limbs and IV lines and fresh tears on all of our faces. They’ve forgiven me, even though I probably don’t deserve to be forgiven. It’s extraordinary.