Chapter 37
November 2007
Charlotte
“Hello?” A sleepy and very feminine voice that definitely doesn’t belong to a southern boy says as she answers my boyfriend’s phone. For just a moment, I wonder if maybe I called the wrong contact on my phone. I pull the phone away for a moment to verify. Yep, I called the right number.
“Who the fuck is this?” I demand.
“Who is this? You called me?”
My hand begins to shake as I try to make sense of what is happening right now. Please, please tell me this isn’t happening. I can’t do this again.
“Where is Zach?” I question between clenched teeth.
“Zach? Why would you be calling for Zach on my–”
She clearly knows him. I pull the phone away and smash my finger on the END button. I’m really missing the days when you could slam a phone down into a receiver and hear that satisfying metallic resonance in the room, giving you a sense of finality in the action.
Rage fills my body, and I type out a final message before blocking his number.
Me : Happy fucking birthday.
Sitting motionless and unsatisfied on my bed, I try to piece together the last two minutes. Could there possibly be a reasonable explanation for a sleepy girl to be answering my boyfriend’s phone at the ass crack of dawn?
Maybe it’s his sister?
Come on, Charlotte. You know he doesn’t have a sister.
Maybe he lost his phone somewhere, and this girl took it home by accident?
Yeah, and maybe Hell is just a hot spring.
Maybe he’s in a really early study group, and nobody’s had their coffee yet. His phone was sitting on the table, and she picked it up by honest mistake.
Sure. It’s totally reasonable after a guy’s night with his buddy, Morgan, where he didn’t call or text me like he said he would, that he is now up super early… on his birthday… with a fucking study group.
After spending two hours sitting on my bed, gaslighting myself into the various plausible, but not really, scenarios in which a girl answering my boyfriend’s phone would be acceptable, I finally cave and call Savs.
“Yo,” she says in a lighthearted greeting.
“Savs,” I choke out, my voice breaking as deeply as my heart.
“What’s up?” she asks flippantly. Can’t she hear that I’m falling apart? Why is she being so nonchalant about it? We’ve always been able to read each other’s mannerisms immediately, even over the phone. Maybe the distance is changing our friendship.
“What’s up? I’m fucking falling apart here, Savs, and you’re just chill as a cucumber.” I squeal loudly, the sound grating to my own ears.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she responds to my heartache without an ounce of empathy. Who the fuck is this girl, and what has she done with my best friend?
“Well, hopefully, you realize by now that I can’t come to the phone. So leave me a message at the beep. Or, you know, just text me like a normal person. K, thanks, bye!”
I almost laugh. Almost.
Instead, I ended the call without leaving a message, deciding to just give her a call later. This isn’t something I want to discuss with her voicemail or through text.
I wake with a start, the room now pitch black. Fuck, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I reach over and press the button on the side of my phone, illuminating the room with the time. It’s dinner time. I’ve slept the day away.
For one brief blissful moment, I’ve forgotten the events of this morning. When the memory slams into me like a freight train, I physically feel the tugging of my heart muscles. They are ripping apart, piece by piece.
A torrential downpour of salty tears stream down my face. I curl myself against my pillow and cry.
And cry.
And cry.
My eyes are puffy and raw. My nose is dripping with the snot that runs almost as freely as my tears.
I could really use some numbing right now. I don’t want to feel. I don’t think I can survive this round of disappointment and betrayal.
No. I am not throwing away a year of sobriety. Think, Charlie, think. What tools are in my toolbox?
Reach out to someone.
When I’m greeted with the same gotcha voicemail from my best friend’s phone, I decide to head down the hall to the only friend I’ve made on campus.
Feeling defeated when Rebecca doesn’t answer her door, I head back to my room and contact my sponsor.
“It’s good you called, Charlie. The urges sometimes pop up at the most inconvenient of times. That’s why we continue to say we are addicts. Present tense. This is something we have to work on day by day, moment by moment. But, you took the first right action. I’m just getting to the clubhouse for tonight’s meeting. Would you like to join me?”
My sponsor, Genny, has been such a great support for me since I got to Alabama. I’ve been to a few of the local NA meetings. I always feel so out of place, like I don’t belong. But when Genny attends the same meetings, I have at least one person with whom I feel a little comfortable. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get dressed and be there in twenty.”
Sometimes, I feel emboldened when I leave a meeting.
This is not one of those times. I’ve heard it time and time again from Dr. T, my sponsor, Savvy, that hiding my feelings only hurts me more. It’s hard to break the cycle. I’ve spent my whole life pretending to be something I’m not. I’ve walked around with a mask on for so long that I forgot it was actually removable.
My body vibrates with need. The imaginary bugs are scurrying beneath my flesh, waiting, begging, and salivating for the sweet hit of oblivion.
I bump into Rebecca when I enter Burlington Hall, “Hey, Charlie! Goodness, girl, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you look awful. Is everything okay?”
Savvy still hasn’t answered my calls. Though I don’t want to dump my bullshit on a girl I still hardly know, she is the closest thing I’ve got to a confidant right now.
Tears well in the corners of my eyes as I swallow down the lump in my throat. Words won’t come. I simply shake my head as the first tear falls.
“Oh, honey, come with me,” she coos, wraps a warm arm around my shoulders, and leads me to the elevator.
When we enter my dorm room, her gasp startles me as I flip around and stare at her wide-eyed, waiting for her to explain her reaction.
“Charlie, this place is uber messy. What is going on with you, girl?” she glares in distaste at the pile of used tissues on my desk, as if they are going to become sentient at any moment and come after her.
I look around my room and can’t find a single fuck to give about the state of it. I shrug my shoulders and fall onto my bed.
Rebecca glances around the room, no doubt scanning for a semi-clean space to place her perfect self. She decides to flick the pile of clothes off my computer chair and take a seat. I can’t even bring myself to care about the clothes now littering the floor. Were they even clean?
I poured my heart out to Rebecca for hours. To her credit, she sat and listened to my blabbering and incoherent ramblings when the emotions welled too large to ignore with such rapt attention. I haven’t felt this seen in a long time.
“Wow. Charlie, I am so sorry this happened to you. Are you going to break up with him?”
That’s her first question? I just downloaded two years worth of pain, anger, addiction, betrayal, death, and hospitalization on her, and the first thing she wants to know is if I’m breaking up with my boyfriend.
The look on my face must convey my displeasure at her response because she quickly adds, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say. You deserve so much more. That is all I mean. This Zach guy sounds like a typical jock frat boy. I told you, they can’t be trusted. They get into college and around all the co-eds and just let their penises do all the thinking for them. Jersey chasers are everywhere at D1 schools. You must’ve known that.”
She’s right. Did I really think I was going to be enough? Zach is fucking gorgeous. He’s sweet and funny. A true golden retriever of a man. Throw in the deep southern accent and “darlin”, and it’s no wonder he sets every pair of panties within five city blocks of his smile ablaze.
Rebecca comes to kneel before me, patting the top of my hands in what I assume is supposed to be a comforting gesture. “It’s just how these men are. You aren’t to blame. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Did you think he’d be satisfied with sex once a month and some flirty texts and pictures? Guys like him have a deep-rooted need to stick it in everything they see. You’re better off without him, hon.”
Maybe she’s on to something here. I mean, he is insatiable when we are together. Maybe the sexting and phone sex just wasn’t enough. How did we think we’d manage four years like this? Did I really think I’d be enough, that temptation wouldn’t be everywhere? I’m sure he wouldn’t have to put any effort whatsoever into getting a partner to warm his bed for the evening.
Why am I never enough? Fuck .
“I don’t really want to talk about this anymore tonight. I appreciate you coming to sit with me and listening to my problems. I just want to go to sleep.” I tell her gently. I don’t want to let my emotions run off the only friend I’ve got in this place.
“Okay, Charlie. I think some rest will do you good. Oh!” She stops and snaps her fingers, looking back at me with her forefinger sticking up in the air. “I’ve got this great sleepy tea that works wonders. I’ll grab you a cup. Promise me you’ll drink it all and get some rest.”
I nod, dismissing her in the most polite way I can. It’s like three am at this point, and my body has had all it can take tonight.
I tip the mug to my lips and take a healthy gulp of the barely hot sleepy tea, setting it in between my feet as I sit criss-cross-applesauce on my bed. I lean my head back against the wall and start to flick through recent memories to see if there are any signs that I missed. Any glaring red flags that the man who said he loved me would fuck me over. And goddamnit, I can’t find any.
A familiar cloud settles over my itchy nerves. This tea is pretty legit. I tip the cup back to my lips, finish off the remainder, and settle into bed. The glowing stars on my ceiling dance among the edges of my consciousness, the neon green melding into explosive colors, my own Northern Lights to lull me to sleep.
The bugs are satiated. The itch has abated.
And I rest.