One
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The sofa cushion made a dull thump as I smacked it into a plumper, uniformed shape. When I was done, I took a step back to survey my handiwork.
Every surface gleamed in the living room after my hard work of cleaning it. The rug was vacuumed, the picture frames righted, the surfaces dusted and wiped clean to a shine.
It didn’t hurt that all the items in this room were expensive and of impeccable quality. The couch alone was worth more than two months of my rent. The Hardings, the couple who owned this condo, were wealthy and they made sure it showed in their home.
Joseph Harding was a general surgeon while his wife, Cynthia Harding, was an art director. They didn’t have kids, so their money was spent on expensive art, nice cars and trips to exotic places I’d only ever be able to see through a Google image search.
The Hardings were only in their early thirties, yet they were better off than most. They’d made all the right choices to cultivate the lifestyle they wanted.
Unlike me.
I was only twenty-five years old, yet I’d already fulfilled my mother’s prediction about my destiny. I hadn’t amounted to much. Probably never would. I was a college drop-out who worked for minimum wage cleaning other people’s homes.
And the forecast for my life said my situation wasn’t about to improve anytime soon.
For a long time I used to be superstitious that it was my mother who cursed me. I used to believe her uttering the negativity into the world made the universe listen and gift me a shitty hand.
But my mother was dead for over year now. After being diagnosed with a tumour in her head, she’d passed away on the operating table during the removal surgery.
In that year since she’d been gone, nothing had changed. Nothing had improved. So I was forced to confront the truth: I had nobody to blame for my circumstances and my choices but me.
Exhaling sharply, I grew determined to get away from the bad thoughts. I bent quickly and grabbed up the bucket containing all my cleaning supplies.
All I had left to do in the Hardings’ condo was the bathroom, then I’d be out and on my way home. I’d already worked a shift in the morning at the Miltons, and their 3 bed, 2 bath house had winded me. Thank goodness the Hardings lived in a condo. They only had the one bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen to clean.
I was looking forward to heading home and resting on my couch while I mindlessly channel surfed. That’s all I had to look forward to most days.
Taking care of my mother when she was sick consumed my life. I’d neglected friends, going out, and didn’t even pay attention to men. Since my mother passed away, I’d found myself totally alone. No family, no friends, no love life.
Sure, I had Angie, but it wasn’t the same. She had started a relationship with a handsome doctor who adored her. So I didn’t blame her for not calling as much as she used to, or not wanting to hang out with me as much either.
Sometimes, jealousy stabbed me in the gut, but I preferred being happy for my friend. If I had a boyfriend as hot as Maddix, I’d probably never leave my apartment either.
I entered the bathroom and set my bucket down. I surveyed the room. It still looked clean from the last time I was here and had cleaned it, but the doors and tub needed to gleam for when the Hardings’ arrived home from work this evening.
My gaze moved to the mirror and I remembered that I’d forgotten the paper towels in the kitchen. The paper towel worked great to get mirrors to a sparkling, spotless shine. I was about to leave when my gaze landed on the slim, cylindrical medicine bottle sitting innocently on the sink.
I went absolutely still. The bathroom light added a dull shine to the bottle’s smooth surface. The bottle was turned and only the last few letters of the label was visible.
But I knew what word contained the last four letters D-O-N-E.
I knew it all too well.
As if my hand developed a mind of its own, I reached out and snatched up the bottle. I turned it to read the label. Printed in capital letters were the dosage instructions, and beneath that was the word my eyes glued on. To the point that all the other words blended into the label’s white background.
HYDROCODONE.
My fist tightened around the slim, smooth surface of the bottle. I was sure the cap would pop right off or my fingers would leave little dent marks in the side of the bottle when I released it.
Open the bottle and put one in your mouth, said a familiar voice. It never shouted or demanded. It was always a tantalizing whisper. A suggestion wrapped in convincing logic designed to make me feel stupid if I didn’t follow it.
It would make your shitty life a lot less shitty. So take one.
No
Take one. Just one. You’ve worked hard enough. You deserve it. You deserve at least one. Take it.
“No!”
Yanking the medicine cabinet open, I shoved the medicine bottle onto a shelf, disrupting the other bottles and jars inside. Then I slammed the cabinet shut to silence the voice. Out of sight, out of mind.
My breathing deepened, my heart raced. I hunched my shoulders and wrapped my hands around myself to contain my shivering. My skin was suddenly hot. I turned on the faucet and splashed my face with water to cool my skin and calm myself.
Then I stared at the woman in the mirror. Strands of my light brown hair had escaped my low ponytail. They hung limp against my cheeks, some damp and stuck to my forehead from when I’d washed my face.
It was strange seeing so much conflict in my own hazel eyes. Whoever said that the ‘eyes are windows to the soul’ wasn’t lying.
It had been years since I was clean. Yet it always unbalanced me how easily and how powerful the urge returned to use, to erode the progress I’d made so far.
Addiction to prescription drugs had ruined my life. It had fucked up my education, snatched away my bright future, and turned me into a criminal and an ingrate.
Worst of all, it had destroyed the relationship I had with my mother. She’d died thinking of me as a druggie who hid in sheep’s clothing even though I’d fought up to the end to change her perception of me.
I couldn’t go back to that life. I couldn’t go back to that insatiable need. To taking every dime I had and immediately spending it on something that gave me a temporary high.
My life might not be the greatest, but it was better than the destruction awaiting me if I went back down that scary road of addiction.
I wasn’t religious in the slightest and I held no strong beliefs whether or not a God existed. However, my mother was what I’d call an ‘occasional Christian’. She didn’t align herself with any particular religion, but she believed in God and liked to go to any nearby church once in a while.
One day, she’d needled me enough to go with her to a New Year’s Day church service. During the service, the pastor had talked about resolutions and holding strong to them.
He’d read a phrase aloud that stuck with me. One that comforted me and helped me through the worst moments when I struggled to get clean. It let me believe that I didn’t battle my demons on my own. That I had an ally who was stronger than me. Who could help me defeat them.
My words came out as a whisper. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”
And I repeated that phrase over and over until I felt sure of myself. Until I was certain the call of that medicine bottle was drowned out by my own resolve.