Chapter Eleven
Tristan
After the show I went straight back to the rehab. It was part of the deal that I’d made with them; no lags in between. They made me pee in a cup every time I came back, anyways, just to make sure. It wasn’t a big deal since I was starting to feel better. Every little thing didn’t annoy me like it had the first several days I was getting the shit out of my system. What was bothering me that night, was that kiss.
Our duet had been fucking awesome. Elly was an amazing singer and our voices sounded great together. I’d gotten so caught up in that, and the lyrics…fuck, the truth was I kissed her because I wanted to and I actually felt it that time. She was in my head and making me feel all kinds of things that I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t need anyone, and I didn’t want to need anyone emotionally. I was pissed off at myself for letting her get to me.
I knew she was different since that first night—it was what had drawn me to her in the first place. I wanted her to feel the things I was doing to her. I wanted to see and feel her response, but I didn’t want to let her in my head…and that’s right where she was. It was as if I’d traded in my addiction for a different kind and that just pissed me off.
I couldn’t sit still in my little room so I got up and paced the halls. They had the television on in the dayroom and there was a clip of Elly and I playing as I walked by. I stopped and watched it; we looked damn good together and we sounded even better.
There was some tweaker chick sitting on the couch and when she looked up and saw me she said, “Shit! That’s you!” I started to walk away and I heard her say, “Is she your girlfriend?”
I looked back up at the screen…at Elly’s face. My girlfriend? Fuck no! I didn’t do girlfriends. I just walked away and ignored her. It was none of her business either way. I went out onto the patio. The night was cool as the weather was starting to change. I wondered what I would do about my apartment if I didn’t win…or if I got disqualified for singing with Elly.
Damn it! I wished I could make my mind still. I knew that I could. I wasn’t a prisoner there. I could sign myself out and go score some weed. That would calm me down. Of course, they probably wouldn’t let me back in if I just left, and if they did, they’d make me piss in a cup and kick me out anyways.
Shit! I hated it. I wanted to call Elly, but it was too late to use the phone. I hated where I’d put myself and I hated that I had no idea where I was going from there. I guessed that was the kind of shit my therapist wanted me to talk about. I didn’t see the point, though; I could talk about it until I was blue in the face—wouldn’t change a fucking thing. I was the only one who could change anything. Thinking I only had myself to depend on, was a depressing thought. I’d done a fucking bang up job so far.
I finally went back to my room. It took hours for me to fall asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about how bad I wanted something…anything. It wasn’t a physical craving any more. It was mental. I wanted to feel numb again; feeling shit was for the birds.
I got woke up the next day by a loud knock on my door. It was the nurse with my pills. They gave me something that took away the cravings for the opiates. They had something new; they didn’t use methadone like they used to. I used to like the methadone—if I’d cheek it and then take it all at once later on, it was almost as good as a speed-ball. Probably why they stopped using it—they figured that out. The shit they gave me was called Suboxone. It worked, my body wasn’t feeling that physical need for the drugs…but it didn’t make me high, or numb.
After I took my pills and had breakfast, I went to my appointment with my therapist. I had almost convinced myself that I was going to open up to him that day. But, I knew that was just going to make my anxiety worse. We talked about the show the previous night and he tried to talk about my parents again. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of that, I told him I wasn’t feeling good and that I’d been thinking about leaving and going to use all night.
“So, are you going to be okay tonight, when you leave for the show?” He looked concerned.
“I doubt it,” I told him, honestly. “I really don’t want to start this shit all over again, but given the opportunity today; I think I’d take it.”
“So what should we do?” he asked me.
“I think I should skip the show tonight. If I leave here, I’m going to find something, and I’m probably not going to care what it as.”
He nodded and said, “I’ll call them and let them know you’re not going to make it tonight. I’m proud of you for coming to me with this, Tristan; it shows real progress.”
I walked away from that meeting wanting to be as apathetic about it as I was everything else. The hard truth was that it had been so long since anyone had been proud of me for anything, I let it make me feel good that he said it….just a little bit.