On the Road to Serenity (sequel to Take Me to Church)

Chapter 9

Most of the time I avoided looking in the mirror. Heroin and the fear of getting dopesick occupied all of my time, so much so I didn't think about anything else, especially not about my appearance.

Men paid for cheap blow jobs and handjobs, and/or to watch me masturbate. They'd pay a little more to fuck me and do other things to me. Most didn't care what I looked like, as long as I looked like a boy. Even though I was twenty-two, I could pass for a sixteen or seventeen year old boy.

With my mind clearer than it had been in a long time, I faced that man in the mirror. I loathed that man. Dark rings circled my sunken eyes, my skin pale and sallow. Skin and bones, my rib cage was noticeably visible. I was never big to begin with, but I was now malnourished, which explained why the hospital served me double portions, along with supplement drinks like Ensure. I only drank the chocolate ones.

I brought the hospital's plastic black comb to my tangled, matted hair and tugged the knots out the best I could. I desperately needed a haircut. My hair just about touched my shoulders.

Giving up on my hair, I sifted through my duffle bag, searching through ragged clothes and random pieces of crap. All my drug paraphernalia had been removed. River took some clothes to wash at his house. In the bottom of my bag, I found a pair of eyeglasses. I thought I'd lost them or sold them. I was actually excited and put them on, relieved to see things clearly again.

When the judge last ordered me to rehab, I was sent to a dump in the inner city of Boston. There were no available beds anywhere else. It was like a dark, dirty prison. I had state insurance, so I didn't expect my rehabs to be as nice as Liam's. When I found out I was going to a residential rehab program in Lawrence, Massachusetts, I expected it to be even worse than the one in Boston. Lawrence had a bad reputation, one of the worst in the state. But River assured me it was one of the better rehabs. With only sixteen beds for men with substance abuse and mental health issues, there was usually a waiting list. Somehow, I got a spot.

I researched the place on my phone. It looked decent, but that meant nothing. Photographers could make any place look good. I wouldn't know what it was really like until I entered the building. Sharing a room with another addict was also enough to make me want to check out. This time I didn't have a choice. I had to put up with my roommate no matter what. I couldn't simply leave after thirty days.

River Sweet never gave up on me, even after I dropped him with no explanation months ago. I had a history of making bad decisions, but one of the best decisions I made was calling him when I was in jail. If it wasn't for him, I'd be in a prison cell. Earlier today, he called me to let me know he got a flat tire and was waiting for AAA to come because he didn't know how to change a tire. I didn't know how to change a tire, either. Because I had to be at the rehab place by 4:00, River arranged for someone to bring me clean clothes and drive me. He hoped to meet me there.

A handsome man with chestnut hair and perfectly trimmed short beard stood in the doorway as I resumed combing my hair. Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie, I realized he wasn't a doctor or nurse. I had no idea who this man was. Meanwhile, I was still in a hospital gown, looking like a disheveled runaway youth.

"Hi," the man said. "Are you Nick?"

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"I'm Noah Carmichael," he said. "I'm River's husband. He said he spoke to you..."

"Oh, yeah. He said he was sending someone. I didn't realize he was sending his spouse."

"I can leave if you're not comfortable with me here. River hardly told me anything about you. He'd never break confidentiality. I'm just here to bring you clothes and cupcakes."