Chapter 38
December 2007
Charlotte
I cannot wait for winter break. I am so tired of feigning normal amongst my classmates and professors.
I had to beg Savvy to stay her ass in Florida when I finally spoke to her. She had many choice words for my situation. She threatened massive bodily harm to Zach. I guilted her into promising she would stay out of it and not contact him.
He made his choice. He has to deal with the fallout. I choose not to engage. Though my feelings on the predicament change as often as the winds, right now, I feel strong and resolute. Two hours ago, I was curled in a ball on my floor, wondering why that EMT saved me and whether I would’ve been better off simply fading from this world.
I hate that he has this much control over me. I hate that I’m so weak as to be conflicted because I fucking love him. I want to find a way to move past whatever this is. But I also want to cut off his dick and feed it to the gators and let the roaches feast on the gaping hole where his manhood once stood. Like I said, all over the place.
Rebecca’s been a pretty good shoulder to lean on. Nightly, she makes me her sleepy tea and listens to me repeatedly go through the motions. My own unhinged Ferris wheel. Round and round it goes.
I’ve got to find out where she gets that tea. It calms me like very few things ever have before. She says it’s a special blend, and she’s sworn to secrecy by her grandmother. One of these days, I will sneak a peek at the packaging in her room and order some for me. If she ever lets me into her room. She never leaves me any; she insists on being the one to take care of me. She brings the mug, already made. Every time.
I can’t believe it’s only been twelve days since Floozy—what I’ve named the sleepy girl on the phone—blew my world apart. It feels like it’s been an eternity and the blink of an eye all at once.
I’ve spent my days crying, cursing Zach’s existence. Cursing my own existence. I’m certain I’m down at least ten pounds from the lack of food. Whenever I try to eat, my brain tortures me with thoughts of what Zach could’ve been up to that night.
Did he map her body with his tongue like he’d done to mine so many times? Did he make her scream his name like he makes me? Did he fuck her passed the point of exhaustion and demand another orgasm when her body was spent? When these thoughts creep in, my stomach revolts. Hence, the weight loss. I’ve been surviving on noodles and tea.
Rebecca is literally the only reason I’ve made it to class for the last week and a half. She knocks on my door every morning to usher me to the shower and will pester me until I follow her to our respective classes.
She insisted on a girl’s night last night. The evening consisted of spending several painful hours bleaching and toning her hair to be a light ashy shade of blonde, not too unlike mine, but hers is so obviously fake. She said she just needed a change, and I get that. It’s like a rite of passage for a girl to fuck with her hair when she feels like her life is out of control. At least she didn’t try to go red.
Even though the heavy fog of chemical smell in my small dorm room was tedious and nauseating, it did keep my mind off of, well, everything, and I welcomed the non-narcotic distraction.
A knock at my door pulls me out of my thoughts. I know who it is. That perky knock belongs to only one person, Rebecca.
When I open the door, she points at a white envelope taped to the wood. “What’s that?” she asks. Hell, if I knew. I shrug and grab the nondescript envelope. Inside is just a small thumb drive. There is no note, nothing saying who it’s from or what it is.
We walk into my room, and I set it on my desk. I’d love to see what it’s all about, but if we don’t leave right now, we’ll be late for Gentry’s class, and I don’t need to give him any more reasons to hate my guts.
* * *
The sounds of over-the-top moaning flood out from the speakers of my laptop. A dark, grainy video of a naked blonde bouncing up and down assaults my eyes. Her back is to the camera, and it’s too dark to make out the dude below her.
Why would someone leave this for me? Maybe a hazing prank or something? Fucking gross. Her moans get louder as she rides his dick like she’s being paid to. Hell, maybe she is. I’m sure there’s good money in amateur college porn.
I’m about to rip the offending technology stick from my computer when a familiar drawl sounds out, “Mmm, fuck darlin’. So good. You’re always so good when you take my cock.”
Stunned, I slam my hand against the space bar, pausing the video. I move the cursor back a few seconds and play the scene again. And again. And again.
It’s staticky and muffled. He’s slurring. Drunk again, no doubt. He always is these days. But it’s definitely him. Zach. Fucking some blonde that isn’t me.
If there was any doubt that tried to seep into my mind, the blonde’s next words solidified my assumption.
“Oh, Zachy, you fuck me so good, baby. Tell me again how I’m way better than your girlfriend. Charlotte, is it?”
The thudding in my chest skids to a halt. Heat rises to my head, and I think I might fucking pass out or throw up.
“Mmm, better than anything… Little bit… Love… Favorite…” his drunken declaration is muffled by the blonde leaning forward, smothering his answers with her tits. Yep, I’m gonna fucking throw up.
I gargle water three more times before heading back to my laptop. I’ve seen enough. It doesn’t matter where this came from. What matters is that he did the one unforgivable thing—the thing he knew would break me—break us.
Zach and I are done.
* * *
I’ve never shared my story in a meeting before, but today, I am bursting to share my truth. The first step is admitting you have a problem and are powerless.
This is my admission.
“Hey, everyone. My name is Charlotte, and I’m an addict.”
The room fills with the answering greeting, “Hi, Charlotte.”
I try not to think about the last time I took my place at a wooden podium before a crowd of people. Momma’s funeral.
My eyes frantically search the room until they land on Genny, who gives me a gentle smile and a nod to keep going.
“My mom died almost two years ago. An aggressive cancer that took her way before either of us was ready. It hit me hard. I stopped caring about anything. I had already dabbled in some drugs, but after her death, I really dove head first with no helmet.”
My nails pick at the slight splintering of the well-worn wood. Many, many sad souls have stood here before me, and many will come after, all with different but identical stories.
I detailed every dark and depraved secret that I’ve held inside for the last two years to a room full of strangers. When I could bear to raise my gaze to theirs, I was shocked when I didn’t see one person with judgment on their face. No disgust. No blame. I saw understanding. I saw acceptance.
I clear my throat, some of the nervousness ebbed away by the admission of my shame, “I’m fourteen months clean. But I’m still on step one. I’m really struggling with believing in a higher power when I’m shown repeatedly that if he/she does exist, they clearly give no fucks about my suffering.”
Claps fill the room when I step away and take my seat beside Genny. She pats my thigh, a silent encouragement. She knows exactly how hard that was for me. She told me the heart-wrenching story of her past and when she finally got the courage to talk about it.
After we wrap up the meeting with a circle of holding hands and repeating the Serenity Prayer, some of us gather to chat in the parking lot. A young guy, about the same age as me, tall with curly brown hair, steps beside me and tips his coffee cup towards me, “Great share today, Charlotte. I admire your strength and resilience.”
Tears instantly prick the back of my eyes. I blink them back and manage to say, “Thank you.”
“I’m Reggie,” he says kindly, holding his hand in offering. I shake it. “Hi, Reggie.” We both giggle at my answering greeting.
“Ah, Reg. Good, you two have met!” Genny says as she steps up to us. “Reggie is also my sponsee. I wanted to introduce you guys, so this is great.”
We exchanged numbers and promised to meet sometime next week to start working on our steps together.
A horn sounds around the now emptying parking lot. The sharp noise startles me. Reggie laughs and pats my shoulder, “Oh, sorry about that. My partner gets impatient sometimes when I just start blathering away. She knows I’ll talk for hours.”
We both wave to the black minivan waiting in the corner of the lot, “Alright, Charlotte, text me what day works best for you! See you next week!” Reggie shouts as he jogs away. A pretty red-haired woman steps out of the van to receive him, a huge pregnant belly resting between them, and they embrace and share a kiss.
It should warm my heart to see such a loving couple. But it just makes me ill. Makes me wonder what secrets hide behind the smiles. What lies are buried in half-truths? Love is bullshit. Sure, Reggie seems like a good guy, but clearly, he’s done something fucked up to be here. I wonder what kind of depravity he took part in when he was deep in his addiction.
A hand lands on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It gets better, dear. You won’t always feel this way. You won’t always look for the darkness in people.”
I look at her, questions playing out on my face. She answers my unasked question, “The disgust you feel is palpable, dear. It’s written all over your face that you’ve experienced deep betrayal in the ways of love and have lost all hope in humanity’s ability to love in a healthy way.”
“My face says all that?” I ask, crossing my arms, feeling the need to protect what’s left of the meat sack in my chest from harm.
“It takes one to know one. I’ve been there. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it does get better. Someone, someday, will show you that all those thoughts in your head right now were nothing but ghosts of deceit. One day, you’ll find someone worthy. Someone who will choose you. Every time.”
“And how do you know that, Genny?” I question sassily with my hip cocked out to one side.
She winks at me, “I have faith.”