Scars from a Memoir (22 page)

“If you stay in this city, you're never going to be able to escape this kind of shit,” Dad said.

“I can't leave yet, Dad. I have eight more months of probation.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, and pulled me into his arms. “I want to protect you, and I can't. You don't deserve this anymore.”

“Asher is doing a good job at trying to protect me, Dad.”

Mom joined our hug. “We're not going anywhere today.”

My parents had offered to take me shopping, but she was right. I was in no shape to show my face around town.

“I'm going to make you some homemade chicken noodle soup, and Daddy will rent us some movies. How does that sound?”

I closed my eyes, letting them hold my weight. Nothing had ever sounded better.

-25-

EVEN THOUGH NADAL AND TYME HAD BROKEN UP, Asher and I were still going to the Cape for the weekend. I'd cleared it with my parole officer, and Al gave me the time off. I didn't know whether Asher had told his parents the truth or that he and Nadal were going alone, but I didn't ask. I didn't really care. There was spending money in my wallet, and my suitcase was by the front door. Once Asher swung by in the rental car, we'd be in the Cape in less than two hours, watching the sunset from the back porch of his parents’ house with hot chocolate in our hands.

My cell phone rang; I reached for my suitcase, opened the front door, and answered my phone all at the same time.

“Nicole?”

I stopped in the doorway. I hadn't bothered to look at the caller ID. “Tiffany?”

“I need your help. I'm really sick.” Her voice was pitchy and hoarse.

“I'll be right there.”

“No, I'll come to you.”

I gave her directions and walked back inside. She said she'd be here in ten minutes and hung up. If Tiffany was as sick as she said, could that mean she was dying? Could I even handle that?

I didn't have a choice, I realized. She needed me, and I had to be there for her.

I paced between the kitchen and bathroom, trying to picture what state she'd be in. I remembered what my grandmother looked like when she was dying. Weak and frail, no longer keeping food
down, clumps of her hair missing, and her skin was dry and cracked. Would Tiffany look the same, and how much help would she need? Someone to bring her to doctor appointments, make sure she ate and took her meds? Or worse? I knew from how much care my grandmother had needed that it could be much worse. I wasn't really in a position to take care of someone all the time. I had work, meetings, and Asher. But Tiffany
had
been such a good friend to me.

The buzzer in the kitchen went off, and I bolted down the steps and opened the door. Tiffany was alone, a backpack over her shoulders, and a hat covering her eyes.

“Come inside,” I said, through chattering teeth. “It's freezing out there.” She was dressed in a thin cotton shirt and jeans.

“No, I have to go.”

“But you just got here.”

“Nope, got to go.”

“I thought you needed my help?”

“I'll take some money and go, go, go.”

The child was back, if it had ever left, and I knew her answers were only going to get more confusing. “Let me grab my jacket; I'll be right down.”

“No, no, no.” She shook her head a little too hard. “You're not coming with me.”

“What do you need money for?”

“The pharmacy.”

“For your meds?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“The only way I'll give you money is if I go with you.”

She skipped around in a circle, her arms waving in the air. After a few twirls, she stopped. “Let's GO!”

“Give me a second,” I said. I called Asher on my way up the stairs and told him about Tiffany. He was just picking up the rental car. He told me to be careful and that he would meet me back at my apartment. I grabbed my purse and jacket and found Tiffany sitting Indian style in the middle of the sidewalk, pedestrians weaving around her.

I stood in front of her. “Are you ready?”

“We need to hurry, hurry,” she said, crawling to her feet.

I had to double my pace to keep up with her. For someone so sick, she was moving pretty well and didn't appear to be winded.

“What kind of meds does the doctor have you on?”

Her bottom lip stuck out, pouting. “Lots.”

“Tiffany, talk to me.” I grabbed her arm, pulling her close. “You haven't spoken to me in weeks; why all of a sudden do you need my help now?”

Having her in my face, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes and open sores on her forehead and chin. “I don't have anyone else, Cole-y. I moved out of sober living. Too sick. I'm just too sick.”

“Are you living with the professor?”

“His place, a few others.”

“I thought…” It didn't matter that I'd thought they were in love. If their relationship were as serious as she had said, she would be living with him now and not carrying a bag like I had when I hadn't had a place to sleep. “Why aren't you in the hospital?”

“There's nothing they can do. I'm dying, dying, dying—how many times do I need to tell you that?”

I released her and followed a few steps behind, watching her scratch her arms and neck while her shoulders twitched. Even when her fingers weren't digging at her skin, they wouldn't stop moving—fixing her hat, pulling at her shirt, adjusting the straps of her backpack. I was so focused on her that I didn't realize we had entered Northeastern's campus. This was where Tiffany was finishing her bachelor's degree, so she probably got a discount on healthcare and medications at the campus health center. What didn't make sense was why she was climbing the steps to one of the dorms.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I told you. I have to see the pharmacist.”

“They live here?”

“Mm-hm,” she said and smiled. “He's got the magic meds.”

He was her “pharmacist”; Que, my first dealer, was my Jesus. I was so stupid. All the signs had been there, yet I'd always stood up for her and trusted her despite what everyone else had said. How could I have been so easily fooled? During the beginning of my addiction, I'd lied to Michael and my parents; based on their reactions, I knew they'd believed me. They didn't want to think someone they
loved and cared about was on drugs. I'd thought the same about Tiffany, even if a part of me had known the truth all along.

“Do you even have a tumor or did you lie about that too?” I asked.

She touched the side of her head, moving her fingers around in circles. “I've got it; I've got it real bad. And it hurts. It hurts so much, Nicole. These meds are better than the doc's because they make me forget. Forget that I'm dying.”

This was messy. Could I really blame her for wanting to block out the death sentence she had been given and the pain she felt? I probably would have relapsed too. But whatever her dealer was giving her was only going to kill her faster. She needed to be sober and appreciate the time she had left, spending it with the people who loved her—and that included me.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“Buy me drugs.”

“You know I won't do that.” I turned to get my cell phone out of my purse and she pounced on my back, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“You have to buy them,” she whined. “Help me, Nicole-y, help me.”

I pushed her arms off and held her face between my palms. “You want my help?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

There was only one way to get her back to my apartment, where I could keep her safe until I could get help for her. I didn't want to enable her addiction, but I didn't think I had a choice.

“If I buy you drugs, will you go to rehab?”

“Rehab?”

“Will you let Allison and Dr. Cohen come up with a plan for you? These drugs are going kill you faster than anything else.”

“OK. I promise. I'll even give you cross-ies,” she said, sticking her pinkie in the air.

I couldn't believe I was going to a dealer's apartment, but she wasn't going alone.

-26-

THE TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS THAT HAD BEEN in my wallet for our trip to the Cape was now on my coffee table in the form of three Oxys and a vial of bath salts. I'd never done bath salts—it wasn't popular when I was a junkie—but I'd heard a lot about it in rehab. Like meth, it caused severe behavior impairment and hallucination. Mixing it with a downer like Oxy, which was similar to heroin, explained her mood swings—her childlike behavior, rage, and gaunt figure. The tumor probably added to those symptoms. She was slowly deteriorating and was completely out of touch with reality.

With a miniature cheese grater, she turned one of the pills into a fine powder and separated it into lines. “Magic meds. Magic meds. Come to me. Come to me,” she sang.

“I don't think you should watch this,” Asher said. He stood next to me, only a few feet away from the coffee table.

“I can't lock myself in the bathroom every time she uses.”

I'd been sober for 310 days; I could handle being around drugs. I'd proved that when I'd gone to visit the pharmacist. My past dealers had sold mostly coke, heroin, and meth, even though they pushed E pills and painkillers. But this guy had at least forty different types of pills, each brand filling a gallon-sized plastic bag, and he kept them in a trunk under his bed. If I'd wanted to chase the dragon, one of Tiffany's Oxys would already be up my nose. The fire from his mouth would be spreading through my veins, and I'd be riding his green, studded back while I nodded out. But I wasn't dreaming. I was staring at my friend, who licked her lips like a rabid dog. Her hands shook from hunger.

“You can lock yourself in the bathroom,” he said. “That's why I'm here.”

“I'll be fine; I only have to get through the next two days.”

During our walk home from the dorm, I'd called Allison and told her about Tiffany. After checking with Dr. Cohen and administration, she said they'd have a bed available in two days. She also said that would give her enough time to consult with Tiffany's neurologist and primary physician, as well as Dr. Cohen, to come up with an appropriate treatment plan. I told Allison I would keep Tiffany at my apartment until she was admitted. “If she leaves or I kick her out, we'll never find her,” I said.

“I'm not comfortable with that,” Allison said. “You should not be around Tiffany while she's using.”

“This is my choice. What happened to Sunshine isn't going to happen to Tiffany.”

“I understand your reasoning,” she said. “But Nicole, you're an addict.”

“Asher is here, and he'll keep me strong.”

“I still don't think it's a good idea. Tiffany was your mentor and sponsor, and this isn't going to be easy to watch.”

Allison was right; it wasn't easy. Tiffany had a rolled-up dollar bill in her nose. She snorted the first line, the second, and then the eighty milligrams was gone. She leaned back against the couch, a grin slowly spreading over her face. As the pill took hold, her arms twitched and relaxed, her chin dropped to her chest. Her mouth opened, and lines of spit spread from her top teeth to the bottom ones.

Asher grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back of the apartment.

“I can't leave her,” I said as we climbed the stairs to the bedroom, but he didn't let go.

“She's not going anywhere.”

“But—”

“I'm not letting you watch this.” He led me over to the bed. “You've come way too far to have Tiffany mess it all up.”

“You're going to make me stay in my room for the next two days?”

“At least until her high wears off.”

“That could be hours.”

“Then I'll see you in a few hours.” I heard his feet on the living room floor and the squeak of the leather when he sat down on the chair across from Tiffany.

The bedroom overlooked the living room. All I had to do was slide to the edge of the mattress to view the whole downstairs through the barred railing. But why would I want to do that? To make sure she didn't OD? Asher was there for that. So I could watch her high? My hands had tingled after she finished her first line. The sensation had shot to my arms and legs once she snorted the second. Asher was right.

I lay on the bed, but I couldn't sleep. I didn't have a TV or a radio in my room, and I couldn't afford a computer. Except for Tiffany's breathing, there was total silence. I knew I should go to a meeting, but if she woke up to Asher and not me, she might try to run. They'd met only once, and she had probably been messed up at the time.

I hadn't heard
his
voice in a while. The dragon was back, loud and begging, clogging my mind. He missed the old Nicole, the one who sacrificed her body and morals to be with him. I rolled to my side and pulled a pillow over my open ear. It didn't help. His screaming was on the inside, and he demanded that I go downstairs, take one of Tiffany's pills, crush it with a hammer, and sniff every speck. He lived inside that powder, and his touch could rub all my spots at once. He could show me the beauty behind the sun, the depth of water, the soft petals of a flower tickling up my arms. His words would be my lullaby. My body would shudder for hours.

“Leave me the hell alone.” Tiffany's shout was followed by a slap.

I moved to the edge of the bed. She was hunched over the table opening the vial of bath salts. Asher stood next to her, running his fingers through his hair. I didn't know if he'd ever been around someone who was being controlled by their addiction. What I did know was that it would only get worse. If Tiffany used as much as I thought she did, withdrawal would hit her by tomorrow morning. I wasn't going to get her more drugs. Taking her back to the pharmacist was too risky. She could bolt in a second, and we'd never find her. Detox was a dirty stage, but I'd gotten through it more than once.

And that was exactly what I told her when she was throwing up the next morning. Asher and I hadn't slept. Even though she had
passed out for a few hours, I couldn't take my eyes off the rising and falling of her chest. Asher was probably too worried about me to go to sleep. Maybe he was too horrified by what had occurred throughout the night to even consider going to bed. Tiffany had climbed on the kitchen counters, searching cabinets for red-eyed monsters who were supposed to deliver a message. Then she gave up on her hunt to claw at her arms, covering herself in blood, to rid her body of the flesh-eating bugs. It was her nails that caused her to bleed, but she didn't believe us.