Heroin Love (19 page)

Cocking my arm back, unleashing a powerful punch square to his jaw. Forcing him out of my hand, his limp body just falling to the floor. Kicking him sharply in the rib cage, still not rendering a response.

“Your lucky you still have pants on or else I’d kill you.” Picking him up off of the floor and tossing him onto the back patio, locking the door behind me. Picking up the used needle, tossing it in the wastebasket in the bathroom before waking up Rachael. Looking at her beauty as she rested, she appeared to be so peaceful, like she was dreaming of her perfect world. Sheets still covering the rest of her body.

Not wanting to peel the sheets back, afraid as what I would find.

Did she shoot up again? Was she laying her naked with this guy? Only god knows what really went on her.

I slowly pull the sheets back, revealing her shoulders, a slight sense of relief rushed over me as I see a shirt. Hesitantly pulling the sheet down further, stopping just before the creases in her arms, not wanting to continue.

Maybe it will be better off if I didn’t even look. Let her sleep and wake up tomorrow as if nothing has happened. No, I need to help her, I need to make sure she is okay.

Moving the sheet back, I hung my head is disappointment as I stared at her wounded arms.

“What are you doing to yourself?” I whispered to deaf ears as I covered her back up.

The thought of another man, a drug infested grimy man, in my bed made my inner OCD twitch. Removing the sheets from Rachael, covering her with a brand new baby blue silk sheet from the closet, I wrapped it around her tightly as I carried her over to the couch. Going into the kitchen to grab my cleaning supplies.

Ripping the sheets off of the bed, tossing them out of the door onto the mysterious man that was still knocked out on the back patio. Sprinkling a mixture of baking powder and Lavender Essential Oils over the top of the mattress to suck out the moisture and smell. Moving all the furniture to the center of the room, cleaning the immediate floor and baseboards with water-down bleach on my hands and knees. Moving everything back to their respective places, cleaning the main area of the floor.

Grabbing the vacuum out of the closet, slowly sucking up the baking soda that rested on top of the mattresses. Every swipe of the wand extension releasing a stimulating fragrance of lavender. Replacing the sheets with a baby blue spare set from the closet. Standing back looking into the room, the floor still damp, reflecting in the light shining through the windows. A sense of satisfaction filled me while I stared blankly into the cleaned room.

Lost, not knowing what to do. I needed to find more ways to help her. She obviously couldn’t just cut her old friends out of her life. I did the only thing I could, heading out of the bedroom, the man still knocked out cold on my back patio, I hopped onto the computer to start doing some research.

I inputed a search ‘heroin relapse’ to try and find some options for us. The results were plentiful, clicking on the first result in the list, I found a gold mine.

‘First of all, relapse happens. If you or someone you know has relapsed with heroin or any other drug know that relapses do occur and they are common. Very few people can achieve long-term abstinence cold turkey on the first try alone. Sometimes it does take a few tries to succeed. Heroin, especially, is a difficult drug to quit, its effects on the brain and body are incredibly strong.’

First making it seem like an even harder uphill battle with a very discouraging opening dialogue. Causing me to start losing hope.

‘Know your triggers. Learn to identify situations, things, people, and emotions that cause you feel the urge to use. Does alcohol make you want to use? When you feel depressed, angry, or sad, do you feel like using more than when you are happy or excited?’

Rachael did always seem to have less of an urge when she was around me. We were always having a good time, having sex, laughing, and talking. When I left her alone is when she would usually fall off the rails. The methadone was stopping her from getting sick, and everything else fell into place just fine. It is all the scum bag friends of hers that consume her life. The next paragraph reassured me of my thinking.

‘Cut ties with negative influences. Sometimes friends can be great allies in getting sober but other times, they can be our worst enemies. In your quest to abstain from heroin, are you still hanging out with friends who use or try to convince you to use? The less negative influences around, the better your chances for success.’

The answer was pretty simple, have to stop her from seeing all of her old friends. Help her make new friends, maybe in the neighborhood. Maybe give her a hobby to do. The pregnancy I hoped would of snapped her out of this addiction, so far it has yet to effect her anyway.

‘Try group meetings. Group support sessions can be a great way to feel camaraderie during this hard time. You may feel lost or alone, but these groups and the people you’ll meet at them can help you to overcome your addiction and prevent relapse.'

This just seemed ridiculous to me, why would anyone want to sit in a room and hear everyone else’s problems. I have enough of my own issues, now I you want me to go sit in a circle and here everyone else’s, what the fuck. I don’t see how that could be productive at all, maybe even counter-productive. I can only imagine how many of them talk about where to get drugs, what new drugs they are trying. Just like the girls at the rehab center, how stupid.

Calling the security department for the neighborhood.

“Sand Dollar Security, how can I help you?” He answer with authority.

“This is Kevin Barrick, I need you to restrict all access for my home. Don’t allow anyone into the neighborhood unless you call me specifically,” dictating very sternly.

“Yes sir. I will add it to our system.”

“Not even if Rachael Barrick says it is okay. Do you understand?”

“Crystal clear sir.”

“There is also a man sleeping on my back patio, can you come and remove him from the property?”

“Yes sir, we will be there shortly.”

“Thanks, have a good day.”

Hanging up with the security guard, one problem should be solved. The only thing left to do is to sit and wait for tomorrow.

A knocked echoed through the house, assuming it was the security I hopped off my chair, walking briskly towards the door.

“He’s on the back patio,” opening the door, discovering Ben standing on the stoop. His face soaked in tears, eyes as red as blood. The rumble from the Porsche engine still audible.

“How did you find....how did you get in.....what are you doing here?” Stuttering while I stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door behind me.

“I followed you here,” looking down at the floor, “I want to meet her. I want to meet the women you can’t stay away from, the one that’s better than Mom.”

Wrapping my arm around him, moving him back towards his car at the end of the driveway, “Now isn’t really a good time and I never said she was better than your mother.” Trying to deflect the conversation, “Why don’t you tell me about you and Autumn, is everything going well?”

“Dad you know you don’t really care what is going..,”

“That’s not true, I really do. Come on tell me what’s going on,” cutting Ben off.

“I am going to propose to her next month on her birthday,” he stated calmly.

“That’s great news! If you want some help picking out a ring let me know, we can go shopping together.”

“I already got one and stop it. I know what your doing, trying to draw my attention away from what I came her for,” He redirected.

“What? Can’t I talk to you?”

“Are you going to let me meet her or what?”

“Why don’t we go get some lunch and talk about a few things,” slightly insistent.

“Dad, I don’t want to go get fucking sushi with you, let me in the house,” his face turning to stone, emotionless.

“Ben she is sick right now, it’s not a good time.”

“Really...that’s your excuse? You couldn’t come up with anything better?” Jumping into his car slamming the door. The window rolls down swiftly, “Your an asshole.” He punches the gas pedal, the tires screeching as he sped down the street with a trail of smoke.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sitting impatiently in the doctor’s office, Rachael half-conscious like always, the room felt stuffier than before. A musty smell filled the room, dust particles shimmering in the light as they danced in the air. The incessant ticking of the ordinary asylum type clock on the wall could drive anyone insane. Staring at the worn doctor’s chair, the fabric cracked, the cushion showing through. A peculiar stain near the back of the room, which colored the floor a yellowish-brown color, which probably explains the odor. The door creaks open, the doctor walking in staring at his clipboard, wearing the same exact outfit I saw him in last time.

“So what seems to be the issue?” He asks in a monotone.

I perk up, sitting up in my chair, “The medicine doesn’t seem to working as effectively as it did a couple of days ago, doesn’t even seem to phase her,” I explained with concern.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Sitting down in his repulsive looking chair.

“She is still getting sick, the cravings remain, it is as if she never came here at all.”

“Hmm, I see,” looking down at his notes, “Why don’t we up her dose a milligram.”

“Why not two? She does...had a severe addiction. I think we should do two so she doesn’t relapse again,” I stated in a matter of fact tone.

In the same monotone voice, “And were did you get your medical degree?” Peering over his readers to stare at me.

“Listen, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, I just want what is best for her,” I answered with a slight apology.

“I understand that but you have to understand a couple of things,”snapping his fingers to get Rachael’s attention. I see Rachael open her eyes slightly, still swaying trying to stay awake. “This is not a cure all, it’s not a miracle drink that you just come here and dose and boom your all better. It is an aid, something to help you on her road to recovery. She has to want to quit, you need to help her quit. She needs to develop coping skills to deal with stress and any other negative feelings she may have.”

“Yeah, I have already looked into that. Can you point us in the right direction for a counselor. A one on one counselor, I don’t want her in group meetings,” I said proud of my research.

“I wouldn’t of recommended group meetings right off the bat. Addicts have an amazing talent of finding the one bad person, even in a group of thousands. Start with this counselor,” reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a business card. “She is the best at what she does, she is expensive but well worth the premium. Once she develops the coping skills necessary to deal with stressors and peer pressure put her in some group meetings, they do help. Anything else I could help you with?”

“I stumbled across an article about ‘take-home medicine’...”

“That is out of the question, she is nowhere near capable of doing that. She hasn’t been in rehab long enough to be trusted with that,” he stated sternly, switching out of his monotone.

“How much is it going to cost me to get some? Money isn’t an issue,” making firm confident eye contact with the doctor.

“I am upping her dose by two milligrams per your argument. That is all your getting out of me, now if you will excuse me I have other patients to attend to,” getting up off of his disgusting chair, leaving the room agitated by my proposal.

“Come on, lets go get your medicine,” helping Rachael out of her chair, she walks into the back room to get her new dose administered.

Driving Rachael home, I see the medicine working. Smiling at myself as I see her slowly come back to life. It was quite amusing watching a zombie rise from the dead. Her eyes lighting up, the puffiness in her face going down.

“So is that any better?” I asked with concern.

“Yes, I feel great. I’m not going to see a fucking shrink though,” she stated with a fiery tone.

“Rachael stop it,” placing my hand on her lap trying to comfort her. “It’s for your own good, and it’s not a shrink. It’s a counselor, they are going to teach you how to deal with certain things to keep you on track. Don’t you want to get better?”

“Whatever,” rolling her eyes slouching in her chair.

“Don’t ruin the rest of the day. Are you going to plan out the nursery for Vinchenzo?”

A smile came across her face, “What makes you think it’s going to be a boy?”

“How could it not be, look who made it,” I jested.

A burst of laughter echoed in the car, tears started to cover Rachael’s eyes as she continued to laugh at me. “Kevin your such a dork.”

Pulling up to the house to drop of Rachael, “Okay, I have a busy day. I am not going to be able to come home unless it is an emergency. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

Rolling her eyes at me again, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Stop it, I just care about you. Come here, give me a kiss.” Rachael leaning in to give me a kiss, her moist succulent lips rubbing against mine. “Love you. Text me some pictures of what you pick out.”

“Love you,” Rachael responds as she closes the door.

I watch her from the driveway walk up towards the front door. Opening the door she turned around and gave me what looked like a menacing good-bye wave as she closed the front door behind her.

Walking nonchalantly in to the lobby of Onyx Environmental, Ann appearing just as calm as I was.

“How are you today Ann?”

“I’m doing fantastic today thank you. How are you?” Surprisingly upbeat for Ann.

“Wow somebody must of had a good night. Do you have some good news to share?” I inquired.

“It’s too early to say for sure but I am pregnant. I am going to the doctor next week,” her face shined with joy.

“That’s great news, good for you,” walking over to her to give her a quick congratulatory hug. “Is everything set up for this afternoon?”

“You know it is sir. Everyone R.S.V.P’ed to the ‘gathering.’”

“That’s great, do you have my speech?” My face turning to stone.

“What speech, you never asked for a speech,” Her face filled with anxiety.

“Relax, you’ll upset the baby. I am just messing with you,” laughing as I walked away. Walking around the corner, poking my head back out, “Congratulations again.”

Strolling into my office, gazing over to my desk I see a stack of paper with a black sticky note on top of it. There was never any writing on the sticky note, it was Ann’s way of telling me that those papers needed my immediate attention that day. Looking down at my watch, I still had a couple of hours to kill before my lunch with Megan. Hanging my black pinstriped suit jacket in the closet, I sat at my desk ready to tackle the problems of the day.

Placing the stack of papers front and center on my desk, I grabbed on of my Mont Blanc pens and began to sift through the papers. The first was a typical chemical order for the rest of the month. The next was a list of vehicle maintenance suggestions for all of the trucks. Ranging from oil changes to engine repairs, something was always broken. I even wanted to make sure the chips and dents in the trucks were repaired so they didn’t come off as grungy looking. I always looked on the list for truck #25, he was one of the very few allowed a take home truck and for some reason always requested money for repairs. I scrolled through the list and there it was again, $1200 request for repairs. He was a heavy drinker and I suspected him of driving the company vehicle drunk but could never prove it. I denied his claim for repairs, and approved all of the rest.

The final packet to review was a bid for the Cinnabar Development. Containing 30,000 middle to high income homes it finally came up for big after ten years. Going through the comprehensive spreadsheet that broke down the square footage of every model, the number of each model, cost of the chemicals per square foot, estimated labor time to complete the project every quarter, and our estimated profit with a fine tooth comb. The numbers were slightly off, making adjustments with my pen, signing off with an okay pending the changes. Glancing towards my watch, I needed to start heading towards Sushi-Gon. Gathering my packet of approvals to hand off to Ann, I grabbed my jacket out of the closet and walked towards the exit.

The ever familiar buzzing of my phone went off. Rachael sent me a picture of a crib she picked out. It was a circular beach theme bed, the sides had a veneer made from fiberglass that resembled waves. Wrapping up the sides of the crib were seashell shaped shells that lead to the recessed bed. Railings made to look like sand pillars surrounded the crib.

Kevin: That looks nice.

Another picture quickly followed, a sand castle situated in the corner. Stretching for the floor to the ceiling, with doors made from drift wood to finish off the indoor tree house that Vinchenzo could eventually play with.

Kevin: So far so good. 

Texting her back as I walked towards Ann.

“Here’s everything you requested,” handing the packet to Ann. “There are some adjustments to Cinnabar, but other than that everything else is fine. Oh and #25 is getting denied his repair claim, I am tired of cleaning up after his drunk ass. I am going to lunch.”

“Yes sir. Remember the gathering later today. Do you need me to call you to remind you?” She asked genuinely.

“No thank you Ann, I got it. I will see you soon,” walking out of the lobby.

Pulling into the parking lot of Sushi-Gon, I see Megan’s Escalade parked out front of the restaurant, the bumper dented in on the front of the SUV. I parked near the back side of the parking lot giving me a clear view of the restaurant and the front of Toni’s. The familiar Grand Cherokee parked out front of the building. I didn’t see Mr. Carlson’s car anywhere in either parking lot.

Walking casually into the restaurant, I see Megan sitting in the far corner of the restaurant , sipping on a glass of wine, a bottle of Cheval sitting in a wine chiller and a glass of Macallan sitting across from her. She was wearing a black cocktail dress, a deep neckline that revealed the sides of her breasts. Her hair flowing elegantly down her shoulders. Approaching the table, noticing the perspiration on the wine chiller and the glass of whiskey having nearly no ice.

“How long have you been here?” Seeing her eyelids slightly drooping, a film of glass covering her eyes. I took my seat on the bench across from her.

“This is bottle number two,” she slurred. Red lipstick stains covering the rim of the glass.

“What happen to your car?” I asked curiously. 

“You know those big orange barrels they put in the middle of the street during construction?...Well one day I was driving by some of them and I pretended they were you. Who knew they filled those with water?”

“Well that is good to know. Okay, so what do you want to talk about?” Taking a sip of my water downed whiskey.

“What do you mean ‘what do I want to talk about?’ I need to know what this whore has that I don’t. Why she just sucks you in, why you can’t come home to us, your family. What does she just fuck you 24/7? I bet that shit has been around the block a thousand times.”

Getting slightly agitated by Megan’s insults, I try to compose myself in a calm manner. “Megan it has nothing to do with any of that, I still love you,” grabbing her hands softly, rubbing the tops of them. “I honestly can’t answer any of those questions right now.”

“What is she sexier? Has bigger tits? Gives you better head?” Speaking very bluntly towards me.

“Come on, watch your mouth. Can we talk about this calmly?”

“No Kevin, fuck your calm. I want some answers,” snapping her fingers to signal the waiter. Seeing the familiar face of George come over to our table. “George can I have another bottle please,” turning her attention immediately back to me. “What am I just the nagging wife that your tired of screwing?”

“Megan, I told you it has nothing to do with that. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s just an escape from everything. Makes me feel young again, I don’t know Megan,” gulping down the rest of my drink.

“Really? An escape, makes you feel young again? Guess what Kevin, your fucking old. And how old is this little whore of yours?”

Ashamed to tell her, “Does that really matter?”

“It matters to me.” The waiter dropping off the uncorked bottle of wine, replacing it the empty one in the wine chiller. Megan pouring herself another glass of wine. “Where did you meet her? Was she really that special to miss our cruise?”

Not wanting to answer any of these question, “Megan none of this really matters. Can’t we just try to fix us. Well fix me, I fucked up. Your perfect.”

“Don’t try to butter me up Kevin, your little complimentary comments are not going to work...” she stated firmly, while gulping down more wine. Her voice fading as she continued her rant.

Megan was looking quite stunning sitting there, her breasts partially showing as she swung her hands around scolding me at the table. I kept imagining her bent over on the table, getting fucked from behind. Her loud intoxicating moans echoing through the restaurant. Flipping her over, wrapping her freshly oiled long lean legs around my neck as I railed into her, the face she would be making would be irresistible. . 

“Fine,” I said hesitantly while rolling my eyes. “I met her on my birthday, under awkward circumstances, and it just kind of flourished into a thing,” standing up from the table. “I have to go to the restroom.”