Luka #2
His jaw twitched, and he pushed the bag away as he sat down, sending some of the pills rattling across the table. “I don’t need your judgment any more than I need your pity. Go do your job, I won’t fight it.”
“I’m not trying to fight you,” I told him softly, approaching slowly. “Why do you have those?”
His head snapped up, and he shot me an incredulous glare. “Are you serious? What else would someone need painkillers for? Pain!”
“People who are prescribed pain killers are often taken off them because they can be addictive, severely so.”
“You’re accusing me of being an addict now?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I am trying to get you to talk to me. So please, Rowan, meet me at least halfway and talk.”
For a moment, his eyes blazed, and his jaw tightened so fiercely I thought he was going to stand up and start bellowing at me.
Which would have done nothing to convince me he wasn’t an addict, not just because he wasn’t even trying to deny it, but because the defensiveness would have spoken volumes.
To my surprise, his shoulders slumped, and he looked at the floor with a heavy sigh.
“That was the reason they took me off the pills. They were worried I was developing a codependence on them because of how many I ended up needing. They tried to push alternative treatments, physical therapy, other medications, even pot. None of it worked, not like the pills. But after the opiate epidemic scared the living hell out of everyone and doctors had to be more careful about handing out medication, they weren’t willing to hear that.
It didn’t matter that the physical therapy only gave me more mobility without lessening the pain, that the other medications did nothing, or that the only way for pot to help with the pain was to be so stoned I couldn’t think straight; that didn’t matter. ”
Taking that as the cue that I was safe to sit down, I took the seat next to him, letting him stare at the floor as he gathered his thoughts.
After a minute, he raised his head, and I could see the desperation in his eyes.
I didn’t know if he was pleading in his head for me to understand, but his eyes were shining with the hope that I might at least hear him out.
“The pills were the only thing that could take the edge off. My body was used to them, so they didn’t cloud my thinking the way the pain did.
I...there are days when it feels like chainsaws are twisting over my back.
It doesn’t matter how good you are at focusing, how strong your willpower is, when it feels like your back has grown teeth and started eating itself, there is nothing you can do.
You aren’t even a person; you are a vessel for pain.
I lay in bed, unable to do anything, for days.
I was told repeatedly it would get better, but it didn’t.
I couldn’t even do physical therapy after a while, because it set off worse pain.
I couldn’t do anything, Luka. All I could do was lie there in agony and hope that tomorrow it would be a little less.
I couldn’t see my family or do my job, and on bad days, I could barely feed myself or use the bathroom.
Those days could last for a week or more.
I was contacted by someone who heard what I went through and offered the relief that medical bastards had been denying me because they were afraid of a fucking lawsuit,” he hissed, slamming his fist on the table, making me and a few of the pills jump.
“That first relief in months was beyond amazing. If my head was a bit foggy from that first strong dose, it was worth not feeling like someone was ripping me apart.”
“I...don’t want you to take this as judgment, but wouldn’t that fogginess get in the way of working? You don’t seem like the type to enjoy being foggy,” I said with a wince. “Even if it does mean relief from the pain.”
He gave me a humorless smile. “And you’d be right.
The first couple of weeks, I was essentially.
..stoned. I was so caught up in the relief that I was willing to bake my brains.
But then, sense kicked in as the last dose of meds was wearing off, and I realized I couldn’t trade being infirm from pain for being a stoned idiot.
It took me a while to find the balance, but I did.
I get the same dosage and take them only when the pain is particularly bad.
I can manage the pain when I need to without worrying about being high. ”
“That’s quite a balancing act,” I said, cocking my head.
He snorted softly. “It was, but I’ve grown so used to it that it’s second nature.
I’ve learned to read my body. I can tell when a day is going to be a bad one, and I can tell when it’s just going to be a little rougher than usual.
The first means a pill, the second means I power through.
I’m not an addict, Luka. I’m a man who’s been denied the medical treatment he needs to function, but instead of doing it the easy way with medical assistance, I’ve been forced to do it myself, and I’ve done it. ”
I could only sit there as he finally stopped, taking another deep breath, this one shaking at the edges, and I realized that he had probably never told anyone.
Not whatever friends he had on the outside, his family, no one.
He had been dealing with the struggle of his body turning against him, without anyone to help him.
He had probably kept it from others, not just because he didn’t want pity, but because he would sound like an addict justifying his pill popping.
And really, some part of me was considering that a possibility.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but addicts often lied to downplay how bad things were, or to ensure access to their supply.
Maybe that was what was going on here, and I needed to take action immediately, even if it meant he would hate me.
Yet I believed him. I had seen addicts before, I had seen what they could be like, and this was different.
I still needed to report it, but I hoped to convince him to come with me.
That would mean he was showing signs that he was genuine.
And if it turned out my worst fear was right, and he was a self-deluding addict, he could get the help he needed to find something else, anything else.
I opened my mouth, and he sighed. “Look, I know that now you know my secret, you have to do your due diligence. I understand that in your line of work, it’s necessary to report whenever you find evidence of something that might appear to be drug abuse. I get that completely. All I’m asking is—”
He stopped, and I realized he couldn’t say what he was asking, because he had never asked something like that of anyone.
Rowan operated on the principles of evidence, logic, and reason.
He believed what his eyes told him, especially what the evidence told him.
I had accidentally come across his stash of pills, I had found his dirty little secret, and I had heard a tale that I was sure sounded doubtful even to his ears.
So, I reached over and took his hand in mine and told him what he wanted to hear. “I believe you, okay? You’re right. I do have to report this, and what I really want is for you to be there when I do, so everyone is on the same page at the same time.”
“I can do that,” he said, his voice small.
“But that doesn’t have to happen right this second,” I said, standing up, pulling him to his feet, gently guiding him over to the bed where I sat down and waited to see what he would do.
Rowan hesitated, looking around as if there was something that could hold him back from coming to bed with me, or the answer to whatever question was burning his head at that moment.
I waited, watching him, before he finally sighed heavily and sat on the bed next to me.
He didn’t do anything at first, just sat there, staring at the opposite wall, but the distance in his gaze told me he wasn’t actually present, and I continued to sit there, our knees gently pressing together, and let him have his moment.
I watched the tension in his shoulders slowly drain away until he was just a man who had opened up about the greatest struggle he had been forced to go through on his own, one who had been carrying the weight of something no one else could begin to understand.
I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind, but if I were to guess, I would think he was a little shell-shocked as he tried to understand what had just happened, what he had just confessed, and how I had taken it without batting an eye.
Eventually, I risked lying on my side to give him space.
The movement caught his attention, and he glanced at me with a confused expression before nodding and lying down as well.
I was surprised when he turned his back, allowing me to wrap my arms around him and hold him close.
I could feel the beat of his heart beneath my hand on his chest, slowing to a steady, peaceful rhythm as we lay there in shared silence.
“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he began softly, his voice rough as if he hadn’t used it for days. “But I definitely didn’t expect you to...accept it so easily.”
“Why?”
“Because I know how it sounds, it sounds exactly how you were first looking at me.”
“How was I looking at you?”
“Like I was an addict. And everything that followed sounded like an addict coming up with the saddest story imaginable, so you felt bad enough to go along with what I said. Like I was making the excuses addicts have made time and time again, a story as old as time.”
“If we’re going to be honest, that could still be the case. I could be wrong.”
“And if you are?”