Jersey Girl

by J A Heron

  I make my way downstairs, unable to control my need to talk to Benny any longer. I’m also a little peckish and need some Jaffa Cakes to ease my craving. I grab my favourite snack then walk into the room that houses the payphone. I’m still astounded they have one of these here. I dial her number, and she answers straight away. “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me.” My sombre tone alerts her.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I was told some stuff today, about Lisa. Dan mentioned some shit.”

  I give her the run down of all that was exchanged between us.

  “Oh my God. I had no idea.” She gasps then falls silent.

  “I had no idea either. I mean, it’s my sister. What kind of person am I to turn my back on her when she needs me?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, she got drunk. So drunk she couldn’t find her way home, so you made a decision to help her. That resulted in the tragic death of your parents. And yes, she made sure you never forgot it… ever. Then she robbed you of your share of the inheritance, leaving you homeless with no one to turn to. You dragged yourself up from the gutter, got a life, moved on and now you’re starting to feel guilty because she chose to live a life with a guy who almost kicked her to death, killing their unborn child on numerous occasions. Are you fucking serious?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “No buts. You’re seriously screwed if you forgive her straight away. What if her tale about terminal cancer is just that? A tale.”

  “Maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt. She could be telling the truth.”

  “You’re right; she could be. But then again, it could all be another pack of lies. Lies intended to manipulate you into believing she’s turned over a new leaf, changed for the better. I thought we had this conversation earlier.”

  “We did, and you’re so right. I guess I needed to listen to reason once more. What does she have to gain by lying again?”

  “Not an awful lot, to be honest. But she’s a classic narcissist, and she wants nothing more than to control you. I know she’s your sister, and it hurts knowing all the bad shit she’s done to you, my best friend. But think, really think about what you’re saying. I believe she’s only out to reel you back into her life so she can control you. If I’m wrong, I’ll hold my hands up and apologise, but I’m certain.”

  “So, you’re saying I should turn my back on her? Let her die painfully and alone?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. Of course, be there for her. Be her sister, but keep your guard up. If she is telling the truth about the cancer, be a supportive sister, be her shoulder, but do not forgive and forget all the stuff she did. Remain impassive.”

  I know she’s right. It’s my duty to help her as much as I can, but at the same time, I must protect myself against someone who has the potential to pull me under. I must remain aloof around Lisa, mainly because I know given the chance, she’ll betray my trust once again.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Chat soon.”

  I end the call, thanking Benny with all that I have. I love her so much, and I know she loves me, even though I’m undeserving of her. She’s always had my back, and here she is, proving to me that she’s the best person I know.

  I have an extra pack of Jaffa Cakes with me as I make my way back up to my room again. When I turn the corridor, I see a slumped Dan sitting on the carpet outside my door. He knocks every so often, and it’s clear he thinks I’m in there but refusing to open the door.

  “You okay?” I ask as I get closer, and he startles. He jumps to his feet, brushing his hands down his denim-clad thighs.

  “Hey,” he says. “Midnight snacks?” He points at the packet of citrus cakes in my hand.

  “Yeah, something like that. A new addiction.” I chuckle. “What’s up?”

  “I just wondered if you fancied some company?”

  “I would, but to be honest, I’m hooked on that book, and I’d really like to finish it. I have a feeling the ending will be epic.” A slight snort escapes, making me blush. I don’t know why Dan has this effect on me. I rarely blush, but he brings out the teenager in me.

  “Okay.” His eyes drop, resigned, disappointed. He’s come here looking for someone to lean on, and my guess is, he’s feeling the need to talk through the cravings he’s having. I remember talking to Jess not long after I got here. He’s in the same place.

  “I can spare a few minutes,” I say, opening the door. “Come on in.”

  I rush around, picking up dirty clothes from the floor, shoving them on the armchair, then collecting empty Jaffa Cake wrappers and stuffing them in the waste paper bin.

  “Thanks, Kat.” I get the feeling he’s thanking me for more than my time.

  “Speak freely, Dan. Don’t feel like you have to bottle it all up where I’m concerned. I’ve dealt with quite a bit in my young life.”

  “I’ve no doubt, and that’s why I feel like I can open up to you. You listen. Others pretend they’re listening, nodding in the right places, and as soon as you’re done, they walk away. You, you really listen. It’s in your eyes, and they’re such pretty eyes.”

  This is what I was dreading. He’s mistaking my kindness for a come-on. He thinks I’ve invited him in here for a little horizontal mambo, but it’s not happening, and he needs to know it.

  He reaches up to thread his fingers through my hair, much like he did the night we kissed. I grab his wrist, halting him, then give him a tight smile. I subtly shake my head, letting him know his ministrations are not welcome.

  “Sorry. I thought…”

  “It’s okay. Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  “Sorry,” he repeats.

  “Enough with the apologies. Let’s talk, okay?”

  “Sure.” He smiles. He’s not completely mortified by my rejection.

  In fact, we spend the next hour or so just catching up, talking about detox, dealing with cravings, and more. I still get the feeling he’d love to get into my underwear, but he’s keeping a cool persona as we talk like old friends.

  It’s wonderful to learn all about his family, all he went through during medical school, and finally becoming a doctor. He hopes to have that back again one day, but it will be incredibly hard to rebuild his reputation now he’s labelled the doctor who got addicted to opiates.

  He really has lost everything. His family, his friends, his job, his well-respected status. Now he’s on a mission to rebuild his life. There’s one thing I can give him, to help him on his way to completing that mission, and that’s the limited information I’ve learned at Witchfield. I can share my experiences, pass the baton of knowledge, so to speak.

  I give Dan the condensed version of my repugnant past, and he really listens to me. I welcome his hug after I’ve finished speaking. It has no sexual undertone whatsoever. His hands grip my back, holding onto me as if his life depends on it. I hear him sob while he holds onto me for the longest time, and I let him. I let him take from me what he needs to get through this sticky moment; he’s helping me too.

  “Thank you for being so understanding.” His sob shakes his whole body. “You’ve helped me, more than you know. If there’s anything you need, if I can help you in any way, you let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” I say as he pulls away from me. His body language has changed. He’s no longer airing a defeated disposition. In its place sits a confident man with a more positive outlook.

  I watch him closely as he closes his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s not an exasperated action, it’s one of someone showing they’re getting their shit together. I’m so proud of him in this moment. I feel his struggle. I feel his pain. Unfortunately for Dan, the hardship is just beginning, as mine is, thankfully, coming to an end.

  I link my arm through his as we sit side by side on my bed. I rest my head on his shoulder as he rests his head against mine.

  “You’re pretty awesome,” he tells me.

&
nbsp; “So are you, but I’m still not sleeping with you.” I giggle.

  “I know.” He chuckles. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  We both take a deep sigh, and in this moment, I realise that, in Dan, I’ve found another great friendship, and we toast to our friendship – not with booze, or drugs – but with Jaffa Cakes.

  One week to go and I’m counting down the days. I’m already on course to finish the program, and I’ve taken everything everyone has said to me seriously.

  The last few days have been intense, and I guess it will continue to intensify the closer I get to freedom. Dr. Hart has started to ween me off most of the medication that has helped counteract the cravings and bring my blood/alcohol levels to a more normal level. I’m not going to lie, the detox side of this program has by far been the toughest aspect, and there have been many times I’ve wanted to curl up and die. Looking back now, I realise it’s an over-dramatic response to feeling so unwell you wish the torture would end, but at the time, detox is a living nightmare. I’ve made it to the other side, and I feel ten times better for it.

  The sessions I’ve attended have been focussing on giving me the power and the control to reclaim my sense of self-respect, my dignity, and peace of mind. I’m winning the battle, although the war is still not over. I’ve been practising personal empowerment techniques. Personal relationships are a key factor in finding empowerment, and I have to say, Benny, Raven, Dan, and Audrey have all played a key role in making sure I stay on the right side of this aspect of my success. Talking through my issues with Dr. Hart, learning to tell him what’s bothering me, opening up, even on the days where I feel like a failure, is all part and parcel of making a clean break from addiction.

  My confidence levels are through the roof. I’m not quite in the state of omnipotence, but I do feel mighty at this moment in time. I’m incredibly lucky to have such wonderful people around me. Friends, new friends, and even my sister who has tried – but failed – to keep me in a state of self-hate. The knockbacks and learning to deal with them without resorting to a drinking habit that’s sure to kill me one day are key components of my release. They won’t let me leave here until I’m able to display my ability to deal with stress, and day to day problems that would normally result in me getting wasted.

  My issues with Lisa don’t matter anymore. All that matters are the steps I take moving forward, and I refuse to let anyone drag me back to where I was. For once in forever, the positivity I feel is amazing.

  I tap on Dr. Hart’s door and await his command to enter.

  “Come in.” Weird. It doesn’t sound like Dr. Hart. When I walk into the room, there is a face I don’t recognise sitting in the spot where Dr. Hart normally sits.

  “Er, hi,” I say, looking around the room in case Dr. Hart is in here and this is one of his underlings. “Where is he?” I ask, confused.

  “He can’t be here today, so you have me instead.” He smiles warmly at me. The guy is a lot younger than his predecessor. Many years younger. “Take a seat, Kat. I’m up to speed with your treatment so far.”

  I’m a little apprehensive as I take a seat in my normal spot, disappointed, because I thought this would be my last session. It’s clearly not. This is the kind of scenario I’ve been practising for my release from rehab. I have to deal with change and unexpected situations thrown at me at a moment’s notice, and it’s how I cope with it that will bring forward my release date. Something in my head is saying, ‘this is a test. If you cope well with this, they’ll give you a date’. I sit on my hands and lean forward, waiting for this guy to speak. I’m a little too keen; more than I’ve ever been in these sessions, but if the reward at the end is what I think it’ll be, then I’m all ears.

  “So, who are you?” I ask, realising he’s not introduced himself.

  “Dr. Cartwright,” he says, reaching out. I almost fall off the chair as I lean forward to shake his hand.

  “I’m not drunk,” I tell him, afraid he’ll get the wrong idea.

  “I know,” he says, like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

  “I lost my balance.”

  “Kat, relax.” I think this guy knows I’m trying too hard. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he is just covering for Dr. Hart because he’s poorly or something. Maybe he’s just doing a fellow shrink a favour, and my detoxed brain is thinking far outside the box.

  “Okay, there’s not much to say today, apart from your Benzos will be reduced to the lowest dose, which means, in a few days, you’ll be off them for good. How are you handling the withdrawals?”

  “Great. I mean, I suppose I’ve been lucky. I’ve hardly felt the drop-in dose since weening off started. I know it’s dangerous to stop them altogether, but if you were to stop them completely today, I think I’d handle it.”

  “You’re right, Kat. We can’t stop them just like that.” He snaps his fingers with the last three words. “Slowly and gradually is the key. But, once you’re off them completely, hopefully you won’t feel the loss.”

  “Loss I can deal with,” I tell him, referring to more than just the prescribed drugs in my system. He ignores my quip.

  I continue to sit on my hands, leaning forward.

  “Okay, the last doses have been prescribed, and the nurses are under instruction to finish administering in two days’ time.” I start to get excited, but it’s quickly dashed when he says, “You could be leaving in six days. We still have a couple of things to try out, but you’ve made excellent progress, Kat. You should be immensely proud of yourself.”

  Although this news isn’t exactly welcome, I feel a sense of achievement, and I am proud of myself. I’m much stronger than I give myself credit for. Benny has been saying since day one that I’m Wonder Woman. I wouldn’t go that far, but Benny thinks I should be wearing gold bulletproof bangles on each wrist.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Dr. Hart will see you one last time before your discharge, and then it’s up to you. As a fresh face around here, one you’ve not seen before, is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

  I think for a moment, tapping my upper lip with the tip of my index finger. There is one question; it’s plaguing my mind. I’m afraid to ask, but with my new-found strength and confidence, I go for it. “Do you think I’ll succeed? I mean, staying off the drink for good?”

  “I do, but everyone is different. From what I’ve read, and meeting you today, I think you have a determination I don’t see in my patients very often. If you practise what you’ve learnt on this program in the outside world, then you won’t do too badly.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Cartwright.” I want to get out of here. I want to mark on my calendar the date that depicts D-Day. The day I’m finally free to leave, to go home, so my life can start once more.

  The day I find me.

  The day the Get Kat Back Plan finally materialises.

  My friendship with Dan is going from strength to strength, and our bond is getting stronger with each passing day. I don’t feel as awkward around him anymore. I meet up with him in the dining hall; it’s arts and crafts day again. There are so many useless, tasteless things you can make, but the purpose of these exercises is to keep your fingers busy, so they don’t get restless, thus allowing time for the detox, the cravings to subside. I get it now. All the exercise classes – from cardio to gentle aerobic – the book groups, the constant doing something is designed to keep your mind off the addiction.

  I see Dan. He’s sitting with Stuart – the guy who shagged Jess in the garden – and I’m reluctant to speak with Dan, mainly because Stuart gives me the creeps. I’ve only just learned his name. I’m okay if that makes me ignorant, but he freaks me out with the way he looks at me.

  “Hi,” I say shyly as I reach them. Dan quickly tries to hide what he’s been making. “What’s that?” I ask. A paper model of some sort grabs my attention.

  “It’s… it’s for you,” he whispers, presenting me with an origami flower. I go to take it from him, but he pulls
it back quickly. “Not yet. The paint is still wet. It was meant to be a surprise.” The delicate flower – a rose, I think – is made beautifully. The petals are a deep red wine colour and the stalk and leaves are painted different shades of green. It’s really clever.

  “Wow, you’re really good with your hands.” I blush immediately after the words leave my mouth.

  “You have no idea.” He winks at me. We’ve passed that awkward, he wants in my pants, stage, so I know this banter between us is just that.

  All the while, I can feel Stuart’s eyes on me, and as I’ve not engaged with him, or even acknowledged his presence, I feel rude when I say, “What are you staring at?”

  “You,” he says. I’m taken aback by his candour.

  I shrug. “Your problem,” I say, yet he continues to stare. “Quit it!”

  “Can’t help it. You’re so beautiful.”

  “Oh, well. You’ll get over me.” I laugh. I know this guy is here for sex addiction; Jess told me. My guess is he’s just after fulfilling that need in him; that itch that won’t go away. “You ain’t getting none of this.” When I gesture to myself, I think he gets the message.

  “Don’t want none,” he sneers. He can be as cold as he likes; I know he just said that to save face. He’s wounded by my rejection. He scrapes his chair back against the wooden floor. He gives me a cold, hard stare as he walks away, metaphorical tail dangling between his legs.

  “Don’t be so hard on him. He’s harmless,” Dan says, his smile making me believe every word.

  “Well, thanks for the flower,” I say. “Perhaps you could deliver it to me later, when it’s dry.”

  “I’ll stop by. Fancy some Jaffa Cakes too?”

  “Do sex addicts look like idiots?” I ask, trying to throw some humour on the situation.

  “I guess some do.” He smirks. “I’ll see you in a bit, after I’ve created my next masterpiece.”