“Whiskey,” I blurt out.
“Damn,” Vilma says. “I miss drinking. Not the hangover part, but right in the middle when you start to feel nice, you know?”
I nod. Why did I have to say that? Now Fran, poor girl, chimes in. “I miss the numbness.”
More people catch onto what we’re talking about. They gather around. What do you miss, River Thomas?
I miss the moment where I wait to see if my bet was a good one. I miss knowing I was right. I miss my friends and my dad and coffee with a kick. I miss my own bed and noisy Manhattan streets and shitty bars and rigged jukeboxes and rude waitresses. I miss wishing I were somewhere else. I can’t share any of these things. I hold them too close to my heart.
“I miss orgasms,” Debbie says.
“I miss the high of not knowing if I’ll live through the night.”
“I miss my kids.”
Ransom nods from across the fire. “I miss my friend.”
“I miss my dad,” I say, and no one is more surprised than I am that I’ll admit that to a group of strangers.
There’s a hush that falls over us. I’ve never been around people like this before. I’ve only surrounded myself with people who understand me. No judgment. Sky and Leti. They always love me and want the best for me. But in their love, even in their toughest love, they couldn’t say no to me. Here, it’s the toughest kind of love because it comes from strangers. Strangers who are going through the same thing as me.
If there was any doubt that I should be here, it’s gone.
Chapter 12
The nights don’t get better. And when I do sleep, the dreams get worse. I see a man with a hideous scar chasing after me. Taylor makes his way into my dreams, too. He mops blood from the floor and calls me “girly.”
Some nights I can hear other girls on my floor crying. It must be loud because the walls are mostly soundproof.
Some nights I walk around the facility. I feel like a ghost wandering around. I’m not exactly supposed to be out of bed.
I walk down the corridor. I’m pretty good at sneaking around and not getting caught. I firmly believe you can’t truly know what goes on in a place unless you see it when the lights are out. It’s like seeing a show behind the scenes or the sausage being made. It might not always be pretty.
Once I saw the writer girl asleep in the computer room. Another time I saw the front desk clerk follow one of the rehab techs into a closet. I haven’t seen anyone sneaking out of the building since that first time. Maybe it was a one-time orgy thing. Who knows what people do out here in the middle of nowhere?
I lie to myself in thinking that I’m not out of bed hoping I’ll bump into Hutch again. I tell myself I just like being awake in the middle of the night. I’ve even gotten used to the taxidermy on the walls, although in the middle of the night it feels like the dead animal heads are watching me. I head down to the kitchen. I wear socks to keep my feet from making any sounds. When I get closer to the cafeteria, I hear a crunching noise. I take another step to the kitchen doors.
Then there’s a shadow walking towards me. I duck behind the garbage can, and try as best as I can to be quiet. My heart thunders in my ears. Taylor comes strolling out of the kitchen with a black bag thrown over his shoulder.
Then Maddie stumbles out after him and loud-whispers, “Wait up!”
She has another black bag over her shoulder. They run into the back of the house.
Now, I can do one of two things: I can go back to my room and try to get sleep, or I can follow them. If they didn’t have garbage bags flung over their shoulders I’d think they were just sneaking off to bone.
Before I can talk myself out of it, but after giving them a good enough head start, I follow Maddie and Taylor out the door.
Stepping into the cold night is almost enough to make me turn around. But the more steps I take through the grassy path, the more I commit. I get a terrible feeling in the pit of my gut. Even with what I’ve seen in my most terrible moments at backroom poker nights, I’m still not ready for what I might see.
What is in those bags? Are they stealing our entire supply of chocolate and Doritos? How bad could it possibly be in Montana?
Have I really spent my whole life thinking that people from the city are worse than people from the middle of nowhere?
Dear River, make better choices.
At least I’ll get to tell Sky that my time here had a little bit of an adventure. Making my way up a hill in the dark to see what the sketchy ranch hand is up to, I realize that if this were a scary movie, as the non-virginal blonde, I’d die. I’d die so dead. And it might not even be the murderer that would kill me. I hear things—animals? I hope they’re animals—making noises nearby. I mean, University of Montana’s mascot isn’t the grizzly bear because there’s only one of them in the area. Did Helen even tell me how many bears were nearby?
I stop moving as I crest a small hill. From up here I can see the dilapidated barn, and a sense of relief washes over me. It’s lit from the inside. If I wait for the wind to blow the right way, I think I can hear music. Suddenly, I know exactly what I’m going to find.
Then I hear voices coming from behind me. I recognize Vilma’s bossy tone and Fran’s panicked whispers. I throw myself onto the ground. I haven’t done this much hiding since I lived with my mother. I forgot what hiding was like until now. I lie perfectly still, hoping the dark and the wild grass will shield me. Luckily, the women seem to be just as preoccupied with the lions and tigers and bears that prowl this countryside as I was. Fran squeals and complains about the dark, and Vilma shushes her, reassuring Fran that they’re going to be fine.
I have to say, I’m a little hurt that I wasn’t invited to this party. But as the new girl, I guess I haven’t been trusted with whatever illegal activities are going on here.
Turn back, the little Sky voice tells me. You won’t find anything good there. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, and I mean that in both the literal and metaphorical sense of things.
All I know is that information is a powerful thing. My daddy knew that. Hell, even Hutch told me that. When the coast is clear, I keep walking toward the barn. I wonder if this can count as my daily hiking activity. (I know, I know—it can’t.) I haven’t had this much exercise since the summer in the city when my train stopped working and I had to walk everywhere for two days.
When I finally make it to the barn, I keep to the outside walls. Vilma and Fran go through the door. The thing is a safety hazard but there’s no point in fixing something that’s supposed to be broken, I guess.
“Splinters!” Fran cries out.
I stumble into something metal—I think it’s a pail. I hiss through the pain in my foot. No one hears me over the terrible hip-hop music, and no one comes out.
What would they do if I just turned up? I find a big enough crack in the wall and crouch down. I feel like a creeper right now. Is this why I came to rehab? To stake out the illicit activities going on under the counselors’ noses? Why am I surprised, really? I think it’s just human nature to break the rules.
I look through the peephole. There’s a wooden slab that passes for a table on top of bales of hay. Not everyone is from the rehab center though. People with gaunt faces lay on heaps of hay, staring at the ceiling. I see everything from joints to bumps being taken from the backs of hands.
Oh, Vilma. Don’t do it.
I’m tired of hurting people. Isn’t that what she said? Does she still mean it?
I’m not one to be all holier-than-thou. I’m not one to judge them. What would I be doing if I had been invited to join?
When I see him, my body is filled with rage. Taylor Patrick. His was the voice I heard on my run. Here, he’s the king of the castle. He pats Maddie on the head as she lays out snacks on the table, along with cartons of cigarettes and other kinds of drugs. The only thing that’s missing is syringes. It’s hard to miss the bulge in his pocket where he keeps shoving money.
He takes a bottl
e of whiskey. The amber color is hazy in the dark. How much does he put away while taking advantage of the people he’s supposed to be helping? How many people are in on this?
I watch Vilma go over to the table where Taylor is holding court. He’s surrounded by girls in ripped shorts and trucker hats. They look like they’re barely out of high school. One of them makes herself a drink in a red Solo cup. I feel like I’m stuck in a country song that doesn’t end well. But do they ever end well?
Vilma looks over her shoulder. She scratches the inside of her wrists. I can’t hear what Taylor is telling her, but I know how this works. First one’s on the house, anywhere you go. He’s giving her a little taste, making sure she’ll come back for more.
I watch her indecision. She shakes her head, then takes one of his cigarettes instead. I want to beat the shit-eating grin off his face. I walk further along the barn wall and come across another hole. This time I see something that makes my heart skip. A poker table.
It looks brand new. The top is properly green, and I can see the plastic on the side of one of the table legs. There are five players. Four bearded dudes sit in a circle, their fat hanging out the sides of their sleeveless shirts. The fifth one chomps down on a cigar. He reminds me of my daddy, just in the way he holds his cards and puffs on that cigar. He doesn’t make much chatter with the other guys at the table. That’s where they’re different.
My daddy might have been a lot of things to a lot of different people, but everyone loved him. I have his blue eyes, and his blonde hair. Some people used to tell us we looked exactly alike, but really I look like my mother.
I want to get closer.
I want to smell the cigar smoke and sit at the table and watch the other players trying to watch me.
Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought.
I can feel my insides waver even more when the dealer starts to shuffle. Crack, shuffle, crack. There’s the small blind and the big blind, and someone else shuffling a second deck. It’s clear they don’t know each other. I bet they’re truck drivers. Except one, who has a gun on his hip in a deep brown leather holster. He’s got tattoos, and an emblem, and for the first time I notice the way his pant leg caves in at the knee. I bet he’s a wounded soldier.
I realize my hands are shaking again.
I press them against the barn walls to stop it.
I start to stand when I see the pothead on the bale of hay looking at me. He squints to make sure I’m not some figment of his imagination.
“Hey!” he shouts at me.
My heart rises to my throat.
“Hey!” He points, trying to get Taylor’s attention, but his words are failing him.
Luckily for me, I’ve already turned around. I run faster and harder than I ever thought I could, and I don’t stop until I’m in my room. I run the shower, strip, and jump under the cold stream, afraid that if I don’t, I might throw everything away for one more game.
Chapter 13
In the morning it feels like a dream. I’m cold, and my hair is still damp. I lie in bed for a long time, replaying last night. The pothead doesn’t know me. Besides, the most he would have seen of me was an eye and maybe part of my face. My eyes feel swollen, but at least my hands aren’t trembling. I’ve never reacted that way to a poker table before. It scares me how much I wanted to deal myself in. It scares me how much I wanted to throw everything away. I even considered giving Taylor my money.
Is my disdain for Taylor the only thing keeping me from gambling?
If that guy hadn’t seen me, what would have happened?
I brush my teeth, then make my way downstairs. I’ve slept through breakfast, and I’m glad not to have to socialize. My skin feels too tight. My head throbs from all sorts of withdrawal. I pace around the first floor, unable to figure out what I want to do. It’s my day off from sessions. I could go to the art room, where Vic from Iowa (cocaine and fire) is working on a clay sculpture. Or the library, where Linnette from California (alcohol) is working on her novel. I could go and get a riding lesson from Jillian, the equine instructor. I could go back to my room and hide under my covers until these feelings stop taking over my body.
“River!” Helen shouts at me from the entrance.
“Hey.” I walk over to her.
“What are you doing?”
I shake my head and try to put on a smile. “Trying to find something to do.”
“Great. Go put some boots on. We’re going hiking.”
I look down at my feet, then back at her. “Do you really think I own hiking boots?”
Five minutes later, I run back downstairs in my black, clunky military boots. I got them at Trash & Vaudeville back home. I feel incredibly out of place in my denim shorts and Fleetwood Mac T-shirt. Everyone else is in polo shirts and khaki shorts and Timberlands.
Except for Hutch. He’s in cargo pants that highlight his massive calves and big leather boots. His T-shirt is white and well worn, and there’s already a wet splotch on the chest where he’s sweating. He looks me up and down and smirks. I want to lick that smirk.
“You guys are a fanny pack away from a Park Ranger cult,” I say.
“Let’s go, Joan Jett,” Helen says. I think if she could pull me by the ear, she would.
Despite some side-eyes and general glares at my short shorts, I think this is going over pretty well.
On the way out, we pass Taylor. He’s on his smoke break. He waves at everyone leaving, and promises Helen that he’s going to work on the leak in the men’s bathroom. I do my best to avoid looking at his face. If I look at him, my rage from last night will return.
“Bye River,” Taylor tells me.
I can’t help but look at him. It’s a natural reflex when someone calls your name in public. He smiles. I decide I don’t like his smile. It’s artificial. It’s makes his face squish together from trying too hard. He doesn’t call anyone else’s name, just mine. I give him the cool-person nod, and walk a little bit faster to catch up to the others.
Once we’re out of Taylor’s sight, I drag behind. Mostly because I’m tired from yesterday, but also because I keep stopping to marvel at the nature. Growing up surrounded by concrete, where the only bits of grass are in designated rectangular patches on the sidewalk, I’m amazed at everything I see. In New York, nature is sectioned off by blocks. Here, nature is wild. It reaches high into the sky. The trees and branches look like they’re waking up from a long sleep and stretching. Birds fly freely, openly. Animals look at us like we don’t belong.
Julie falls behind the group and walks beside me. “I didn’t bring hiking boots either.”
I laugh. “See? I’m not the only one.”
She smiles meekly, then glances at Hutch. That’s the reason she’s here. She’s got the biggest crush on him. I want to tell her that it’s not going to end well, but I should be telling myself the same thing too.
I realize Julie and I have one thing in common. She wasn’t invited to last night’s barn black market either. I wonder if she knows anything about it.
“I heard you last night,” she says. “I stopped crying after the third week. You’ll get there.”
Was I that loud or was she listening at my door?
I nod silently, then hop over a fallen log. “What was the one thing that made you cry?”
“Missing my family mostly. I know they hate me now. I messed up too many times. After a while, people stop having hope that you’ll get better. That’s the one thing I wish I could get back. Not even for me, but for them.”
It’s hard to believe that Julie is only nineteen. I’m twenty-four going on twenty-five, but sometimes it feels like I’m going on a hundred. I feel old and hard and withered and I don’t know how to make it stop.
“What about you?” she asks. “What were you missing?”
Whatever I tell her, it’s going to end up snaking its way through whomever she speaks to. Some people just can’t help it. Some people just need to speak and don’t realize that they might be hurti
ng someone in the process.
“My dad,” I say.
She pats my back. We’ve fallen behind quite a bit now. The trail is harder, and my breathing gets rougher the steeper the incline. My thigh muscles burn from sprinting last night, but at least there’s a cool breeze.
Hutch turns around and walks over to get us. He’s got a backpack full of granola bars and water bottles. His skin is shiny with sweat, and the closer he gets, the more I can smell it. I hate being sweaty, but I like being sweaty with him.
“You ladies okay?” he asks.
“Is he talking to us?” I ask Julie. “Where are these ladies he’s talking to?”
Julie blushes scarlet, and walks past us like there’s a fire at her heels.
I bite my lip. “See what you did?”
“Me?” He turns around to walk beside me. “What did I do?”
“Don’t even.”
“How can I even without knowing what I did?”
I look at him from the corner of my eye, but don’t turn my face. “A blind man can see that girl has the biggest crush on you.”
He shakes his head. “River.”
“I’m just telling the truth. It’s not like it’s a secret.”
“Is there anything I can do to let her down gently?”
“Give her a new counselor? Slice up your face to make yourself hideous? Stop being so understanding and kind? You know, be a regular man.”
“I am a regular man.” There’s a branch in the way, and he pushes it down to let me walk first.
“The fact that you think you’re a regular, normal man tells me that you live in some sort of fabricated world that isn’t real.”
“The fact that you don’t think this is regular man behavior tells me—”
“That I live in the real world?”
“Are you always so contrary?”
“What do you think?”
He turns to look at me. I can feel his dark eyes searching my face, but I won’t look at him. Looking at him does funny things to me. Looking at him will throw me back into a tailspin of missing something that was never mine to begin with. I made the choice. I picked him, and when it was over, I left him.
Life on the Level: On the Verge - Book Three Page 7