Reprieve Read online

  I opened the door and there he stood, grinning. I wanted to punch the smug look off his face, but I needed the bag. “Where is it?” I asked.

  He held up the baggie for me to see. I reached out to grab it but he snatched it back. “I don’t think so. Not until you do something for me.”

  I motioned for him to come in. He strode past me and removed his coat, throwing it onto the floor next to the door. “I can’t do anything until I get a hit. I’m fuckin’ withdrawing.”

  He turned and smiled at me. “You think I give a fuck how you feel? I’m the one doing you a goddamn favor right now.”

  I bit my lip in an attempt to keep the sadness from spilling out. I wanted to say something back, something equally demeaning, but I knew better. He was right. He was the one doing something for me, not the other way around. So in lieu of words, I lifted my shirt off over my head and dropped it to the ground, my eyes locked on his, trying to show him I was in control; that I was the one making this choice, not him. And especially not the drugs.

  He took a step toward me, his glare unfaltering, until our bodies were so close they were almost touching. He leaned forward and whispered, “Now the rest of them.”

  I complied, struggling to unbutton my jeans since my fingers were trembling so hard. I wasn’t sure if it was the nerves or my need for a shot of heroin, but either way it made undressing especially difficult. Once naked, I stood in front of him. He leaned back and drank me in. “Just what I needed.”

  I looked down, hoping to see whatever it was that he was attracted to. Instead all I saw was skin and bones. My jagged hips protruding from my skin, and the veins just underneath the pale surface were blue, outlining every inch of my body.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing and he didn’t elaborate. I reached out and grabbed his hand and led him toward my bedroom. Before I could turn around or lay myself down, I felt his hand on my back, pushing me forward until I collapsed onto the bed. There was the sound of a zipper. I scrambled around so I could set eyes on him and once I did I saw he was already removing his clothes. I watched on in horror as he removed the bag from the pocket of his pants on the floor and held it up for me to see before clutching it tightly in his palm. He didn’t trust me.

  Just like I didn’t trust him.

  “That’s mine as soon as this is over.”

  He nodded in response. “Make it good and I’ll even shoot you up with it.”

  My stomach filled with butterflies. There was nothing better than someone else shooting you up. The loss of control heightened the high. It was the most glorious thing junkies could do for each other. “I always make it good.”

  I lay on my back, squeezing my eyes shut, spreading my legs wide. I hear him suck air between his teeth before leaning forward and grabbing my breast with his calloused hand. His movements were jerky and rough, and I rolled my eyes underneath my closed lids. He chuckled to himself before dropping down and taking my nipple into his mouth. He rolled his tongue back and forth a few times while I tolerated it in silence. He grew impatient and scraped his teeth against my sensitive skin and my eyes popped open, a ragged growl tearing up my throat.

  “About time you joined the living,” he said as he sat back on his feet in front of me on the mattress and gave me a onceover. And in that moment, I didn’t care that he repulsed me. I didn’t even care that what was about to happen didn’t mean anything to either of us.

  All I cared about was the heroin in his hand.

  In a flash, I sat up and placed my hands on his shoulders, pushing him to his back. “In a rush, are we?” he asked as I placed my legs either side of his body.

  “I’m in a rush for you to fuck my brains out.” I hovered over him for a brief instant before sliding down onto him. He groaned in response.

  Our movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but I somehow managed to stay in control. This wasn’t my first rodeo. He grabbed my hips while I continued to slam against him, the air punctuated with his grunts, keeping time with each thrust. It repulsed me but I needed to keep my disdain for him hidden. So I leaned down and placed my mouth over his. His tongue traced my lower lip and I opened for him, inviting him to take what he wanted from me. Everything about this was mechanical. There was no connection, no emotion. This was purely clinical—procedural even. We each had our own goal and that didn’t include giving a fuck about what the other was feeling. His fingers against my skin didn’t leave a trail of fire in their wake. There was no coil in my stomach, growing tighter and tighter. There were no fireworks or rainbows. This was a business transaction. He gave, I took. Or was it more like I gave and he took? Either way it was a done deal. His hips bucked and I picked up the pace, throwing in a throaty moan for good measure, knowing from experience that he’d feel the noise in his dick, propelling me toward my goal. The quicker he got his kicks, the quicker I got mine.

  The mattress slammed against the wall, matching my speed, the noise echoing around the sparse and dingy room. His fingernails dug into the bones of my hip, and his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he yelled, “Oh, fuck!” into the air, his muscles contracting underneath me. Even when he was done, I continued to move against his sensitive skin, causing him to let out a string of curses. Once I stilled he reached up and placed a peck on my forehead.

  “You’re a fuckin’ maniac.”

  I climbed off him and started digging through my nightstand for a needle and spoon. My heart raced with panic when my lighter wasn’t in the spot it should be. There wasn’t enough time for me to go searching through my apartment for it. God knows where I had left it.

  “Do you have a light?”

  “Pants pocket.”

  Still naked, I grabbed the lighter and sat back down on the bed next to him. I’d expected him to get up and start cooking for me, but he hadn’t moved an inch, his eyes still closed. Anger started building deep within me. Using my finger, I poked him in the side. He peeked at me through one eye.

  “Seriously, Tegan. I literally just pulled my dick out of you. You’re fuckin’ pathetic.”

  But despite his dissatisfaction, he sat up and snatched the junk from my hand. Hardly able to contain myself, I watched eagerly as he went through the ritual I had grown to covet.

  Get the heroin.

  Put the heroin in the spoon.

  Flick the lighter.

  Cook the heroin.

  Put the heroin in the needle.

  Tap the needle.

  The process was a long one, but seeing it done was part of the high. I could already feel it in the back of my throat.

  Once he was done he looked at me, his eyes indifferent. I really didn’t give a shit. I needed that needle. “Gimme that belt,” he commanded and I obliged without hesitation. The synthetic leather bit into my skin as he pulled the belt so tight that I could feel my heartbeat thundering in the crook of my arm. His calloused finger traced the blemish-ridden skin, trying to locate my best vein, but it took him a few minutes because the scars made it difficult. My heart raced as I watched him lean forward and push the needle under my skin, and it wasn’t just relief that flooded me as blood poured into the needle, mixing with the heroin. We were one. He paused and looked up at me, smiling smugly. We both knew that in that moment he held all the control. I was at his mercy.

  I wanted to cry I was so on edge. “Just plunge it already!” I yelled, but he shook his head.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked in frustration.

  “I want you to hop back on my dick.”

  Confused, I looked down to his lap and, sure enough, he was ready again. Anger boiled in me but it wasn’t enough to make me stop. It was too late. I was borderline insane already having watched him go through the process and with the needle already in my arm, I was as good as done for. Not wasting one second, I straddled his lap and slid down the length of him for a second time at the exact moment he pushed the plunger, releasing the belt with his other hand. The warmth traveled up my arm and the high covered me like
a warm blanket as he bucked his hips, the relief washing over me, my body numb. I wrapped my arms around his neck and supported myself against him while he continued to move underneath me.

  I’d done it . . . again. Every time I promised myself it would be different, but I kept going to the place I told myself I would never go. There was no turning back for me now.

  I was officially lost.

  MY EYES OPENED when I heard the pounding against the door. Scared, I sat up in bed. I looked around, trying to get a grip on reality. I was still naked, the drugs still on the bed next to me, but he was gone. More pounding on the door, and then my mother’s voice called out to me. “Tegan! Are you in there?”

  I cleared my throat before answering. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

  Snatching the drugs, spoon, and needle from the bed, I stuffed them into my bedside table before getting dressed. I looked around the room for any other traces of my misdemeanors from this morning but I couldn’t see anything.

  I pushed the blankets around on my bed, hoping that it looked a little more presentable before heading down the hall to the front door. I took a deep breath and attempt to open my eyes wider. Turning the handle, I pulled it back to reveal not just my mother, but my whole damn family, congregated in the hallway of my apartment building. My brothers, my sister. My mother, my father. All standing in front of me. It was like a goddamn nightmare.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  My mother’s lips pressed into a hard line before she shot me a look of sympathy. I hated that look. There was no reason for people to feel sorry for me. I did this to myself.

  “Honey, we’re here to talk to you. You need help.”

  What was this? An ambush?

  “What the fuck?” I screeched, slamming the door in their faces but my brother, Tim, was too quick and stepped forward, placing his foot against the jamb, keeping the door open.

  “Tegan,” he said calmly, “we just need to come in and talk.”

  “The fuck you do!” I pushed against the door, even though I knew I didn’t have a chance of overpowering him. He was twice my size and probably ten times stronger.

  “I think you’re going to want to hear what we have to say, sweetie,” my mother says quietly.

  “I’m not your sweetie!” I spat out.

  Tim pushed against the door and the force knocked me backward onto my ass, allowing space for all seven of them to come traipsing into my apartment. I threw my head into my hands and started to scream. My sister, Tess, crouched down in front of me and placed her hands gently on mine. “We all love you so much. But this has got to stop. We almost lost you last week.”

  “Maybe you’d be better off.” My accidental overdose a week ago had almost been a blessing. At least in death I wouldn’t have to numb my pain.

  “Don’t say that,” my father scolded.

  “Whatever,” I snapped. My father was always trying to make me fit into his perfect mold and I didn’t want to hear it from him. What was the saying: “People in glass houses . . .”

  “I don’t have a problem. Last week was an accident.”

  “The hell it was,” Travis quipped. Always the sibling to call me out on my bullshit. He was bossy as hell growing up, constantly telling me what to do, so it was no surprise that he was sticking his nose into my business now. “You gamble with your life everyday. We’re not letting you do it anymore.”

  “You can’t make me do anything!” My voice had reached a decibel level understandable only by dogs and so I paused to take a few deep breaths. I needed to calm down. They wouldn’t take me seriously if I was hysterical. “Besides, I can stop anytime I want.”

  “Sweetie, one way or another you’re getting help today.”

  I looked up at my mother and clenched my teeth. “What do you mean, ‘one way or another’?”

  Through tears, my mother made eye contact with me. “I mean I have the ability and the rights to make decisions for you n—”

  Tim interrupted. “Either you come with us to the treatment center we’ve arranged for you or we call the cops to come get you.”

  “You bitch.” Sobs ripped through me as I sat on the floor, unable to muster the energy or the will to stand.

  “We did this because we love you too much to stand by, Tegan. You need help.”

  “Today is your turning point.”

  “We love you.”

  The chorus of voices, spewing words of wisdom continued but I just sat in a heap and cried. I wasn’t ready to deal with my demons. I was supposed to die. But they wanted me to live. But living hurt.

  “Please, Tegan,” my sister pleaded. “Help us save you.”

  I didn’t want to be saved. I felt unworthy of it. My mother was the most important person in the world to me and here she was with the rest of them in tow, trying like hell to keep me from falling off the imaginary cliff and even with as much as I had put them through, I couldn’t fathom why. They had been through hell with me, and I knew that jail was a scary place; scarier perhaps than everything I’d already been through. And having narrowly managed to avoid incarceration even in the midst of my downfall, the thought of being there made my skin crawl.

  Despite all the thoughts running through my brain, “I don’t want to go to jail,” was the only thing I could manage to say.

  “So don’t.”

  It seemed like a simple suggestion. But if I didn’t go to jail I’d have to get help, and getting help meant someone trying to uncover my secrets. It wasn’t the getting clean that scared me and kept me a prisoner to heroin; it was unlocking the box that contained all the scars of my past. But maybe I could get through it without opening Pandora’s box. Maybe if I kept myself well guarded, I’d be able to maintain my secrets and my relationship with my family.

  I looked up at them, each and every face looking back at me, pain in their eyes. They were waiting on me—hanging onto the hope that this was the day of reckoning. And I guess in a way it was going to be. I wiped the tears off my cheeks and sighed.

  “Okay, I’ll go.

  IT HURTS SO BAD. Far worse than I could’ve ever imagined. The few times I missed doses and experienced withdrawal were nothing compared to this. I’d heard the horror stories from friends who’d attempted to clean themselves up in the past but even still, I didn’t ever think it would happen to me.

  I’m stronger than this.

  Pain sears through my abdomen and I cry out in response, curling up around myself in the bed, wrapping my arms around my midsection, hoping to appease the cramps ravaging my body. The sheets are wet again. I don’t even have the strength to call for my nurse. The muscles in my legs tighten, causing me to straighten out. My whole body screams out in protest and the sobs rip through me. Tears spill from my eyes and pool on my already damp pillowcase.

  “Please God!” I screech. “Somebody kill me!”

  I hear the door open. The light peeks in, and I shield my eyes. Not that I could look even if I wanted to. My head weighs too much to lift. “Tegan?” The sickly sweet voice indicates to me that it’s my nurse, Tracie.

  Guess I managed to call for her without that damn button.

  “If you’re not here to kill me, get the fuck out.” I spit in her direction for emphasis. I know she’s here to help, but she’s the only person I can take my anger out on since I can’t get up and walk.

  “I brought your meds to help take the edge off.”

  She places the pills in my mouth and hands me a cup of water, along with a straw, and I suck down the cool liquid despite feeling like I’m going to vomit everywhere. Asher told me I would go through a methodical medical detoxification and stabilization. He explained that my team physician and nurse would supervise me through the process to ensure I remain as comfortable as possible. I don’t understand what they’re doing—hell, I don’t even really care. I just want it to be over.

  I moan as I shift on my bed. The mattress is lumpy, each mound feeling like a rock stuck underneath my back. Tracie leans down
to tuck me in and sighs. “Your sheets are soaked, Tegan.”

  “No shit,” I snap.

  She gives a subtle shake of her head, something I probably wouldn’t have noticed normally but being sober makes me see things more clearly, in spite of the physical distress I’m in. “We’ve got to get you up so I can get you fresh linens.”

  “No!” I scream at the top of my lungs. She reaches toward me, gently taking my wrist in her hand to help me to my feet but the sudden invasion of my personal space paired with my aching muscles causes me to snap and I tear my arm from her grip, throwing my hands up against her chest, and she stumbles backward. Her back hits the wall and her eyes grow wide with fear. “I said, no!” I cry, hot tears spilling onto my cheeks. I’m not even sure why I’m crying—if it’s because I’m in so much pain or because I just attacked someone who’s just trying to help.

  As I begin to cry harder the door opens and in walks Asher, completely and utterly calm. I hate that he’s so in control of himself every time I see him. “Just leave me the fuck alone,” I mutter between sobs.

  He continues to walk toward me, seemingly unaffected by the scene laid out in front of him. Tracie is just a few steps behind him, already on her feet. “Tegan,” he says softly. “You can’t let things get this out of hand. We need to be proactive with your medication and care, not reactive.”

  Tracie stops at my side and takes my hand in hers. “When you let yourself get to a point where the physical pain and discomfort is too much to handle there’s going to be a greater risk of you doing something you shouldn’t.”

  Why is she being so nice? I don’t deserve for her to be so compassionate towards me.

  “You have to work with the process, not against it.”

  My body slowly started to relax. I’m not sure if it’s because of their calming or if it’s the medication taking effect; more than likely a combination of both. What they’re saying makes sense. I can’t keep pretending to be strong. That’s what got me in all this trouble to begin with. Not dealing with shit hasn’t benefited me. Resigned to the fact that they know best, I nod in agreement.