Heroin Love (14 page)

Pausing for a second, “I always wanted a Brittany or a Vinchenzo.”

“Vinchenzo, what kind of name is that?” Her eyebrows curled in confusion.

“It’s Italian, don’t worry about it. Now go home, I have work to do. I’m a very busy guy today.”

“Yes sir,” she responded mocking me, “I will be home waiting.” 

“Don’t sell anymore of my shit,” I joked as she walked out of the conference room.

I let out a huge sigh of relief, one bullet dodged, they didn’t run into each other. Megan still wants to be with me, kind of gave me a hall pass for a few days to work through my own problems. My chest starts to constrict as I think about Rachael, now I got another kid to worry about, she has me by the balls. I can’t just cut it off and throw her out like cheap laundry. I really didn’t want to leave her anyways. 

“Ann, can you get me a drink?” I dictated over the speaker, “I’m in the conference room.”

“Right away sir.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket, I really wanted more out of Megan, but she just abruptly left.

Kevin: Hey, what can I do to make this better?

Megan: Just be you. Leave your fling and come home, please. We can talk it over.

I didn’t even want to respond, I didn’t know what to say to her. I wasn’t ready to just leave yet, how could I leave, she is pregnant. Ann comes in to deliver my drink, she turns around to leave without saying anything.

“So Ann, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“If your friend was in a relationship with two people, one was a little destructive, and one was great except he was unappreciative, what would you tell him to do?”

Hesitating for a second, as if she knew it was about me, “I would tell him to do whatever made him happier.” She left the room, not wanting to engage in the conversation anymore.

Happy, what was happy? Is anyone really happy anyways.

I was just content in the situation I was in. Happy when I got what I wanted, angry when what I wanted was lost or tried to leave. How could I get what I wanted, to be with Megan and Rachael, that would be the best situation out of everything. I could hire a nanny for Amber, it could be Rachael. They have never met, Megan would have a lot more free time, they both would be in the same house with me.

Now that’s a stupid idea isn’t, or is it?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Walking into our beach house, I called out for Rachael, I was looking forward to finishing up what we started back in the conference room. I didn’t hear any response, going to the usual place I found her, the bedroom, there she was. Standing in the doorway hearing very staggered breathing. A loud extensive intake of air followed by a long soundless pause. A sudden deflation of her body with a grunt as she exhaled. Watching her for a minute, it was a scary sight, she was out cold, each breathe sounding as if it was her last.

Approaching the bed, a wall of a pungent acid smell filled the air, gagging in my throat I covered my nose with my shirt. My eyes tearing up, the air got thicker and thicker as I got closer to her. A pool of reddish brown vomit covered the bed, pieces of undigested food sprinkled throughout it. I turned her face over to look at it, smears of vomit across her face, over her eyelids, and across her nose. Her blonde hair, colored red from vomit, decorated by food. None of this seemed to phase her, she was sound asleep as if nothing was bothering her. Her forearms bruised, a black vein spidering down her arm. I felt bad for her, a beautiful young girl, helpless because of her addiction.

Picking Rachael up off the bed, she laid lifeless in my body. Carrying her carefully into the bathroom, I placed her on the shower floor. Stripping her down, throwing her underwear into the wastebasket underneath the vanity. Turning the shower head to the side, checking the temperature with my hand. As it got to a comfortable temperature I turned it towards Rachael expecting a response. She sat there lifeless, her breath still staggered as water poured over her. I waited a few minutes, and nothing, she didn’t respond.

Getting down on my knees, I poured some body wash into my hands, slowly rubbing it all over her. Scrubbing her down, getting the dried vomit off of her face. Freely moving her without resistance, her arms limp, head down, propped up against the wall. Shampooing her hair, using a brush to remove the pieces of chewed food from her tangled hair. The smell was finally starting to dissipate, and was replaced by the sweet tropical smell of her shampoo. Picking her soaked body off the floor, trying to wrap a towel over her as I balance her body against mine. Tying a towel around her head, I replaced her bra and underwear with fresh ones I grabbed out of the closet. Tossing an oversized t-shirt over her, sliding gym shorts on her waist. Carrying her over to the couch in the living room, placing her head on the armrest, laying a aqua blue polyester blanket over her to keep her warm.

“We are going to get you help,” giving her a kiss on the forehead, “don’t worry.”

Going into the kitchen to grab some cleaning supplies. Some yellow rubber gloves, bleach, garbage bags, hand towels, a paper face mask, and a bristle brush, I was ready. Making my way back into the bedroom to start cleaning. Slipping the face over my mouth and nose, slipping on the rubber gloves like a surgeon. Pulling the sheets off of the bed, the vomit sliding towards the center releasing more of the foul odor, the face mask couldn’t protect me from it. Tossing the pillows into the center of the bed in the pool of vomit.Trying to keep all of the remnants inside I folded the sheets over each other, tossing them inside of a scented garbage bag and tying it firmly. The mattress had a enormous red stain in the middle, still damp to the touch. Grabbing the bottle of bleach, dumping a majority of the bottle out onto the stain. I hopped onto the bed, bending over the stain on my hands and knees I began to scrub vigorously, the fierce odors causing my eyes to burn. Letting the bleach soak into the mattress I went into the bathroom, removing her soiled clothes from the waste basket, throwing them into another garbage bag. Taking the rest of the bleach, soaking hand towels, I wipe the shower stall top to bottom. I get on my hands and knees, starting in the far corner of the bathroom, I start mopping the floor pushing the bag of clothes behind me while making my way towards the bedroom. Do the same thing in the bedroom, finally everything was cleaned. The smell of bleach overcame the smell of vomit that infested the room, the thick bleach filled air could suffocate you. I placed the hand towels in the garbage with the soiled clothes and instantly took them to the garage to be picked up by the next garbage truck.. Finally replacing the sheets with a spare white silk set the was folded neatly in the closet.

I quickly went over to the computer and opened Wikipedia, entering ‘drug rehab’ into the search bar. A plethora of information appeared in front of me. Looking through the table of contents clicking ‘medications,’ it brought me right to where I needed to be.

‘Certain opioid medications such as methadone and more recently buprenorphine (In America, "Subutex" and "Suboxone") are widely used to treat addiction and dependence on other opioids such as heroin, morphine or oxycodone. Methadone and buprenorphine are maintenance therapies intended to reduce cravings for opiates, thereby reducing illegal drug use, and the risks associated with it, such as disease, arrest, incarceration, and death, in line with the philosophy of harm reduction. Both drugs may be used as maintenance medications (taken for an indefinite period of time), or used as detoxification aids.’

Clicking on the ‘Methadone’ link through the article I found more pertinent information.

‘The treatment of opiate-dependent persons with methadone will follow one of two routes.
MMT (methadone maintenance therapy) is prescribed to individuals who wish to abstain from illicit drug use but have failed to maintain abstinence from opiates for significant periods. The duration of methadone maintenance can be for months or even years. Methadone reduction programs are suitable for addicted persons who wish to stop using drugs altogether. The length of the reduction programme will depend on the starting dose and speed of reduction, this varies from clinic to clinic and from person to person.’

I was convinced that is what we needed to do. I had to find a nearby clinic to the house. Searching for a ‘methadone clinic near me.’ “Treatment Center of the Beaches’ was only ten minutes from the house, perfect. Skimming through their website, I found the dosing times, 5:30 a.m., initial consultations held at 7:00 a.m.

Satisfied with my research, still having a million questions for the doctor, I sat down in the chair adjacent to Rachael so I could watch her sleep. The hesitated breathing continued, her body violently inflating and deflating, everything else remained lifeless. I couldn’t wait to wake her up and tell her the good news, I found us help for a new beginning. The mother of my child will soon be better. But what about the mother of my children, my wife?

Grabbing my phone out of my damp pocket, I texted Megan seeing if she was still awake. I got an unexpected rapid response.

Megan: You really didn’t come home?

Kevin: You told me not to.

Megan: Since when do you listen? What are you busy fucking your whore?

Kevin: Not quite. You wouldn’t believe what I have been doing.

Megan: Try me

Megan: Don’t bother, I don’t know why I entertain you. I gave you the choice. You obviously chose what you really wanted. 

Kevin: Megan, stop it. I am working on it, I just can’t leave.

A few minutes went by without a response.

Kevin: Hello?

Still no response. tossing my phone on the couch with apathy.

Does Megan really expect me to just drop everything and come back to her? Just because she is ready to work on things doesn’t mean I am, look what is sleeping in front of me. No guy would want to give this up.

I was unable to sleep, the anticipation of tomorrow keeping my brain buzzing. Rachael looking more amazing then ever as she slept.

As the sun started to crack the horizon, I jumped out of my chair. Poking Rachael trying to get her out of her deep sleep. Still non-responsive I pushed her a little harder. Not getting anything, I shook her intensely. Her eyes slightly cracked open, she grumbled with a scratchy voice,

“What Kevin?”

“Get up, we are going somewhere,” acting like a child on Christmas.

“It’s still dark outside, go to sleep.”

“Get up or I am getting you up.”

She let out a huge sigh, her eyes open but still droopy “Fine, I’ll go get dressed.” Shuffling her feet, barely being able to hold her head up, she walks into the bedroom. I hear a loud gag coming from the room as she runs out, “What the hell Kevin?”

“Sorry, you vomited all over the bed. I had to clean it up. You can just go like that.”

“Set the fucking room on fire why don’t you, jeez.”

“Let’s go,” I said laughing.

Driving towards the treatment center, the streets were still dark, the traffic was thin. The city still seemed like a ghost town, only a few people walking about. Rachael didn’t seem interested in conversation, still trying to wake herself up. She only asked one question on the way there.

“Where are you taking me so early?”

“It’s a surprise, I hope you like it.”

Rolling her eyes annoyed, “Whatever.”

Pulling into the parking lot, the building was oddly non descriptive. No signs on the blackened windows, the billboard out by the road simply read ‘Center.’ The parking lot filled with bicycles, hardly any cars. A line of people pushed out of the front door, wrapping around the corner of the pale yellow building.

“What is this?” Rachael inquired.

“It’s a rehab center, I want to get you help.”

She didn’t respond, looking at me with those radiant sincere blue eyes, I see them starting to tear up as she let out a smile of joy. Reaching across the center console giving me a hug. Her tears smearing onto my face as I comfort her.

“Lets get in line.”

Last in line behind a zombie like population, everyone standing still slowly shuffling as the line progresses into the building. Some were hunched over, arms across they’re stomach, a few people stumbling over falling onto the hard pavement, funny but sad. These people were victims of their addiction, and needed a lot of help. I could tell Rachael was nervous, she couldn’t sit still, looking around constantly, she didn’t know what to do, just chain smoking her cigarettes. Finally inside the building, the musty smell resembling a high school locker room filled your nose. The lights were bright and offensive, no chairs, just a constant rotation of people coming, drinking a highlighter pink solution, then leaving. After an hour of waiting in line, speechless, taking in the disheartening sights, we stepped up to the front counter.

“Name?” We were greeted abruptly and to the point.

“She is a new patient.”

“Okay, step in here please,” motioning towards a door off the right of her.

Stepping inside, the room resembled much of a cheap therapist’s office. A worn down pleather couch, with rips and tears in it. A equally worn pleather chair directly across from it, a coffee table made out of particle wood and cheap veneers, a box of tissues resting on top of it. I guided Rachael to the couch to have her sit down, I remained standing.

I wasn’t sitting on that.

A few moments later an elder gentle walked through the door, wearing your typical white medical cover up on top of a dress shirt and tie.

Looking down at a notepad as he approached his chair, “So how could we help you?”

Rachael quickly looked at me like a lost child, not knowing what to do.

“She has an issue with heroin, we would like help,” I quickly jumped in.

“Okay, how much is she taking?”

“Several grams a day, mixed with some pills.”

Scribbling in his notepad, “And what pills are they?”

“Xanax, Percocet, and an OC 60.”

“Hmm, I see. And how long has this been going on?” He said in your typical monotone doctor voice.

“She has had the problem for years. It has just gotten progressively worse, and we are looking to fix that,” I said with concern.

Taking additional notes, “What’s your name ma’am?”

“Rachael,” she responds barely audible.

“And what’s your relationship to Mr...” looking over at me.

“Barrick.”

“He’s my boyfriend, soon to be husband,” she stated confidently.

“Okay Rachael, Go into the next room, the nurse will set you up for a dose of Methadone. We just need to do a simple urine test before the initial dose to verify the drugs are present in your system. Mr. Barrick, please wait out front.”

Rachael got up from her chair, nervous not knowing what to expect. As she left the room, I had to ask the doctor a few more questions.

“Is it safe for the baby?”

“Obviously it’s still a drug but yes it is. Instead of the stress of getting sick, withdrawing, injecting unknown cutting agents into you, it is the best alternative. The baby will come out needing a withdraw in a incubator but it should be fine.”

“An incubator?” 

“Well the baby is going to be withdrawing from the heroin, or the methadone. It is just what happens.”

How could I do this to a poor innocent child, having to put it through such a strenuous task it’s first day of living. ‘Welcome to the world, now go withdraw,’ what a schmuck.

“What is your success story? What’s the best case scenario?”