Violet Addiction

by Kirsty Dallas

  “You realize you’re going to be a third wheel in their relationship. Regardless of what they have or don’t have, they will have a child together. They are bound together by that for the rest of their lives.” Even though I had already taken this into consideration, hearing it out loud stung my heart in ways I never thought possible. I nodded as I took a sip from my drink. My throat was tight with emotion; forcing the sweet liquid down took a lot of effort.

  “Trust me, I know.”

  “Annabelle’s family are good people. Her mother is very conservative in her ways; they will be disappointed.”

  “You know them?” I asked a little surprised.

  “We’ve all lived in this town our whole lives. I don’t know them well, but well enough to know they were excited about the prospect of welcoming Cain into their family.”

  Somehow, that made me feel worse. The thought that Annabelle and her family were genuinely nice people, who would all be impacted by Cain’s decision to ultimately leave her for me, made my stomach even more unsettled. What was I doing? This suddenly seemed like such a monumentally wrong choice. I felt as though I was dividing a family.

  “Do you know much about surround sound systems?” The sudden change in subject almost gave me whiplash. At my confused look, Dad explained, “I bought one. Haven’t got a clue how to set it up though. Want to help an old man?” I was fairly sure I wouldn’t have a clue either, but the chance to distract myself and spend some quality time with my father was too good to pass up.

  My knee bounced in a rapid tempo that was better suited to my hazy days full of cocaine. I fiddled with my fingers anxiously, my gaze darting over everything around me but not really seeing anything. My thoughts were chaotic and troubling. Today was a bad day. I had woken before my dad. The sun was barely breaking the distant horizon as I pulled on my sneakers and shoved a woolen beanie over my bed head. I had barely slept a wink all night, and I couldn’t stand the trapped sensation my old bedroom was giving me. I needed to get out and run. Now, it was nearing lunchtime, and I was sitting on a park bench overlooking the perfectly manicured lawn before me. The trees were bare, autumn and the nearing winter taking its toll on the foliage. Cain would be arriving at the doctor’s office with Annabelle in the next hour and would be seeing his baby for the first time. My heart was presently tied in a knot and volatile thoughts of hopelessness and loathing were consuming me. No matter how far I ran, those voices in my head couldn’t be silenced today. Annabelle didn’t deserve to lose Cain’s love to me. I was nothing; she had a good family, a decent family. She wasn’t an ex junkie who had whored herself for a hit. Why would Cain give that up? He couldn’t give that up. My eyes darted to the bar across the street for the thousandth time. Being a weekday, it was quiet, most of its patrons wouldn’t arrive for another few hours, when the working day drew to an end. God, how I wanted a drink, but even more, I wanted a hit. I wanted that hit so bad I ached for the blessed relief of cocaine, just a line to take me away and help me feel something other than this bleak worthlessness. Maybe a drink would replace the urgent need for the fickle white powder. Just because I used mostly when I was drinking didn’t mean I had to. I could have just one drink. Just a small nip of whiskey to help take the edge off and allow me to relax. Before I could talk myself out of it, my feet were moving, and I crossed the street, strolling into the almost empty bar. I had been here before, once or twice when I was younger. It hadn’t changed. It was dimly lit, and the air held the musty scent of beer. The furniture was dark colored and aged, the leather on the bar stools worn in places. In the far corner, sat a pool table, lit by a flickering florescent light. A jukebox sat beside it, playing Bon Jovi’s “Living On A Prayer”. Two men sat at the bar, two stools separating them, yet they were talking to each other. A man and woman sat at a booth by the pool table. The woman’s eyes lifted to mine as I walked in. I knew that look well; that glazed emptiness in her eyes that immediately told me she was high. I wasn’t here for that, even though my body screamed for it with such an urgent demand that I shook.

  “What can I get you?” a young man behind the bar asked. He would have been my age, a little on the gangly side with thick, dark hair that hung over his eyes. His lip was pierced, and he played with the hoop in his teeth as he waited for my order. When he pushed his dark hair back off his eyes, I spied another piercing in his eyebrow. He didn’t look anything like the bartender from Vegas who had taken advantage of me, yet I still felt nervous as I sat on a stool at the bar.

  “Jack on the rocks,” I murmured, handing him a twenty. He poured the drink and took my money. He handed me my change then moved back to the opposite end of the bar where he watched an ice hockey game on the TV. I sat and stared at the whiskey, willing myself to push it away. Leave now, Violet, while you still can. I glanced at my cell phone sitting on the bar beside me. One o’clock, Cain and Annabelle’s appointment time. I clenched my eyes shut in an effort to force away the thoughts and feelings that bombarded me. When that didn’t work, through eyes filled with tears, I grabbed the glass and brought it to my lips. After eleven months of sobriety, the amber liquid hit my tongue like an old lost friend, a warm one at that. I didn’t stop at a sip; I drank the glass dry before quietly placing it down in front of me. After a few long, deep breaths, I glanced to the bartender whose eyes caught mine.

  “Another?”

  I nodded. He once again filled my glass and gladly took my money, leaving me alone as soon as he was done. The second drink I sipped slowly, savoring the taste. I’d had better. I’d tasted some of the smoothest whiskeys this country had to offer, but this drink was like stumbling out of the desert and taking my first sip of water. Not perfect, but needed and crucial to my very survival. As my body began to warm and relax, my raging thoughts began to quiet and dissipate, giving me the much needed freedom I yearned for. Four glasses later, I was finally feeling good, just like old times.

  “Another two beers, Malcolm,” called a female voice from beside me. “Hey,” she added as she glanced my way.

  “Hey,” I replied. The bartender, Malcolm apparently, served her up two long necks before moving back to what I was beginning to assume was the holy grail of ice hockey.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” the woman said, her words only slurring slightly.

  “I was born here, but I live in New York now,” I explained. Under sober conditions, I probably wouldn’t be quite so forthcoming with a complete stranger, but I was creeping into the pleasantly buzzing stage of inebriation where I felt completely at ease.

  “I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” she sighed wistfully. “My name’s Georgie, that’s my husband, Drew.” She nodded towards the man who sat alone at the booth by the jukebox. “You look familiar; don’t suppose you went to West Field?” The name of my high school rang out like a loud bell in my ears, and it took me a moment to focus my attention back on Georgie, memories of my troubled teenage years bombarding my senses.

  “I did,” I whispered.

  “Violet, right?”

  Georgie nailed my name; however, she wasn’t the slightest bit familiar to me. That wasn’t surprising though. I had done my best to coast through school with my head down, disregarding my peers, and paying little to no attention to the goings on around me. I had grown up poor, and in the urban kingdom that was my school, poor scraped the bottom of the food chain. I nodded, letting Georgie know I was, in fact, Violet.

  “I knew it!” Georgie screamed, bringing the attention of the entire bar our way, all four of them. “Come say hi to Drew. I was a year behind you, but he was your year. I’m sure you’ll remember him. Andrew Scott, you two were probably friends.” I didn’t tell her there was no chance of that. I had only one friend in school and that was Cain. Georgie practically dragged me from my chair, and I grabbed my drink as I followed her across the bar. “Drew, you remember Violet, don’t you?” Drew pulled his unfocused gaze from his drink and squinted as he tried to place me. Not surprisingly, I didn’t r
emember him.

  After a long, awkward moment, he smiled. “Violet, I remember you. You got hammered at Jed Dyson’s graduation party and clocked that bitch Samantha O’Malley!”

  I winced, not one of my finer moments. It was during my senior year of high school that I discovered my love of the white powder and Johnny Walker. Jed Dyson’s party, though as hammered as Drew had just mentioned, was still a fairly vivid memory. Samantha O’Malley was a complete and utter bitch, but punching her for putting her nasty mouth on Cain’s was a crazy moment for me, and I didn’t like to do crazy. Drunk, stoned, not a problem. Crazy was not in my vocabulary. It was also the very first time Cain got a glimpse of my true feelings for him, and as angry with me as he had been, he later confessed he liked my possessive streak. I slid into the booth opposite Drew and Georgie, who continued to bombard me with memories, most of which were not mine. After Georgie had slipped away to the ladies room for the third time and came back, discreetly wiping her nose, I knew they had some blow. While Drew spent the world’s longest time selecting songs on the jukebox, I played nervously with the rim of my glass. What I would give for just one line. With the whiskey now playing havoc with my senses and equilibrium, it would even me out. Just one line would straighten me up and put me in a nice happy place. One line would nudge away my drunken haze. Just one line.

  “Georgie, would you or Drew know where I could score some dust?” Georgie had been jabbering on about her parrot, Bernie, but at my question, she went quiet and still. With a nervous glance around, she gave me a small nod. The bar had a few more patrons now, but everyone was busy minding their own business.

  “Here.” She pushed a small, clear bag filled with at least a half a gram of coke across the table, and I met her hand to discreetly make the exchange. When I tried to give her some cash, Georgie flat out refused with a vicious shake of her head. “For old times.” She smiled. “For Samantha O’Malley, she gave me a hard time in school. It was awesome seeing her go down that night.” I fumbled my way through an awkward thank you before grabbing my things and making a hasty retreat towards the back of the bar. Instead of heading for the ladies room, I set my eyes on the exit sign at the end of a long hallway and flicked up the lock before pushing it open and stumbling into the cool afternoon air. The sun was still up, but only just, casting long shadows across the dirty back alleyway. Slamming the door closed, I sagged against the side of the building and took a deep breath of air that was tainted by the scent of garbage. I closed my eyes and slid down the wall until I rested on my haunches. Then slowly, I looked down at the small bag clenched in my fist. Tears pooled in my eyes as I threw my head back and thumped it against the wall at my back.

  “Fuck…fuck…fuck.” Like a slow building eruption of pain, an ugly sob spilled from my lips, then the first tear fell. I was so fucked.

  I had no idea how long I sat there in that dirty, dark alley, but the vibration of my phone under my fingertips caught my attention. With my eyes still glued to the unopened powder lying in my palm, I answered it.

  “Hello.” My voice was rough with abrasive and painful emotion.

  “Fuck me, Violet, how many times in one fucking life does one tiny little woman have to scare the ever loving shit out of me?” Harry’s less than amused voice filled my ear. “Where the fuck are you? Cain’s about to have a fucking aneurism. He’s been trying to call you for hours.”

  I glanced around and realized the sun had truly set. It was also incredibly cold, and the dampness from the concrete beneath me had seeped through my clothes.

  “Fat Joe’s,” I whispered.

  “Who the fuck is Joe?” Harry snapped impatiently.

  “It’s a bar.” That seemed to silence him.

  “You okay, honey?” His voice had lost all anger in a heartbeat.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “I’m going to hang up and call Cain, so he can come and get you.” More tears fell as I clenched my fist in an attempt to make the cocaine disappear. It was just too tempting.

  “Please don’t,” I whispered. “He’s going to be so disappointed in me.”

  “Honey, he’s out of his mind with worry, and you could never disappoint Cain.” Harry wasn’t even swearing anymore which meant he was beyond worried.

  “Yeah I could, Harry. He already left me once.”

  Harry let out a long sigh. “I’m calling him, Violet. Don’t you dare move either; he’ll be there soon.”

  Harry hung up, and I let the phone slip from my ear and clatter to the ground. I still held the cocaine in my hand, afraid if I opened my fist I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. There was enough there for two lines, two lines that would allow me to escape from the emotions I was trying to ignore. The problem was it was nothing but a temporary escape that also came with its own form of pain. The kind of pain I wasn’t sure I could survive again, the kind of pain I didn’t want to put Cain through again. He deserved so much more. How could I be so selfish? This was his day. He saw his child for the first time, and I had to go and ruin it because of my own insecurities and childishness. One hitch in the road and I run for the nearest bar. God, I was pathetic. The sobbing that tore from my chest made me feel even more pitiful. A buzzing from somewhere close by broke through my weeping, and I realized my phone was ringing again. With cold clumsy fingers, I picked it up.

  “Hello,” I sniffled.

  “Where are you, baby? I’m at Fat Joe’s and I can’t see you.” I could hear the worry in Cain’s voice.

  “Out back, alleyway,” I whispered.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded me. I wasn’t about to; I was pretty sure I couldn’t anyway. I was freezing, my body trembling with the onslaught of sorrow and the icy cold air. Snow was weeks, if not days away. A cloud of mist formed in front of my lips when I breathed. As my body fell from the alcohol induced high I had forced it into, the cold invaded my limbs.

  A thump at the door beside me made me flinch and then he was in front of me, his eyes tormented with worry. “Are you hurt, baby?” he said with panic in his voice, his thumbs brushing away my tears.

  “Please get rid of it,” I sobbed, forcing my clenched fist towards him. My fingers were clasped so tightly it actually hurt as Cain forced them apart. He hesitated for only a moment when he saw what had been in my hand. “I didn’t take any. Just get rid of it, please.” At my begging he grabbed the small bag and left me to throw it in the industrial sized garbage bin that sat across the alleyway from us. Then he was kneeling back in front of me again, concern on his beautiful features.

  “We need to get you warm, come on.” He took my hand to help me stand, but I’d been sitting, unmoving in the cold for too long. My muscles cramped, and my limbs throbbed with the effort. Not prepared to give me time to work away the pain, Cain scooped me into his arms, and I didn’t fight it. His warmth was too precious to deny.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Shhh, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

  “I’ve been drinking, I nearly snorted away almost a year’s worth of sobriety, and I ruined your day.” I listed the reasons I was sorry.

  “We all slip from time to time, baby. What matters most is how you stand back up. You didn’t ruin my day, but you did scare the shit out of me. We can talk about that tomorrow when you’re warm and sober.” He placed me carefully in the front seat of the car which I realized was actually my father’s. Pulling the seatbelt across my chest and lap, he gifted me with a chaste kiss to the forehead before closing the door. The drive back to my father’s was quiet. The warm air from the vents were all pointed in my direction, but I still shook, the cold so deep in my body I thought I’d never be warm again. The shame from what I had done was so all-encompassing I couldn’t bring myself to even glance Cain’s way. Once back at my dad’s, ignoring my protests, Cain carried me into the house.

  “Damn it, pumpkin, you trying to give your old man a heart attack?” my dad huffed.

  “I’ll get a bath
started; she’s freezing.” Cain carefully placed me on the sofa then disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Dad knelt before me, and his big, oil stained hands covered mine.

  “Please don’t do that again, Violet. I’ve already lost one woman I loved. I don’t think I could survive losing another.”

  Guilt, piled upon guilt, piled upon guilt. So much guilt, I felt smothered, my breath coming in wheezing gasps.

  “Settle down, pumpkin, take a few big, deep breaths. You’re okay now. We’re gonna get you warm, you’re gonna have a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow you’ll dust yourself off and battle another day.” He cupped my cheek. “That’s what we Trivoli do best; we’re fighters.”

  I looked into my dad’s worried eyes and wondered how many times he had taken care of my mom when she was like this. My mom, for all her faults, had been a fighter too; she bounced in and out of rehab more times than I could remember, but in the end, the poison won. I wasn’t my mother though. I was stronger than her.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I promise it won’t happen again.” I felt like a little girl apologizing for breaking my mom’s favorite wine glass.

  “Don’t be sorry, honey, and don’t promise me that. I broke sobriety twice, and it’s still a daily battle. Just promise you will keep fighting, honey. That’s all we can do in life, and the mistakes we make along the way are proof we are at least trying.” Such beautiful, simple words. Keep fighting, try harder, and learn from the mistakes. I needed to be better, for my dad, for Cain, but most of all, for me.