Chapter 16
January 2007
Charlotte
“ – The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Our hands clasp together and raise up and down with the chant, “It works if you work it, so work it because you’re worth it!” My enthusiasm is not on the same level as the other four in this meeting, but I get away with it by mouthing the words and making eye contact.
Ninety days.
Ninety days without drugs.
Ninety days without Priest.
Ninety days.
Should be a joyous occasion. I should be celebrating my accomplishment. But all I can think of is how I traded one toxic relationship for another.
I’m still being told what to do daily by an oppressive prick with a small peen.
I’m still being forced to take drugs. Even if these are legal.
My body still isn’t mine. My wants still don’t matter. How can I celebrate that? Even when I get out of here in a week, it doesn’t just end. I have court-ordered therapy sessions twice a week, random drug testing, and must stay on the medications I’m currently taking for two full years.
“That’s it for tonight, guys. Thanks for a great meeting.” Joe, the drug counselor who runs our NA meeting, says while the rest of us gather the chairs and stack them together in the corner.
I’m almost out of the room before he calls out to me, “Hey Charlotte, hang back a minute, would you?”
I hold my blue book tightly against my chest as I make my way back to him. He’s tall, maybe six feet, with shoulder-length gray hair and a full Santa beard. He’s thin and wiry, always wearing rainbow suspenders over his checkered button-ups. He’s a hot mess, but he’s nice, and that’s a rarity in this place.
I glance up at him expectantly. “I just wanted to thank you for your share tonight. Trust me, I know what it’s like to divulge some of your darkest moments of horror to total strangers. I commend you for being brave enough to tell your story. You’re being released next week, right?” he asks, a genuine smile on his face.
I nod, emotion clogging my throat. I’m afraid of the sound that may escape if I choose words.
“Excellent. Here,” he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crinkled yellow brochure. I take it and read the top RIVER VIEW NA MEETING SCHEDULE. I look back at Joe, and my eyes fill with the tears I refuse to let fall.
He places a hand gently on my shoulder, a reassurance. “I know a few people who make some of those meetings. I put a star next to the ones I think you would benefit from attending. I would tell you their names, but you know…” he gives me a knowing look before we both answer, “Anonymous.”
I thank him and tuck the brochure safely inside my blue book, heading back to my shared room.
Ari sits on her bed, adding to the ever-growing chain of gum wrappers that she’s laced together in a lattice pattern over the time she’s been here.
“How was the meeting?” she asks, not bothering to raise her eyes to me and disturb her focus.
I set my book on the nightstand, kick my shoes off, and lay across my bed on my stomach. “It was… a lot,” I admit, recalling giving the group the cliff notes version of my descent into indulgence and immoral behavior.
She pauses her fingers and looks up at me, concern on her cherub face. I wave her off, “I’m fine, Ari. I just talked about some shit that was hard to remember. But I do feel a little better,” I offer her a placating smile, which she accepts and returns to her project.
“I’m starving. Let’s hit the caf. I heard it was taco night. You know how I feel about tacos, Ari. They rarely feed us anything with a spice palette in this place, and I’m not missing it!” I stand, slip my shoes back on, and walk to the end of her bed. I bend down, grabbing her shoes, and thrust them in her face, “Move your ass, Red!”
* * *
Fucking pain.
Shit.
Bile.
More pain.
Mouth vomit.
Ass vomit.
Agony.
The cool tile is a balm against my heated, sweat-soaked cheeks. As another cramp hits my stomach, my nails search for anything to dig into on the hard surface.
Which fucking way is it coming out this time? Neither end can handle much more. My throat is raw from the acidic bile expelling out of it repeatedly. And my ass is on fucking fire. I wouldn’t be surprised if my rectum has eroded and bloody shits await me at the next round of ass vomit.
A soft knock on the door calls for my attention, but I can’t move. I grunt and think I may get out a “Uhn” kind of answer. Aurelia’s gentle voice flows through the door, “Charlie, are you okay? You’ve been in there for almost two hours.”
When I don’t answer, she opens the door. Her gasp tells me the sight before her is not a pretty one.
I am buck naked, curled around the toilet with my ass pointed towards the shower area of the bathroom. Thank God this place is set up just like a hospital, and the shower isn’t in its own room. There is no separation between the toilet, sink, and shower tile. The only thing that creates the illusion of a separate space is the track on the ceiling, which allows a small sliding curtain to protect part of the room from getting soaked when the shower is on.
“Oh my God, Charlie,” she kneels down behind me, her hands hovering over my body. She’s not sure what to touch or not to touch. “What can I do? What do you need?” she asks urgently.
I squeeze my eyes shut, another cramp rolling in, this one making its way up my chest. I thrust myself forward over the toilet bowl. Heaving over and over as the cramps roll up and down my chest to my stomach. There’s no material left in my stomach to come out. But that doesn’t stop the action.
When the heave lessens, I lay my cheek against the toilet seat and meet Ari’s concerned gaze. “Get help.” Is all I get out before the next cramp hits. This time, it rolls south, and the ass volcano erupts once more.
I must have lost consciousness. I’m in my bed with a hospital gown on. The one with the wide open backside.
A soothing hand glides over my back, “Charlotte, honey, I need you to roll onto your side and tuck your legs as close to your chest as you can,” the sweet nurse, Janice, instructs me. Every part of my body is in distress. My legs feel like they are encased in cement as I draw them up, putting myself in the fetal position.
“Very good, thank you. You’re doing great. You’re going to feel my fingers on your bottom,” she walks her fingers gently across my ass, parting my cheeks. “Now, I am going to insert a suppository. It shouldn’t hurt, but due to the… affected area, you may feel some discomfort. It will be quick, and you will feel better much quicker this way,” she assures me as she inserts the small cylinder into my bum.
I would be humiliated if I could muster any energy to give a single fuck.
“All done. You did great, Charlotte. Do the best you can to get some rest. The medication will work quickly. I will excuse you from morning activities. Someone will be by to check your vitals every two hours.” I groan, not looking forward to constant interruptions of whatever sleep I may get. “Don’t worry, dear, they won’t have to wake you to take your temperature and blood pressure.” She pats my arms in a comforting manner.
The snap of her glove removal makes me jolt, and I immediately regret my response. My muscles balk at the action and burn with rebellion.
Janice delicately rolls me onto my back and tucks the blanket around my chest. Smoothing away the hair glued to my forehead with sweat and other things I refuse to acknowledge, she whispers, “Rest, dear. It’ll be over soon.”
* * *
A clatter startles me from slumber. I peek an eye open and catch Ari frozen in mid-stride with a food tray in her hand. Her face is pinched in irritation. “Fudge,” she curses under her breath. We lock eyes, and I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Heck, Charlie, I’m sorry. I was trying to be quiet.” She sighs as she continues her trek across the room and places the tray on my nightstand.
“Bang up job, Ari.” I tease.
She pats my side with the back of her hand in a “move over” gesture. “You need to put something inside your stomach. I brought you soup and apple juice with pretzels,”
My stomach roils at the thought of food. “Don’t make that face at me, Charlie.” She huffs. I wasn’t aware I was making a face. “That one. Stop it.”
I roll my eyes and start scooting upwards, taking way too long to enter a sitting position against the head of the bed. Ari lifts the soup bowl to me, my lip curls, and I snap my head to the other side. “Okay… not the soup. How about a little juice, hm?”
I take my stomach’s lack of outward protest as a sign of consent and accept the cup.
Taking small sips of the apple juice, I decide maybe I can handle the pretzels.
Ari holds out a handful of the crunchy snack like she’s reading my mind. I close my eyes and take a tentative bite, praying with everything I have to every God I’ve heard of that it decides to settle in my stomach and fucking stay there.
A few minutes pass, and everything that goes in stays in. Thank whatever God made it happen.
“You know, Red? You’re alright. I think I’ll keep you around for a while,” I tell her, pointing a pretzel in her face. She leans in and bites it from my fingers with sass, “You’re damn right. There’s no getting rid of me now. I’ve seen all the crap you have to offer, literally, and I’m still here. You got me for life, sis.”
“You cussed! You’re turning into quite the rapscallion, Red. Maybe you shouldn’t hang around me after all,” I cackle, the look of pride beaming from every part of my being. She’s finally coming out of her shell. And man, she’s glorious.
“Do you know the worst part of all of this?” I ask her, a wave of seriousness weaving through my words.
“What?”
“This fucking place ruined tacos for me, Ari. Tacos! If I never see another taco in my life, it’ll be too soon.” I shriek.
She pats my arm condescendingly. “There, there, Charlie. You’ll make it through this. I know you will. You’ll live to enjoy tacos once again. Someday.”
I glare at my roommate, “Fucking tacos, Ari. Tacos!”
* * *
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Dr. Turner asks, knowing damn well the answer is not fucking good.
How can I feel okay about walking into that courtroom and seeing his face again? I thought I would look forward to this. As a matter of fact, I have been looking forward to this. The day I get to have his future in the palm of my hand.
I’ve rehearsed my words over and over. Sometimes out loud to myself in the bathroom mirror. I would make sure to hit the jury right in the feels with my facial expressions as I detailed every sick and depraved thing he did to me while shucking out his drugs to their children. It would be amazing. They would lock him up and throw away the key. Problem solved.
But the closer the day gets… The more I lose my nerve and dread going.
“Not good,” I answer simply.
Dr. Turner closes his notebook, placing it off to the side with his pen on top. “That’s to be expected. Is there anything I could do to help? Do you want to go over your testimony?”
I shake my head. “My lawyer went through it with me yesterday at our meeting. And again today on the phone. I’m sure we’ll go over it again before I actually take the stand.” I nervously fiddle with the drawstring on my pants, not making eye contact.
Tears cloud my vision, and I blink them back furiously in a futile attempt to keep them from falling. The tear streaks down my cheek and settles in the corner of my mouth. Its saltiness floods my senses like it is the secret key to unlocking the safeguard. And the surge begins.
Dr. Turner crouches before me, placing a hand on my knee and tilting my chin up with his other hand. Blearily, I meet his fretful gaze. “What can I do?” he begs.
His strong hand is the only thing holding my head up as the onslaught of tears continues. Each sob escaping my body in a visceral expression of pain. My body trembles with each convulsion of anguish, echoing the weight of my grief.
I cling to his steady hand with both of mine. Small enough to fit in his palm, I latch on like he’s the last lifeline I have.
“Be there?” vulnerability shows through my question.
His eyes soften, and he moves his palm to cup my cheek, “Of course.”