Reprieve

by A. E. Woodward

  I reached down and unbuttoned my pants and shimmied out of them leaving myself only in my bra and panties. “I think it’s pretty clear what my needs are.” I moved to kiss him but he pulled back, away from me. My answer clearly wasn’t good enough.

  “I wanna hear you say it.”

  Swallowing my last morsel of pride, I ground down against him and said, “I need you to get me off.”

  That was all it took.

  In a flash I was on my back, his hands tearing my panties away from my body, the noise reverberating against the walls. He pushed his own pants down, his erection springing free and with one swift move, he was between my legs. I winced in pain. As with many guys, he hadn’t checked to see if I was really ready, happy to simply take me at my word, and my body didn’t have time to adjust to him before he started pounding into me. It was everything sex shouldn’t be. It was empty, awkward. Painful, wrong. There was no romance. No kissing. No eye contact. Just empty, meaningless sex.

  He continued to slam into me, over and over again, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I were able to use my hands to block out the sound of his grunts. Hoping that it would be over fast. His breathing got faster and I thought the end was near, until he stopped and pulled himself out. My eyes opened to see his, sweeping hungrily my body.

  It wasn’t over.

  He wasn’t close to being through with me.

  “Now flip the fuck over,” he demanded.

  I did as he asked, turning so that I was on my hands and knees, knowing what was going to happen next. I looked over my shoulder as he crept toward me and grabbing my hips, he pushed himself into me. I gasped. Not because it felt good, but because it was all about him finally getting something he wanted—control over me—and his movements were designed to get him off. At some point he must have removed his shirt because I could feel the hot skin of his stomach pressed against my back as he covered me with his body. “Oh yeah . . .” he groaned into my neck, and I shivered as his hands wandered all over my body, leaving goose bumps in their wake but only because the small part of the old Tegan that remained couldn’t believe I was letting someone like him touch me in this way.

  Think of the goal, Tegan.

  The cold air of the apartment hit my back as I felt him shift, pushing himself back, placing one hand on the back of my neck, the other on my hip. I concentrated on the fabric of the couch, counting the fading flowers as his pace quickened, praying this was an indication he was about to finish. Thankfully he didn’t disappoint and his nails bit into the skin of my hips, pressing against the bone as he thrust into me one final time. While he caught his breath I pulled myself away from him, scurrying to find something, anything, to cover my shaking body.

  “Fuck,” he said, crashing down onto the couch. I froze in place. “Your pussy was certainly worth the wait.” Exhausted, he grabbed his pants and reached into the pocket, chuckling as he found the baggie and tossed it onto the floor. Still naked, I scrambled to the ground to pick it up, holding the precious cargo tight against my chest as a mother might cradle a child.

  And throughout it all, I didn’t care that I looked desperate. I was. I grabbed my spoon and lighter and went about my business like any other day, refusing to think about what I had just done.

  But from that point I knew I was fucked. Some would’ve said that I had hit rock bottom. But I knew better than that. Rock bottom didn’t exist for me.

  Not when I had my fix.

  THERE’S ONE THING about recovery that I can absolutely attest to, and that’s the boredom. The silence is deafening; the stillness enough to make you claw the skin from your face. They trap you with your thoughts, allowing you nothing but time to think about all the ways you fucked up, to feel sorry for all the people you wronged. To wish for the ability to go back and travel through time. To make better choices. It’s enough to drive you to . . .

  Well, you know.

  Every day is always the same. Predictability as well as stability: something many addicts lack in life. But I’m not like every other addict. The monotony of my days here do nothing but remind me of the life I had so desperately kept trying to escape.

  I lie on my back, staring at the blank white ceiling above me. I will myself to move. I should get ready for bed and attempt to sleep, at least then I’d be out of this misery, but I don’t. I stay locked in place, focusing on the same stupid ceiling tile. I almost wish it would come loose and fall straight down on my face I’m that desperate for a distraction.

  Going off campus with Asher earlier in the week hadn’t helped me like he thought it would. In fact, it’s done the exact opposite—I crave the excitement more now. I want to be outside of these walls, living my life, but they keep telling me that I’m “not ready.” The process of my recovery is “just beginning” and that I’m not ready to “face the temptation” that lurks beyond the center. And I hate to admit it, but they’re right.

  I sit up and cross my legs. The change of position causes my head to spin slightly and I giggle to myself. There’s my excitement for the night.

  I’m just about to throw in the towel and start getting ready for bed when I hear a light tap on my window. My heart stops. Who the hell would be outside my window? Maybe I should call security?

  With every nerve ending in my body on alert, I sit as still as possible, barely even breathing, trying to decipher if my mind is playing tricks on me, or if I really heard something. A few moments pass without incident and I take a deep breath, deciding that it must’ve all been in my head.

  Bound for my nighttime routine, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and start to get up when I hear the light knock against the glass again. My whole body goes rigid. I definitely heard something that time. I’m about to call for help when I see Asher’s face on the other side of the windowpane, the angles of his face illuminated by the light from my bedroom. Relieved it’s not a serial killer, I let out the air I was holding in my lungs. He smiles and waves.

  This can’t be normal. Rounds are in fifteen minutes. If he needed to see me he would’ve done it then.

  My feet hit the floor and I walk over to the window and unlock it. I pull the pane up and kneel down. “Making house calls now?” I tease, keeping my voice low. There’s something about him coming here, to my window, at bedtime, which makes me think it wouldn’t be a good thing if anyone else were to find out.

  He chuckles, his face level with mine and I send up a silent prayer of thanks that they chose to put me on the ground level. “Nah, I just thought you could use another jailbreak.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Lots of knee bouncin’ today.” I give him a pointed look and he cracks a smile in return, shrugging innocently. “Perks of being your counselor, I guess.”

  As much as I love the idea of getting out of this place, my newfound conscience isn’t as eager. “It’s almost curfew.”

  “I know that, give me a little bit of credit. Just wait until they do rounds and sneak out the window. No one will notice. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”

  “You seem pretty sure of that.”

  “I am.”

  My eyebrows lift. If everything I’ve been through has taught me nothing, it’s that it’s always safer to err on the side of skepticism.

  “Trust me. Jim is on duty tonight. He won’t be able to tear himself away from reruns of Happy Days.” I laugh at his honesty but there’s part of me that can’t figure all of this out.

  “You do this often?” I ask.

  His eyes grow wide and I can tell that he’s surprised by my question. He bites the inside of his cheek, as though he’s keeping himself in line. “No, I don’t. In fact, I shouldn’t.” His eyes dart left and as much as I want to break free, I can’t help but feel anxious. He’s the one breaking me out, yet he’s not sure he should be doing it? Something about that doesn’t feel right. He’s supposed to be my counselor, not my friend.

  “So . . . why are you?”

  His eyes remain fixed on the gr
ound and his hand claps the back of his neck, clenching around his muscles. He must be sensing the danger in what we’re doing as well. “I’m not really sure myself.”

  “You know, I could get kicked out of the program for sneaking out after curfew.”

  He nods without lifting his eyes and that frustrates me. He’s supposed to want me to get better. It says in the handbook that the counselors are to support us in making appropriate choices. He’s not supposed to—

  “I could lose my job for sneaking you out.”

  “You’re breaking rules, Asher,” I lecture, sounding more like my mother than I’d like to.

  “I know that.”

  “But why? You said yourself you’ve come so far. Why risk that?”

  His eyes travel slowly up from the ground, and it feels like an age until they meet mine. Once our gaze locks, I feel it.

  I feel it.

  It’s like, for the first time in my life, someone is really seeing me. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. And here Asher sits, at my window, looking into my eyes and into me. My heart pounds against my chest, the air between us suddenly thick with tension.

  “Because you’re worth the risk.”

  Every ounce of doubt I thought I had vanishes. I look back over my shoulder at the alarm clock on my nightstand. Just a few minutes before they come to do room checks—can I wait that long? Even though confusion swirls around in my head, I can’t help but want to go with him. I want to see what life has to offer, what beauty might be in store for me, but mostly, I need to see what he’s going to do.

  I already know what I’m going to say. My nerves fly around the inside of my stomach. My palms immediately start to sweat. The fear of the unknown is part of it, but knowing that we’re both putting things on the line to spend time together, time outside of necessity, well, that’s a high like I’ve never experienced.

  “Okay.”

  That one word, that consent, it changes everything.

  “I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”

  His face lights up and then, just like that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving me to quickly shut my window and hop into bed, scrambling under the covers with all my clothes still on. I snap the light out and press my eyes shut. I feel like a child again, pretending to be asleep when Mom came to check on us. My heart continues to slam against my chest but a small smile spreads slowly across my face.

  This is crazy.

  First came the light knock, then I hear the door open, slowly, so as not to disturb me. Despite my eyelids being closed, I can see the light from the hallway. I hear a light murmur and then the door shut again, the resounding click sparking me to life. I toss the blankets back and practically jump out of my bed. In two short steps I’m to the window, fumbling in my rush to open it. My skin is alight with anticipation.

  The cool night air hits my face and I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freedom. With one eye still focused on the bedroom door, I quietly slide myself out of the window, my feet dangling only for a moment before touching solid ground. I land with a thud and push the window back in place from the outside, making sure to leave a small enough gap for me to sneak back in later.

  I look through the darkness hoping that no one has seen me. Getting in trouble now would be a huge setback. People are beginning to trust me again. They don’t look at me with the same pity, or the same disdain as I’ve grown accustom to. It’s a nice feeling, and I’m not sure I’m ready to see what would happen if that were to be ripped away from me. And I can’t be sure of Asher’s part in all of this. I’m definitely taking a big risk.

  Crouched down under the window, I wait for a beat, making sure that my path to the parking lot is clear. When the night remains silent I make my move, my feet pounding against the grass, my red hair flowing behind me as I run. My grandmother always said that whenever I ran fire followed me.

  The night is a dark one, illuminated only by the yellowing light of the lamps placed strategically around the grounds. As I turn the last corner, I spot Asher leaning against his motorcycle, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

  For me.

  The excitement that I managed to push down earlier returns in full force but not wanting to appear too eager, I slow down to a fast walk, running my hands down my clothes and smoothing my hair, all the while attempting to catch my breath. I am definitely out of shape, years of smoking certainly not helping.

  “I was beginning to think you’d chickened out.” His voice rings out through the silence and he chuckles to himself.

  “Are you kidding me? I’d rather gouge my own eyeballs out than spend another minute in that little box.”

  He thrusts the helmet in my direction and I take it in my hand, knowing what to do this time. “The rooms are pretty small, aren’t they?”

  “Growing up, I had a closet bigger than them.”

  “I’ll be sure to file your complaint appropriately.”

  I roll my eyes and push the helmet onto my head. “So where are you taking me this time?” I ask, even though I know I won’t get a straight answer.

  “Just a little place I know.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve already seen your little sanctuary.”

  He shakes his head. “Not there. Someplace even better.”

  THANKFULLY THE MOTORCYCLE doesn’t scare me nearly as much this time. With my arms wrapped tightly around Asher’s midsection, I have complete confidence in my safety as he weaves in and out of traffic. I’m able to look around the city streets, the bright lights and neon signs catching my attention, keeping my neck on a swivel. I’ve seen the city many times, but something about seeing it at night, while sober, strikes me.

  “It’s beautiful!” I yell in his direction, hoping that he’ll hear me over the roar of the engine. He doesn’t acknowledge me so I assume he hasn’t. I continue to look around, reveling in the buzz I get from seeing all the life and excitement.

  The motorcycle slows. My eyes shoot forward just as Asher pulls into a parking spot next to the sidewalk. I yank the helmet off and run my fingers through my hair, trying futilely to tame it. Asher slowly dismounts, looking back at me with a smile. “How was that?” he asks, holding his hand out for me. Without thinking I place my hand in his and jump off the bike.

  “Well, I didn’t want to cry this time.”

  “That’s a plus.”

  With my eyes down, I smooth out the invisible wrinkles on my shirt, unsure of what we do next. Asher, too, seems distracted, looking down the street at something in the distance. The pit of my stomach unleashes its excitement. Smiling, I place my hand at my center, hoping to calm the butterflies that are wreaking havoc.

  “So what are we going to do tonight?”

  He slowly turns his head in my direction and his lips turn upward slightly. “Just walk,” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way down the sidewalk.

  My heart sinks. While thankful for the jailbreak, I was hoping for a little more excitement; that there had been more to his little plan than just letting me loose in the city. Deep down I know I shouldn’t be greedy, but I am.

  Realizing that I’m being left behind, I jog a few steps in order to catch up; slightly annoyed that Asher didn’t wait for me before striding off. “Are we seriously just walking?” My question oozes disdain. That isn’t my intention, and doesn’t stop me from sounding like an ungrateful bitch, but I’m curious as to why we would take such a risk for something as simple as a walk. We could do that in the grounds of the center.

  “You really need to relax.”

  My feet plant firmly on the ground and my head snaps in his direction “Excuse me?” I bite back. He stops slightly in front of me and turns around.

  “That came out wrong.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing it up and away from his face before his hands fall back to his side and he fidgets nervously with his sleeves. “What I meant to say was that you get too caught up in the action. You’re always worried about what com
es next. Looking for something to distract yourself. You can’t do that. Some of life’s greatest moments happen when you least expect them.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “People like us, we have to learn how to live all over again. We’ve gotta understand that life isn’t where the action is. It’s one day. An hour. Minutes. This second. It’s all filled with moments worth living.” A heaviness presses against my chest as his words slip into my soul.

  Asher takes a step closer and reaches for me, running his fingers over the back of my hands, studying where our skin connects, softly tracing around my knuckles until my hand is clasped in his. His eyes don’t meet mine as he says softly, “It all goes back to what I’m trying to teach you every day. It’s not about the big stuff, Tegan, it’s the little things. You can’t get wrapped up looking for the glitz and glamour. That’s what makes you lose sight of what’s important.”

  “Like recovery.”

  He nods. “Especially recovery. If you’re constantly thinking about being sober the rest of your life you’ll drown. Keep your targets achievable. Those in the know like to call them short-term goals. It’s all about making small, steady changes, and feeling the satisfaction when you achieve something. Gradually, little things add up and become bigger things. But you have to start small or you’re setting yourself up to fail. Focus on the here and now. Don’t worry about the end result. That’ll come.”

  His words wrap me up like a blanket, shrouding me in hope; taking me to a place where I really feel like I could do everything he’s talking about. Perhaps I can be a better person. Maybe I won’t always feel like a big fat fucking failure. That’s when I hear the low and deep beat.

  Out of the corner of my eye I catch a slight movement and turn my head to see a guy setting a small speaker down on the sidewalk, cranking the volume. As music begins to pour out onto the street he launches into a series of small, concise dance moves. I am so captivated that I don’t notice another movement to his left until it’s too late and a second person joins him.