Toxic (Better Than You) (9 page)

             
“What were you thinking, Lo?” he asks, voice low.

             
I swallow and wince. My throat feels like it’s been scraped raw. “I wasn’t. I’m sorry, Danny.”

Bu
t the truth is that I
was
thinking. For the first time in a long time, I was sure about something other than my worthlessness. I was ready to disappear, done with being terrified of being forgotten.

“They’re gunna keep you here for a few days, you know.”

Sadly, I know this. There were too many times when I came home from school to find Mom gone only to reappear a week later with a hospital bracelet around her wrist and stories about “the crazy people and their crazy house.”

I shrug my shoulders. Danny sighs and runs a hand over his face.
“I’ll be here when they release you.”

And then he’s gone. Sometime later, a nurse co
mes by, checks me over, directs me to a different wing of the hospital. There’s a huge door that requires an ID check to get through, and once we’re on the other side of it, my heart starts to hurt. It starts to beat hard against my chest and moves my blood way too quickly. I’m light headed and have to reach out to steady myself. The nurse grabs my hand and offers me a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t help me feel better. It doesn’t get rid of the tightness in my chest that’s threatening to suffocate me.

“Take this,” she orders as she hands me a little plastic cup with pills. I don’t know what they are, or what they’ll do, but I swallow them dry and the hurting in my chest starts to dissipate, like magic. A different nurse guides me to a room, tells me to lie down and rest. A question pops into my head.

“What did I just take?”

“It’ll help with the withdrawals, hun. Just rest.”

I’ve seen withdrawals with Mom, but that’s for people who are addicted. I’m not addicted. The one thing I have control over are the drugs. I know what I use them for and I know that I can quit anytime I want.

As I fall asleep, I tell myself this over and over again.

I’m not addicted. I’m not.

~~

April 14, 2008

             
“We believe that it would be in your best interest to extend your stay, Logan.”

             
The doctor’s watching me carefully; like he’s afraid I might jump up and try to strangle him. But I just sit there and stare at him, convinced that if I don’t respond he’ll get bored and walk away. He doesn’t.

             
“We think a program like this could really help you.”

             
The pamphlet in my hand is cold, shiny. The pictures look like they were shot in the eighties, with cheesy smiles and bright colors. It’s not real. They’re not real. They probably don’t have moms with drug problems or boyfriends who rape them. They pose for a picture and get to leave the place they’re trying to sell to me.

             
The doctor clears his throat, making me remember that I’m not alone. I look up at him and he’s watching me again, closely, assessing me. The big wooden desk between us isn’t enough to hide his thoughts. I know that if I don’t say something, and soon, he’ll somehow find a way to keep me here. I can’t stay here.

             
“I really don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I say with a smile, sticky sweet oozing out of me like I’m not in a mental hospital.

             
“Like I said before, we can’t force you, but something like this won’t disappear. Using isn’t easy to solve.”

             
I can disappear.
“I’m sure it isn’t, but I’m not using. It was just a misguided accident.”

             
He nods his head, looks down at the papers in front of him. Taps his pen on the desk. “Alright, Ms. Reynolds. You’re free to go then.”

             
That easy?
It doesn’t surprise me, though. No one pushes me.

             
As soon as I leave the hospital and the fresh air hits me in the face, I take a deep breath in and exhale it slowly, eyes closed, face tilted up at the dark sky. It’s been over seventy two hours since I’ve been outside and while that may not have bothered me before, it does now. Something about the stale smell of sickness and sanitizer can make you realize how
good
fresh air smells.

             
“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind me. I turn around and the smile I didn’t realize was there falters. A confused expression flits across Danny’s face before he drops his eyes to watch his shoe crush the cigarette he’s dropped.

             
“Ready to go?” he asks as he walks by me. No hug or kiss, nothing intimate or reassuring. Not that I want that from him, anyways.

             
When I get to the car, he’s already in the driver’s seat, keys in the ignition. It hits me then, out of nowhere, the thought that I don’t have to go with him. That I don’t have to get in the car. Go back to his apartment. Be his. I’m standing there, my hand on the handle of the door, contemplating turning and running, when the window lowers and his voice calls out.

             
“Lo? You coming?” His voice is soft, hesitant. Like he knows what I’m thinking. It’s so utterly human and concerned that I immediately feel bad for thinking about leaving him.

             
The door pops open and I slide into the seat. Danny places his hand on my leg and squeezes it as he takes us onto the road. But he’s going the wrong way.

             
“Where are you going?”

             
“To our apartment,” he answers simply, like I should already know this.

             
“But the apartment is the other way.” I don’t call it
our
apartment because it’s not ours. I don’t want to think that anything is
ours
. It’s his, and he allows me to stay.

             
“Not anymore.”

             
It’s all he says and I’m confused for a minute before I remember the conversation from the hospital. It feels like someone’s pulled the plug on my sanity, on the small hold I had over my head and heart and lungs. My hands shake. My throat closes. My vision blurs. Someone’s grabbing my hand, shoving something inside of it and then closing it tight. I bring it up and see the color, know exactly what it is, know exactly what I need and want. So small and round. Perfect. I drop it under my tongue and breathe through my nose, wait for the saliva to fill my mouth and dissolve the little pill.

             
Danny’s hand never goes back to my thigh. We don’t say another word to each other until we’re pulled into a parking lot of a rundown apartment complex. It looks more like a cheap motel than a place to live but I’m not surprised. Anything nicer would be too expensive in Miami.

             
“This place is just temporary. It’s all I could find on short notice. You’ll need to get a job and help with rent if you want something nicer.”

             
The door slams shut. I watch him walk away, up the concrete stairs and into a room on the third floor. When I’m sure he’s gone, before the numbness takes over, I curl into a ball and cry until there’s nothing left to fall and I couldn’t even feel it if there was.

February 17
th
, 2009

             
The last time I saw Mom was when she slammed the glass of vodka over my head. As I walk up the stone path to her house, I run my fingers over the scar, try to mentally prepare myself to come face to face with her again. But nothing,
nothing
, could prepare me for what answers the door.

             
Her face is sunken in; her honey brown eyes that were just like mine are now lifeless and slack. I’m not sure if she’s looking at me or past me. Something hard hits me in the chest.
I did this to her
, I think. She steps aside slowly; a gesture for me to come in, but nothing like the invitation I hoped for. Wanted. The door shuts loudly and she drags herself over to the couch, dropping into it like the effort to stand is just too much. She doesn’t offer me a seat or a drink. I feel awkward in my own house, the very place I grew up in.

             
The sound of the sliding door pulls my attention away from her and to a man in a white tank top that’s too tight and jeans that are too big. Somehow, he looks familiar. There’s something about him that reminds me of…

             
His eyes rake over my body slowly, gawking at my tiny jean shorts and barely there tank top. At the dark hair that falls below my boobs, at my boobs themselves. I suddenly remember exactly who he is and why I feel more naked than I ever have in my entire life.

             
“Dave,” I whisper.

             
He chuckles. It sounds wheezy and dirty. “In the flesh.”

             
The sliding door closes and he walks over to me, grabs a piece of my hair in his fingers and twists it. Brings it up to his nose and inhales deeply. Closes his eyes and moans. My blood turns to slush, refuses to reach my heart and restart it. Dave makes me feel like I’m five again; small and helpless and scared.

             
“Look at you, little girl. Not so little anymore.”

             
Mom’s still on the couch, just sitting there in front of the muted TV like a zombie. Whatever she’s on, it’s different than what she used when I lived here. At least before she treated me like shit, gave me attitude. Dave could throw me down and take me right here and I don’t think she would even notice. The thought restarts my hearts, sends it into overdrive. I back up, ball my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. The knob on the front door jams into my hip but I don’t take my eyes off of Dave, standing there with an evil gleam in his eyes.

             
He smiles at me. “Leaving so soon?”

             
I turn and fling the door open, sprint to my beat up car. The car I bought before I got fired, before I learned to function while high. Before I learned that a smile is a smile to anyone who doesn’t care to look past it. As I drive away, I don’t look in my rearview mirror. I don’t stop to wonder if Mom will be okay. Instead, I turn up the radio and practice smiling as I drive the twenty minutes to my interview.

             
After I park the car and check the time, I pull a tiny tube out of my purse and open it, slowly bringing it to my left nostril and inhale hard and fast. It burns, but only for a minute. I recap the tube, check my makeup, get out of the car, adjust my clothes. Smile.

             
If you can’t find a job then we’ll have to find other ways for you to make your share.

             
Danny’s words bounce around in my head. My heel catches on a crack in the sidewalk. I stumble, brace for the fall, curse myself for wearing the damn heels in the first place. Out of nowhere, an arm wraps around my waist, hoists me up, steadies me. The touch makes me cringe. I turn to reassure them that I’m fine but my voice catches when I’m met with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the color of the ocean on a bright summer day. The color of the sky when there’s not a cloud in sight. They’re crisp, clear, warm. I want to dive into them and get lost, drown, escape.

             
“You okay?” His voice slips over me like silk. Caresses my skin and leaves me needing more. I’m back to not being able to function, stuck staring at this beautiful person. I’m hoping the numbness won’t take over just yet, that I can revel in the feel of his arm around my waist for a little while longer. But the roxies work fast and I can feel it turning me inside out.

             
Now that my heart rate is under control, I step out of his hold, straighten out my clothes again. “Sorry about that.”

             
He looks at me, confused. “It’s no big deal.”

             
There’s an awkward silence as we just stand there and stare at each other. “I have to go. Interview,” I say, hooking my thumb over my shoulder.

             
As if his piercing blue eyes aren’t enough to throw me off, he smiles and sends my heart stuttering again. Which is weird because the roxies have already kicked in and nothing ever gets past them. “You’re right on time, then.” Now I’m the confused one. He holds out his hand. “I’m Nathan. I’ll be interviewing you.”

             
My eyes drop to his hand. I tuck a piece of stray hair behind my ear. The polite, socially acceptable thing to do would be to shake his outstretched hand. But I don’t like to touch, don’t like being touched, and I can still feel the warmth of his arm around my waist. It scares me, confuses me, excites me. I know I look crazy, but I need to close my eyes so I do it, breathing slowly as the sound of waves crashing calms me. It’s only been a few seconds but when I open my eyes I’m focused, renewed, restored. I grasp Nathan’s hand and smile.

             
“I’m Logan. It’s nice to meet you.”