I scream. Not because I woke up on a plush bed in a clean room or even because of the nightmares that plague me every time I close my eyes. No, I scream because there was a strange woman lying beside me wearing one of those weird drama masks with a frown painted on it.
“Damn,” she says, flipping the mask onto the top of her head. “That’s some set of pipes you got there,” she adds with a smile.
“Who the fuck are you?” I stammer. Sitting up, I inch further away from Little Miss Crazy and lean against the headboard.
“I’m Lacey, Jack’s daughter,” she explains. “Sorry I scared you,” she says, pulling the mask from her head before placing it on her lap next to the one that has a smile painted on it. “I forgot these were here,” she adds, tracing the smile with her index finger.
“Yeah, well, it’s not Halloween,” I huff, pulling the blankets over me.
“Does it really have to be Halloween to wear a mask?” she asks thoughtfully.
Staring at Lacey, I wonder if I’m past the pain of my withdrawals and if the hallucinations have kicked in.
“I think we all put on a mask now and then,” she starts. “Not everyone wears their hurt on their sleeve, sometimes the girl with the brightest smile in the room is the one suffering silently.”
“I don’t smile,” I reply. “What you see is what you get. I’m every bit the mess I appear to be.”
“I smile,” she whispers. “And some days that smile is nothing more than a mask,” she admits, raising the masks before she sets them on the nightstand next to her.
A wave of nausea hits me and I close my eyes briefly until it passes. Lacey doesn’t seem to notice I’m in the throes of withdrawals and for a moment I consider her words, wondering if I’m not as transparent as I think I am. Maybe I’ve got a mask on too.
“I have manic depression. For a while I was afraid to admit it because knowing you’re not right in the head and saying it out loud are two different things. Speaking your truth makes it real.”
“No offense,” I start, widening my eyes. “But I’m not crazy, I’m a drug addict who hasn’t had a fix in a few days.”
“I know what you are and I know what you’re feeling. I may not be an addict but I fell in love with one. You’ve met Blackie, haven’t you?” she asks.
“Yeah, long hair? Dark eyes? He doesn’t speak much but his eyes never shut up.”
“That’s him.”
“He almost blew my head off,” I tell her, watching as her eyes go wide and her lips part.
“Well, I never said he was perfect.”
“Listen, Lacey…I’m not sure what we’re doing here, but in ten seconds I’m going to throw up all over this bed.”
Recovering, she closes her mouth and lifts her hips. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a packet and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s called Suboxone. It’ll dissolve on your tongue and help with the withdrawals,” she informs me and I tear into the package quickly. Without hesitation, I place the strip on my tongue and close my mouth as she stares at me.
“I’m a drug counselor and work a program down at the YMCA,” she reveals. “There are different options for you, Ally. You don’t have to sit here and suffer. I can help you, and in turn you’ll learn to help yourself.”
Feeling as if I’ve entered the twilight zone, I stare at her blankly. It’s hard to comprehend why these people are so willing to help me. I’m no stranger to club life; I’ve spent years confined to a clubhouse full of bikers. It’s always about them and what I can do for them. It’s why they let me live. But these people, they were different. They wanted nothing from me and if they did, they have yet to lay their demands on the table. For Rush, I was his obsession, a drug. For the guys like Stryker, I was just another piece of ass, someone who could get them off when they were too lazy to work for it.
I was nobody.
Yet, these people made me wonder if I could be somebody.
“What if I don’t want your help?”
“If you don’t want my help, that’s fine too, but know you’re letting whoever did this to you…you’re letting those people win.”
“Look at me,” I scoff. Dropping the blanket to my lap, I turn my arms over, displaying the bruises on my skin. “They already won.”
“Is that what you really believe?”
“It’s a fact. You look at me and see an addict. You think you can save me like you saved your boyfriend, but it’s not just the drugs that ruined me. It’s everything I’ve lived through,” I say, feeling tears sting my eyes as I utter the words. In a sense she’s right, the moment I speak my truth it becomes real. I’m no longer the girl living inside her head, but the girl who freely admits she’s a victim.
“Close your eyes, picture your worst nightmare. The ugliest, most horrendous thing your mind can conjure up,” I dare her, watching as she follows my command. Her eyes close and I am the one in control. I am the person delivering the truth and knowing that provides me with the will to continue. “Now open your eyes and look at me. That nightmare, whatever it is you just saw inside your head…I’ve lived that and there is no escaping it. I can’t open my eyes and blink it away. I can’t shrug it off as just another bad dream because it’s all I know. The drugs help, they make me forget for a little while. Now you’re asking me to remember, to relive all that pain…I’m sorry but I’d rather be dead.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s not your fault,” I reply, wiping away a tear. “I appreciate you trying to help but—”
“Don’t do that,” she interjects. “Don’t tell me I’m wasting my time because I’m not. The only one in this room who has lost time is you. I don’t know all the details but my father told me enough. He said you’ve been missing for twelve years.”
“Yeah, twelve years is a long time to have the same recurring nightmare,” I admit.
“Why not end the nightmare?”
Realizing there is no use in hiding my tears, I let them stream freely down my cheeks as I stare at Lacey, noticing the resemblance between her and Jack.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper. “I’m terrified that if I make that choice, I’ll have to feel all that pain again, all the shame.”
“You wouldn’t be alone. You’ll have your brother to help you, and like it or not, you’ll have all of us,” she says, reaching for my hand. “I know we’re all strangers to you and from what Blackie and my father have told me, you were with another club. I can assure you wherever you’ve been is nothing like where you are now. Those guys downstairs, they’re my family. Every single one of those men with a patch on their back are men of honor. Their beliefs may be a little questionable and they’ve made their share of bad decisions. Lord knows they’re destructible at times, but they’re not bad men. In fact, most of them have families. Your brother being one of them.”
I think about Jagger and Celeste. I didn’t get a chance to say anything to him and the few moments I spent with Celeste were sort of surreal. Then I remember cradling their daughter in my arms and something inside of me aches. For the first time since everything happened, I don’t think I can consciously turn my back on them, on the chance to be part of their lives.
For the first few years, all I wished for was to have another day with them. I remember thinking there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t give to have my brother tease me or listen to Celeste ramble on about him.
Then there were the times when I missed my parents and yearned for one more simple moment. The kind most people take for granted, like setting the dinner table with my mother or returning from breakfast on a Sunday morning and sitting down to read the comics with my father.
“Everyone mentions my brother and Celeste but no one has said anything about my parents. Have you met them?” I ask, turning my gaze back to Lacey.
“No, I haven’t,” she says softly.
“I miss them,” I rasp. Blowing out a breath, I wipe away my tears. “I don’t know where this is all coming from. I gave up on feeling sorry for myself.”
Lacey doesn’t say anything as she reaches behind her, grabs the pair of masks and hands them to me.
“Or maybe you’ve been wearing a mask for so long you forgot who you were and who you wanted to be.”
Diverting my eyes to the masks, I take them from her hands and trail my fingertips over the frown before lifting my skeptical gaze back to hers.
“You really think you can help me?”
“I do,” she replies, reaching out to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Nodding, I lift the smiling mask between us.
“I want to smile again,” I murmur.
“You will,” Lacey promises.
Taking the masks from me, she places them next to her and wraps her arms around me. It's awkward but when my arms mimic hers, the action doesn’t feel forced. After a moment, we pull apart and she jumps off the bed. Reaching for the folded clothes sitting on top of the dresser, she hands me a clean outfit. The Suboxone kicks in, allowing me a reprieve from hell and I take a shower.
I didn’t mean to keep Lacey waiting, but I got distracted by the fifteen bottles of shower gel in the bathroom. Each one had a different scent, all feminine and something I wasn’t accustomed to. Deciding on the coconut scented gel; I took the longest shower of my life. Stepping out of the shower, I wondered if I had just substituted one addiction for another because I was already craving my next shower and decided watermelon would be the gel of choice.
The clothes were big on me but they were clean. At the end of the day, my new clothes, like the fancy coconut soap, were luxuries. Combing my hair was easier this time around. There were no knots to fight as I dragged the bristles through my dry hair. The red was fading and the dark brown roots were growing like weeds on top of my head, something I didn’t notice before. I grabbed a clip from under the sink and twisted my hair, pinning the long locks on top of my head.
Before I put my life into Lacey’s hands, I glance at my reflection in the mirror.
“Who are you?” I whisper mindlessly.
I couldn’t answer the question yet but one day I’d look in the mirror, maybe not this exact mirror, but I’d look at myself and know who I was. Leaving my fears behind me, I step out of the bathroom and follow Lacey down the stairs. Feeling everyone’s eyes on me, I remembered her pep talk and tried to tell myself these people weren’t going to hurt me.
Lacey filled them in, letting them know we were headed to the hospital. As per her suggestion, she thought it was best if I was examined by a doctor. I’m not going to lie, the thought of a doctor examining me and exposing all my secrets didn’t sit well with me. I’d just have to suck it up if I wanted to get into treatment. Apparently, there were different ways to treat an addict and most of them relied on a doctor’s referral.
Finding the courage to meet their gazes, I glance around the room, taking in each and every concerned face until my eyes find Deuce’s. Everyone else seems to disappear as I stare into the dark eyes that pitied me, watching as they flickered with something new. Something I had yet to see and couldn’t place a name to.
Breaking the spell, Blackie steps between us and takes hold of my arm, guiding me toward the door.
“Ally,” Deuce calls. Forcing me to turn, I watch as he steps closer and throws something in the air. Reaching out, I close my palm around the object before it drops to the floor and watch in fascination as his lips quirk ever so slightly.
Curiously, I open my fist and glance down. My throat feels like it is closing as I force myself to swallow and stare at the book of matches in my hand.
Be the girl who strikes the match.