In the Nick of Time (15 page)

“No, I just—”

“No, you just
nothing,
goddamn it.” She put her hand on her sparse hip. “I’m so
sick
of you motherfuckers coming in here doing this shit! You could have had at
least
enough decency to ask me to lunch or something first, a conversation of substance.”

“Lunch? You’re kiddin’ me, right? In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t exactly 5
^th
avenue! There’s no restaurants here to ask you out to, okay?”

“You know
exactly
what I mean, boy.”

Boy… Did she just call me a boy?!

“Instead, you slid over here to me like slippery Sam and thought you were about to get over, as if I’d fall for that ‘come to my room and help me study’ bull… like I’m some teenage girl who’s never been out in the world before. The word on the curb is that you’re full of
shit
!” She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there completely dumbfounded.

“Alright, you win! You wanna go to lunch?! I’ll buy you a candy bar! Snickers, Baby Ruth, any one you want! You can even king size it!” he yelled, trying to swallow down chuckles. He was in shock and amused all at once, as well as surprised when the woman didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge that he’d spoken. She just kept on walking, as if he were on mute.

I just got shot down by a flat-chested, bald-headed woman who is skinny as a rail and wears summer clothing in the goddamn winter! To make matters worse, I think I have a serious crush on her. What’s really fucked up is that I’m stone cold sober right now…

He burst out laughing even harder now as he turned in the opposite direction, and made his way towards his counselor’s office, still thinking about her the entire way.

I don’t have a drop of anything in my system, but I guess old habits die hard. Well shit, she’s sexy though; how is that my fault?

He shrugged upon reaching the man’s door, then looked down at his crotch as his palm rounded the doorknob. He had a throbbing hard on that could chop wood.

“Fuck!” Overwhelmed by more laughter, he pulled his shirt out from his pants and made it rest over his crotch to hide the situation.

Mmmmm, Taryn, you make me want you, baby. I’m not one to easily give up. You’ll hear from me again, sweetie. You can count on that….

…One week later…

He peered in
the darkness and took note of the time. Karavelo’s, ‘You Don’t Even Know’ played on his mp3 player. The small digital clock in bright red numbers looked like it had been drawn in the blackness from scorching fire and freshly drawn blood.

“Shit.” Sitting up just so, he pulled at his cheap blue and white stripped pajama pants and bellowed a hearty yawn. It was three in the morning, and he still hadn’t completed his assignment. He scoffed at the notion that he’d have to read it in front of everyone; he didn’t enjoy public speaking, and today was no different. If only Frieda, a counselor and assistant director was going to review it, or Charles, or another director then it would have been written eons ago. Nick wasn’t much of a procrastinator, but he wasn’t much of a sharer, either. The entire tedious ordeal left him in an unwanted, uncomfortable and unusual predicament.

He sighed, reached over and flicked on the lamp beside his bed, then grabbed his notebook and pen. He tapped the thing against the bare page, still coming up blank. While he waited for his brain to open up, to flourish and produce, his thoughts drifted to Taryn once more. They hadn’t spoken since she figured him to be some menacing sex fiend. Matter of fact, she refused to even make eye contact with him, and that fucked up his whole vibe for he was certain the attraction was mutual. He could see it in her eyes on the first day he met her, but now she was giving him the cold, hairless shoulder… And what a pretty little shoulder it was. Needing another source to squelch his sexual tension, he took notice of other women there, too, vying for her replacement.

He needed to find someone to fill her shoes, her sandals, to walk a mile in her skin after she’d made it quite clear she wasn’t going to allow him a ‘fuck for free’ pass, but no one fit the bill. There were a few other attractive women residing at the place; one even had breasts he could drown between, but there was just one problem—none of them had the same pull, that mysterious magic, that ‘I’m the shit and I know it’. None of them was
Taryn
. He’d already laid eyes on her, and now, he was ruined for everyone else. There was simply something about her that moved him in the right damn way.

Fuck it, let it go. No need to get all upset about it. I’ll find someone else to screw sooner or later…

Sure, he’d read the rules. There was to be no sexual fraternizing, but he had no intentions of adhering to that policy if the glorious chance presented itself. He’d lost his virginity at age twelve, and he’d had a regular supply of sexual activity ever since. He had no plans of stopping; besides, sex wasn’t his issue, it was the damn drinking, and why should he be punished for
one
when it the
other
was the source of his dysfunction? Yeah, yeah… he knew there could be consequences, but he was there to better himself, to get his life together, to whip his world into shape, to save his own damn soul and his job. Hell, they were one and the same. Regardless, he
needed
something, and though he didn’t walk in there expecting much, he couldn’t help that he was attracted to the woman. It was what it was. He was an alcoholic, not a damn monk.

He angrily looked down at the blank piece of paper once more. The memories, torn pieces of his life, began to flood him, drown him, make him spit up and choke and gasp for air. His pen stabbed the paper, and he went on and on, scribbling what he felt was gibberish, gobbledygook, things that didn’t make much sense at all.

But he wrote them down nevertheless.

And he kept writing and writing until, five pages later, he scripted at the bottom of the damn thing:

Love,

Nick

Is it love, Nick? I don’t think it is. I think I hate myself, and that’s why I’m here…

The pumpkin spice
latte with an extra dollop of sweet whipped cream proved to be just what her thirsty taste buds ordered. The hasty daylight frost had caused a series of twisted old pipes in the vault and kitchen to burst and before long, several stern-faced men carrying large toolboxes and swinging wrenches in their hands showed up to fix the issue. They all appeared to have a penchant for cursing and kept sniffling from the frigid temperatures that wrapped an icy claw around the structure. The scowling workmen overtook Firststone like tiny, miffed Godzillas in cardboard and glue created Tokyo.

They stomped and stormed the place, going in and out of various entrances as their mounting workload caused them obvious frustration. Taryn stood outside her room door observing the parade, the scent of her lemon zest soap lingering on her hands as she raised her cup to her lips, over and over. Yawning, she lazily welcomed a new day. It was Saturday morning, so they got to sleep in a bit; she wanted to savor each and every second. A self-professed hater of early rising, she never got quite used to the rooster hours of the place. Ankles crossed, she flexed her toes, cocooned safely within her copper colored flat Mary Jane shoes, which she wore along with her favorite button-down olive shirt and an off-white sparkly belt around her waist. She cradled the violet ceramic cup and let her self get sucked into a daydream or two as the gentle aroma of autumn sent her to a place kissed by fond childhood memories. Glancing across the way, she took note of the black and ivory clock on the wall.

Damn it, it’s almost time for group. Almost forgot…

She tossed a longing glance behind her, inside her darkened room, as if it were some crystal ball harboring mythical answers.

…You’re not going back to bed, so just forget about it.

On a sigh, she set her cup down on a nearby chair, then closed and locked the door before retrieving her beverage once more. Moving at a dying snail’s pace, she dragged along the corridor and stole tiny, delicate sips of her drink until she’d arrived at group. Many people were already inside, talking amongst each other, some sharing laughs. Taking notice of a free chair, she made her way towards it but before she could take her seat, she heard his damn voice.

“I believe so, yeah.” He approached with Frieda at his side as if he were some hired assistant. She quickly sat down, eyeing him on the sly. Both of them wore gleaming, grand smiles while the nasty fucker held an old beige folding chair under each arm. “He isn’t really open to that sort of thing, but that could change,” she heard Nick say. She took the liberty to dip in their self-contained conversation, slam dunking their privacy like a big ass chocolate chip cookie in a glass of ice-cold milk. Her head cocked to the side, she kept listening in until Nick walked past her. He didn’t bother to look in her direction as he set one chair down, placing it just so across the room. A few moments later, he made his way back in her direction and set the second one beside her, apparently not giving a damn that he wasn’t wanted in her general vicinity. Her chest warmed a bit as he leisurely sat down and placed his hands along his upper thighs.

“Good morning, everyone,” Frieda announced as she got comfortable in her seat then placed a small, white cup of coffee to her burgundy-colored lips.

“Good morning…” people stated here and there.

“Oh, I know we can do better than that,” she stated with a laugh and a twinkle in her eyes.

“Good morning!” everyone shouted in unison, causing many to chuckle, including Taryn.

“Muuuch better.” Frieda set her cup down by the left front leg of her chair, clasped her heavily ringed fingers together and looked around the room for a spell or two. “Okay.” She swallowed, a slight smile on her face. “Today, I wanted us to discuss some goals and what you believe may be your limitations in achieving them. Before we begin, does anyone have anything they wish to discuss, get off their chest?”

Taryn slowly raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Nick lean slightly forward and look in her direction.

“I do.”

“Great. Taryn, please go right ahead.”

She slowly stood from her seat. None of it had been planned, rehearsed or thought out. Matter of fact, her aim was to walk in there and simply listen, but she did have some things on her mind, and the internal push began, marching her forward, forcing its tiny hands into her back, making her bend to its whims.

“I want to talk about how I miss the relief the medication gave me. You see… “She took a deep breath, ran her hand along her scalp, scratching it a bit as a tiny itch attempted to sidetrack her. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. It is the one thing standing between me and sobriety.”

A couple of residents nodded in understanding.

“Keep talking, Taryn.” Frieda encouraged.

“When I was high, I felt free.” She cleared her throat, looked down at her feet for a moment. The coppery color of her shoes caught the pocked ceiling lights just right. She glared at her shadow looming above, dancing across the bridge of her shoes. “I think… I think I felt trapped for so long that this sense of false freedom made things okay, you know? It was like an excuse. The way I validated taking more and more pills.” She pointed to herself as the distant sound of a chair shuffling back and forth carried to her.

“I could just disappear. I could forget about my struggles, and about all that I believed I was missing out on career wise. I could escape the pain, the physical and mental and emotional agony…all of it. It’s really strange.” She shook her head, and her pulse raced faster as she spoke, poured her heart out. “I always looked down on people that took drugs, felt they were stupid. When I was a kid, I’d think, ‘How does someone get on drugs?’” She shrugged. “Everyone knows drugs are bad…this isn’t secret information. It’s not like it’s written in a dead language on some cave wall that no one has yet to see. How naïve I was; how sheltered and silly. I didn’t know a damn thing.” She sucked in air and grimaced. “But, I learn quick.” She laughed mirthlessly. “I learned fast, and that was part of my shame. I’m a prideful person. I think…I believed I could make it through anything. I was raised that way, you know?”