She still gives little to nothing in group and I don’t think she offers much more in her private sessions. But everyone saw. Everyone knows. Whatever questions they had about her private thoughts or her relationships; they’re all out in the open now. They’re not more lenient on her, but she doesn’t frustrate Stacey or Chuck as much now that they have a better understanding.
“If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”
We’re sitting on a blanket outside, watching some geese play on the property. We attend year round school here, but are allowed weeks for a break. This is one of the breaks.
“Anywhere?” I repeat Celia’s question and she nods. “Hmm. Probably somewhere in Europe. Or maybe South America. I’ve always wanted to go there. What about you?”
“The Maldives or something. Well, I think I’d want to be in a place where it snows at Christmas but is beautiful and warm during the summer.” She’s got a sweet smile on her face as she says this. It’s been a rough few weeks so I’m glad to see her looking more at ease. Her hair is down for the first time since I’ve met her and it’s absolutely beautiful. It’s long, past her waist and golden and soft. I’ve been playing with a strand while we sit and talk. “Do you think we’ll keep in touch after we get out of here?”
I look at her closely. While the easy smile is still there, I hear sadness in her tone. I turn eighteen months before her. I can escape before she can. I haven’t told her yet, because she thinks I’m running the moment I can, but I won’t leave without her. I don’t really have a home to go back to. College, at least the sports part is out for me. I can still attend, since I take classes here and I’m sure I could get financial aid being on my own, but going back to the house I grew up in has no appeal to me. And I am pretty damn certain my parents don’t want me coming back.
Celia really has nowhere to go once she’s done. I don’t know her plan, since we’re still a year away from it being enacted, but I know I’ll follow wherever she decides to go. Be it college, the Maldives, or somewhere with snow at Christmas and sun in the summer.
“Of course we will.” She looks at me with disbelief written all across her face. We’re…dating. At least dating as much as we can in a place like this.
We can’t actually go anywhere and our routine hasn’t really changed. We still eat together, and sometimes that means we eat by ourselves. We hold hands. We kiss and try to make out when we can sneak somewhere mostly private. I will admit that in the last six months, since our first kiss, I have on several instances required a change of clothes from those make out sessions. We’re not typical, so our relationship isn’t either. But I’m okay with that.
“You don’t think we will?”
“I don’t know.” She’s picking at a string on her shirt. Or I should say, my shirt. We are required to do our own laundry here, teaches us responsibility and whatnot. Since I’d never done laundry myself before arriving here, I accidently shrunk some of my clothes. Because of that, and the fact I wanted to see Cecelia wearing my clothes, she now has possession of a couple shirts.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“You have possibilities, Chace. Opportunities. And I…don’t, exactly. I just feel like if we continue to even know each other after we leave this place, I’ll just drag you down.”
I feel anger, hot and fast, spread through me. Gripping her chin, firmly but without hurting her, I make her look at me. “Cecelia Santos, there is no possible way for you to bring me down. Ever.” I make my tone forceful. She needs to understand this. “I have the same opportunities that you do. My parents won’t welcome me back. I’m sure my Trust is frozen so it’s not like I have cash. I mean if I were to go to college, I’d need to apply for financial aid, same as you.
“So don’t act like I’m better than you.” I know that’s really what it boils down to. Her father’s words managed to make her doubt herself. Prick. “I go where you go. I follow where you lead. Celia, I…shit. Cecelia, you are my whole world
Just like in our first kiss, her breath catches. I see the sparkle of a tear slide down her face and her mouth gaping. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t want to be without you.”
“Me either,” she cries. “I’m just so scared, Chace.”
“I know, baby. I know.” I pull her against me for a hug. The counsellor’s are more lenient on our physical contact since her father’s outburst too. Though we can’t hug for long. “I’m scared too. But we have time. We’ll figure it out. I’m not going anywhere. You’re kinda stuck with me now.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
A few days later, after finding a way to sneak off during a volleyball game, Celia and I give each other our virginities to go with our declarations and promises.
It was beautiful and a disaster and quick and amazing and I wouldn’t trade anything about it for the world.
NINE
I look at the clock on the wall. Watch the minutes tick by slowly. Feel my belly churn.
“I really hate to do this, especially with the holidays coming up. But we’re gonna have to cut staff down. This winter has been too rough on business. Once the weather warms, we’ll hopefully be able to get you all back, but for now, I don’t have any other choice. Think of it as a furlough.”
Mack, my – now former – boss is expounding his deepest regrets at laying off myself and ten others. It’s mid-October. Not yet Halloween. And I’ve lost my job. I barely made enough to cover rent as it is, leaving practically little for food or toiletries, let alone anything extravagant, and now I don’t even have that.
I focus on the part where he says he hopes he’ll be able to get us all back, but I hear the bullshit as though it were spelled out. He may talk about bringing us back. He may act like it’s an option, but I know I will never see him or a paycheck with his signature again. I’m low on the list of importance in this company. I help shovel gravel, my kind are a dime a dozen. There’s no special skill in sweeping to make the road even. Not when the job descriptor stated “no experience necessary” to begin with.
“I wish you all the best.”
I walk out of the conference room, my head low as a million and one thoughts run through my mind. I made just enough at this job to get by. I can’t ask anyone for help. I don’t exactly have a whole list of contacts who can spot me even a dollar for a day. Since moving to Chicago two years ago, the people I’ve met, the relationships I’ve formed haven’t included those in the upper echelon of society. They’re all hard workers just trying to get by, too. And it’s definitely not like I can call mommy and daddy for a loan.
The moment I left rehab – no – the moment I was discovered, they turned their backs on me. Add in the fact that I stuck around a few months after turning eighteen until Celia was legal to leave, and they really shit themselves. Even after they found out Cecelia’s father and his family had a decent amount of bank, they still turned up their nose to her. She was beneath them. I mean I was beneath them, but if I found a respectable girl to lust after, at least the embarrassment wouldn’t be so tragically overwhelming. Fuck me for falling for a recovering addict, and all that.
So, I don’t have anyone I can ask for help from. And after rehab, I’ve learned its okay to ask for help sometimes. But I don’t have that luxury.
I don’t really have experience for another field either. I have my high school diploma, but I can’t get financial aid like I thought I’d be able to, I haven’t been able to go to college like I had thought about. Apparently I need my parents information, and since dad’s a doctor and mom is a paralegal, both making a good lump of money every year, I don’t qualify. The woman at the agency didn’t understand why I didn’t just have them pay my way. She also couldn’t understand parents not giving a damn about their kids.
I wish I lived in her delusional world where everything is sunshine and fucking daisies and parents love their kids no matter what.
So, no college and no real skills other than the od
d construction jobs, with “no experience necessary” that I’ve been able to pick up. And with Mack letting a bunch of us go, I’m pretty damn certain every other company in this city isn’t looking to hire.
I am fucked.
Since coming to this city, things have not gotten better even though we’d hoped they would.
Worse yet, Celia’s no better off. Though she has a job, it’s probably the worst place for her to be. The only job Celia’s been able to find after her last job went belly-up is at Teet, a literal cheap imitation of Hooters. The girls wear little to nothing, booty shorts and small bikini tops, and my stomach turns over every time she has to go into work. I hate the way her eyes deaden every time she her shift comes up. I’ve gone a few times, just to make sure no one is messing with her, but it’s the degradation of the girls, the way the owner seems to take advantage of their looks, allowing customers to make crude comments, to touch and attempt that makes my blood boil. And I can’t do anything about it.
As I walk to my locker to clean it out, I think of ways I can make some cash just to get through the next few weeks at least. Can’t donate blood, a couple tats are too recent. I have no personal items I can pawn. I have, however, met a lot of people since we moved to Chicago. Not all of them are hardworking, decent members of society. Some are less than savory. I know I could probably find a way to sell drugs if it really came down to it, but I don’t want to put that temptation in front of Cecelia. She may not have been an addict in the traditional sense, absolutely needing it, but she does have her moments, same as me, where she craves.
I also don’t want to do anything that puts me in a potential situation to be thrown in jail.
I’m not paying attention to the conversation around me, gathering what little personal shit I have here, until I hear the magic word: money.
“I heard Ace fought last week, won, and managed to walk away with a grand for it.”
“No shit? How’d he get hooked up with that?”
I start listening closely, wanting to hear for myself how to go about getting in on this.
“I don’t know, some guy named Blip or something. You gotta know where to look for clues to find the locations. I’ll ask him tomorrow when he comes in for his shift.”
Fuck! I want to punch my locker. There’s no way I can be here to find out the information I find I desperately need. But I know these two guys don’t know I’m out yet. If I play it cool, I may have a shot. “Hey, Smith? See if you can get me that info too, man.”
“Hey, Chace, no problem.”
“Thanks. So listen I won’t be in the next few days, so maybe text it to me if you can?”
“You got it.” My – former – coworker agrees and after waiting for everyone clear out of the room, I leave. I’m not hopeful. For all I know he’ll forget or not find anything out. But I have to hold on to a little bit of faith because it’s all I got left.
For the first time in a few years, walking away from my job, I want a drink. I want to forget the day and not have to think or feel anything. I want that feeling I had when I was a sixteen and could drink or pop a pill to erase the world for a few hours.
I still feel this way when Celia knocks on my apartment door a few hours later looking for all the world like she’s ready to fall apart.
“Baby?”
“Oh god, Chace,” she sobs and falls against me.
We go to my room. I want quiet. No disruptions and I know my roommates are probably due home any minute.
“What happened?”
“I no longer have a job.”
“You quit?”
She laughs and it’s bitter. “Ha! No. I was fired.”
“What? Why?”
Lifting her left hand, I see red and blue forming on her knuckles. “Some guy tried touching. Well, touching more than most and I punched him.” She flexes her hand, hissing at the sting of cracked skin. “I was told if I couldn’t play nice to get the fuck out and stop being a fucking tease. What am I going to do?”
“Probably the same thing as me,” I state and then elaborate at her confusion. “I was laid off today too. Not enough work for us all. Tossed ten of us out.”
“Fuck.”
“Tell me about it.” I rest my head on her shoulder as we sit on my bed. I watch the rise and fall of her breasts under her tight sweater covering the bikini top. I can barely make out the outline of the bars that run through her nipples and I find the situation depressingly funny. I’m always so fucking horny around Celia. Just thinking a random thought about her can make me hard. But not this day. I feel so down, for myself, for her, that even my libido is off. “All I could think about on the train home was having a drink. I just want to forget today.”
“Me too. Well, I wasn’t thinking about a drink.” I lift my head and look at her. She’s fidgety. I’ve never seen her fidgety before. My stare must pose a question because she pulls out an explanation. “My skin feels like it’s itching from the inside and there isn’t anything I can do to scratch it. I haven’t felt like this since I was in need of a hit.”
I run a finger along her arms, tracing the blue veins and nod my understanding. I don’t like where my thoughts are headed, but my mouth speaks before I can evaluate the words. “What would do if you got one?”
“What do you mean?”
I don’t know what I mean. Not really. What I’m thinking isn’t rationale for people like us. But I feel like I’m drowning right now. And I just want a chance to take a breath. “Take the stress away. The struggle of what’s next. Would you do it?” I see her hesitate and I don’t need her to verbally answer me. “I don’t want to feel anything. I don’t want to think about anything anymore.”
“I’d do anything if you’re with me.”
Two weeks pass. We avoid temptation and try to stay on the straight and narrow. We both search for jobs but again, with our lack of experience, no one really wants to hire. Even Celia’s waitressing experience isn’t proving fruitful, though I think part of it may be her work history working against her. Potential employers see Teet and look the other way. Assholes.
I don’t really know what to do at this point.
The depression I felt at losing my job, it’s doubled. Halloween is coming up and my roommates want to throw a party. They don’t know about my stint in rehab. No one does, really. I’ve been able to keep that to myself. They don’t know who my family is or that they have money. Everyone I know here just thinks I’m some twenty-year old broke guy like the rest of them. I’m not really planning on clearing anything up. But they plan on having alcohol. I’ve let Frankie, the first friend I made after moving to Chicago, and Brock, his brother know I lost my job, but only because they’re my roommates. Thank god I had some money saved from my last check to pay rent.
Still, since they don’t know about my problem with alcohol, they intend to have a shit load of it in our apartment. Celia worries about me when I tell her about the party, but then we both remember our conversation about wanting to forget.
Even though Halloween is on a Saturday this year, the party is held the weekend before. The night of, there are probably more than fifty people crammed into the small space I call home. I know maybe a handful of them. Liquor is flowing. Girls are dressed up in the sluttiest nun, nurses, and French Maid costumes they could come up with, and most of the guys are dressed as the same thing: a pimp. Because of my low cash flow, and because I’m not in a partying mood, I’m dressed as Clark Kent. Celia is Lois Lane and looks so fucking hot in her pencil skirt and silk blouse with peep toe pump shoes.
We’ve mostly hung out in the kitchen, sipping covertly Coke that most are assuming has Jack in it. Tech N9ne blares through the speakers in the living room as some people try to dance while others chat or make out in any available space. It feels like high school all over again. I’m very much over this scene.
I can smell the booze, the way the mixtures linger in the air above the perfumes and bodies. I want a drink but I’m trying to be good.
<
br /> After an hour of dealing with annoying drunks, Celia and I make our way outside to the hallway. It’s not much quieter, but it’s definitely cooler. We’re sitting on the steps, leaning against the railing, when I hear the door open and Frankie’s booming voice yelling at someone.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Bring fucking drugs to sell at my party, at my house? Get the fuck out of here, dickwad, before I kick your ass.”
He slams the door as fast as he opened it and a tall, but lanky guy stumbles almost on top of us. We barely get out of his way before he tumbles down the stairs. Celia and I both watch as he makes his way down the three flights before looking at each other. Our previous conversation passes through her eyes and I feel a surge of energy.
Rising, I motion for her to stay. I’ve got a baseball cap on and thick black frame glasses, so I’m not too identifiable, but Celia is. Rushing down the stairs, I catch up with guy just as he’s turning the handle on the door to leave the lobby and head outside. “Hey, wait!”
“Jesus, I’m not selling to your party. Get over yourself,” he shouts back, his hand turning the knob and stepping into the crisp late fall air.
I rush after and grab his shoulder to stop him. “Woah there,” I say as he aims to swing at me. “I’m not who you think I am. But I did hear what he said.”
“And? What of it?”
I shift back and forth, awkward on how to go about this. Alcohol is so much easier to get ahold of. I almost regret not having Cecelia help me. Almost. “What do you got? And for how much?”
Time seems to stand still as he stares at me. Several different looks cross his face. Incredulous, irritation, shock, and then finally intrigue and smugness. “What are you after?”
“Something to take the edge off, man.”
It’s not alcohol. And it’s not heroin. It’s coke – not the kind we had been drinking. And it’s supposed to be pure. But I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is letting it wash away everything that’s gone wrong. I walk away with a shoddy handwritten “business” card and two grams of cocaine. My pocket is one hundred buckets lighter as the guy, Hagen, decided to give me “new client” discount or some bullshit.
The Bitter (Addiction #1) Page 7