Phoenix: The Beauty in Between (A Beautiful Series Companion Novel) (18 page)

“Don’t think
you’ve gotten away with not sharing Paige. Eventually, you’ll need
to talk. If it isn’t in here, then you’ll need to do it in the
private sessions. You won’t recover properly without it,” Edith
informs me quietly. Although, I don’t respond beyond staring at her
blankly.

Pressing her
lips together in a tight smile, she squeezes my arm gently before
turning her attention towards Kerri, who’s complaining about the
way Liam spoke to her.

I lean down to
the ground and pick my book up off the floor. Reading is my one
pleasure. There is a small library in the facility, where we can
check out books to read in our down time. There is a lot of down
time. Books help me escape and avoid talking to anyone. I don’t
want to make friends. I want to do my time here and get the hell
out.

I’ve noticed
few of the girls reading romance novels. I can’t even think
romantically right now. Instead, I read big heavy fantasy novels. I
like to be transported to another world where magic is a
possibility, because this one just plan sucks.

When my ninety
days are up, Justine returns to collect me. I’m free from drugs.
I’ve put on some weight, and I’m about to be taken to my new
accommodation.

“Happy Birthday
for last week,” she says to me, as I get in the car.

“Thanks I
guess,” I reply, clicking my seatbelt across my body.

She starts to
drive and make small talk along the way. Inwardly, I roll my eyes.
I’m not interested in going through this again.

“I’m told you
weren’t very cooperative in therapy,” she says after a while.

I bounce my
shoulder in reply and look out the window. It’s something they were
constantly on my back about. They wanted me to talk. They wanted to
hear all about my past and get to me spill my guts about everything
I’ve done.

But, I didn’t
want to talk about anything that’s happened to me in my life. I
still don’t want to talk about it. It’s a darkness in my soul that
no amount of talking is going to turn light. So I don’t see the
point.

But everyone in
there talked. Even Liam started talking after a while. They all
talked about the things they did to get their hands on drugs, and
what they did while on them. No-one’s story is quite the same as
mine.

I didn’t share.
I didn’t make friends. I preferred everyone to think I was a
standoffish bitch, instead of having those people, who have gone
through addiction the same as me, actually look at me with pity in
their eyes. I don’t think I could recover from that.

The more I
listened to them talk, the more I realised just how unforgivable
everything I’ve done is. I don’t even want to think about it.

“I’m sure this
sounds like a broken record Paige, but you’re going to have to talk
eventually,” she reminds me.

“Where are we
going?” I ask her in response, hopeful of a subject change.

“Lemongrove.
Now that you’re eighteen and officially an adult. You’ll be living
on your own in a flat there. You’ve been set up with some
furniture, and you’ll be going to TAFE to complete your high school
certificate. There are lots of programs that will help you get a
job when you’re done. But for now, you need to stay clean, go to
school, and meet with me once a week.”

“What if I
don’t do any of that?”

“Then you lose
your assistance. Simple as that.”

I can’t believe
I’m going back to school. Just the thought of studying again feels
a little overwhelming.

I have no idea
what I’m going to do when the time comes to find a job. I’m still
not sure my life is worth living.

“Have you made
any friends yet?” Justine asks me during one of my home visits. She
comes to visit me once a month now as my progress is very good in
her books. I have to show her everything I’m doing, and I have to
pee in a cup for a drug test to prove that I’m still clean. But
other than that, my life is becoming pretty normal.

“No,” I
reply.

“Paige, you
need friends.”

“No I don’t.
I’m fine on my own. Trusting people is what got me into this mess.
I won’t be making that mistake again.”

She sighs and
moves on to her next question. “How are your NA meetings
going?”

“I haven’t been
to one,” I admit, looking down at the toe of my shoe. I know I’m
supposed to go, but I just don’t want to spend my nights sitting in
a room with people telling me their sob stories – I had enough of
that in rehab. There is no way I’m touching a drug again. I just
don’t feel like I need to go.

“It’s a part of
your program Paige. You have to go.”

“Fine I’ll go,”
I lie. I won’t go. I don’t want to go at all. The meetings are
anonymous, how are they going to know if I’m there or not?

“That’s
excellent,” she grins. “It just so happens, there is one on tonight
at the Community Centre. I’ll take you.”

Rolling my
eyes, I nod my head. I don’t see a way of getting out of this.

Justine drives
us in her car. Out the front I see a sign on the door that says ‘NA
meeting inside’. Advertising it seems to take away the anonymity in
my books, but whatever, I guess people have to find it somehow.

As expected the
meeting is filled with people droning on about their hard lives,
essentially making excuses for their drug use. I don’t want to hear
it. Each time one of them breaks down and cries over stealing their
mother’s jewellery, I want to stand up and scream at them –
At
least you have a mother to steal from!
But I don’t. Of course I
don’t. Everyone’s pain is their own. I do understand that. I also
understand that talking about it is making them feel better. I
understand that they need that.

But I can’t
talk. I can’t feel better. No amount of words, no amount of
talking, no amount of admitting what I did, is
ever
going to
change anything.

Talking.
Talking. Talking. It’s forever torturing me. I hate being here.

Justine sits
quietly beside me, as I lean back in my chair and look up at the
ceiling. Avoiding all eye contact, I only half listen as they
introduce themselves and share their stories. I’m more focused on
the ticking of the clock so I can get out of here, than I am on the
people around me.

But a voice and
a name I’ve heard before brings my focus to the group.

“Hi, my name’s
Braden, and I’m a drug addict.”

My head snaps
forward so fast, that I almost pull a muscle.
Braden!
Fucking Braden is here?!

My eyes grow
wide, as they land upon the face of the person, I had thought of as
my friend. The person who I had grown to care for. The person who
betrayed me.

“I need to go,”
I say to Justine.

“Paige. You
need to stay for this whole meeting, or I’m going to put in my
report that you aren’t properly completing your program.”

I fold my arms
and sink back down in my seat, then focus all of my anger and
hatred into my eyes, so I can shoot it like daggers into Braden.
Just looking at him is making my blood boil.

“Hi Braden,”
the room choruses, in that deadpan way a group does.

“I started
taking drugs when I was about 13,” he starts. “It’s the usual story
- I started with pot and worked my way up to more illicit things.
At first it was purely recreational, but using made me feel like
the rules of the world didn’t apply to me.

“As my need
took over, my morals went out the window. I ended up taking a job
with a really shady character. He asked me to procure
certain…things for him.

“At first I
didn’t mind. I’d find him what he wanted, deliver it to him and get
paid handsomely as a result. I didn’t want for much, the money paid
for my schooling, and my lifestyle, and I still had a little left
over. I chose what he wanted carefully and didn’t consider that I
was hurting anybody. At least until I met someone.

“I had seen her
around for a while and she seemed, let’s say – ideal. But something
happened, and I found myself helping her out, instead of using her
like I normally would. As I got to know her, we became great
friends, and together we starting working on something different
that would fund both of our habits.

“It was all
working really well, and we didn’t consider our drug use to be a
problem. At least until my boss found out that I had goods I wasn’t
delivering to him.

“He threatened
my life, and to save myself – I hurt my friend.

“After that, I
hit the drugs really hard, and it wasn’t long before I overdosed. I
guess I wanted to die. The drugs had taken over, and I wanted it
all to be over.

“But - I
survived. I got help. And now, I’ve been sober for nine
months.”

As the group
claps their hands to congratulate his sobriety, Justine places her
hand on mine and squeezes me reassuringly.

I turn my
attention to her and blink rapidly. Tears spill from my eyes.

I didn’t even
realise I was crying.

***

When the
meeting is over, we’re invited to mingle over coffee or tea and
some biscuits. I don’t want to stay, but Justine insists that I
do.

“You need to
find yourself a sponsor,” she reminds me.

I nod at a few
people, who smile at me to be friendly, and make my way to the
coffee urn.

“Paige?”

I close my
eyes. I knew he’d come over to me, but I’d hoped he’d stay away. I
turn to see him standing beside me, a pained expression on his face
as bites his lip, waiting for me to respond. “Braden.” There is no
emotion to my voice as I regard him. Even after his story, I still
hate him.

“I can’t tell
you how happy I am to see that you’re ok,” he breathes.

“I can’t tell
you how
unhappy
I am to see that
you’re
ok,” I
retort.

He sighs.
“Alright. I guess I deserve that.”

“And then
some,” I laugh humourlessly.

He busies
himself, readying his own cup of International Roast coffee, piling
in the sugar to make it palatable, before speaking again.

“You know that
girl in the story is you right?” he asks “You have to know that I
didn’t want to take you to him.”

“Then why did
you?”

He stands in
front of me and takes a breath, as if he is planning on trying to
explain, but he stops himself.

I lean in close
and speak so only he and I can hear. “Do you know what he does to
his girls Braden? He keeps them constantly medicated and uses their
body like it’s a toy. And he shares his toys. He’s very generous
like that. He likes to play with his toys until they broken Braden,
and then he throws them out. Just like that,” I tell him, snapping
my fingers for emphasis. “It’s people like you who allow him to do
that. You keep his meat fresh, so he’s never left wanting.”

His eyes are
wide as the colour drains from his face. “I’m sorry,” he
whispers.

“You could say
sorry to me ten times a second, for the rest of my life, and it
still wouldn’t be enough. There is nothing you can do to change
what happened. Nothing that can take it all away.”

“Let me try
Paige. Please. I need to try and make it up to you.”

“There’s
nothing
you can do,” I say as I step away from him and move
back toward Justine. “I attended,” I say when I reach her. “Can we
go now?”

“Do you know
that guy?” she asks, looking over at Braden.

“No. I don’t
think I ever knew him at all.”

Counselling
sucks, and I can’t seem to escape it. I hate talking about my
feelings. But it’s a part of my program. I have to attend NA
meetings, go to school, pass drug tests and have regular
counselling. I have to keep my life on track in general. If I
don’t, I’ll lose my flat and my benefits. I feel like I’m caught in
this never ending revolving door, and I can’t find the exit.

I do everything
I’m supposed to, but I still don’t share at the meetings. The most
I have ever said is “Hi, I’m Paige and I’m a drug addict. I never
wanted to be one, but somehow I got caught up in it, and the
destruction it causes. I don’t want to go back to it. I don’t think
I’ll ever go back.”

Braden keeps
trying to talk to me, it’s like he needs me to forgive him so he
can move forward. But I can’t. Not yet anyway.

“So um, I’ve
been working in a tattoo parlour. You should come and check it out
sometime,” he tells me after a meeting. Every time he talks to me
his voice has a slight shake to it. I make him nervous.

“Why would I
want to do that?” I ask. It seems like every time I speak to him,
my voice loses all feeling. But maybe that’s just how it always is
these days.

“I don’t know.
You used to like looking at my drawings. I thought you might like
to see some of my designs.”

I look over his
arms and wonder why he isn’t displaying any of his work in his
body. “Where are your tattoos? Seems strange to be designing them
but not displaying them.”

“I only have
one,” he says, pressing his lips together lightly.

“Did it hurt
too much, and you can’t handle getting any more?” I ask
sarcastically.

“It was worth
it.”

He busies
himself, placing granulated coffee in his foam cup, along with his
usual mammoth amount of sugar. I watch him. I have to admit that
curiosity is getting the better of me.

“Where did you
get it? The tattoo… can you show me or is it somewhere
private?”

“Nowhere you
haven’t seen before,” he grins, glancing at me as he presses the
lever on the urn to add the hot water.

“On your arse?”
I ask.

He shakes his
head as he adds his milk and turns to me. “No. It’s on my chest.
Over my heart.”

“Oh. Well… what
is it?”

He pulls the
neck of his T-shirt down, so I can see it. It’s a symbol about the
size of my palm, done in black ink. I’ve never seen one like it
before, it’s a circular shape that has spikes and arrows evenly
placed around it as they jut out of some sort of irregular square
shape in the middle.