Chapter 6
Christian
"Addiction is a battle fought in silence, but recovery is a journey best traveled together."
I’ve been in this nuthouse for a year now.
The loss of one's mother can truly break a person.
It was hard, to say the least. She was my best friend and all I had, especially when Dad had been drinking—he got.
.. physical. He was never the best father, and I would never nominate him for “Dad of the Year”, but I blame that on my grandfather.
My mother passed away while I was overseas.
I knew there was something off about that day when I was brought into the command tent, and greeted by the chaplain, Commanding Officer, and Sargent Major.
Let me tell you, that isn’t something you want when you’re knee-deep in the soil of a foreign country.
Receiving that news not only brought me home, but it also brought me down, then it brought me here—the deadly concoction of her death and the transition back to ‘the civilian life’ sent me spiraling.
It started small. Some weed here and there with my other fellow Marines—those thrown into the shark tank of ungrateful, wastes of life.
Tending to the same travesties of humanity that inhale the air my sisters and brothers died for, all while complaining their coffee isn't done right.
They take full advantage of the freedom brought to them by the blood of my kin, those worthless wretches with no understanding of what it means to truly lose.
The reefer calmed the voices but did nothing to ward off the shadow people.
No solace for the constant sounds of the firefights or bombings I experienced during the time I was forward deployed.
So, the more things I tried, the more the nightmares would morph, becoming accustomed to the drug of the week, challenging me to try something different, something stronger.
This place was like living in a Broadway masterpiece of dysfunction and filth.
The smell, so potent it could knock a bloodhound senseless—heavy chemical cleaners mixing with human shit and piss.
The sounds aren't much better. Down the hall, resounding in HD, are the screams and incoherent ramblings of those deemed a threat to themselves and others.
One relief I had was an orderly named Barney.
Making it into his good graces was a Godsend.
I attained this gem after I stopped a complete nutcase from splattering his brains across the common room with an IV stand.
In return, he sneaks me smoky treats—cigarettes to most. On occasion, he levels up, bringing pre-rolled joints from a smoke shop for us to share.
Orderlies like him make the nights when the demons creep from the mind and into the shadows, bearable and safe.
Having someone like that on the outside, could have stopped the high—the one that had me fading back into that nightmarish dream that caused me to go berserk.
The very night that got me off with a plea for temporary insanity and five years of rehabilitation.
I remembered feeling the pulse in my veins matching the frequency in the flashing glow of the alternating red and blue.
Then I was restrained to a bed, blinded by bright fluorescent white lights, buzzing like a hive of angry bees as they passed above me.
After everything was all said and done, I found myself here: a routine med schedule, a routine food schedule, and lights out by nine.
After all the time I've spent here, there has never been a reason for my leaving... until she joined the rehab center a week ago. Going on what now? Five, six months of sobriety, and I would throw it all away for her—little did I know that is what I would have to do.
Evelyn
It was all a blur. A fever dream, and it was my fault. I will never forgive myself. I must get better, if not for myself, then for her.
These words have imprinted themselves on my psyche. Like an old hag nagging, they echo in the caverns of my mind… always the same words, never the same tone, a broken record struggling to correct itself.
I brought myself here. I dragged my rock kicking and screaming to meet this bottom, this low of all lows. I am an embarrassment to her. My sister, so smart, intelligent, and all of that could be erased because of my negligence and disregard for my own life.
The stench hit me the moment I pulled open the double doors.
Moans of lost souls ringing off the walls.
If you close your eyes, you can imagine Hell just from the haunted howls residing here.
“All Father grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Habitually, I recite the words my father told me.
I always needed to be the center of attention. I’d piss everyone off to have it... good or bad... didn’t matter. Attention was attention. Now look where I am, standing at the front desk of a rehab center, waiting for the receptionist.
My hair stands on end, as a shadow forms, looming over me, the wind brushing against my neck as whatever it is exhales. I turn to find a man around my age looking down at me, his hands in his pockets.
“What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” My eyes are wide as I fight back the urge to laugh.
Does this corny shit still work on women?
My face goes red hot, as the corner of his lip lifts in a half smile—I guess so because I am smitten.
Two days pass, and the false wall I built has been broken.
Putting it up was an attempt to put myself last. Or at least I thought I was putting myself last for once in my life, until he pointed out the opposite.
“Why do you hide?” his voice appears out of nowhere.
My shoulders kiss my ears in response, then I go back to playing with the mush on my plate.
“Not going to talk to me, huh? That’s cool, I’ll get it out of you eventually.
” He twists his foot on the ground, like he is putting out a cigarette.
The way he teases is infectious, and I'm hooked but I don’t lead on that it is working.
His voice rings out again pulling me from my thoughts, “Hey sugar, wanna get out of here?”
“What! No, I can’t... I-I haven’t-” Once the panic settles and I realize the smug grin on his face as he crosses his arms, glaring down his nose at me—I clasp my hands over my mouth. Laughing the loudest I have in, I couldn’t even say how long.
I look up at him. “Well, there goes the neighborhood.” In almost a whisper, I respond to him, pushing a piece of stray hair behind my ear as I glance up to meet his gaze—a deep chuckle is how he answers, and it sends tingling sensations so deep I could feel them straight to my bones.
He moves toward me, his face hovering over mine, and I am scrunched in my chair—his breath hot on my face.
“I have encountered many drugs.” I watch as shadows roll over his features like those cast by the clouds against the mountains on a warm summer day.
“I have never been addicted to one before even trying it... until you walked through that door.” He points behind him in the direction of the lobby, and my heart skips a beat.
Why does he make me feel this way?
Rocking back on his heels, he relaxes his face and with a sultry ‘follow me’ stare, he turns and walks away. A single glance over his shoulder, brows raised, his eyes boring into me, captivates my soul like a gem enthusiast finding a rare jade masterpiece—completely irresistible.
Christian
Evelyn... her name matches her beauty. Evelyn... uh... feels so good on my tongue. A name I could moan loud enough, even missiles would fall silent to its sound.
She tries to play shy, but I work my magic—I will have her speaking in no time, but only to me. Her smile melts my stone heart, and after looking back at her in the cafeteria, I knew I had her… finally, a drug I could get high on.
I lead her to the janitor's closet, and there, I’ll get her to tell me her pain.
Once the door shuts that is exactly what she starts doing.
I let her talk—she goes on about how she put her sister in the hospital, and their dad leaving when they were young.
The story of her father disappearing was what, in my opinion at least, sent her down this path of addiction.
Her trauma is also my cue. Am I ashamed of the fact that I exploited her tragic background to slip into those gray sweatpants of hers? A little, but hey, ‘gray sweatpants season’ isn’t just for women. While you all are staring at our front, we are wondering what shadows your ass casts.
Also, little reader, it was consensual. I used her sadness to my advantage, yes, but the difference is I made her feel the way she should have always felt—wanted. If you don’t feel wanted, then they may just be using you.
As the conversation between us ended our feelings got the best of us, and I found myself propping her up on one of the shelves to the supply rack.
The way her breasts bounce as I drive my cock into her…
is delicious. The soft rattling of the shelving unit as she braces herself…
is hypnotic, like a metronome keeping me on beat.
Our heat building… condensation forming and mixing with the sweat on our bodies.
“Oh sugar.” My moans collide with her skin, echoing off the valleys where her neck dips.
Soft but hungry, my hands wash over her.
Every inch. I must touch every. Inch. Of her body.
The moment we shared wasn’t long, but it didn’t stop us from savoring every bit of it.
“Christy… Chr… Christy.” Her cries made it difficult to last. I started naming different weapons in my head.
My thoughts were taken over by the many names for the artillery I had back in the military.
“I’m… gonna-” Her screams vibrate in my palm as I slap my hand over her mouth to muffle them.
We don’t want, nor do we need to be caught.