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“It’ll get better. I promise. Swallow.”
“Bet you’ve said that a few times in your life, eh, big guy?” Tossing the pills back in my throat, I chase them down with a large mouthful of water and then grin as I hand Chad back the paper cup.
“Not appropriate,” he grumbles.
No. It’s probably not. But I’ve got to find something in this place to keep myself entertained. I’m going stir-crazy in here, and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.
Detoxing is all kinds of fucked up. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently. The shakes, the hallucinations, the headaches, and nausea are horrific in the first few days. And the sweats, man, the sweats are like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. None of this is like anything I’ve ever been through before and it’s like nothing I ever want to go through again.
The first four days in here, holy shit, I swear I thought I was going to die.Literally.I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t lie down. I couldn’t sit still, and I couldn’t move for fear of falling flat on my face. My head throbbed constantly, and I was totally messed up.
“Tongue,” demands Chad.
Opening my mouth wide, I poke out my tongue. Because apparently that’s what my life has become. Turns out I’m a man who pisses in jars now and has strange dudes checking out different orifices on the reg.
Chad hands me a box of apple juice with a straw. “You’ll get through this, Kael. I promise. It’s only been a week.”
I nod unhurriedly.
“You’re starting your one-on-one therapy sessions tomorrow. That’s promising.”
“So I hear. What’s the deal?”
“You’ll attend one session a day, an hour at a time,” he tells me with a weak smile, and I swear it sounds like he’s reading the spiel straight from a script. “How do you feel about that?”
“Thrilled.”
“Are you always such a smart-ass?”
“I pride myself on that very thing.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a new therapist starting tomorrow. She’s being transferred from one of those government-funded rehab centers in Brooklyn, and apparently she’s as tough as nails. Everyone’s running around in circles trying to get things ready for her. I’ve heard you can’t even look sideways at this woman without her biting your head off.” He laughs softly under his breath. “You’re on her list. Good luck.”
I force a fake smile, hold it for entirely too long just staring back at him. When the silence gets to be too much, Chad eventually shakes his head and leaves the room. The door closes behind him, and with the soft thud comes the sudden realization of where I’m at in my life, both literally and figuratively.
Jesus Christ.I’m wearing ankle socks and drinking juice from a fucking box. The gnawing feeling inside me swells and grows, begging to be released. And while the darkness has a place in my life, keeping it under control is the key to my success here. Because once the angry beast is awoken, I can’t always rein him back in.
If they knew the real reason why I’m here, why I am the way I am—the fucked-up reasons that I’ve chosen never to share with anyone else—then they might not let me leave. They might even lock me up for good.
And wouldn’t that be a fucking shame. Then the angry beast could eat me alive and put us all out of our misery.
Kael
Day 8
My group session the following morning consists of vulnerable men and women with all sorts of disorders and problems, not just alcohol.
We’re all lumped together into the same morning sessions, however, despite the vast and various reasons we’re here. I guess we’re all just addicts of some form or another, whether it’s alcohol or drugs, gambling, or sex.
I’ve dabbled in a little of each.
Dr. Copeland watches me closely from his seat on the opposite side of the circle, and I can feel the weight of his dark eyes bearing down on me.
Slinking farther down into my seat, I can’t help but hope he skips me today and moves on to Jarvis Corrigan, who’s sitting beside me. Jarvis is a high-profile lawyer for the DEA. He’s also addicted to methamphetamines. And masturbation.
Yeah. You heard me right. Masturbation. Apparently, that’s a thing. I can think of worse ways to spend my time, but evidently, you’re not supposed to say that out loud. And as it turns out, you’re not supposed to laugh when other people are talking about their problems.
Fine. I know that now.
