Jersey Girl

by J A Heron

  “Hey, Claudia,” I greet the plump lady as I enter the reception area.

  “Hello, Kat. You have a visitor later today.”

  “Oh, great. Thank you.” I knew Benny would be back; she obviously misses me. I wonder if she’s coming alone or if Raven will be with her. I decide to leave it as a surprise, something to look forward to after my session with Dr. Hart.

  I’ve not seen him much since our last session, only in passing, and each time, I feel him seeing himself as a failure. I guess he’s guilt-ridden over Jess, just like I am. He tried to help her, yet she took her own life, which must have a major impact on a psychologist.

  His question the last time we met is still playing on my mind, and it’s more prevalent now than at the time he asked it.

  If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told anyone?

  I’m not the one who died, Jess was, and I regret not telling her how much I think of her, hoping we could become good friends, and how proud I am of her for fighting the fight. She was winning the war against cocaine addiction, and that in itself is a major achievement.

  Today’s group session is interesting. I may get to find out why Dan is here, but at the same time, he’ll know why I’m here.

  This is the part where we all sit in a semi-circle and air our feelings to total strangers. Some take it seriously, others not so much. I treat these sessions as if I’m just airing a few thoughts – not my deep, inner, darkest thoughts – to anyone who wants to listen. I’ve tried to keep it light. I want to listen to others and their inner turmoil, hoping I can find some commonality to ease my own pain. To ease the loss of the substance I’ve been addicted to.

  The group leader asks us in turn if we have something to share. The usual suspects decline, and they just sit and listen. Then there are others who over share. They get everything off their chests, from addiction to being rejected by their pet cat. It’s insane how most of us feel like we must live up to expectations. Luckily for me, no one expects anything from me.

  “Kat? Anything to share today?”

  “Yes,” I say, standing up. I want my positivity to rub off on the group. “Hello. My name is Kat, and I’m an alcoholic.”

  Dan is sitting opposite me, and his eyes flare a little in surprise at my admission. “I’ve been doing really well, apart from recent events.” There is a slight hum around the circle, all of them knowing what I’m talking about. “Anyway, I have wanted to drink, but I think it’s getting to the stage where I can stay in control of my feelings, my cravings, and the little devil sitting on my shoulder, trying to tempt me. The little angel sitting adjacent is overpowering the evil, and together, we’re working through it.”

  “That’s really great,” Lee, the group leader says. “I like how you’re using good and evil as a tool. That’s really smart.”

  “I’m just doing what I have to do to get through this, to get out of here,” I say honestly.

  “Are you using good and evil to represent something personal in your life?”

  “I am actually. The devil, the evil, represents alcohol. It’s always there, digging away at me, trying to tempt me, but thankfully, the good is far stronger.”

  “And what represents the good, the angel?”

  “Jess, Benny, Grumpy, Conn…” I stop myself before I speak his name. Even though I’m not feeling anything good about Connor at the moment, I still feel his arms wrapped around me. Protecting me, loving me, even though he didn’t. It’s something I can cling to, forgetting what he did to me.

  “That’s really great,” Lee repeats. “Positivity is key. Using all the good, outweighing the bad is a valuable tool when moving forward.” His words don’t really make much sense to me, but I get what he’s trying to say. “Thanks for sharing, Kat. Who would like to go next?”

  Dan raises his hand. I shift in my seat, waiting for the words to come out of his mouth. He stands gingerly, a little apprehensive, mixed with a little shyness. I want to tell him that it’s okay, he can share. We’re all friends here and we don’t judge people in this group as we’re all in the same boat. I keep quiet; it’s not my place to intervene. He looks into my eyes as he stands up tall, relaxing his shoulders, pushing out his chest. “My name’s Dan, and I’ve been addicted to Morphine, opiates… anything I can get my hands on.”

  I gasp, but thankfully no one heard me.

  “Welcome to the group, Dan. Here we speak freely, so share as much, or as little as you wish.”

  “Thank you,” he says quietly, almost a whisper. “I was a doctor. I say was, because I was struck off when they found out I was stealing my drug of choice. I wish I could turn back the clock, but I can’t, and now I have to live with the choices I made.”

  He did it. He made it. I recall him telling me at the party that he was dead set on becoming a doctor. I also remember telling him I wanted to be a marine biologist. I guess it worked out well for one of us, but look where we both are now. I shake my head, disbelieving what I’m hearing. It’s heart-breaking to think that we’ve both ended up in rehab for addictions. I never thought for one minute he’d be here. I feel bad for pushing him away the other night.

  “All that I worked for, the hours I put in, the money my parents paid out so I could chase my dream. All that was tainted the minute I injected myself with Morphine for the first time. I needed it to get through the day, to handle the pressure, to stay focussed on treating my patients to the best of my ability. It wasn’t until I prescribed the wrong dose for one of my patients, who subsequently almost died, that they investigated. I confessed, admitting I needed help. They didn’t think twice about removing me from the GMC. And now, the shame I feel is unbearable.”

  I raise my hands, forming a pyramid over my nose and mouth. A visual display of shock and sympathy for the guy who I remember being so focussed on what he wanted to do. Back then, I had no doubt that he’d accomplish his dream. My dream, on the other hand, had no chance of coming to fruition the moment Lisa passed out from all the booze she drank. The irony that I’m in rehab for alcoholism is not lost on me.

  I remember the way he kissed me. Was he looking for acceptance? Was he looking for a way to feel better about himself? Was he reaching out to me as a friend? A whirlwind of thoughts crosses my mind as I watch him sit down as cautiously as he stood up.

  The room is silent for a while, a few as shocked as me, and I can’t seem to take my eyes away from the guy looking so demoralised. He has despair written all over his face. I want to go to him, to comfort him, yet I sit on my hands, rooted to the spot. I’m scared to overstep the imaginary boundary that separates us. Something tells me Dan wouldn’t welcome my pity.

  He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. I nod, a silent, sympathetic ‘well done’. I’m pleased he’s overcome one of the hardest first steps. Talking openly with strangers about such personal issues is never easy. I hope he reads what I’m trying to say. His half smile seems to convey he appreciates my gesture.

  A few more people share their horror stories, and the thing that surprises me is that we’re all living the same nightmare. We all share how our addictions have ruined our lives, and the lives of our loved ones. Dr. Hart sees all these people, and I’m guessing the addictions are caused by the crap of our lives. It’s his job to put on his waders and clamber through the thick mud of our psyches.

  Group session is over. Now it’s time for Dr. Hart. I wonder what treats he has lined up for our hourly meeting. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as what I’ve just witnessed.

  I left group session as fast as I could, grabbed a coffee, and tried to avoid Dan. I’m not ready to face him yet, and that’s only because I have no idea what to say to him. I’m scared. Selfish, I know, but trying to talk to someone about their ‘shit’ when you don’t know what to say wouldn’t be wise. Verbal garbage is not the way to move forward, so I decide to avoid the situation until I can figure out what to say.

  I gently
tap on Dr. Hart’s door. The brass plaque proudly displays that he’s a psychologist, and every time I see that word, it makes me shudder. I take a deep breath, preparing myself.

  “Come in, Kat.”

  I push open the door, close it behind me, and take a seat in my usual spot. The big comfortable chair swallows me whole, and at the moment, it’s the only pleasant thing about coming to see this guy.

  “What’s up, Doc?” I giggle. I lift my legs, tucking them underneath me, and cuddle my cup of coffee.

  “Nice to see you, Kat. How have you been?”

  “Oh, every day is party day here at Witchfield Manor.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm. My only friend here slashed her wrists the other night, and everything is just sweet.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Kat.”

  “Sorry.” My apology is accepted when he nods and smiles. “Not bad, considering. I feel like I’m making progress.”

  “Could you elaborate? Explain to me what progress you’ve made?” he requests.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think I can put how I’m feeling into words.”

  “Please, try.” He scribbles notes. Many times, I’ve tried to see what he’s writing, but he hides the notepad well. For all I know, he’s drawing silly doodles or something and not really listening to me.

  “Okay, well…” I trail off when I hear a knock at the door. We’ve never been interrupted before, so this is unwelcome, especially when I was about to unleash all the chaos in my head.

  “Excuse me,” Dr. Hart says, standing then walking to the door. The way he walks has my suspicions raised. I’m curious who could be disturbing our meet. “Come on in. Glad you could join us.”

  I frown, looking puzzled. When the door opens, and the person who walks in is revealed, I jump up, hot coffee spilling everywhere. “Shit!” I yell, but, thankfully, the coffee is not scalding.

  “Kat,” Dr. Hart warns. “Take a seat, please.”

  “Uh-uh. No way. Not happening!” I make a beeline for the door, glaring at her as I move towards her.

  “Kat,” she says, pleading. “Just one hour. Please.”

  “I’m not wasting one fucking minute with you,” I scream in her face. “And you,” I point at Dr. Hart, “you will have your work cut out delving into her fucked up head.” I gesture between the two of them, absolutely livid that they have the audacity to conspire against me.

  “Kat, sit down!” Dr. Hart raises his voice, halting me from taking another step. “This is part of the program. Get this over with and you’ll have ticked another box, and you’re one step further to leaving here as good as new.”

  I glare at Lisa. If I could kill a person with one look, she’d be stone cold dead now. I hate that they’re both making me do this, but he’s right. There are a certain number of things I must do to complete the program before I’m let out into the big, bad world once more. I knew a family session was on the cards, I just didn’t think it would be so soon. I have no idea how they tracked her down, got her number, or even got her to physically be here. I don’t think I want to know. All I do know is, I want this part of my treatment out of the way.

  I submit, clean up the chair of my spilled coffee with a few tissues from Dr. Hart’s desk, then retake my seat. Lisa sits on a less comfortable chair beside me, but further than arms distance so I won’t be tempted to punch her in the side of her head. And believe me, I’m really tempted.

  I cross my arms over my chest, a defiant signal to both these arseholes that I’m reluctant to play ball. In my head, I’m resorting to violence. I could quite easily jump up, slap Lisa, then jump over Dr. Hart-less’ desk and grab him round the throat. Serving rehab in prison isn’t really an option, so I try to keep my vicious thoughts to a minimum.

  “Okay, we now have…” Dr. Hart glances at the clock on the wall behind us, “…about fifty minutes to this session. Who would like to start?”

  Well, that’s an easy question. Not me.

  “I will.” Lisa shocks the hell out of me. I’m not interested in anything she’s got to say. Her next words floor me. “I’ve been a fool, I realise, and I would really like to build bridges.” I look at her as if she’s come down from the sky in a shower of unicorn dust.

  “What makes you think I’m going to listen to a word you say, let alone believe any of it?”

  “Kat, give her a chance to speak,” Dr. Hart interjects. Whose side is he on? I frown, pissed off that he’s being sucked in by her. I want to scream at him. I want to shout it from the rooftops that this woman is poison with a capital P. I want to yell at her. I want to slap her for all the things she’s done to me. I want to know why she’s treated her only sister like this. I’ve no doubt Dr. Hart will grant me the chance to air my grievances, but do I really want to dredge up all the sordid details from our estranged past?

  I can answer that question, with full certainty. No, I do not.

  I plan on letting her talk, letting her think she’s managed to win me over, win me back, then drop her as fast as she dropped me the day she walked away from me without a care in the world. She didn’t care what happened to me. If she did, it wouldn’t have taken her years to make contact again.

  “Could you be more specific?” Dr. Hart asks her. “Explain to Kat which bridges need mending.”

  I look at Lisa, waiting for her reply. “There are so many,” she says with passion in her voice. “Mum, Dad, the money, Connor…” she trails off.

  “The money?” Dr. Hart asks.

  “Yeah, the money. See, I blamed Kat for the death of our parents. If she hadn’t called them, they wouldn’t have died in that accident.”

  “It was your fault you got so blind drunk. I had no choice. What was I going to do, leave you there?”

  Maybe I should’ve left her at that party. She would have slept it off, woke in the morning, then made her way home. That thought never occurred to me. I suppose I subconsciously didn’t want to leave her there alone where something bad could’ve happened to her. Then I’d have had to live with that guilt too. I’d have to live with the enormity of something bad happening no matter which path I chose.

  “It was an accident. Both of our mistakes led to their death. I see that now.”

  I scowl at her, unable to comprehend that this is the first time she’s admitted we’re both to blame. Still, I don’t trust a single word she speaks.

  “The money?” Dr. Hart reminds us.

  “They left a significant amount – life insurance. I was in control of the money because I was the oldest. Kat was to get her share after the funeral costs when she turned eighteen. But I took all of it. One hundred and seventy-five grand was left over after two funerals. Kat should’ve had half of that.”

  All this time, I’ve wondered what she did with all that money. The cynical side of me says she’s only trying to worm her way back into my life because now she’s broke, spent all of it, and she has no one in her life.

  “I see,” Dr. Hart says, scribbling away. This must be exciting for him to get his shrinky teeth into. “And this guy, Connor?”

  Now we get to the juicy bits

  “Yes, why Connor?” I ask. The first words I’ve uttered since she began speaking.

  “Because I could,” she simply says, making me want to rip her heart out. “I wanted what you had. I was selfish.”

  Her admittance raises my temper, “You fucking bitch!” I’m unable to control the anger working its way to the surface. “I really liked him. I wanted more with him. I thought we shared something special, and you came along and ruined everything. What did I do to you that was so bad, huh? All I tried to do was the right thing. All I tried to do was help you get home that night. I didn’t want to leave you behind. Who knows what could’ve happened had I left you there. I didn’t deserve any of it, Lisa.” The tears have made an appearance; they’re streaming down my face. All the anger, resentment, betrayal I’ve felt is spilling from my eyes in waves. “I didn’t deserve any of it,” I say a little softer, more to myse
lf than her.

  “No, you didn’t, and Karma has come for me.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, perturbed by her statement.

  “Nothing.” She bows her head.

  “Oh, don’t hold out on me now; you’re on a roll. Let’s all feel sorry for Lisa. Let’s all bow down to her needs. Let’s all…”

  “I have cancer,” she cuts me off. “Terminal.”

  I feel the wind not being knocked out of me, but being ripped from my lungs. “What?”

  I look at Dr. Hart. He remains stoic, calm, as we hash it out, but now this confession has come to the fore, he remains focussed on Lisa.

  “I’m not long for this world,” she admits. “When I found out you were in rehab, I guess I selfishly thought I could use this opportunity to make amends. I’m sorry you’re going through this, Kat. Truly, I am. And I’m sorry for all the chaos I’ve caused you.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  The silence is deafening as we all sit looking at each other. I look at Lisa, then Dr. Hart, then back again. We all do the same. I want one of us to say something, something meaningful when it feels like hope is lost.

  “I’m sorry, ladies. Time is up on this session.” Dr. Hart breaks the silence first. I’ve never heard him speak so softly. I breathe a sigh of relief. I need to get out of here.

  Standing up, I immediately head for the door. “Kat.” Lisa stops me in my tracks.

  I turn around to face her. “Yeah?”

  “I’ll come back soon.”

  All I can do is nod. I need time to process the bombshell she just dropped on me. If she wants to come back to see me, that’s fine. Besides, what kind of person would I be if I refused my dying sister a visit? It’s probably the last time we’ll see each other. That thought is sobering as I close the door behind me then head up to my room.