Rock Bottom (Bullet) (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-one

“SON?”  ETHAN NORMALLY enjoyed hearing from his mother, but he could tell from her tone that something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, mom?”

“Are you sitting down?”

He drew in a deep breath.  “Just spit it out, mom.”

She was quiet for a few moments.  “Your dad, Ethan.  He’s passed.”

It felt as though his mother had
shoved a sharp icicle through his heart.  It was as painful as he’d imagined a heart attack would feel and he felt winded.  He couldn’t believe his ears.  “What?”

“Your dad died, son.  The funeral’s on Tuesday.”

Ethan felt a sting in his nostril.  That was fucking stupid.  His dad didn’t deserve any emotion from him—not sadness, not anger, not even happiness.  In fact, he shouldn’t get a single thought from Ethan.  He was a little pissed at his mother for drawing his attention to his father for the few seconds she had.  He needed to let her know his father’s death didn’t change a thing.  “So?”

She was quiet for a few moments.  “I…thought you might want to know.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut.  “It doesn’t change a thing in my world, mom.”  He drew in a deep breath.  “I’m glad the fucker’s dead.  He didn’t deserve to use my air anyway.”  His mom tried to talk him into coming home to attend the funeral, so he said, “Look, mom, I gotta go.  I’m busy.”

When he hung up the phone, he let out a slow breath.  Yeah, Burt Richards meant nothing to him…so why did he feel the need to get completely wasted that night?  He tried not to think about it, even as he prepped a needle.

His plan had
worked.  Somehow he’d convinced Jenna to leave.

And now he sat at the kitchen table holdi
ng a black BIC lighter under a spoon as the amber liquid bubbled around the edges. 
This
…this was his one true love, the lover who understood him, who took his pain away, who took the edge off everything else that was horrible and true and ugly, the things he just couldn’t deal with.  Staring at it, he came to the realization that he had
never
been equipped to handle life.  He wasn’t strong or impervious.  He was weak, always had been, and it was never more evident than when he gave into the siren song.

He could no longer resist.  He knew within seconds of injecting
it into his arm that he’d feel relief, numbness, and even some euphoria.  His mind knew exactly what to expect and the journey he’d take.  Sweet, sweet release unlike anything else on the planet.

He set the lighter and spoon down on the table but paused.  He wasn’t taking this decision lightly.  He’d been thinking about it for weeks; in fact, he’d thought of little else,
had obsessed, struggling with the choice before him.

Except…he also knew the dark side of his lover.  It
wasn’t
what he’d become to everyone else, although those facts resided in the back of his mind as well.  Instead, he knew that once he gave in and after the initial relief had dissipated, he’d be back in that hole.  It wasn’t just a hole, though.  It was an abyss that got deeper every time he fell down it, and he suspected this time he’d never get back out.

It was a helpless situation.

Part of him, deep down, wanted to overdose and die.  If he could ensure a peaceful journey out of this world, he’d take it…but he knew it would wind up being like every other time.

How had he gotten to this point
?

That was when he saw the first splash on the table near his right hand and then the other.  He blinked.  In all his life, he’d never asked what had brought him here.  It was just something he’d taken for granted—he’d had a shitty father and a mother who cared too much after his dad had left.  She’d overcompensated, and in the worst way ever.  Even then, he’d pushed, had needed to see how much someone would tolerate from him.

His mother had never left but she eventually turned her attentions elsewhere.

Valerie and Brad had turned their backs on him.

And he just wanted to die, to leave the world behind.  His suffering would end then.

More tears fell and Ethan realized he’d never crie
d.  Never.  Not since childhood, not since the last time as a boy he’d seen his father.

All those years…he’d bottled it all up, stuffed it all down, taken it like a man…and time was catching up with him.  He let it go and it was an onslaught, a flood.  The tears fell like a waterfall, splashing into the
liquid in the spoon.  He dropped the needle and held his face in his hands.  There was no stopping it now, so he just let it all go.

His lover could wait.
  She always had.

* * *

Ethan couldn’t bring himself to shave, but he looked in the mirror to make sure he looked neat.  He’d managed to get in the shower and he brushed his teeth, but he couldn’t muster the will to do much else.  He had dark circles under his eyes in spite of sleeping twice as much as he usually did, and his skin looked pale and sickly.

Jenna would notice, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.  He’d promised to see Dr. Thomas when she’d arranged the appointment.  By now, she would know he’d rescheduled his last
appointment twice before almost cancelling it altogether.  He’d likely hear about it.

He didn’t, though.  When she picked him up, she hugged him as though she hadn’t seen him in years.  All he’d gone through the last four days made it feel like maybe it
had
been a lifetime.

He hugged her back, convinced he didn’t deserve her.

* * *

Ethan looked worse than Jenna had expected.  She’d never seen him looking this bad—not in person, at any rate.  She’d seen pictures when he’d been a
t his worst—drug-addled and ridden hard by heroin.

At first, she’d thought it was depression sinking in.  It was pulling him down hard and, having given up the medication, he hadn’t noticed the depression’s effects until it was too late to cope with them.  Now, though, seeing him…she wondered if he was up to his old tricks.  He was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, seemingly because it was cold outside, but she wondered if it was to cover up injection tracks.

She took a deep breath and held his hand as they descended the stairs.  Jenna wasn’t sure how to begin the conversation or if it should wait until she had professional help from Dr. Thomas.  She’d had that hard discussion with many of her own clients, but she was starting to think she was too close to this situation.  Her heart was wrapped around Ethan, and she was afraid she might say or do the wrong thing, because she had so much at stake.  She couldn’t be objective anymore and so she didn’t trust herself.

Damn it.  She wished she could’ve found a way to give Dr. Thomas a heads up before Ethan’s appointment, but it was too late now.  His scheduled time was less than an hour away, and Thomas was likely talking to someone else already.  There was no way she could get that information to him.  She’d have to trust that he’d sense it or Jenna could just throw it on the table when they arrived.

Maybe Ethan would just talk about it.

No, he wouldn’t, not without prompting.  She’d known enough addicts in her day, and she’d grown to know Ethan well over the past several months.  He wouldn’t talk about it unless she forced his hand.

She loved him enough to do it.

That’s why the drive to Dr. Thomas’s office was tense and quiet.

When they got there, Ethan spoke softly to the receptionist as he checked in for his appointment.  Then he sat down in the lobby next to Jenna and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.  She looked up at him and smiled.  She tried to assure him with her eyes that everything was going to be all right.

Not long after, Dr. Thomas opened the door to the lobby and called for Ethan.  Jenna stood and walked behind Ethan; Dr. Thomas acknowledged her with a nod.

After several minutes of Jenna explaining to Thomas why she was there (not as Ethan’s counselor but as his friend), she urged Ethan to tell the doctor what he’d told her…that the medicine wasn’t working the way he’d expected and he had quit taking it.

Jenna knew Dr. Thomas wouldn’t be happy that Ethan had just quit cold turkey, but he didn’t communicate it.  Instead, he asked, “How are you feeling now?”

Ethan was looking in his lap.  After a few moments, he said, “Lost.”  He inhaled deeply.  “I guess the best word I can think of to describe what I feel inside is
despair
.  I don’t have hope for the future, for myself, for anything.  I just…want it to end.”

“Would you be willing to try different medication?”

“Maybe.”

Dr. Thomas shifted in his chair, but his voice remained calm.  Jenna had never seen the man in action.  He was good.  Ethan was actually listening to him and, she could tell, he was taking the doctor’s words to heart.  “Tell me what bothered you about
the medicine you were taking before.”

Jenna looked at Ethan, wondering what he would say, if he would tell Dr. Thomas the same things he’d told her.
  His voice was low when he answered.  “I still had a lot of down days.  The medicine wasn’t helping, doc.”  He closed his eyes.  “And I lost my creative edge.  I haven’t written anything in a year.  Nothing.  No music, no words.  It’s like they’ve dried up.”

The doctor leaned forward slightly. 
“And what about now?”

Ethan looked up from the hands he’d folded in his lap.  He shrugged. 
“Still nothing.”

“So…stopping the medicine didn’t make your creative juices start flowing.  Did you expect that to happen?”

Jenna could tell Thomas was being sincere, but she could see how someone like Ethan might think the doctor was being sarcastic.  The look on Ethan’s face, though, looked tortured, not offended.  He said, “I don’t know, really.  I guess I thought it would help.  But…I know what
would
help.”

Jenna felt a knot twist her belly, and she thought she might throw up.  She didn’t notice that she was holding her breath, waiting for his answer.  She was afraid of what he might say. 
Instead, when Dr. Thomas asked him to elaborate, Ethan told him what had happened the past week.

Chapter Thirty-two

THE GUY’S NAME was Richie.  Ethan had known him for years.  He was the most discreet dealer Ethan knew, and he could get Ethan anything he wanted at a moment’s notice.  Ethan had been spiraling into a deep, dark hole again…and he knew the fix.

He fought against it.  He didn’t want to go there again…but he felt helpless to resist.  Once again, the world had become a dark, ugly place, and he needed to find his way.  He needed to soften the edges, and there was one thing that always did it.

He’d bought a bottle of Everclear the day before, but alcohol wouldn’t be enough.  That was for later.  Or maybe he’d start with it.  Whatever the case, he’d have it handy for when he needed it.  He hid it in the bottom of the drawer where the kitchen towels were stored so Jenna wouldn’t see it when she came over.

The next day, he’d found his resolve…or perhaps
it was his weakness that had finally overtaken his will.  He looked up Richie in his phone—probably the fact that he’d never deleted the guy’s number out of his contacts list was a sign that Ethan had known he would ultimately fail—and called.  He got the guy’s voicemail the first time and hung up.  A few minutes later, he called again.  Richie answered it.  “Ah, it’s my rock star client.  What can I do for you, buddy?”

Ethan hated himself at that moment.  He was so fucking weak. 
Pathetic.  He frowned, wanting to die and be done with it.  Instead, he was going to live the one way he knew how.  “Well…”

Richie wasn’t one to pussyfoot around.  “
Your usual?”

Ethan closed his eyes. 
“Yeah…the usual.”

Before he knew it, Ethan was climbing the stairs to his apartment with a small bag of black tar in his pocket.  And there was Jenna.  She called his name and he responded by telling her to go home.  When she refused, he repeated himself.  “I said
go home
.”  She was touching his arm, and he could see in her eyes that she really cared.  And then he felt like he couldn’t let her down.  So she came inside and they talked.  He knew he mattered to her, and he knew she wanted to help.  He even believed that part of her understood him and what he was going through.  But he needed to be alone.

She finally left.  Feeling her strength through her presence helped him deny the pleasure of reacquainting himself with his mistress that night.  But when he awoke the next morning, she was singing to
himagain.  He’d already called Valerie and told her he couldn’t have Chris over that weekend, giving her a lame excuse about being sick and needing to stay in bed.  She’d bought it.

Then he sat at the kitchen table.  It was all there, all laid out. 
The spoon, the lighter, the cotton ball, the sandwich bag of junk, the syringe, a small glass of water.  It was a clean needle, so he wasn’t going to worry about spreading alcohol over his skin.  Maybe if he was lucky, he’d manage to kill himself this time.

He started going through the steps, a ritual he’d performed hundreds of times before, but this time he was keenly aware of what he was doing.  He kept seeing Jenna’s face in his mind, followed by Chris’s.  He tried to ignore them as he held the flame under the spoon.  Soon
, bubbles formed around the edges of the brown mixture.

“
Goddammit.”  He set the spoon down as a drop of liquid fell, first from one side of his face and then the other.  He was angry then, wondering if crying like a baby would dilute the junk when he was ready.  But his eyes were like fire hydrants, and they wouldn’t stop.  With his forearm, he shoved all the items across the table and lay his head on his fists, just letting the tears fall.  More than fifteen years’ worth of pain he’d held in came crashing down that morning.  Until then, he’d felt empty, emotionless, but something had broken loose.  That morning, he cried a tear for every time his father had laid a finger on his mother; more tears for every time his father had hurt
him
; an onslaught of tears for the pain he’d caused the people he loved—Valerie, Brad, his mother, Chris, Jenna; and at last he cried a tear for himself, for the man he’d never become.

He fell asleep with his head on the table and awoke a few hours later.  He sat up.  He still wanted to die, but he didn’t want to give in anymore.  He no longer had any excuses.  Jenna had told him (and he’d promised her back) that they could go through it together.  He had to trust her.  He couldn’t rely only upon himself anymore.

He stood up and threw it all in the trash.  That wasn’t good enough, though, so he dug the heroin out of the trash and threw it in the sink, running the water and the garbage disposal until he was sure it was gone.  Then he dug out the bottle of Everclear and poured it down the same drain.  He let out a long sigh as he threw the bottle in the trash, and then he climbed into bed where he stayed until it was time to face the music.

* * *

“Ethan, you realize that what you did was a step in the right direction?”

He nodded.  Jenna could tell Ethan felt ashamed that he’d done it anyway, but she grabbed his hand that had been resting on his thigh and squeezed.  She wanted him to know he was not alone.  And that he’d managed to ignore his addiction, even when it was right under his nose?  That said so much to her.

“So…let’s try some different medications.  It’s not enough for me that you’re alive, Ethan.  I want you to have quality in your life.  I want you to feel that it’s worth living…so let’s see if we can get you there.”

Jenna was familiar with the two medications Dr. Thomas started telling Ethan about, and she realized that they might not help either, but she took his recovery seriously.  He looked like a man on the edge, one ready to end his life, tormented inside, and she felt as though she’d failed him.

When they left later, she insisted on filling the prescriptions immediately.  They sat in the supermarket pharmacy waiting area, and Jenna grabbed his hand again.  When he looked at her, she felt like she could drown in his green eyes that shone like playing marbles, in spite of the fact that she knew he was tired and worn down to the soul.  She loved this man, though, and she would carry him as far as he needed to become the man he wanted to be.  Until today, part of her had wondered if he really wanted to get better, but she saw it now.  He wanted it to end and either be whole or be gone.  She intended to help him heal.

She held his hand in hers and whispered, “Ethan?”

He was still looking at her.  She’d never seen him look so gentle or so exposed.  He looked raw.  He didn’t say a word, instead just looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I’m going to be a little pushy.  Now, this doesn’t have to be permanent, but I want you to stay with me for the next month or so—or longer if need be.  I just…feel like I need to support you as best I can, and I feel like you need someone there to help.”

God, what was he thinking?  Was that skepticism in his eyes or something else?  His voice was low and gravelly when he said, “I don’t think that’ll help, Jenna.”

She hoped she’d managed to hide the frown. 
“Why not?”

He shook his head and looked down at her hands around his and brought his other hand over so hers were wrapped in his.  “It never helped before.”

“Ethan, you forget.  I’m trained in this field.  I’ve studied addiction, and I have experience helping people in recovery.  That’s my job. 
It’s what I do.
  But I want to be there as much as I can.  I feel like I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t failed me.”  He touched her cheek.  “Not by a long shot.”  He pulled her into an embrace that felt awkward because of the arms on the chairs, but she
returned the hug anyway.  “I just…think I’m past saving.”

She didn’t raise her voice but tried to sound stern nonetheless.  “Ethan Richards, don’t you ever say that.  There is no such thing.  I thought that the first time I worked with a meth addict who’d been using a long time.  She’d smoked so much over the years, her teeth were nearly nonexistent and she looked like she was in her thirties at the age of nineteen.  She was still emotionally numb the last time I saw her, but she was living a healthy life.  She got implants so her face looks normal even if
aged, and she started going to school.  You know what, though?  In spite of all the shit that girl went through, she had hope.  Last time I saw her, she’d been clean for over a year.  If she could do it, you could.”  He had a worried look in his eyes, but it was different.  That he was worried told Jenna he might be clinging onto hope…and that was good.  “You’re strong, Ethan.  Look at everything you’ve gone through.  But when you’re not feeling that way, I want to be there to help.”

He drew in a deep breath and looked down again.  “I can’t do that to you, Jenna.”

The pharmacy tech called Ethan’s name, and he got up before Jenna could respond.  He signed for the prescriptions and handed the woman a wad of cash.  She gave him his change and stapled the bottles inside a small white paper bag.  They walked outside in silence, but when they got to her car, she grabbed his hand again.  She took a deep breath.  She had to just put it all out there.  “I need to tell you something.  This is hard for me, but it needs to be said.  I…love you, Ethan, and I can’t just stand by and not be active in your recovery.  Now, if you don’t really want it, I can walk away and leave you be.  But if you want support, if you want help, if you need someone to talk to, someone to lean on, I’m here.  I want to be part of your recovery…part of your life.  I know it won’t always be pretty…but that’s okay.”

He blinked.  “You said the other day you knew what being addicted is like.  Were you ever hooked on anything?”

She closed her eyes, remembering a time that seemed so long ago.  “It might sound lame, but I was addicted to cigarettes.  I never tried anything harder, but I discovered I have an addictive personality.  I won’t touch anything that could cause me to give in.  It would be so easy.  But I know what withdrawal is like.  The physical part’s easy.  It’s the psychological bullshit that drags you down, the games you play with your mind, the way you try to justify just one more time.  I get it, Ethan.  I’ve been there.  And that’s why I know you’re strong.”

His eyes looked clear then, as though he’d had a revelation.  He took her face in his hands and kissed her with passion.  It wasn’t sexual, but it was emotional.  They were connected in a way that few people were, and she hadn’t realized it until that moment.  She’d never believed there was such a thing as a
soulmate…until now.  If she had one, it was Ethan.

“I love you too, Jenna.”  He kissed her again and she felt hope surging from him to her.  He leaned his forehead on hers then.  “I just don’t want to put you through this shit.  You have enough guys like me you have to help.”

She sucked in a little breath, finding the courage to say what needed to be said.  “I don’t plan to be with them as long as we’ll be together.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled.  She hadn’t seen him smile in weeks and his expression infused her with hope too.  It didn’t last long, though, and he said, “Last chance.  You know what you’re getting into.”

She nodded, feeling a steely determination course through her veins.  “I’m here for the long haul.”