Escaping the Edge

by H. M. Sholander

  “Hey.” He places his hand on my arm. My head rotates in his direction, but I avoid eye contact. “Look at me.”

  I slowly move my eyes to his and see concern etched all over his face.

  “I will never judge you. Don’t ever be ashamed of your past. It has made you the strong and beautiful woman you are today. I only want to listen to your stories and help you become an even stronger version of the woman sitting in front of me today.”

  From those words, I know I’ll tell him everything about my life. Eventually, it will all come flowing out of me freely. It’s inevitable. Tonight, though, I’ll start small.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “What else is there?” he questions softly as his hazel eyes search my face for the truth.

  “Drugs. Cocaine,” I whisper.

  “When was the last time you used?”

  I stare out the glass door into the pitch black night. I don’t have to think too hard about his question, but if I say it out loud, I’m worried I’ll fall back under from the mere thought.

  Ryan leaves the couch and kneels down next to me. He gently grabs my chin and focuses my attention only on him. “It’s okay.”

  “Two days ago,” I say, staring into his eyes, so he knows I’m telling the truth. Eyes that bare no judgment and hold only compassion.

  “The last time you used, was it at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to take me up to your apartment, and I’m going to search it for alcohol and drugs. Whatever I find, you’re going to flush down the toilet. I’ll be with you the whole time. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I ca…can try,” I say with more weakness in my voice than I’ve ever heard.

  He stands and stretches his hand out for me. I place mine in his, and he lifts me from the recliner. He leads me out his front door and waits for me to take over to show him which apartment is mine.

  We enter through the door, and he immediately searches every nook and cranny. He leaves no spot untouched, and I’m both grateful and unnerved by the action.

  After forty minutes of searching, he comes back with two bottles of liquor, three bottles of wine, and to my dismay, two small plastic bags of cocaine. He found all of it. I’m glad he did because I would have lied had he asked if that was all of it and there was actually more.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, looking from me to the line of paraphernalia sitting on the kitchen counter that has more power over me than it should.

  “Yes,” I say more confidently than I could have ever believed.

  He grabs what he can and orders me to take the rest. He makes me walk ahead of him, so he can keep an eye on everything I’m carrying. I walk straight to the bathroom and set the bottles on the counter.

  “You are stronger than your addiction, Avery. I want you to throw all of this out and vow to yourself never to touch it again. If you feel like you need a drink, call me. If you need to do a line to make it through the day, call me. If you think about alcohol or drugs, call me. If you drive to a bar, call me. If you step into a house with drugs, call me. No matter what, call me.” He grabs the two bags filled with cocaine first and hands them both to me. “Now, empty the bags into the toilet.”

  I open the first bag, and the contents fall into the water. Ryan takes the empty bag from me and encourages me to do the same with the other. This time, I’m a lot slower to dump the bag in the toilet. Once I dump this out, I won’t have the drugs at my disposal. If I want it again, I’ll consciously have to go out and buy more. I slowly empty the last of the cocaine into the toilet and let out a long breath.

  “Flush the toilet, and we’ll start on the alcohol.” I do as he says without saying a word. I watch as the water spins around and disappears out of sight.

  One by one, the bottles of alcohol end up in the toilet. The last one takes the longest to pour out because I stop every so often wishing I could have one last drink. Ryan doesn’t say anything as he waits for me to come to terms with my decision. When the last drop is in the toilet, I flush it out of my life for good.

  SIX

  The first three weeks without my vice were fucking torture. The withdrawals my body went through were worse than I could have ever imagined. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my body was constantly sweating. I suffered from the worst headaches and spent a lot of time with my head over a toilet. I was also a world class bitch.

  Everyone at work began avoiding me like the plague. I don’t blame them. I've been snapping at the smallest things. Someone left a stack of paperwork on my desk and took my stapler and pens. I freaked out. I accused every person in the office of stealing my stuff. When I say accused, I mean yelled at them. Turns out, the fucking stapler and pens were in my desk drawer. I even snapped at Emily. She was going on and on about her wedding, and I flipped. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. All I wanted to do was shove a washcloth in her mouth to make her stop talking. Poor Ryan took the brunt of my abuse. I screamed, threw things at him, slammed doors in his face, and called him names.

  I have since apologized to everyone. People at work are still tentative around me. They don’t know what I was going through, and frankly, it’s none of their damn business. Emily understood that my addiction was talking and went about our daily conversations as if nothing ever happened. Although, she did sound unconvinced when I told her I was doing better, even though I am.

  Ryan must be a saint to put up with me. He has been by my side every step of the way, despite the terrible way I treated him. He held my hair back when I was puking up my guts and rubbed my back while whispering encouraging words, which happened more often than I liked. Seriously, dry heaving multiple times a day was awful and having Ryan witness it was slightly embarrassing. I know I looked like death with my clammy skin, wild blond hair, and bloodshot blue eyes. The vomit smell was ingrained into my body like a second skin, but he never said a bad word about my appearance.

  He forgave me for the verbal abuse I constantly threw at him for no reason. I even called him a poopy head. What am I in second grade? I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly if I couldn’t come up with a better insult than that. Okay, I shouldn’t be defending my actions. I was out of my freaking mind. That’s the thing with withdrawals. The need drives you and begs you to come back to end your suffering. When you don’t give in, it makes your life a living hell, so in turn, you push your frustration onto everyone around you.

  When Ryan chewed is food too loud, I blew up. He looked at me like I was crazy; which let’s be honest, I was. Pretty soon he began eating his food as far away from me as he could because even the ice cream he ate annoyed the shit out of me. When he moved on the couch, causing me to shift from my position, I cussed him out. I told him he needed to learn how to be a statue, or I would spray him with cement. That way, he would actually be a statue and would never be able to move again. Yep, I was undeniably crazy. But, he didn’t even blink. He went back to watching television without saying a word.

  He never told me I was being a bitch when I obviously was. He never told me to calm down because let’s be honest that only infuriates a woman even more. He never threw slanderous words back at me. He simply was there for me, making sure I didn’t hurt myself even if it meant me hurting him.

  He’s definitely a saint.

  The worst of the withdrawals are over, but now comes the test of staying strong and resisting the urge to relapse.

  Tonight at the meeting, Ryan’s making me speak for the first time. I have no earthly idea what I’m going to say, but I need to figure it out. Fast.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I rush to answer it. Ryan's standing on the other side, looking more attractive than ever. Another thing about all the time we've been spending together is he's starting to wear on me. I find myself wanting to lean on him to be the strength I need. While the withdrawal symptoms lessen, I have taken more notice of things, or should I say, someone. Ryan. He’s leaning in the doorway w
earing a white polo shirt with dark wash blue jeans. His hair is styled the same as always looking as though he ran his hand through it a couple of times and called it good. His hazel eyes shine with excitement, and a gorgeous, lopsided grin graces his face. Stubble lines his jaw from missing a couple of days of shaving, which I love. While he stands there staring at me, all of my nerves about tonight float away.

  “You ready to go?” he asks.

  I pull myself out of my thoughts long enough to answer him. “Yeah.” I switch off the light and close the door behind me, locking it before we head down the stairs.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to say tonight?” he asks as he peers over his shoulder at me.

  “Not really.” I take the last step and walk side by side with him to continue our journey. “I have no clue what to say.”

  “You can say anything you want. Anything that will make you feel better. Something that weighs on your mind and would lighten the load on your shoulders if you finally told someone. Or it could be as simple as, I’m struggling today and want to drink.”

  “You make it sound so easy, but I’m the one being put on the spot,” I complain while tripping over a rock. Ryan’s hand shoots out and grabs my arm before I face-plant. “Thanks.”

  He continues, ignoring my mishap. “Would it make you feel more comfortable if I spoke tonight?” he questions.

  I think about it for a minute. I’m not sure if it will, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “Yes.”

  “Done,” he says as if it’s not a big deal.

  We arrive at the meeting and head inside to grab a seat. Instead of my usual spot in the dark corner, Ryan takes my hand in his and guides me to the couch resting against the wall. It’s not in the middle of the room, but there are more chairs surrounding it than the comfort of my familiar and isolated corner.

  “It’s time to become part of the group,” he says in a tone that indicates he’s not taking no for an answer.

  While people trickle in and take a seat, I become fidgety. I still have no freaking idea what I’m going to say. I begin biting my nails and squirming around on the couch becoming restless.

  Ryan pulls my hand away from my mouth and places it in my lap. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. I’m going to be right here with you.” He places his hand over mine and leaves it resting there.

  The meeting begins, and one by one, each person speaks. Some tell long stories and others say only a few words. I don’t pay attention to a single word, though. I’m too nervous to pay attention to anyone, which is ridiculous because I know no one is here to judge me. Everyone here wants to help and be helped. In my heart, I know this is the place to expel my demons, but my head is telling me a different story.

  In no time, it’s Ryan’s turn, and that only means I’m next. But, his story is the only one I hear. It's seems I only pay attention to one person each meeting. I should work on that for the future.

  “My mom left me and my brother when I was nine. I haven’t seen her since that day, and I have no desire to find her. That’s when my dad began drinking. It started off slowly, just a couple of beers a day. It became progressively worse and was normal for him to drink a case of beer a day. He took up smoking as well and was never caught without one or the other in his hand.” Ryan pauses for a breath, and I place my free hand on top of his that’s resting in my lap. “He passed out a lot while he was drinking. One night when I was twelve, he fell asleep holding a bottle of liquor with a burning cigarette sitting in an ashtray on the arm of our couch. I woke up to the smell of smoke and rushed downstairs. The curtains on our windows were up in flames behind my dad’s head. I ran to him and shook him as hard as I could until he woke up. I ran to get my younger brother from his bedroom, where he was still sleeping, and rushed us both outside to the front yard.

  “By the time the fire department put out the fire, two walls were completely charred. My dad lied about how the fire started saying he left a candle burning, but it was clear the police didn’t believe him. We didn’t even own any candles.” A small laugh escapes him. I'm assuming from the ridiculous lie his dad told. "The bottle of liquor had fallen on the floor, and the lit cigarette fell off the couch as my dad knocked it over in his sleep. I never had a good night of sleep after that. I was always terrified I wouldn’t wake up in enough time to save my brother the next time it inevitably happened.”

  My heart aches for the little boy who had to clean up after his dad. A boy who didn’t have a childhood. A boy who had to grow up too fast. While my childhood wasn’t perfect, I didn’t have a younger sibling I had to help raise. Or in Ryan's case, raise altogether.

  I nervously introduce myself before I divulge a story that not even Emily knows. “I grew up thinking drinking was okay. No one ever told me what my parents did was wrong. I had to figure it out on my own and by the time that happened, I had developed a problem.” I stare out into the distance, and all I can see is my childhood play out before me. “My parents drank every day. I didn’t go one day of my childhood without seeing a drink in either of their hands. They were always consumed by alcohol so much so that now I wonder how either of them held a job. Much less stayed alive. When I was eleven, I witnessed my dad hit my mom for the first time. I remember seeing her hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. She had a bruise on her face the next day, and she acted as if my dad had done nothing wrong.

  “The next couple of months it got worse to the point where my mom had to constantly cover herself up because of the bruises. She drank herself away every day and pretended everything was fine. She broke the day she saw my dad hit me. It hadn’t been the first time, but I hid it from her because she was already taking so much abuse from him. That day, my mom and I moved out of the house. We stayed with my grandparents for two weeks. After those two weeks, my mom took him back as if nothing ever happened. We moved back home, and everything went back to the way it was. Although my dad never hit me again, he took all his anger and abuse out on my mom.

  “I repeatedly tried to get her help when I was old enough, but she wouldn’t budge. She didn’t want to leave my dad, insisting she loved him too much to let him go. I don’t know what kind of love they have, but I never want to experience it for myself.

  “I visit my mom every once in a while, but each time it gets harder because I can see the toll her body is taking. Even though they both treated me like shit when I was growing up, I still want the best for them. I’m here to learn from their mistakes and not put my future children in the same position I was in. I’ve already overcome so much with the help of my sponsor and the support I feel from every one of you.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest from my nerves. I inhale several deep breaths to calm myself down. The group moves on to the next person, and I realize that sharing wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t anything huge, but it was a part of my life I haven’t shared with anyone.

  Ryan scoots closer to me and throws his arm over the back of the couch. His warm breath covers the side of my face, and I slowly turn my head in his direction.

  “See? Not so bad,” he whispers with a smile in his voice.

  He doesn’t move after his comment. He stays firmly in place, and I find his presence a welcome reprieve from the loneliness I usually feel.

  Ryan continuously gives me the strength I need. His story is what made me open up to a room full of people my first day here. I don’t feel judged by the man sitting next to me or by the crowd filling the room. I feel accepted for the person I am and for the mistakes I've made. This is something I've never experienced, and it's truly beautiful.

  “I knew you could do it. Was it as bad as you thought it would be?” Ryan asks as we make our trek home.

  “No, it wasn’t. You were right.” I gaze out in front of me before continuing. “A weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”

  I stop in the middle of the road and twirl in a circle, feeling free for the first time in forever. I inhale the night air and gaze at the stars shining brightly in th
e night sky. My problems are so insignificant compared to how big the universe is. I know I am going to overcome the thing that has been holding me back most of my life.

  “Um, Avery?” Ryan questions while stifling a laugh. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m enjoying the freedom I feel in this exact moment.”

  Ryan stares at me in awe as if I'm something he has never seen before. As if I'm something precious and miraculous that stumbled into his life.

  Once my moment ends, we continue our journey down the sidewalk as if I didn’t just act like a lunatic.

  Ryan brings us both back to reality, though. “If you ever want to talk, I'll be here to listen. You don’t have to tell me everything about your life, but when you need to talk, know that I'll listen.”

  “I know. Thank you.” I take his hand and squeeze it. When I loosen my grip to drop his hand, he tightens his hold around mine.

  I think about what he said in the meeting. I can’t believe he’s never tried to find his mom. I wonder if he's the least bit curious about her. “Can I ask you something?” I ask tentatively.

  “Shoot.” He holds my hand a little firmer and flashes a beautiful smile my direction.

  “Why didn’t you ever try to find your mom?”

  His smile slips from his face, and his head turns to face forward. “She didn’t just leave my dad. She left my brother and me behind. She didn’t take either of us with her, and she never came to visit us. We never received a call from her on our birthdays or holidays. Not a single word. Ever.” He looks up at the sky and blows out a deep breath. “I used to wish she'd come find us. That she would take us away from my father and take us with her to live a normal life. As the years went on, I gave up that hope. I gave up on her. When I was old enough to make a rational decision as to whether to contact her or not, I decided she didn’t deserve to know me or my brother. If she had wanted a relationship with either of us, she would have shown up at the same house she walked out of sixteen years ago.”