Drugs & Candy

Chapter Five

November 16th 2012.

Jack and I actually had a great time eating dinner together, we talked about music since I work in music. The artists I've worked with, upcoming projects that I'll hopefully still get to do, how god awful my marriage is and how it's 80% my own fault, and lastly, I slipped him a compliment, about how nice his hair looked and the cologne he'd been wearing. Turns out it was Tom Ford Noir. Yum.
I stopped being hungry halfway through. I felt nauseous actually. A withdrawal symptom, I reminded myself. As to not worry him, I finished my food but god damn I regret it.
Jack walked with me back to my room where I said goodbye with a hug, because it's fine to hug your counselor. Totally fine. 
I managed to get myself into my sweats and t shirt before I couldn't hold it anymore. I rushed into the bathroom as fast as I could and proceeded to throw my dinner up. I sat back against the cool tile wall as I wiped my mouth on the back of my arm.
"Fuck." I mumbled to myself. 
I went back to bed after I was sure I wouldn't be sick again, although I didn't sleep. Not a bit.


November 17th 2012.

I glanced at my door when someone knocked on it.
I'd been up all night long writing out lyrics, poems, random bullshit. My feelings like Jack told me to do.
I mainly wrote about how sick I felt halfway through dinner, and how I'm angry all the time but talking to Jack makes me happy. I wrote about how unsure I am about that happiness, that he's wildly attractive, smart and friendly. I'm not allowed to feel that way with a professional relationship, and that's all it is. Professional.
I wrote down how I wish for one minute that it wasn't professional.

I sat up when the door opened. This time it was a female volunteer.
"Alexander?" She asked.
"Alex." I corrected, rubbing my eyes.
"Oh, sorry. Alex. I'm supposed to show you where your group therapy session is after breakfast." She was quiet, she must be new.
I shook my head, "No." 
She bit her lip "Uhm....It says..." She looked at a little binder she had, "It says right here that you're with Melanie Garcia after breakfast, which is happening right now..." She was blushing.
I glanced at her name tag, "Look..." I read it, "Jessica. I'm not going to breakfast or group therapy." I shrugged, "You can't force me to either. So you go tell Melanie Garcia that." So I was being rude. I don't fucking feel good. I'd welcome getting shot in the chest repeatedly right now.
I'm sweating, I have the chills, my head is pounding. I'm not going anywhere.
"Oh...I...Okay." Jessica mumbled before disappearing.
I laid back down and closed my eyes, not counting on sleep.
My door knocked again after a few minutes.
"Oh my fucking god. What?! I'm not going!" I yelled angrily.
The door opened and naturally, of course, there he was.
"Jack go away." I groaned.
Jack chuckled, "I'm just here to see why you're making my volunteer cry." He sighed.
I frowned, "I didn't mean to make her cry. She just didn't take no for an answer the first time I said it. If she's upset, that's her own fault." I shrugged.

Jack raised an eyebrow at me, "Okay. So here's the deal." He leaned against the doorframe, "We agreed yesterday at your session that this week you would try things. Group therapy is one of those things. Trying things for a week is one of your goals." He smiled at me a little bit, just a small corner of the mouth smile. It was sweet.
I glared a little, "It might be a goal, but I didn't sleep. I got back from dinner and threw my guts up. I feel fucking sick. Look at me. Do I need to be around people?" I snapped. I realized what I'd done and looked at him apologetically. I didn't need to say sorry though because he just put his hand up and shook his head, stopping me before I even opened my mouth.
"I'm sorry you don't feel good, but that's what comes with it Alex. It'll get better though, whether or not you believe me. This is the hard part though. You deal with the bullshit, and it's gonna hurt and be miserable, but then you come out on the other side and you get to look back and you get to tell yourself that you did it, that you're not just another statistic. That's what you're completing these goals for." He crossed his arms over his chest a little, looking at me with his gentle expression that he always seemed to have on his face. I wish for one second that I knew what he was thinking, I just wanted to pick his brain a little.
I sighed, "Fine. I'm not eating much though. I feel awful." I grumbled and got up, slipping my shoes on, "And I'm not getting ready. You all can have bedhead, dark circles and miserable me." I stopped long enough to put deodorant on, then grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste. I went into the bathroom and handled that, then came back to Jack "I'm going now."
He smiled a big, cheesy grin at me. Smug little fucker.

I rolled my eyes and walked to the cafeteria. I settled on a mug of green tea, toast and a small bowl of oatmeal. Surely that couldn't do me too much harm. Throwing up oatmeal doesn't seem as awful as throwing up chicken. 
I ate slow, gauging my feelings in case I felt sick again. Luckily, I didn't. At least not nauseous.
I finished early and walked the way I remembered the nurses station being.
"Hi...I'm feeling really sick today..." I mumbled at one of the nurses, unsure of what to do here, since last time I had Jack to help me.
The redheaded, older nurse looked me up at down. I could feel her judgment through her red lipstick stained lips. She offered me a small smile. Her small, rounded teeth had lipstick on them.
I'd keep that fact to myself.
"Okay. Name." 
I looked down "Alexander Gaskarth."
"Date of birth."
"December 14th 1987." 
"What's the issue?" She looked me up at down again.
"I'm sweating, I've thrown up, my stomach hurts, my head is pounding and I couldn't sleep all night." I sighed.
"Okay, come with me." 
I followed her back into a little room.
She took my temperature, "102. Okay, I'm going to give you some Tylenol." She opened up a bottle and gave me two capsules and a cup of water.
I took the pills and offered her a tiny smile. Maybe she'd stop looking at me like I'm shooting up heroin right in front of her face if I could at least attempt to look friendly.

"Go on to whatever you need to do. Sign here first." She held out a clipboard.
I looked at it and signed it. It was the whole log on how many time I've been here and for what.
I thanked her almost silently and left, walking back to my room.
If I'm being forced into group therapy, I'll try to make myself look okay.
I changed out of my sweats, replacing them with some black skinny jeans and a maroon v neck t shirt. I still felt exposed, so I pulled a black hoodie on too. I zipped it halfway up and looked at myself in the little mirror.
My eyes had purple, puffy bags under them, I look pale and half dead. I feel half dead.
Still, I had goals to meet. 
I pulled a black beanie on and grabbed my journal, seeing that I had five minutes to get to the room where group therapy is supposedly held.

I have group. I don't want to go. I feel sick. I'm sweating and I guess I have a fever. I got Tylenol but even if it brings the fever down, it won't help me feel better. I know it won't. I'm doing my best to keep myself together, but every inch of me inside is screaming. I feel like I'm being torn apart from the inside out. I don't want to be alive anymore. I'm here though. I have to. So I'll push the pain back. I'll sit down, shut up and deal with it. I don't have another choice.
If I let myself feel it, I'll explode.
Off to group now...Wish me luck.

I closed my journal, setting it on my bed. 
The walk to the group therapy room was easy, there were signs posted everywhere.
I glanced around as I quietly entered. It was about as cliche as one would imagine.
Table with water bottles, coffee, some donuts. Chairs set up in a circle.
People sat in them looking miserable and sorry for themselves. I never thought I'd be one of them.
"Alex?" A black haired woman asked, she's tall and tan, very pretty. She's got a warm smile too.
I nodded, she actually called me Alex. Jack or that volunteer Jessica must've told her.
"Come have a seat, I'm Melanie." She smiled at me again.
I tried to smile back, but it probably just looked like my mouth twitched a little.
I sat down next to a miserable looking man. He had to be in his early 40's, late 30's maybe. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he looked like he was about to shoot up the place, quite frankly. I scooted my chair a little bit away from him.

Melanie, in cliche fashion, started out with introductions.
We have Michael, the opioid addict, much like myself.
Layla, the meth addict.
Paul, the heroin addict.
James, the xanax addict.
Alyssa, the Ambien addict.
Hailey, the Adderall addict.
Travis, the Vicodin addict.
Lastly,
Alex, the Oxy addict.

They all did their introductions. I went last.

"Hi...I'm Alex." I mumbled, staring at my hands.
"Hi Alex" Some of them responded.
I was red in the face, my cheeks are hot. I feel dizzy.
"Can you tell us anything about yourself?" Melanie asked.
I chewed on my bottom lip, drawing blood.
"I...I uh....I'm..." I stuttered over myself, feeling my chest get tighter and tighter, "I uh....I'm...."I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard some of them laugh at me.
I hugged myself, arms tight around me, "I m-make..." I tried to mention that I make music. That wasn't happening, "I d-do...I pr-produce..." I felt like I was going to throw up again. They kept laughing, I heard more of them join in.

"He's a sound producer." I heard an all too familiar voice. Jack.
I couldn't look up and I kept my eyes squeezed shut, I visualized him well enough in my head.
The laughing stopped.
"He works at a recording studio, he's done some pretty cool work with some artists I bet a lot of you know. He likes Green Day, Nirvana, Blink 182 of course because who doesn't? He likes a lot of pop music too, some metal, synth-pop, EDM, he's got a very eclectic music taste. He's 24, about to turn 25 next month." I felt his hands on my shoulders from behind me.
"Oh, well that's great." I heard Melanie say, probably trying to dial it all back in, "Alex, we're talking today about--" I cut her off by getting up and sprinting out of the room.
I ran as fast as my legs would carry me into the bathroom, I didn't shut or lock the door as I fell down as fast as I could and proceeded to get sick in the toilet all over again. 
I told him I don't do well in front of people.

I felt his hand rubbing my back, "Get it out, you're okay." He said quietly.
I gagged again, getting up the last of my minimal breakfast.
"I am not! I told you I didn't want to do that! I told you that I don't do well with people! I told you that I only feel okay talking to you! I told you!" I yelled at him, my head still in the toilet, gagging again after I yelled.
"Okay, but look what you just did. You checked off a box on your list of goals. You tried it. You introduced yourself the best that you could, and now I won't make you try again. I might have you try again later, but not now. Not this week. You tried. Now you can move onto another thing to try this week." His voice is so god damn gentle all the time. I fucking hate him.

I sat back and glared at him, "I fucking hate you. You didn't listen to me. I told you. I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT I DIDN'T WANT TO DO THAT! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
He grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the spit off my chin, tossed it in the toilet and flushed it. I turned my head to look away from him, my knees up, arms resting on them.
I could see him smiling out of the corner of my eye.
"What the fuck are you fucking smiling at." I mumbled.
"You." He chuckled a little.
"Why the fuck am I so funny to you?" I hate him. I fucking hate him. I hate him so god damn fucking much. 
"You're not funny Alex, you're sweet and sour." He sounded so amused with himself.
"How in the ever loving fuck am I sweet and sour?" I swear to god I want to punch his stupid fucking face.
"Because," He said so matter of factly, like he was about to give me the most obvious explanation in the world, "You're so sweet and vulnerable, can't be around people and you can't find your voice, and then suddenly you're screaming at me in the bathroom. Suddenly, here's your voice." He chuckled.
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "You think that's sweet and then you think that's sour? You're fucking weird dude." Still, I was blushing. Idiot. Don't blush.
Jack just smiled at me again.
"Come on, let's get out of here. Smelly bathroom and all." He shrugged, stood up and offered his hand.
I took it and got up.
"Thanks." I mumbled. 
"So what next?" He asked as we walked down the halls after I'd rinsed my mouth and washed my hands.
"What do you mean?" I crossed my arms, purposely only stepping on the blue linoleum squares, avoiding the white ones. 
"Well, you've got lunch soon and I've got a session while you're eating lunch and then you and I have our one on one, but since you're not in group right now, seems like you've got a little time to kill." He shrugged.

"Okay? Do you need me to just wait in my room then?" I looked over at him, wondering what he was getting at.
He shook his head, "Nah. I mean, if you want to. Or you could follow me." He gave me that shit eating grin of his again.
"Oh....kay?" I followed him as he turned down another hall.
He opened the door to a room labeled 'Recreation' 
"I don't want to be here." I mumbled as I saw others in there.
"Oh hush. We aren't going to stay. Look." He unlocked the closet and got the most beautiful all black acoustic guitar out. He locked the closet door again and handed it to me.
"Told ya I'd bring you one. I just put it in here for now, hoping maybe you'd come in here to play, but after what I saw at group, I figure maybe I can just leave it in my office and when you want it, you can have a volunteer bring it to you." Jack shrugged, looking at me like someone who's really hoping that their gift is well received.
I looked it over, holding it like it's pure diamonds, precious glass that'll shatter if I so much as move the wrong way.
"It's...Wow. It's gorgeous. Takamine G?" I looked it up and down, probably looking like a kid on Christmas day.
"Yep. You know your guitars." He looked so proud of himself.
I smiled up at him, "I do." I hugged him without warning him that I was going to do it.
I took him a moment before he hugged me back.
Should I not have done that? I wanted to. He gives good hugs.
"Thank you." I looked at the precious jewel in my hands again.
"Well, play it!" He encouraged.
I looked around, "Not in here." 

We walked back to my room. Jack couldn't stay long, but he wanted to hear me play before he headed to his office, taking the guitar with him and before I had lunch.
So I sat down on my bed, him leaning against the wall across from me.
I didn't look at him, I was too nervous to. I fiddled around with the strings, tuning it here and there to make sure I had exactly what I wanted. I could've played a song that I wrote, but I chose a song that I liked to play. 
I played and sang How To Save A Life by The Fray. 
I closed my eyes and just let it out.
When I was done, I held the guitar out for him.
He took it and smiled a little, but it wasn't his usual cheeky smile, or the shit eating grin. This smile was different, one I hadn't seen before.
I blushed and looked down. I really have to stop doing that.
I can't be blushing around him constantly. He's not supposed to know that I want to suck him off in his office rather than talk to him about my problems.
"Wow Alex. I can see why you wanted a guitar here. You really know what you're doing." He sounded gentle, not like he usually is. Not doctor-patient gentle. A different kind that's so hard for me to explain. It's indescribable. All I know is that it's gentle, and I want to hear him talk like this all the time.
"I'd hope so....I work in music after all." I smirked a little.
He chuckled, "Yeah. I guess you'd need some decent talent there to really thrive in that field." He looked at his guitar again, "Really, any time you want to play it, it'll be there in my office for you. I have to get to my session, and you've got to get to lunch soon. Someone will come get you when it's time. See you in about an hour and a half. Try to take a nap before lunch, you look exhausted." He smiled at me again as he left the room. 

I didn't nap.
I wrote.

God damn it he's so sweet. He really actually held true to his word and brought me a guitar. A really nice one, at that. How the hell am I supposed to last three months here when he's walking around looking like that? How am I supposed to treat him professionally when he acts how he does? And the worst part is that he's probably not being flirty or anything, I'm just taking it that way because I want to. I wouldn't mind if he did flirt with me though.
He'd be stupid to do that. People don't flirt with druggies. 
Oh well. It's a nice fantasy.
I wonder if Elaina is ever going to come see me. I hope not.

I closed my journal and laid down, staring at the ceiling. 
There was that familiar knock on the door. I got up and opened the door.
I said nothing as Jessica, the volunteer from this morning told me to go to the cafeteria.
She followed me down there and left me alone once I was inside.
Pondering over what they had today, I chose a turkey sandwich, a bag of chips and a water bottle.
I sat down, pushed my plate aside, resting my arms on the table.
I looked around at everyone, then laid my head down and closed my eyes.
I don't really want to eat and I really don't want to deal.
I'm feeling it bad right now. The feeling came out of nowhere.
My head is pounding again, and I feel sick to my stomach, I feel sick, I'm craving it so bad.
I start scratching at my arms, digging my nails in and just ripping away at my flesh.
I need it so bad. 
"Fuck." I got up and booked it past the volunteers and straight to Jack's office.
He opened it slightly after I knocked and looked down at my bloody arms.
"Alex? Hey, okay what's going on?" He asked me, stepping out into the hall.
"I can't do it Jack I wanna go home, I wanna go home...You have to let me go home...Please you have to let me go home...I need it....I can't fucking do this. I need it." I scratched into the open wounds I'd created.
Jack took my hands, "No Alex. I'm not letting you go home. You can do it. Can I trust you to stand out here while I finish with this session? I'm almost done with it. Can you do that?" He squeezed my shaking hands, seemingly not caring that my blood was getting on his hands.
I didn't answer, rather I took my hands back, leaned against the wall and slowly sank down it onto the floor.

I want to go home.
I can't do this anymore.
I see her in my head, the most gorgeous light blue round pills. 
I close my eyes and imagine it.
In my dreamland, I'm crushing up the pills and snorting them. 
I'm getting it in that syringe, tying the tourniquet around my arm, feeling around for a good vein and injecting it slowly, so that the high hits me slower.
I'm dropping the needle on the ground next to me, and I'm closing my eyes with a grin on my face as I feel the world stop. Everything is in slow motion. I'm so fucking over the moon happy. Things make sense. Things are easy.
I'm just Alex.
I'm not anyone else. Just Alex.
The pictures around me are moving, talking to me. I smile back at them.
I think about my wife and what she's doing and I'm laughing because I'm in the next room, ecstatic while she's probably pacing around and hating her life. The life that she just won't leave.
Then I'm so god damn relaxed that it's so easy for me.
I'm nodding off with my head slumping over onto my shoulder and I feel so good. 
I sleep my pain, anxiety and stress away.
I'm safe in my sleep.

I jumped a little when Jack opened the door again.
"Okay Alex, you can come in now." He said quietly, holding his hands out for me.
I took them and stood up, letting him lead me into his office.