Rock Bottom (Bullet) (4 page)

Jenna saw a spark, though, something inside the woman that screamed
independence, that dreamed of more than just surviving.  Jenna did a lot of one-on-one counseling with the woman but also knew she’d do well in a group setting.  She’d seemed to feel like no one could ever fully understand her struggles and she’d felt like she was alone on an island (her counselor, after all, had never been addicted that she knew of), so Jenna asked her to attend the group and find out for herself that, while everyone had her own path, they were all just as rocky and many were fraught with the same obstacles.  It was here—at Soaring Free—that she’d seen the woman spread her wings and open up like never before.  Here she saw Olivia find hope and latch on, and every session made the woman stronger.  It was these moments that made her feel fulfilled as a counselor.

So when Mr. Rock Star looked over at the woman with a sly grin, Jenna felt her hackles rise.  She felt protective of Olivia, even though the woman was probably fifteen or twenty years her senior, and she didn’t want anyone—especially a guy very much the older woman’s type—wrecking the progress she’d made.  Jenna realized, though, that perhaps this moment could be a good learning experience for Olivia.  They could talk about it in their next session...as long as she could keep Olivia away from him until then.

She had a duty to the cocky rock star too, though.  She hadn’t been counseling for decades, but she’d been doing it enough (along with a solid education) to know that he had that attitude as a way of protecting himself.  It was a classic case of wearing a mask.  She knew that part of it was probably due to his success.  She’d seen it happen before in a young woman from a rich family clueless about how the rest of the world lived.  In Ethan’s case, his band was recognized by the world as not only viable but insanely popular, and it would be easy to fall prey to the press and believe you were the best thing since sliced bread.  But just in the few minutes she’d been watching him, she was certain it was more than that.  She was convinced that Mr. Ethan Richards, guitar god extraordinaire, was covering up a lot of things with that cocky rock star mask—insecurity, feelings of despair, desperation, loneliness, and who knew what else.  Jenna might not be a psychologist, but she was sure she had an idea of what was plaguing Ethan.  Her only fear was that he might have come to her too late.

Chapter Four

BY THE END of the session, Jenna had asked Ethan to share a little bit about why he was there and what he hoped to get out of it.  She’d seen a slight shift in his demeanor—a good start—and so she shouldn’t have been surprised by his response.  His answer seemed genuine.  “Hi, everyone.  I guess you all already know who I am.  My name’s Ethan.  I…uh…I’ve had some issues with alcohol and a whole lotta drugs, and…uh…I’m just trying to get some help so I don’t go back to them again.”  He got quiet for a moment and looked down at his hands that he’d folded into one big fist.  “They have always been there for me, but they haven’t been good for me.  I want to find a way to break off that relationship.”

Wow.  Jenna was impressed.  He’d started out with a huge shield around himself but, while she was sure he had a long journey ahead of him, it was something a lot more mature and far more revealing than she’d expected from
a guy like him this early in the game.

Coming from someone who’d
thought she was as nonjudgmental as they came, Jenna felt a little ashamed for having thought that.  Still, it was her job to observe and coach, and she had to try to lead these folks down the right path.  It was refreshing that a guy like Ethan was already making strides.

But she’d been doing this enough to know that false starts weren’t unusual either.

She’d keep that to herself.  “Well, everyone,” she said as she stood, “nicely done tonight.  Is your fight over?”  A few of them murmured a negative response while she thundered, “Hell, no.”  She lowered her voice again.  “Is it going to get easier?”  She leaned forward, taking in a couple of people, and softened her voice further.  “Yes, day by day.  Will you still be tempted?  Yes…but even those temptations will ease off.”  She stood and turned to take in some of her other clients in the circle.  “Will you grow stronger?”  She raised her voice again.  “Hell, yes.  You can beat this.  You
will
beat this.  I know you can.  If you’re here, that tells me you’re strong.  You’ve suffered.  You’ve put in your time.  And now it’s time to soar free.

“So, this week, I would like you to spend a lot of time thinking actively about a life without want…and by
want
, I mean
temptation
.  I know right now it’s hard to imagine yourself not thinking about the hold those things have on you.  Those things have been a part of your life for a long time—but no more.”  She looked at Ethan.  “Ethan, you’re new to our group, but I have to say I really appreciate your metaphor; you said you have had a
relationship
with your addictions.  How many of you feel the same way?”  As she looked around the room, one person at a time raised a hand.  They were acknowledging that something like crack had at one time felt like a spouse.  “But you all know what an unhealthy relationship it’s been.  Your addiction might have seemed to hold you up when you felt low, but it also dragged you into depths you never would have gone on your own.  It was a jealous lover.  It consumed you, kept you from your friends, from the things you loved to do.  It was killing you, smothering you, and now that you’ve realized it was unhealthy, it’s still calling to you, asking you to come back.  You’re strong. 
Fight it.

“After you’ve thought about your life with and without this darkness, I want you to think of your resources.  It used to be if you’d had a bad day, you’d drink or inhale or shoot up till you felt better, right?”  A few nods.  “Well, now I want you to think of alternatives.  I know you’ve already done that, and one of your survival tools is your sponsor. 
But I want you to make a list of things you can do other than give in to that addiction.  Decide what will work best for you.  Maybe it will be reading a good book in the park or taking a bubble bath.  Yeah, I know.  A lot of those old suggestions seem lame, but sometimes they work.  You need to find what’s right for you.

“Anyway, enough.
  We’re out of time.  Be healthy and stay safe, guys.  Keep your eye on the prize.”

In unison, everyone in the room except Ethan, said, “Call your sponsor if you need someone to talk to so you can make it through.”

She smiled.  “Yeah.  Now get the hell out of here and live.  See you next week.  Oh, except…Ethan and Sam, could you stay just a few minutes, please?”

Jenna saw the look on Jay’s face.  He was feeling a little sad that Jenna wasn’t going to ask him to be Ethan’s sponsor.  Jay didn’t have the opportunity to see the forest for the trees, though.  Jenna had
the ability to see that Jay and Ethan would be a crappy match.  Ethan was a newbie—from what Dr. Thomas’s office had indicated, he’d never been in part of an addiction recovery group.  He was still fragile.  Jay was seasoned, yes, but Jenna already knew he was enamored of Ethan.  How easy would it be for the two of them to party together.  Ethan would call for support, and Jay could suggest a cup of coffee.  They’d start talking music and, before you knew it, Jay would be enabling Ethan and they’d go on a spree.

No.  That would be irresponsible of her.  She thought hanging with Ethan would help Jay’s self-esteem…for the short while, but way too many things could go wrong.  The risks far outweighed any potential benefits.  Instead, she’d already thought of Sam.  Sam was in his fifties, had struggled with alcoholism his whole life.  He still smoked cigarettes and didn’t plan to give them up, but he’d maintained sobriety for three years.  Jenna had told him six months ago that he didn’t necessarily need to keep attending the group.  He had his shit together.  But he told her he did need it and he wanted it.  She’d told him he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted.  He’d sponsored a nineteen-year-old boy a year earlier, but the kid had disappeared shortly
after joining the group.  He was found dead a few months later from an overdose.  Sam hadn’t said anything, but Jenna knew it bothered him.  She wanted to give him another shot at success.  Really, though, and it was something she tried to impress upon sponsors, they had no control over what the person they sponsored did, nor should they feel that way.  They were there to be a sounding board, to listen, and to offer advice and a shoulder.  She thought Sam would be perfect.  He wasn’t overly impressed by Ethan’s background.  He was kind and gentle, but she also suspected he could be firm if he needed to be.  She thought he’d be a good fit.

Both Ethan and Sam approached as everyone else trickled out of the room.  She smiled at them both.  “Ethan, I realize this is your first group with us and you might decide it’s not for you, but i
f you are considering staying with us, I’d like to have someone sponsor you.  Now, I’ll just briefly tell you what that is in case you’re not sure.  Basically, your sponsor is someone you can call when you feel like you’re going to give in.  They’re the voice of reason when your head is trying to tell you something else.”  Ethan nodded but didn’t say anything.  “This is Sam, Ethan.  You’ve been…three years sober.  Is that right, Sam?”

“Yes, a little over three.”

“Fantastic.  The idea is while no one has the exact same experiences, you’ll still be talking with someone who can empathize—based on past experience—but who can also offer advice if you need that.”  She looked at both men.  “Are you both okay with that?”

Sam nodded, his usual quiet self, followed by Ethan.  “Yeah, that’s cool.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to know each other and exchange numbers while I clean up the room.  And, Ethan, if I could also talk to you when you’re done, that would be great.”  She went to the coffee pot first and turned it off.  Normally, she wouldn’t ask to see the new guy on his own, but she had an apology to make, and she needed to do it before she forgot.

She could tell that Ethan and Sam seemed to be hitting it off, in spite of the fact that they appeared to be very different.  And maybe that’s what Ethan needed.  He’d grown used to worshipping fans—he needed a mentor now, someone he could look up to, and Sam might prove to be that person.

She’d just finished putting up the chairs and had pulled out her phone to check messages when Sam left the room.  Ethan walked over to her.  Oh,
that
wasn’t good.  He had that look again, that one that communicated that he believed he was God’s gift to the world.  She’d have to fight her urge to give him a piece of her mind.  He was
not
an ex-boyfriend, even though he reminded her of so many of them.  He was a client, just a guy—broken—and he needed her help.  So she kept her ire in check and said, “I wanted to apologize to you.”

He still had the amused look on his face when he said, “For what?”

“Well…I have this rule.  You can get to know each other outside, but I try to keep it first names only.  It kind of helps with the anonymity thing and lets all of you, I hope, feel a little freer about sharing and being open.  I was thrown off guard when you walked in late and just kind of interrupted everything.  And I guess it’s no excuse, but I broke my own rule.”  She let out a slow breath.  It wasn’t just
a
rule.  It was
the
rule.  And, off her game or not, she shouldn’t have done it.

“It’s cool.”

“It’s not, and I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. 
“Really.  One of your guys recognized me anyway.  It’s not like I could have pretended to have been no one.  It’s okay.  I’m used to attention.”

Jenna had felt bad, but he was moving from humble and sweet to cocky in no time flat.  The only thing he
hadn’t
done was admit that he was not only “used” to attention, he thrived on it.  She could see that already.  But it too was probably some deep-rooted defense mechanism, something he did to hide his real self from everyone else.  Because she had stacked the last few chairs, she started walking toward the doorway.  Ethan followed.  She said, “I don’t know if Dr. Thomas told you, but I also do one-on-one counseling as a Certified Addiction Counselor.  It might be the kind of thing you need.  Granted, I don’t know what kind of treatment Dr. Thomas has in mind for you, but counseling is what I do.  I’m willing to help you as much as you’d like.”

He smirked, a classic Ethan look.  It was a look she’
d seen from him in probably ninety percent of the pictures of him she’d ever seen.  It was arrogant and…sometimes hot.  What the hell was she thinking?  She took a deep breath and steeled herself.  She couldn’t even imagine what he was planning to say.

He got closer to her, so close she would have been able to feel the heat coming off him if it hadn’t already been hotter than hell, thanks to the mid-July weather pummeling Denver.  “If you want to see me alone, all you
gotta do is ask.”  It was so cliché, but she felt her bottom lip pull away from her upper one anyway as her jaw sagged in disbelief.  She had no words, but she felt her brow furrow as she tried to decide if he was serious.  His next words confirmed that he was.  He got even closer, and she felt herself back up into the door jamb.  His eyes searched hers.  “I have to say, though, pretty clever.”

There it was. 
Her tongue.  Finally.  “Look, Ethan, don’t get me wrong.  I sympathize, because I know you’ve gone through hell, and I suppose you
are
used to women throwing themselves all over you and finding unusual ways of doing it, but when I offered counseling, that was
all
I was offering.”  She started feeling angry, because his eyes were knowing, his smirk indelible.  She
did
find him good looking, but he was a cocky douchebag.  She was irritated that he
knew
he was charming and sexy and equally irritated that he could tell she thought that.  So her next words should have been chosen carefully, but she was whipped into a frenetic anger, and she wanted to be firm about what she was going to say.  “My body?  Not up for grabs.  Not by you or any other man.”

He cocked his head. 
“Really?  You’re a lesbian?  That’s hot…but I never would have guessed it.”

She was feeling frustrated.  “No, I’m not a—look.  That doesn’t matter.  What
does
matter, Ethan Richards, is that you are showing me no respect, and you haven’t from the second you walked in here.  You’re acting like this is all a big joke.  And you know what?  If you
think
it is, then it will be.”  She flicked off the light switch and walked into the hall, waiting for him to exit the room so she could close the door.  When he joined her, the look on his face had changed a little.  That was a good sign.  She grabbed the door and pulled it shut.  “If you want my help, if you want to connect with the group, fine.  But check your ego at the door.  No one here is a rock star.  We’re all broken.”

Fuck.

She hadn’t meant to let that one slip.  But maybe he’d take it at face value, that strength would be gained from each other by sharing, but that they all needed fixing of some kind…not necessarily herself included.

Fortunately, her little outburst had had the effect she’d needed it to.  He looked a little humbler, even though that glint was still in his eyes. 
Gone, though, was the smirk and the attitude.  “Sorry.  You’re right.  I do want the help.”  He swallowed.  “Next Thursday?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.  “Okay.  I’ll be here.”  He started walking toward the outer door and out into the warm night.  She was not far behind him and closed the outer door to the church, making sure it was locked.  She took another deep breath and started walking toward the sidewalk, glad the night was just about over.