Chapter 41
February 2008
Charlotte
“You are a godsend, Charlie!” Reggie gushes as he grabs the folded manuscript from his backpack. He is a theater major and hasn’t had someone to run lines with since his partner Sariah has become too exhausted from being hugely pregnant and nesting. I was happy to offer my lame acting skills. He’s become such a great friend over the last few months.
I haven’t seen Rebecca in weeks. It’s like she fell off the face of the planet. Maybe that’s just her MO. Some girls only keep friends around to bide their time until they hook a man. Then it’s sayonara chicky and hello dicky.
I’m grateful for Reggie and Sariah. They’ve opened their home and their hearts to me. We’ve come up with some weekly traditions. Game nights. Pizza nights. Movie nights. You name it. Anything that doesn’t involve drugs, partying, or sushi. Who knew preggos couldn’t eat sushi? Maybe I’ll just never get pregnant. It sounds like a giant list of shit you can’t do for nine months.
I take my place in front of Reggie as he hands me a copy of my own crumpled manuscript. “Okay, you will read the red parts, and I will read the blue parts.”
Nerves begin to take hold, as if we will be performing this train wreck for a stadium full of people and not his two cats, Johnny and June.
I take a large bite of my Hawaiian pizza and nod my head at him.
We spend the next hour and a half trading dialogue back and forth. I suck. He’s actually pretty good. I don’t know anything about acting, but I’d try to stay awake through it if he were in a movie.
Life is starting to look a little less bleak. I’ve been consistently on the go, and the busyness helps the dark thoughts stay at bay. Thankfully, we’ve got a good mix of meds going on, and I’m no longer living in a fog.
Most days, I can function as a regular, neurotypical human. And thanks to therapy and meetings, I have an arsenal of tools to fight off the darkness on the days I can’t.
Reggie wraps his arm around my shoulder as he gently takes the manuscript back, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Charlie. You know I adore you. But you are an awful thespian. Please never pursue a career in acting. Promise me.” He jokingly implores.
I shove him off with a fake huff, “Well, not after that silent dissent…thanks for crushing my dreams, jerkface.” I tease back.
Sariah walks into the room, her arms loaded with greasy snacks. We all post up in our various spots in their living room for movie night.
Walking into class the next morning, I’m stunned to find an empty auditorium. Professor Gentry is resting against his desk with one of the campus security guys. When the door bangs behind me and alerts them to my presence, Gentry straightens up and gives me a very curious look. He’s had it out for me from day one. I’m used to his glares, sneers, and sassery. But this look frightens me a bit. It’s full of regret and compassion.
“Miss Johnson, please come in.” Gentry pulls the chair out opposite his for me and gestures for me to take a seat.
“Uh, what’s going on? Was class canceled?” I pull out my phone and begin to pull up my email. “I didn’t get a notification or anything.”
“Well, that was by design. Yes, class has been canceled. But we needed to speak with you about an urgent and confidential matter.”
Uh, okay? What the fuck is going on? He’s acting like someone died. Oh fuck.
“Did Rebecca die?” I gasp out urgently. My heart pounds with the beat of a thousand drums. It makes sense. I haven’t seen her. She hasn’t been in contact with anyone I know. She hasn’t responded to any of my communications.
Gentry pats my hand in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but after months of animosity, the comfort is lacking. “No, dear. But this does pertain to Miss Crowe. Did you two have any sort of falling out or ongoing issues?”
“Uh, not that I’m aware of. She’s been pretty distant lately, and…” I bite my lip and debate whether or not I should say anything about the pregnancy. She seemed excited about it, but it’s definitely not my news to share. But… if something’s wrong or she’s gone missing, maybe that’s important information to have. “Last time I spoke with her, she was getting married in a week and had just found out she was pregnant.”
Gentry doesn’t seem surprised by my revelation. Maybe as her mentor, he was already privy to that piece of hot goss.
“And when was that?” he asks as the security guard pulls out a little yellow pad and black pen.
“The last week in January.”
“You’re certain about the date? That came to you awfully fast.” He asks, not accusing but uncertain.
Yeah. I’m certain that she told me a week before she was getting married on what would have been my anniversary. That date is seared in my brain, as I hoped it would be my wedding day one day.
I clear my throat, “Positive.”
Gentry nods and rests his behind on the edge of the desk. “Has Miss Crowe ever prepared your food or beverages?”
Well, that’s a weird fucking question. I mean, she’s brought snacks and stuff to my room, and I have to hers too, so I guess, “Yeah?” I respond with question.
“Did you ever notice feeling off after ingesting the items prepared by Miss Crowe?”
Feeling as though I’ve been slapped, my head whips back as I stare up at him with furrowed brows. “What?”
“At any time, did you feel like something wasn’t quite right, or did you feel sick or maybe really tired? ”
“This is super weird, Professor. Can you just tell me what is going on?” I plead, done with the fuck-fuck games and ready for some answers.
Gentry sighs, “An anonymous source has made me aware of some inappropriate and possibly illegal actions by Miss Crow. Against you, dear.”
Huh? “I don’t understand.” I sigh heavily, exasperated by this circle jerk of non-information.
“It’s been alleged that Miss Crowe was giving you small doses of something called AstraClara for a number of weeks.”
A torrent of memories threatens to take me under at the mention of the newest version of a familiar drug. This can’t be happening. What? Why? This doesn’t make sense. “I think I would know if I was given drugs, sir.”
“We are aware of your past, Miss Johnson. But we have strong evidence to the contrary,” he motions to security, holding his hand out. The security guard hands him a small, clear cup with a light blue lid. He places it in front of me on the desk. I look up to him and see the apology in his eyes.
If he knows my past, then he knows I’m clean, and this is not only a slap in the face to my character but could change my whole fucking life.
“How long have you been clean, Charlotte?”
“Sixteen months, sir,” I reply firmly. There is no room for debate with my sober date. I’ve worked too fucking hard for it to be called into question.
“I believe you. But with these allegations, we need to be certain. We are going to need a urine sample.”
I can’t believe this is fucking happening. I’m used to giving my fluids at the drop of a hat, but I thought all that shit was behind me. Something dawns on me, “I haven’t seen Rebecca in weeks, and it’s been longer than that for any food preparation. My pee would be clean.”
“The urine sample is to exclude the possibility that you are currently partaking in drugs. This–” He pulls out a thin, long, clear plastic bag and lays it next to the cup. “ –is for the follicle sample we will test for the history of usage.”
Defeated, I grab the cup and look around. “You may use my private lavatory,” he oh so kindly offers.
I place the cup full of my mellow yellow on his desk. The security guy has gloved up and takes a few strands of my hair from the root to put in the baggy.
“We’ve marked this as urgent and have been assured results in the next forty-eight hours. Are you sure there’s nothing you can think of that seems suspicious now?”
I think back over the course of our friendship. We’ve studied. Had movie nights. Gotten take out. Made ramen. All the normal college things. But.. now that I think about it. There was that weird night at the dance club. I definitely felt high, though I had only had two drinks. I just assumed they were hella strong. If she put something in those drinks…maybe she put it in others. Fuck.
“The tea!” I exclaim, slamming my hand against the hard surface of the desk.
“Tea?” he asks.
“Yeah, for a while, she brought me this ‘sleepy tea’ that she swore was a secret recipe from her grandmother. She was real squirrely about it and would never leave me tea bags or share the recipe. I didn’t notice much because I drank it right before bed. I just thought it had a bunch of Chamomile or some shit in it.”
He nods his head, “That tracks with the information we have. A small bag of the AstraClara was found next to a pad with your schedule. A calendar was marked with ‘AC’ and your name on many occasions.”
“What the hell…” I whisper in disbelief.
“Charlotte, this next part is going to be a little difficult to hear.” He warns.
I huff out a laugh with no joy in it, “More difficult to hear than I’ve been micro-dosed by someone I thought was my friend and has thrown sixteen months of sobriety out the damn window?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
I sit ramrod straight, eyes wide, begging him silently to continue, though I don’t want to know.
“A diary of sorts was also found with the items. It seems Miss Crowe may have been stalking you. For what, we aren’t quite clear on. But she detailed all of your comings and goings. She talked about wearing the same scents you do and dying her hair to match yours. She noted that she would quote ‘ take everything that you thought belonged to you’”
I feel like I’m gonna fucking hurl. She was stalking me? How did I not notice all of this? I mean I thought it was weird she wanted to bleach her untouched hair suddenly but what girl doesn’t fuck with their hair in times of mental crises?
“We aren’t sure to what end this all took place, but I assure you, we will contact the proper authorities and will press charges should she return. Even if you decide not to do it of your own accord.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. They finish up my statement and assure me that all will be well, subtly asking me not to place blame on the university and claiming they are totally on my side.
I walk back to my dorm in a mental haze, replaying every interaction, conversation, and subtle dig. How did I not see this? Am I so full of myself that I didn’t realize what was happening in front of my eyes? And what did she mean she would take everything that belonged to me? It’s not like I’m rich or anything.
Entering my bathroom, I stare at the girl in the mirror. Ghosts of my past threaten to come forth. The bugs in my skin begin to crawl. I need to do something. I can’t just fucking sit here.
My hands fist my long locks, and I tug them sharply, reveling in the sting of the pain. No. Stop. We can handle this. What are the tools? What is a healthy way to deal with my dark thoughts?
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and press it to my ear. I stare myself down in the mirror, looking at the wisps of my hair as they brush against the middle of my chest.
“Sariah, do you have the number for that hair stylist friend of yours? I need a change. Right now.”