Blow

by McLaughlin, Heidi

  “It was nice, Bodhi. You can take credit for doing something nice for someone. Susan is your friend.”

  “She’s not my friend, I told you that. I don’t want any friends from here. It’s not like I’m going to come back here for a reunion or exchange phone numbers with anyone. Outside of here they’ll only want to be my friend because of my connections. The only thing we have in common is that we’re addicts.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I want to take them back. Kimberly looks like I’ve just popped the balloon she got from the fair. She sees things so differently than I do. She lives in a world where everyone helps one another, whereas my world is about who is going to scratch your back and whose ass you need to kiss.

  Kimberly turns abruptly and walks away, leaving me standing on the dock. I hate watching her leave. Suddenly I realize that she thinks I meant to include her in my comment about people wanting to be my friends only because of my connections.

  “Kimberly, wait,” I call, loving the way her name sounds as it comes out of my mouth. I rush up to her and step in front of her, halting her movement. “What I said back there isn’t entirely true. You’re my friend. I mean, I think of you as one and want to stay in touch with you, but these others . . .” I pause and shake my head. “We don’t fit into each other’s worlds. Hell, you probably don’t fit either, but I want you to.”

  “We’re different,” she says, stating the truth.

  I shrug. “Who gives a fuck? Opposites attract and all that shit. The other night felt pretty fucking good if you ask me.”

  She blushes and I love it. I pull her close, only to realize people are probably watching. “Is there a place we can go?”

  Kimberly shakes her head and avoids making eye contact with me. I run my hand through my hair as a flood of emotions starts to take over. The thought of never getting to see her again sends a gut-wrenching pain through my body. I know it’s been only a little over a week and the circumstances suck shit, but I have to tell her. She has to know what I’m feeling.

  “I want to see you outside of here, show you the world I live in and have you experience the glitz and glam of Hollywood and the music world. I know you probably think we’re all screwed up, and maybe we are, but you’re teaching me how to be a better person. I know what I did for Susan was a good thing, but I didn’t do it so people could make a big deal about it. I did it because she’s trying to get better and has no one in her corner once she leaves here. I can’t imagine that. I can’t fathom what it must be like not to have a support system when you walk out of rehab. She needs that. I’m just in a position, because of who my parents are and what I do for a living, to give that to her. Whether she takes me up on it or not is yet to be seen.

  “But you . . . you’re important to me. So important that I can’t think straight sometimes, because I have so much fear that if I leave here I’ll never see you again. I’ve dreamt about you from the first night I was here. The other day, when you took me riding, you shocked the shit out of me, but the way you made me feel, giving yourself to me like that . . .” I shake my head. “Fuck, Kim, that was the sexiest thing I have ever done. So what’s my alternative? To keep using so that I can see you? Or pray that you’ll come see me when I’m out of here?”

  The way she looks at me, with the moon casting a glow on us, makes it seem like we’re in the middle of a movie set. The only thing missing is the cheesy music put over the clip to alert the viewers that a kissing scene is coming up.

  Kiss her.

  I lean forward, listening to my heart, and press my lips against hers. They’re soft and mold to mine perfectly. I step toward her, closing the gap, and place my hand on her hip, bringing her forward just a hair. My tongue reaches out to test her willingness to kiss me, gliding along her lower lip. She places her hands on my chest and her fingers brush over my skin, sending shock waves to my core. And the burn . . . the burn I felt from the moment I shook her hand is there and it’s strong. I have never believed in fate or destiny, but maybe that burning feeling is a sign that this is the right path for us.

  This kiss is different from what happened the other day. That one was rushed, our hunger for each other playing out. Tonight I’m trying to show her that I can be sensitive and romantic. I can kiss her under the moonlight if that’s what she needs.

  “Stop,” she says, pushing me away. I do as she asks, not wanting to upset her.

  “I’m not sorry I did that, Kim.”

  “I know, and I’m not sorry you did that either, but you’re a patient here and it’s not right.”

  “What about when I’m not a patient? What about outside these imaginary walls when we’re adults in the world?”

  She shakes her head and places her fingers over the lips I just kissed. “I don’t know, Bodhi. You’re a risk and . . . I just don’t know.”

  Kim leaves me standing on the hillside, watching as she walks away.

  Ten

  Bodhi

  I haven’t been able to get that kiss out of my mind since it happened. The setting was almost picture-perfect, with the moonlight, the pond rippling behind us, and the faint sound of an owl hooting off in the distance. The only problem is that we’re at a rehab facility, I’m a patient, and she’s an employee. Not just any employee, but the owner’s daughter. The odds are stacked against us. I’m in a situation that I don’t know how to control. I want Kim in every way possible, and I don’t know if I’m going to get what I want this time.

  “Good morning, Bodhi.”

  “Morning, Dr. Rosenberg.” I’ve grown fond of the good doc, but I’m still fearful of her office. Even though I don’t remember everything from my paranoid episode, the eerie feeling I had is still there when I meet her in her office. Not to mention that I can’t look at the picture of the ladybug on her wall without a panic attack starting. So we meet in my room now.

  We’re allowed to decorate our rooms, and some of the people here have pretty nice rooms. Mine is bare, with nothing on the walls and no mementos from home. I don’t want to feel like this place is so comfortable that I never want to leave, so it’s best that everything just stay at my place.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” I tell her honestly. This is my third week here, and I’m finally over the urge to snort anything. If the bloody noses, which I experienced a few more of in the first week here, weren’t enough to get me to stop, Kim, Susan, and my parents are.

  “I see your father came to visit again. How are things progressing with the two of you?”

  I nod. “He did,” I say. One thing I learned about talking to someone like Dr. Rosenberg is that I hold a lot of resentment and anger toward my father and I didn’t realize it. I’ve held a grudge about my lack of a real childhood, all the things I would’ve like to have done with my dad that kids from school did—play football, catch a baseball game, even going out for ice cream—but which I never got to do. But my resentment goes deeper than that. I’ve realized that I feel like I was abandoned as a child, left to be raised by nannies or having to make an appointment to see him. “I never thought I’d have to do something life-threatening and stupid in order to get my dad to notice me.”

  Dr. Rosenberg puts her pen down and looks at me. “Remember when we spoke about putting yourself down? How about you tell me what you just said, but put a positive spin on it?”

  This is the part of therapy that I don’t like: always being positive. Sometimes your actions in life are just negative and you deal with it. Not everything has to be sunshine and puppy dogs. I take a deep sigh and try to think of a way to compliment my father instead of insult him, even though he’s not here.

  “I can’t do it. What I said is the truth. I can’t sugarcoat it or pretend like I had this amazing childhood, because I didn’t. Sure, I was spoiled, traveling the world, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that my parents were gone a lot. My friends Brayden and Carson are always talking about their families, and I don’t have the same type of stories they do. That makes y
ou take a hard look at your life. And when that hard look is fucking ugly, you start trying to numb that shit so you don’t have to look anymore.” I take another deep breath and center myself. “I think my actions, as stupid as they were, have opened their eyes, and part of me doesn’t want to be sorry for that.”

  Dr. Rosenberg doesn’t say anything, but scribbles on her pad of paper. She writes furiously, pausing only to flip the page. I can’t imagine what she’s saying about me. With my luck, she’s going to recommend me for a longer stay.

  If that happens, I don’t know what I’ll do. Rebel has been kind enough to send, through my father, new music that I have to learn. We’re still scheduled to play at the movie awards a few weeks from now, and this is the song she wants us to learn. So far I’ve looked at the lyrics only a few times, not wanting to stress myself out while I’m here.

  “Let’s talk about when you leave here. What will change for you?”

  This is a tough one. I rub my hands down the front of my pants, gripping my legs in the process to remind myself that I’m here, I’m alive.

  “Aspen has to change. I hate that I’m losing my friend, but it’s for the best, at least until we’re strong enough on the outside to deny the urges. I don’t know where she went. I was letting her live in my house, but she left the night my dad staged the intervention.”

  “Is she your only trigger?”

  I shake my head. “Exhaustion was my trigger, and Aspen had the answer. It snowballed from there.” I try not to laugh at the pun, because honestly, it’s not funny. “I have to know when enough is enough and speak up.”

  “Right, Bodhi. And what will you do when you feel an urge to medicate?”

  “Call you or Dr. Gordon. Either one of you will always take my call.”

  “That is one step, yes, but there are others. Remember we talked about walking away and doing something else, or recalling the paranoia. That usually isn’t a coping method that I like to suggest, but it seems to work with you.”

  “Yeah, I don’t need a reminder.” I smile at her, letting her know the ladybugs are fresh in my mind.

  “Do you plan to share in the group today?”

  I shake my head. I haven’t shared yet, and today doesn’t seem any more likely.

  “I wish you would. It’s good to get support from your peers.”

  I don’t argue with her like I did with Kimberly. It’s not worth the lecture. They’re not my peers, and aside from Susan, I don’t talk to anyone. I keep to myself. I do my chores. And I wait for Kim. My alone time is spent on the bench either sitting next to Susan or by myself.

  “Bodhi, I want to tell you that I’m really proud of the progress you’ve made. It doesn’t matter how long you were addicted; the fact of the matter is that you’ve been trying, and trying is very important.”

  “Thanks,” I say as Dr. Rosenberg leaves my room, ending my session. I’m trying not to count how many sessions I have left because that means I won’t see Kimberly every day anymore, but damn if I’m not ready to go home.

  No, that’s not entirely true. Physically I may be ready, but mentally . . . I’m still wavering.

  “What are you doing?”

  I look up at the sound of Kimberly’s voice and watch her walk toward me.

  “Learning this song.”

  She sits down in the grass next to me, crossing her bare legs underneath her. I have to look away because impure thoughts race through my mind about what I’d like to do with those legs of hers.

  “Is it a good one?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I say with a shrug. “Sometimes we get songs that we think are good and we record them, only to have them turn out like shit.”

  “Do you like being in the group?”

  I put the lyrics down so I can focus on her. This is something new for me. Before coming here I would’ve kept reading and offered only one-word answers. But Kimberly is important to me, and I have to find out how I’m going to keep her in my life.

  “I do. I love it. The guys, Brayden and Carson, they’re like my brothers.”

  “But the drugs?”

  Shaking my head, I pull my knees to my chest. “It’s not just the drugs. There’s drinking. We party a lot. A lot of people think it’s because we have nothing better to do, but that’s not true. The industry sets up all these events, and they pay us to make appearances, to have our photos taken.”

  “How has your absence been explained?”

  I shrug, not really sure. “I think the cover was a long vacation. I don’t really know. Our manager is tough, but she pushes us to be the best. It’s paid off, you know, aside from the initial exhaustion and my poor choices.”

  Kim stops with the questions after that response and we sit in silence, watching the people around us.

  Eventually she asks, “Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

  I can’t help but laugh because I’d go anywhere she wanted me to. “I think you know the answer to that question.” I stand and offer her my hand, a sneaky way to hold her hand without anyone being suspicious of my actions. Even after she stands, I hold on a bit longer than would be deemed normal and wait for her to pull away. I enjoy the way my body feels when I touch her, even in the most innocent ways. When she looks up at me through her blond locks, I see in her eyes that she likes the way our hands feel together.

  Reluctantly she lets go and starts walking. We stroll past the horse barn and toward the field of wildflowers. She pauses when we come to a shed and asks me to wait outside. I do, but am curious as to why. Does she think I’ll put the moves on her in there? Or maybe she knows I will. I wouldn’t even hesitate to kiss her in that shed, where no one can see us.

  Kimberly emerges with something large in her hand, covered by a blanket. “Follow me,” she says, and instead of heading into the wildflowers, she turns and takes one of the trails into the woods. We come to an open spot, where it looks like there have been a few campfires.

  “My dad uses this for his outside therapy sometimes. He likes to get away from the house and let his patients yell if they need to.”

  “Makes sense,” I say, reaching for the blanket, but she moves away from me.

  “Turn around and close your eyes,” she demands with a smile. I do as she says and contemplate looking over my shoulder to peek. I’m praying that she’s undressing and wonder if I should start taking off my clothes as well.

  “Okay, you can look now.”

  I turn around to find her standing next the blanket holding a guitar, still clad in her clothes. The grin on her face tells me that this is supposed to be a good thing, and I don’t have the heart to tell her I can’t play. Hell, I have zero talent.

  “I bought this for you. I know your group doesn’t play instruments, but I thought that once you leave here you could use the guitar and music writing as a form of therapy.”

  This is one of those moments in life where I should rush to her, scoop her up, and twirl her around before planting a kiss on her lips. Except we’re not having any of those moments . . . yet.

  I run my hand through my hair, which is longer than I’m used to, and shake my head slowly. “I can’t play,” I tell her as I shrug. “I can play the piano a little bit, but that’s it.”

  “I know. I asked your dad. I’m going to teach you.”

  “You are?”

  She nods. “Come sit down. Let me show you.”

  I do as she says and take a seat on the blanket. I’m expecting her to sit next to me, so when she sits on my lap, I’m shocked. My hands are suspended in midair because I don’t know where to put them, and she’s wiggling in my lap, causing a few issues that I really can’t deal with here.

  “Put your hands on mine.”

  I rest my head on her shoulder so I can see what I’m doing and try to pretend she’s not sitting on my lap with her perfectly shaped ass pressing against my growing erection. As soon as my fingers come in contact with hers, mine tingle with anticipation. My whole body is in flames and alive
with energy. I love this feeling. This is enough to sustain me. To remind me why I don’t need coke in my life.

  “This is E major—you put your fingers here and here,” she says, moving my fingers into place before strumming. The sound is lost on me because I can’t get over the fact that she’s sitting in my lap.

  “Where did you learn to play?” My words come out as more of a whisper than I intend, giving her pause.

  “The Web. Sometimes I get bored here and want to try new things.” While I’m pressing the strings for E major, she’s playing a little song and singing out loud. I don’t know if it’s to me or what, but it’s beautiful.

  She shows me another chord, this time placing my fingers where she wants them. I can’t stop looking at her and marveling how beautiful she is. Now I know why my father has reserved that word for my mother when he talks about her. Kimberly’s beauty runs deep in her soul.

  “You should sing something,” she says, causing me to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

  “I really can’t sing.”

  She looks at me quizzically, and I shrug. “What do you mean, you can’t sing? You’re part of the hottest group in the world. I hear you sing all the time!”

  How do you know when you’ve fallen for someone? You tell them the most embarrassing stories about your life and you do it with no fear.

  “It’s called Auto-Tune. I can sing, but it’s not great. And the fact that you listen to Virtuous Paradox is really fucking hot.”

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say.” She starts laughing.

  “The music industry isn’t what you think,” I say, slipping my hands under her shirt so they rest on her skin. I’m not going to give up trying to get her. I can’t. She’s my new fucking drug.

  “But you do sing?”

  “Yes, just not well,” I admit.

  “Interesting.” She returns her focus to teaching me the chords. I purposely mess up just so I can get her to stop and look at me. When she starts playing a song that I know, I start singing, only to have her stop and start laughing. Now this could be a turning point for us. I could take the laughing as a sign that I completely suck, or a sign that I can make her laugh. I’m going for the latter until she tells me otherwise.