Scars from a Memoir (10 page)

“How do you feel now?” someone asked.

I closed my eyes and replayed the scene in my head. I was leaning against the building, picturing Sunshine prepare the dope, and then I was walking toward the needle. “I can still feel it in my veins.”

“What stopped you?” someone else asked.

I hadn't told them about Claire. I didn't want them to think I was crazy; hearing voices inside your head was never a good thing. I already had one disease, and I didn't need another.

“I don't want to go back there,” I said.

“Back to what?”

“Living on the street, screwing Johns to get my next fix,” I said.

“As a junkie, that's part of the lifestyle. Neither matters much when you're high,” one of the vets said. “What really stopped you from using?”

I closed my eyes again. “My best friend's voice was in my head, telling me to turn around.”

“What if you hadn't heard her voice?” Ashley asked.

“I wouldn't be at this meeting.”

“Eventually, that voice will be replaced with yours,” the vet said.

I hoped that was true.

“I'm proud of you, Nicole,” Kathy said. “We all are.”

Were they? I know I wasn't proud of myself.

One of the vets asked me to lead the prayer, and we all joined hands in a circle. I spoke the lines we recited at the beginning and end of each meeting, and we all moved over to the coffee station. While I waited in line, some of the people gave me a hug and patted my shoulder. Kathy offered to pour me a cup, but I asked for a donut instead. I didn't need caffeine to keep me awake; it was going to be hard enough to sleep already.

My roommates and I walked up the stairs. Just as I got through the door, I noticed Asher. He was standing by the building, his head pressed against the wall. Nonaddicts weren't allowed at our meetings, so I signaled him to move into the alley. I didn't want Asher to make anyone uncomfortable, and I didn't want to answer questions—like I'd have to do if we were seen together.

“What's wrong, Nicole?” Ashley asked.

I hovered on the edge of the street as they began to cross. “I have something I need to do. I'll see you all at the apartment, OK?”

“We'll come with you,” Kathy said.

“No, I have to do this alone.”

“Are you sure? You've had a long day,” Kathy said.

I gave her a hug and then wrapped my arms around Diem and Ashley. “Don't worry, I'll be fine.”

Once everyone had cleared away from the entrance, I met Asher in the alley. “What are you doing here? You know you can't come to my meetings—”

“You just left me on the sidewalk.”

“What else was I supposed to do? After the day I've had, I didn't need to come home to Sada's lies and your accusations.”

He gripped the spikes of his hair. “My brother's got me all messed up, and then Sada…” His shoulders drooped, and his hands fell to his sides. “I overheard you in the meeting, talking about what happened with Sunshine. I didn't know…”

“That's because you didn't let me explain.”

This was a lot, even for me. Addiction was new to Asher, and so was I; I couldn't expect him to understand it all, or to trust me either. Not when our relationship was still so new.

“I know, and I'm sorry,” he said.

“Will you listen now?”

He reached for my fingers. “Tell me everything.”

I pulled his hands up to my face and kissed them.

“But before you do,” he said. “I want you to know I'm proud of you.”

“Can we just get out of here?”

He put his arm around my waist and hailed a cab at the end of the alley.

*   *   *

I called the rehab center in the morning to check on Sunshine. I knew I wouldn't be able to talk to her, at least not for the first thirty days, but I was hoping my old counselor would give me an update. The secretary told me she'd page Allison and put me on hold.

“Nicole,” Allison said, “it's so nice to hear from you. Tiffany tells me you're doing so well.”

“I'm one hundred and eighty-nine days clean.”

“I couldn't be more proud of you.”

There was that word again: proud. With everyone so proud of me, why did I feel so horrible? I went into the kitchen and sat down next to Tiffany. “Thank you, but I'm actually calling to check on a patient. Her name is Sunshine.”

“Would this be the same Sunshine we spoke about in our sessions?”

“Yes, I brought her in last night,” I said.

“I'm sorry to say that Frances is no longer with us. It happened early this morning.”

“Frances? Who's that?”

“Frances Nelson is Sunshine's real name.”

I'd known Sunshine for six years and never knew her real name? A knot formed in my throat as I repeated, “Frances is no longer with us?”

Tiffany looked up from her textbook.

“Unfortunately, no. She discharged herself early this morning,” Allison said.

“What's going on?” Tiffany whispered. “Is Sunshine OK?”

I put my finger up. “So she's not dead?”

“Oh no, honey, not that I know of. I didn't mean to scare you. I just meant she's not in our facility anymore.”

I pictured Sunshine on the side of some suburban road, dope sick and starving. The rehab center was at least a twenty-minute drive from the city. Without any money, she'd have to hitchhike her way back to Boston.

“I really thought she wanted to get sober,” I said.

“You should discuss these feelings at your next meeting. I hope you will be attending one today?” Allison asked.

“The group I usually go to meets at night.”

“Is Tiffany with you?”

I handed the phone to Tiffany and went into the bathroom. While I scrubbed my hair with shampoo, I thought about all those nights Sunshine and I had worked the track together. Johns would slowly drive up and down the street, looking for a cheap girl to hire. Sunshine would steal my clients by offering her services for less
money. She also had me running to Richard, the man who had raped and beaten her, to re-up on our supply. The entire time I had been going to his place, she never told me he was the one who had done that to her. We gave up everything for our addiction—including the truth—even with other junkies. Sunshine had two children and lost them to the state. The only things she owned were a bag for her clothes, a purse, and a blanket. She didn't care, and I hadn't either.

Sobriety was a decision; we had to fight our disease and take away its power. Using was the easier choice. But if I was tempted to relapse again and Claire's voice wasn't inside my head, the image of Sunshine's face would be. I could never forget the foam that dripped from her mouth, the desperation in her eyes, or her blue lips. Heroin's high was magical, but life was starting to taste a whole lot better.

*   *   *

When I came out of the bathroom, Tiffany stopped reading and asked me if I wanted to talk about Sunshine.

“Why is that everyone's answer for everything?” I asked. “Talking isn't going to make it better.”

“Allison is afraid you're going to be triggered to use.”

“I don't want to use. I want to find Sunshine and bring her back to rehab.”

“You know you can't do that, right?”

I sat down at the table and rested my chin on my palms. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should stop worrying about Sunshine and start worrying about yourself.”

Tiffany should take her own advice. She hadn't been to one of our meetings in weeks. She said she'd been going to a group by Professor Allen's apartment. I didn't know if I believed her. She was getting skinnier, and her forehead was covered in acne. Even if she wasn't using, neither of those things was a good sign.

I got up from the table and hugged her from behind. She felt even bonier than she looked. “The five of us haven't done dinner in a while. How about this week?”

“I can't. I have study group.”

“Every night?”

“This week and next,” she said. “We'll do it soon, I promise.”

I grabbed my purse and said good-bye. She didn't respond. With a lit cigarette in one hand and a can of Red Bull in the other, she'd gone back to her textbook.

My phone rang while I was walking to work. Mark's name appeared on the screen. “Have you heard anything?” he asked.

“Sunshine left rehab this morning.”

“Oh…how are you holding up?”

“I'm bummed out. We did a lot to try to help her.” But I knew the other side all too well. The side that yanked Sunshine from rehab and made her run back to heroin, just like I'd done with Dustin. The feeling in my stomach had been stronger than a craving or an urge. Like the starving who hadn't eaten in weeks, I would have done anything to get a hit. And I did. With my fingers intertwined with Dustin's, I'd walked out of rehab and had gone straight to Richard's. The debate in my head had lasted only seconds before I'd glided the needle into my arm.

“Maybe she'll realize the opportunity she lost and ask you for help again,” he said.

“I hope so.”

“Hope is all we have.”

-10-

A WEEK HAD PASSED since Sunshine had left rehab, and I still couldn't shut off my brain. I lay in bed, and heroin drifted in and out of my mind. Faces from my past lingered behind my lids, words replayed in my ears, and my eyes would shoot open.

I craved Asher's touch. We'd been hanging out for more than a month, and although I really liked him, I didn't want to slip back into my old habits—sleeping around in alleys and in the backseats of cars. I'd spent years living in hotels around Boston, and none of those memories were good, so hotels were not an option. Neither was Asher's apartment. I wasn't taking the chance of running into Nadal again.

I was lying awake in bed waiting for the alarm to go off when Al called to ask if I'd come to work a few hours before my shift. The assistant baker was on vacation, and he needed someone to fill in. I was relieved; the overtime would help. I had only three months before I had to find a place to live. Ashley and Kathy were planning to room together, and Diem was moving to Florida with some of the girls she worked with. No one at work or at my NA meetings was looking for a roommate. I could afford a studio apartment on my own; I just needed to save enough to furnish it.

While I was mixing a batch of biscotti, Jami came into the kitchen and told me Asher was here. I was only halfway through my shift; something must have happened.

Asher was sitting by the window, his head down and his hands folded on the table.

“Are you OK? What's wrong?” I slid into the chair across from him.

He looked up. Slowly. Something was off, and it took me only a second to realize what it was. “
Nadal
?” I asked.

He nodded. “Can we talk?”

My hands started to shake. My legs, too. The three shots of espresso on an empty stomach weren't helping. I didn't want to say anything until I knew where the conversation was headed, so I nodded. If he was here to reprimand me or make me feel bad, I wasn't going to listen.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I never gave you a chance, and I'm sorry.”

“Does Asher know you're here?”

“He hasn't spoken to me since I interrupted your dinner.”

That was a funny way to put it. He'd done more than just interrupt.

“Is Asher the only reason you're apologizing?”

He looked at his hands and took a deep breath. “I miss my brother.” His eyes moved back to mine, and he shook his head. “I judged you because of your past, and I didn't think you were good enough for him.”

I missed my brother, too. Nadal had said some harsh words to me; they had caused me to flee his apartment and throw up all over the sidewalk. He couldn't take those words back, but I could eventually forgive him. I knew all about forgiveness. It was exactly what I was asking my family to do.

“I'm not the same girl Michael told you about, but I'm not asking you to forget her. I'm asking you to give me a chance. Can you do that?”

He stuck out his hand. “Can you give me another chance? Maybe in time, we can even be friends.”

“I would like that,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Nicole, I know you're not the same girl you once were. If you were, Asher never would have fallen in love with you.”

My jaw dropped.

Love. Was that what it was? We'd shown our feelings through actions instead of words. Maybe that was because once we discussed how we felt, I would have to make a decision. The counselors in rehab said we needed to spend our first year getting to know ourselves as people and not addicts. They said it was common to replace drugs with love, which could give us the same kind of high, and it increased
our chance of relapsing. Heroin was a body and mind high. Asher's attention was an emotional high, but it spread to each limb, and he made me smile more than I had in years. I knew I shouldn't be with him at this stage of my sobriety, but was doing the right thing always the best thing?

“I care about him, too,” I said.

“He understands pain; he's been through it. Don't make him feel that kind of pain again.”

I thought of the marks on Asher's wrist. He hadn't been as open about his scars as I had been about mine.

“Isn't that something Asher and I have in common?” I asked.

He nodded.

I smiled, silently thanking him for coming to talk to me, and he returned the expression. It wasn't just the freckle that made their appearances different. Their smiles weren't alike; Asher's was warm and inviting, but Nadal's looked forced, like he was trying to please.

Suddenly, I heard my name; Mark was pulling a chair over to our table.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Mark said, “but I have to show you something.” He took out his phone, tapped the screen, and handed it to me. It was an article that had been printed this morning in the
Boston Globe
.

“What is—”

“Just read it,” Mark said.

Mark introduced himself to Nadal while I began reading the article. A woman had been found in a dumpster in Dorchester, ruled a homicide. The victim didn't have any identification on her, and dental records couldn't be cross-referenced because she didn't have any teeth. She appeared to be in her late forties with fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Her approximate height and weight were listed, and it said signs of drug use were evident on her body. She was wearing blue jeans and a brown, sleeveless shirt. The police were asking anyone with information to come forward.