KRIS

 

Every morning, I can’t tell if I’m happy I woke up or not. I’ve never specifically wished that I would die, but sometimes it wouldn’t seem that bad if I did. I’d imagine it would be pretty peaceful and painless. To be completely honest, I don’t really care either way. Death wouldn’t be very enjoyable, but neither is a life consumed by procuring drugs, getting high, and recovering. I roll over and see the burn mark I made the night before, which has been seared into my mind as a constant reminder of how easily this could all be over. I pull back the blinds and am greeted with a stream of blinding sunlight. Oh, I guess it must be past noon.

 

The sunlight beating down on my skin triggered a flashback, or a memory or whatever of the dream I had last night. I was the right hand man to a big drug lord in Mexico, where the drugs are cheap and the law enforcement is lax; pretty much a drug addict’s dream. We were heading up this operation running dope across the border to the States, and I was in charge of making sure the cargo made it safely. Probably because I was the only white one. It’s funny, I was the one taking all of the risk but the boss man was the one making all of the money. Why are all of my dreams about drugs? And how low does my self-esteem have to be that I’m a sidekick in my own fantasies? Why couldn’t I be the drug lord? Those are questions I’ll save for church tonight.

 

I’ve started calling meetings “church” because it’s easier say “I’m going to church” than it is to say “I’m going to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting”. But even more so, NA has started to feel like my own personal religion. I mean if you think about it, it’s really not that different. We have a big book that you read out of, we hold hands and recite prayers, we ask each other for help, and offer support to our fellow members. NA makes a really big deal about not being a religious program, but it reminds me of the catholic church proceedings my parents used to take me to when I was little. I’ve never been particularly religious, but I have to say that I’ve found solace in these meetings, especially in the past few weeks.

 

I roll out of bed and an overwhelming wave of nausea rushes throughout my body, starting in my stomach and propagating bi-directionally to my head and to my toes. There is not a worse feeling in the world than being dope sick, but for some reason I subject myself to it every single day. I think that is partially because I’m scared of the sickness I’ll feel if I try to detox.

 

I pick up my rig off of the bedside table, and go about my morning routine. Mix. Burn. Draw. Shoot. Euphoria. Warmth. Safety. Sleep.

 

I wake up four hours later, a little groggy but it’s not like being hungover. That’s the beautiful thing about heroin. It doesn’t mess with the levels of serotonin in your brain like MDMA or give you a hangover like alcohol. You wake up and just feel…nice. But that niceness only lasts so long, until your body wants more.

 

I’m out though so I guess I won’t be getting high for a while. A “while” being a few hours, of course.

It’s already four o’clock. What should I do with the rest of my day? I start pulling myself together, I really need a shower and to do some laundry but the laundry in my building costs money and I don’t have any quarters right now.

 

Maybe I’ll get a tattoo or something. I already have full sleeves, which seem to hide my tracks pretty nicely. I usually don’t shoot up in my arms, but when I blow the veins in my legs sometimes I have to. Anyways getting a tattoo sounds like a good plan for the day, I must have some sort of weird obsession with needles or something. I laugh at that a little bit, and think it would be a good thing to talk about at the meeting tonight. Everyone has triggers, or things that cause them to use. Stress, anxiety, and fear are common ones. But I’ve heard it all, anything from women and money to simply waking up in the morning. Needles are definitely a trigger for me. Most people hate them, but I love watching how the skin puckers right around the tip just before it is able to puncture through and situate itself in my vein. Seeing the kickback of blood is one of the most exhilarating feelings, knowing you hit the vein perfectly, and that shortly afterwards, happiness and warmth will be coursing through your body. I love everything to do with needles, piercings, tattoos, donating blood, IVs, and even getting vaccinations or flu shots. I can’t describe the feeling, it’s like I’ve been conditioned to pair needles with the high I get from shooting up.

 

My phone rings and it’s her.

 

“Kris?” she says wearily.

 

“Hey you.” I respond. This is weird, she usually doesn’t call me unless we’re planning on meeting up to practice music or go to a meeting. I just figured I’d see her tonight.

 

Silence.

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

Silence. Shit.

 

“Where are you? Can you hear me, where are you?”

 

Click. She hung up. Shit. She’s using. I hate to be negative and assume the worst, but that saying “it takes one to know one” is fairly applicable here. Her silence, though meant to be cryptic, is nothing but revealing. I know exactly where she is, but I really can’t go there. A few months back I was haning out in this dope house with a bunch of people who were smoking crack. I was high, running out of money, and running out of dope. So I came up with this idea to give a few of the girls a bag full of rocks in exchange for a bag of heroin. What they didn’t know was that the rocks weren’t crack rocks; they were pebbles I picked up off of the sidewalk. It seemed like a great idea at the time, because I got my dope; I was happy.

 

Suffice it to say I made a few enemies that day, but I wasn’t too concerned at first because they were just a couple of addicts to me. What I didn’t know is that the girls were tricks, and now their pimps are pissed about it. Those are the type of people that you really don’t want on your bad side, and it’s not like I can just apologize or give them the money, it’s about the principal. I know that’s where she is but I really can’t –

 

My phone rings, again. It’s her, again.

 

“Kris?”

 

“Listen, you need to tell me where you are. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me where you are.”

 

“I’m…I don’t know…it’s a yellow house…”

 

I don’t even need to hear any more. I know exactly where she is. It’s exactly where I thought she was. I can’t go there.

 

“I know where you are. Do you want me to call the police? Are you okay?”

 

“No, no no…no. No, don’t call the police. Baby, will you come get me?”

 

Baby? My heart skips a beat. Then it skips another one. She just called me baby. Her. I respond before I can even think about what I’m saying.

“I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon.”

 

Click. She hung up. Shit. Okay. Everything is going to be fine. I feel my stomach turn over itself, and I can’t tell if it’s because I haven’t gotten high in a few hours, if it’s because I’m terrified of going there, or if it’s because she called me baby. Probably some combination of the three.

 

Before I know it, I’m already on my way. My body is walking forward, but my mind is screaming at me to turn in the other direction. Before I know it, I’m on the front porch. It’s eerily familiar; I can’t stop thinking about what happened last time I was here and what that could mean for this time. I knock once, no answer. I knock a second time and the door opens ever so slightly. I can’t hear anything, so I stick my head around the corner. Nothing.

 

This is weird. Last time I was here this place was loud. When you have 20-30 people high, drunk or some combination of the two, what else would you expect? The silence is defining though. I make my way through the kitchen, and see used rigs and pipes everywhere. There’s dirt on the ground, the windows are boarded up, and the pile of dishes is swimming with maggots.

 

The silence is terrifying. I’m done; at least I tried, right? I make my way back to the front door when suddenly I feel a force pull my shirt from behind, throwing me onto the floor.

 

I look behind me, panicked, to see a white guy, about 6’2, holding a 9mm. He has tattoos up both of his arms, just like me, except his look like prison tattoos.

 

“Kris, is it?” he says as he walks around to the front of me.

 

“Y-yes” I stammer.

 

“So, Kris, tell me. You think you can run games on my girls and get away wit’ it?” 

 

Shit. Shit. I knew coming here was a bad idea. Why am I even here? Oh yeah, wait where is she?

 

“N-nno sir. I just came here looking for my friend. Is she here?”

 

He laughs, “Hey baby, come down here!”

 

I see her walk down the stairs. No. No. NO. This cannot be happening. This isn’t possible. She won’t even make eye contact with me. No. I refuse to believe this. He grabs her around the waist as she walks by, pulling her violently towards him, kissing her.

 

I can't watch this. I try to stand up.

 

“Where do you think you’re going Kris, is this the friend you were looking for? Hate to break it to you buddy, but she’s one of my whores, and she played you like you played my other girls.”

 

I feel my eyes tearing up as I look up at her. She’s standing behind him now, and I can see her eyes are tearing up as well. She doesn’t want this.

 

“Anything you want to say for yourself, Kris?”

 

I can’t break my eye contact with her, especially to stare down the barrel of a 9mm. A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I'm at a loss for words. 

 

She begins to sob silently, and mouths “I’m sorry” behind his back.

 

Yeah, I’m sorry too.

 

The man with the gun laughs. He looks at her, and then he looks at me, our eye contact unbroken.

 

He laughs, “Are you fucking serious? This is pathetic. Jesus Christ”

 

I’m okay with this; I just hope she and her beautiful brown eyes are able to find peace in the way I was never...

 

BANG.

 

AARON

 

“How would you like to plead, Mr. Woody?”

 

“No contest, Sir”

 

No contest is kinda like the way of sayin’ I did it but I ain’t goin’ to admit it in front of everybody in this courtroom. It’s basically what it says it is, I’m not contestin’ the charges.

 

“Is there anything you would like to say to the court, or to the victims?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“Well in that case, in addition to careful consideration of your previous criminal history, I hereby sentence you to 36 months in prison with a maximum of 180 months. Maybe that will give you some time to think about what you might like to say to those you have wronged.”

 

36 months? That seems like kinda a lot for what I done but it’s probably because I was on parole when this all happened. I already know where they’re gonna send me. Right back where I was. I like that ‘cause it means I’m already gonna have my crew ready to go.

 

“I’m sending you back to Chippewa Valley.”

 

Told ya. I’m pretty excited to see my crew again, but they’re all gonna give me so much shit for comin’ back. Most people are scared of prison, and would be upset about the idea of spending the next 3 years inside. Personally, I like bein’ locked up. I run the same shit on the inside as I do on the streets, except it's easier on the inside.

 

The police in the courtroom came over behind me and tightened my cuffs.

 

“No funny business, Woody” he said with a tone that was almost expecting me to lash out.  

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.”

 

He walks me out the front doors of the courtroom to the cop van. I fuckin’ hate these things. Usually there’s 10 guys or somethin’ crazy all bellychained to the floor for the 8 hour transit, but apparently today, it’s just me. Before they put me in the back, I look up at the sky and take a deep breath of fresh air. I won’t be seein’ the outside like this again for 3 more years. The police are usually pretty understandin’ of that shit, they gave me a minute to be outside.

 

“Alright, Woody. Let’s go”

 

“Okay boss. Can you chain me to the ceilin’ instead of the floor? I wanna try and sleep before we get there…it’s been a long few days.” 

 

“Sure, but I swear to God if you give me any trouble I will personally make sure you don’t see the outside of your cell for the next 3 years, say goodbye to yard time”

 

We both laugh.

 

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I'm really not plannin' on bein' any trouble today.

 

I get in the back of the van, and he slams the doors shut. He climbs up into the front seat and turns over the ignition.

 

“Yo boss, you didn’t even chain me up.”

 

“Oh, I must have forgotten…I won’t tell if you won’t”

 

Sometimes the police really ain’t that bad. I lay down on the metal floor, and close my eyes. The sad thing is, this is probably the quietest sleep I’ll get for a while.

 

The police wake me up what seems like 5 minutes later.

 

“Woody, let’s go they already have a lock assignment for you”.

 

Great. He pulls me out of the car by my elbow, I hate it when they do that. When you got cuffs on behind your back, the police can pull your whole body just by grabbing your elbow. But only the asshole police do it like that. Normal police will just ask you to move or somethin’. They start pullin’ me towards the line up for processing. Me and probably 30 other guys. They put us all in a room and make us stand up straight against the white wall.

 

“Alright gentlemen, strip! Nothing from the outside can come inside. Please remove all of your clothing and place it into the plastic bag on your left. In front of you, you will see your DOC uniform, as well as state issue shoes, towels, a toothbrush, and soap. Before you put on your uniform an officer must search your person. Anyone who is uncomfortable doing this in front of other inmates can request a separate search, but it could be anywhere from 8 to 12 hours before that happens. It is up to you. Thanks.”

 

Here we go again. I don’t really mind this part as much as I thought I would. I’m the first one to strip down, I’ve got nothin’ to be ashamed of.

“Yo I’m ready to be searched”

 

“Alright Woody, lift your tongue up and down. Good. Let me see behind your ears. Good. Lift yourself up and to either side. Good. And can you turn around for me, bend over, and cough. Good. Alright Woody’s clear.”

 

I bet he enjoyed every minute of that. I put on my DOC uniform and an officer started walking me towards my block.

 

“Here you go. If you have any complaints, tough shit. Welcome to the DOC.”

 

“More like welcome back.”

 

He gives me a weak smile. “Yeah, I guess. Welcome back.”

 

I make my bed and climb up on top of it. I look around, this is all too familiar. Same place, same faces. I see a couple of guys walking towards my cube, but I don’t know ‘em. Here we go, not even 15 fuckin’ minutes and I already have to pop off at some of these bitches.

 

“Ayo, Fish”

 

I turn my head. Aw hell naw. I’m a lot of things but I ain’t no fucking Fish. This shit’s stupid. A Fish is someone who’s new to the system, but I ain’t fucking new. 

 

“423119, bitch. What’s your number”

 

“Amigo, pretty boy is a 4-prefix, who would have thought that? I say we take him back to our cube and show him a good time”

 

That’s it, fuck this. Someone’s gettin’ their ass beat. I jump down from my bunk and start walkin’ at them. I can’t believe I’m going to end up in seg the first fucking day, but I can’t let anyone talk to me like that. I ain't no bitch.    

 

“Why don’t you say that again, motherfucker?” 

 

He gets into my face, up real close. He’s a lot shorter than me, so I’m looking down at him…this is going to be too easy. I feel my pulse getting faster, my adrenaline pumping. I wanna shatter his jaw. Break his nose. Blood everywhere. Make one move motherfucker I dare you. One more fuckin' move.

 

He starts laughin’ and looks around the cube, which pisses me off even more. I’m ready to drop this motherfucker.

 

“He’s still got it boys, welcome back, Woody.” 

 

One by one my crew starts poppin’ up, peakin’ over into my cube. 

 

“You assholes! I was about to drop this guy and get sent to seg on my first day back." Alright, I’ll give it to ‘em, that shit was good. "Who the fuck is the new guy anyways?”

 

“I’m P-rock. New initiate. They told me you was gonna beat my ass, so I guess thanks for not doin’ that.”

 

“Ten more seconds and you woulda been laying flat out, I promise. I can’t believe you fuckers. 'Aight tell me what’s good. Anything good happen since I been gone?”

 

“Not really, Stevens over in 147 got shanked while he was takin’ a shit. We had to use the bathrooms over on the West side for like 2 weeks while they cleaned that up. Oh and P-rock over here has been fuckin’ one of the chow hall employees so it's been pretty easy to get whatever we want from the outside in. Cigs, cell phones, you name it.”

 

No one I know has ever fucked an employee, that’s pretty fuckin’ impressive.

“Damn, man, I guess I underestimated you. Anything else?”

“Oh yeah, you got a letter man. I was workin’ the mail room and saw it, that’s how we knew you was comin’”

 

A letter? Already? I wonder who it’s from probably my mom.

 

“Did some piece of ass finally make an honest man out of pretty boy Woody?”

 

Huh? “Let me see that fuckin’ thing”

 

It’s from her. Already? Jesus Christ. It’s so light, must only be one sheet of paper. Fuck. I already know what it says. 

 

“Guys, can you give me a minute? I’ll meet you on yard in ten.”

 

They all start walkin’ outta my cell. P-rock turns to me and hands me a couple of Marlboros.

 

“Here man, these might help ease the transition.”

 

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it” They're not menthols, but they'll do. 

 

We shake hands and he walks out towards the yard. I take a deep breath before I open it up. It smells like her. God, I love that smell. Her handwriting is almost as perfect as she is; I guess she’s had a lotta practice.  It’s short, concise, and to the point. She doesn’t wanna talk to me anymore. I figured as much. What I didn’t figure was how sad I was gonna feel. But there sure as hell ain’t no crying in prison. I’m already over it.

 

I start walking towards the yard to meet up with P-rock and the crew, and I feel a tug on my arm. I look back and see Hood, a guy I know from my hometown.

 

“Yo man, why ain’t you out there with the rest of the crew?” I say to him. 

 

“Listen Woody, I need to pass along some info to you I got from the outside. You know that issue you had at your yellow house? The fake crack rocks? DJ told me to tell you that it has been taken care of”

 

No shit. We were trackin’ down that pussy for a few months. I can’t believe DJ caught up to him the day I got locked up. I wish I coulda been there to see that motherfucker cry.

 

“Aight thanks man, appreciate that, first good news I've heard all day.”

 

I walk out side, past the crew straight to the phones. They all start making fun of me, pointing and laughing ‘n shit. Whatever. I try ‘n call her, but it rings to voicemail. I knew she wasn’t gonna accept the call, but part of me was really hopin' she would. I need her calm mind, and her clarity 'cause my mind is foggy as hell. I need a minute to myself before I head back over to the crew.

 

I walk over to the picnic tables and started watching the sun set over the barbed wire fence as I lit a cigarette. These moments of silence are so hard to come by; sometimes this place feels like a big mental institution. For the first time in my life I feel like I’m being punished. Why couldn’t I just have stayed home, and not fucked with my tether? I still don’t think I did anything wrong though, that motherfucker wronged me. And that action required retaliation. I took a long drag of my cigarette and looked up at the pink and purple swirls in the sky. I hear sirens in the distance, and I think to myself, “at least those ones ain’t for me…this time”. I laugh a little bit at the irony; somehow I keep my shit together in prison more than I do on the streets. As I take another drag, I hear someone clearing their throat behind me.

 

“Shit.” I throw the cigarette on the ground, but I already know it’s too late.

 

“Number and lock, Woody”

 

Dammit, he’s just gonna write me a ticket? No chance to even talk ‘bout it?

 

“Oh come on boss, this week has been outta control. Can’t we just let it slide?”

 

“Like I let you slide last year on that out of place ticket, and on the inappropriate language ticket? I can’t keep letting everything slide, Woody. When are you going to learn you have to follow the rules, just like the rest of us?”

 

He starts writing the ticket, and I look back to the pink swirls in the sky. I start thinkin’ ‘bout Caiden and where he’s at. He needs his dad and his mom so he don’t end up like either of us. I could teach him so much. Then I remember somethin’ she wrote me in that letter she sent…“stop counting the days, and start making the days count”. Maybe I’ll try that tomorrow, but as for now, I have 2 years, 11 months and 29 days ‘til imma be back running those streets. And I guarentee I'll be back, stronger than ever. 

 

 

BRITTANY

                                                                             

Ring.

 

Ring.

 

Ring. Ignore.

 

Ughhh. Who could possibly be calling me this early in the morning? I roll over and start peeling my eyes open. I glance over at the digital clock on my nightstand. It’s 1:45pm already? Wow, that Trazadone must have knocked me out completely last night. I’m not usually a fan of taking sleeping pills, but when I’m detoxing like this it’s the only way I’m able to get more than 15 minutes of uninterrupted sleep.

 

Ring.

 

God, that buzzing is so annoyingly incessant. I reach across my bed and flip over my phone. It’s Addison. My dad’s golden-child daughter from a previous relationship.

 

Ring. Ignore.

 

She’s only a few years older than me, but she chose to follow in dad’s footsteps to medical school, whereas I, well I don’t really know where I ended up, but sure as hell isn’t medical school. I really don’t feel like dealing with her right now. She always tries to act like she understands what I’m going through just because she’s smart, but she really doesn’t ever provide me with any useful insight, just the same old ‘do you know even what those drugs are doing to your body?’ that I’ve gotten from every single one of my doctors and therapists over the years.

 

Ring.

 

Jesus Christ, she’s so persistent. I know I’m going to have to deal with this eventually so I might as well get it over with.

 

“Hey, Addy” I grumble reluctantly, “What’s up?”

 

“Brit, I have really great news! Dad and I have been working through the insurance companies for a few weeks now and they finally approved you to go to treatment! It probably doesn’t hurt that one of my Attendings is a old college friend of the physician who runs Betty Ford now…”

 

She keeps rambling on, but I couldn’t bring myself to hear anything after ‘Betty Ford’. Betty Ford is like the Ritz of inpatient detoxification facilities. They have a fairly high success rate, but it’ll cost you a pretty penny. $26,000 a month to be precise, and they recommend 120 days in the program. It’s referenced a lot in pop culture, and is considered a rehab center for celebrities; David Hasselhoff, Keith Urban, Jerry Lee Lewis, Ozzy Osbourne, Chevy Chase, Drew Barrymore, Billy Joel, Liza Minnelli, Bobby Brown, Elizabeth Taylor, Stevie Nicks, Johnny Cash, and Alice Cooper have all been residents of the clinic in Rancho Mirage, California. Most addicts would kill for this opportunity, but I’m not convinced.

 

“…Brit, are you even listening to me?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, it’s just a lot to take in, that’s all” I lie.

 

“Well I just thought you would be a little more excited, this is really a chance for you to get your life together. Dad and I both think it is an excellent idea.”

 

“Yeah, it sounds great…so when is there a bed available for me?”

 

I’m hoping I’ll have a few weeks to get high and prepare myself for the move. The idea of going there sounds like prison to me.

“That’s the best part, they have an opening in the morning! I already got your flight, and I’m actually on my way over to help you get ready and pack”

 

Ugh, why must she torture me? “It’s alright Addy, Jax can help me pack and bring me to the airport, you don’t need to drive all of the way up here! Really I’ll be fine.”

 

Honestly, there’s about a 50-50 chance I’ll be on that plane tomorrow, I want to make my own decision and I know I can’t do that with her around.

 

“It’s a little late for that Brit, look out your window!”

 

Click.

 

Please tell me she’s joking. I look outside and see her black SUV in our driveway. Great. I roll out of bed, stand up, and try to make myself look presentable. She doesn’t need to know that I just woke up. I grab a Suboxone from my nightstand, take it and head downstairs. 

 

Jax is sitting on the chair in the living room working on an essay for school. He looks up at me and smiles.

 

“Good morning, favorite sister! What is your plan for the day?”

 

I glare at him. “Addison is here. Do you have anything to do with that?”

 

He looks shocked I would accuse him of going behind my back.

 

“Brit, I would never do anything like that without talking to you first, I think you know that. Why’s she here anyways?”

 

We hear the doorbell ring and Jax jumps up to get it. I follow behind, dragging my feet. Jax opens the door, and there she is. With her perfect blonde curls and her perfect complexion and her perfect four-carat diamond ring from her perfect doctor husband.

 

“Jackson, it is so good to see you, it has been much to long.”

 

Jax pulls her in for a hug.

 

“It’s always great to see you, Addy”

 

I’m not sure I can be so nice. Addy turns to me and gives me a look that I would classify as laying somewhere between shame and pity.

 

“And how are you doing, Brittany? You, uhm, you look better than last time I saw you.”

 

She sounds so genuine.

 

“Yeah, it’s probably because last time you saw me I was on half a bottle of oxy.”

 

I don’t know why I’m always so defensive with her. It’s probably because I feel like she’s always attacking me in some capacity. My eyes lock with hers, and I can see how uncomfortable my tone makes her.

 

“…Uhm, well, that’s good?” she stammers.

 

Jax turns and glares at me. Fine, I’ll be nice.

 

“It’s always great to have you here, Addy. We have so much to catch up on, but why don’t you fill Jax in about what’s going on while I go to the bathroom real quick.”

 

Her spirits seem to lift almost instantly, and she turns to Jax and begins explaining the situation. I head back upstairs to my room, and start pacing nervously back and forth. I want to use. If this is really the last time I’m going to have a chance to get high in the next three months, I better do it, right? I’m searching my mind for any hidden stashes I might have somewhere. Under my mattress? No, I used those during my last ‘emergency’. In the ceiling tile? Nothing. The shoebox in my closet? Empty. As I’m rustling through my closet, I hear my bedroom door shut. I look up and see Addy and Jax both looking at me with looks of physical pain in their faces. They hate seeing me like this. I hate seeing me like this.

 

Jax comes and grabs me out of the closet.

 

“Hey Addy, can you give us a minute?” Jax asks.

 

“Sure, not problem. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

 

What does she mean ‘if you need me’? Like I’m out of control or something? She closes the door behind her, and Jax looks back to me.

 

“Really, Brit? You’ve already got a few days under your belt, and you have this amazing opportunity to go to Betty Ford and you are up here looking for just one more high? When is it going to be enough? When are you going to realize that it will never be ‘just one more’?”

 

Where is this coming from? He never talks to me like this.

 

“I love you more than anything in this entire world, but I can’t want you help you more than you want to help yourself.”

I stare at him, at a loss for words. He can sense my sadness, and quickly comes over, wrapping his arms around me.

 

“I’m sorry Brit, it just hurts me to see you this way. I love you so much.”

 

I feel a tear hit the top of my head as he whispers, “Please promise me you’ll go. Please?”

 

I push him away and look at him as I feel my own eyes filling up with tears.

“I just need a minute to think about it. This is all so sudden, I don’t know if I’m ready to go tomorrow…just let me think about it”

 

He kisses my forehead, and turns to walk out of the room.

 

“You’re better than this, Brit” he chokes out.

 

“I know. Give me a couple of minutes, okay?”

 

I just want to be alone. He opens the door, and closes it behind me. I’m alone. The same instinct to use pulses through my body, as I continue to tear apart my room looking for the last few pills I know I must have forgotten about somewhere. I look inside of the Chanel clutch my dad got me for my fourteenth birthday, and I hit the jackpot. There has to be at least thirty pills in here. Euphoria.

 

I hear someone clear their throat behind me. What? I didn’t even hear anyone come in the room. I turn around, clasping my clutch simultaneously. I see Addy staring at me. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture.

 

“Brit, we need to talk. There are some things we need to get out in the open. I’m not here to lecture you, and I’m not here to tell you that you have to go to treatment. I just need to talk to you.”

 

Well that’s weird. I don’t think Addy and I have ever had a conversation about anything that wasn’t regarding how she thought I should be living my life. Her sense of vulnerability is intriguing me.

 

“Okay, but I need to start packing. Do you mind if I do that while we’re talking?”

 

I’m not necessarily packing to go to treatment, but she doesn’t need to know that.

 

“Sure, that’s not a problem”, she says softly.

 

I pull out my Louis Vuitton luggage, and start picking out things I might want to bring with me, wherever I’m going.

 

“I feel like our relationship, ever since we were little, has been extremely strained. I’ve always felt that you had this sense of resentment towards me because I was dad’s first daughter, or because I got straight A’s in school, or because I always seem to have my shit together. Brit, the truth is I’m as much of a mess as you are.”

 

I can’t help but laugh.

“How do you figure that, Addy? You have a perfect life. The perfect education. The perfect career. The perfect husband. The perfect…”

 

I can’t even finish my sentence before she begins to sob. Mascara streams down what was once a perfectly contoured, artificial face.

 

“Brit, you have no idea…”

 

“Addy! Of course I don’t! You never talk to me about anything besides what I should be doing with my life. You’re like a parent to me. And then I’m sitting here with all of my problems laid out for the entire family to see, and have an opinion about. I just can’t take the judgment anymore! You have no idea what it’s like to mess up…”

 

She cuts me off.

 

“Jason and I separated four months ago, and I haven’t told anyone, not even dad.”

 

I’m silent. Her and Jason were high school sweethearts. They’ve always been together.

 

“I cheated on Jason.”

 

Woah. This is not what I expected in the slightest.

 

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Addy. Is there anything I can do?”

 

I don’t know what I could possibly do to help, but I should at least offer. I look up at her and I can see in her eyes that there’s more she isn’t telling me. She looks down and says,

 

“We separated four months ago.”

 

“Yeah, Addy, you already said that”

 

I’m not really sure what she’s trying to get at

 

“Brit, we separated four months ago, and I’m two months pregnant.”

 

Holy shit.

 

“…You’re sure it’s not Jason’s?”

 

Not sure why I asked that.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure. But I haven’t even told you the worst part yet.”

 

There’s more? Jesus Christ. I hear a phone ringing, but it’s not mine. It must be Addy’s. She pulls it out and looks at the screen. A pained look covers her face.

 

“Speak of the devil” she says. “I was going to try and explain the situation to you in words, but maybe this will be easier.”

 

She slides the bar to answer the call, and puts it on speakerphone. I’m expecting to hear a man’s voice, but instead a recorded message begins to play.

 

“Hello, this is a prepaid call from Aaron Woody, a prisoner in the department of corrections Chippewa Valley West…”

 

What. The. Hell. The recording continues.

 

“If you feel like you are being victimized or extorted by this prisoner, please contact Global Telecommunications Customer Service. To accept this call, press zero. To refuse this call, hang up or press one…”

 

Addy hangs up the call, and continues to stare at her phone.

“So you remember how you thought I had a perfect life? Well I don’t.”

 

As horrible as this may sound, I’ve been waiting for this moment for as long as I can remember. I thought I would enjoy it. I thought wrong. I looked at her face as she continued to stare at her phone, and all of the sudden I feel like she understands the shame, and the disappointment I feel every day. Because she’s feeling it too, just a little more silently than I am. I almost feel bad for her, because she doesn’t have someone like Jax in her life to be there for her. God, does Addison have it worse than I do right now? If she’s going through all of this shit, why is she here trying to fix my problems?

 

“Addy, I know we haven’t gotten along in the past, but I would never wish this on you. I don’t enjoy seeing you upset, but I can say that I do enjoy seeing you a little bit humbled. Have you told this Aaron guy about the baby?”

 

She keeps looking down.

 

“No, I don’t think it will help anything. I ended things with him after he got arrested. Brit, I’m scared to do this by myself. There have been so many times in my life when I feel like you needed me, whether you’re willing to admit it or not, but I really need you right now. This baby and I really need you right now.”

 

I’m shocked. She’s asking me for help?

 

“So if you want me to be around, why are you trying to ship me off to California?”

 

She finally looks up. Her perfect blue eyes, blackened with running mascara still find a way to pierce through me.

 

“Because I need you to be here. I need one hundred percent of you to be here, not fifty percent or twenty five percent depending on how many pills you’ve taken. If you’re not willing to go to treatment for yourself, will you at least consider it for my baby and me? Your niece or nephew?”

 

Holy shit, I’m going to be an aunt. I have the chance to be a part of an innocent life, something I feel like I’ve lost the understanding of. I have the chance to bring myself back to the happiness I felt before my addiction. For me. For Jax. For Addy. And for this baby. I grab the clutch off of the bed, where I set it down before we started talking. I open it and look at the pills. I look up at Addy, standing in front of me disheveled.

 

As quickly as I opened the clutch, I closed it and handed it to her.

 

“I’ll go. Please flush these down the toilet, I don’t trust myself to do it.”

 

She comes over and gives me a hug. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember the last time we hugged. It feels…nice.

 

“Thank you, Brit. Thank you so much” she says.

 

I look at her and smile.

 

“I’ve got to pack. Will you let Jax know what I decided?”

 

“Sure. And Brit, could we keep this between us until I’m ready to tell everyone?”

 

“Of course. But you’re going to have to tell them before you get too fat”

 

I laugh. She looks pissed.

“Okay, I’m sorry. It’s too early for jokes.”

 

“Yeah, Brit, you think?”

 

She smiles a little bit though. She turns to walk out of my room and shuts the door behind her. I’m left alone. Nothing scares me more than the idea of being on that plane tomorrow morning. But for once I have the opportunity to put another life before my own. And I’m going to grasp onto that innocence, that happiness, with all of my strength. I’m finally ready to be done, after all of these years. I’m finally ready.