Listen, Obey

21. Twenty-First Lesson

I had one of my recurring dreams that night. 

Jace, my best friend since high school, was sitting cross-legged on the street, directly beneath the weak spotlight of a lamp post. He wore layers of clothes on top of each other but nothing could dispel the cold he couldn't feel. How could he feel it when his body was so jacked up on drugs that nothing mattered anymore? 

I woke up in a cold sweat, hearing the echo of a siren in my mind. I'd found him like that three months ago, so cold to touch that I was sure he was gone already. He was pale, bruised from a fight, and for a brief moment he appeared ethereal. Nurses welled out of the ambulance, collecting Jace's body and leaving me to ride in the police car. 

Never in my life had I thought I would enter one of those cars by free will. 

It had been fucking close. Jace's encounter with the vast nothingness was the reason I was lying in a warm bed underneath a soft sheet and resting my head on a feather pillow. I'd been given another chance at life. At first, I hated St. Mary's. I hated the building, the people, the control, and even the food. The only reason I agreed to go in the first place was because Jace was there, but as my body and mind let go of the drugs my feelings changed. My hate of the place turned into a fear of leaving.

Since I got out of rehab, I'd closed him off from my mind. I wasn't allowed to contact him, I wasn't allowed to see him, and for that reason, I pushed the memories of him to the back and shut the door. Lisa told me that I couldn't talk to him until he was out, and when he would be, it was still important that we didn't hang out the way we used to do. The chance of us getting back in trouble was too big. 

So, there went my only friend. Lost. As if he had died that day. At least he wasn't dead in the literal sense. He wasn't cold anymore, and hopefully they treated him well at St. Mary's even if I wasn't there to check on him. 

Knowing that I wouldn't go back to sleep again, I sat up, wrapped the cover around me and stared out over my empty room. I had the bed, the nightstand and a lamp, nothing else. If my bank account wasn't empty I would buy stuff to hang on the gray walls. It could be junk from a thrift shop as long as it was something that added a personal touch. This hollow, shallow emptiness wasn't me, or perhaps it was.

-----

The day wore on in a similar manner. I reminisced too much on the past, and I didn't spend enough time thinking about solutions for the future. I had to come up with something to get me that money, otherwise I would be in trouble with people I didn't want to be in trouble with. It was a simple fix, just 5 grand. The problem was that I didn't have the money, and also no way to get it. 

I was great at finding ways to get hold of money, but I didn't want to go down that road. If I took one single step in the wrong direction, the game would be lost before Jace even got out of St. Mary's. 

The money I did have was a weekly allowance administered by the rehab centre, and it wasn't enough for spending 5 grand to solve old debts. The staff at that place wasn't stupid, rather, they were jaded. They knew that money in a drug addict's hand meant more drugs, and that defeated the entire purpose of their treatment. They knew how difficult it was to get away from an addiction, and so did I. Escaping its clutches was like fighting your best friend or your loved one. It hurts every fiber of your being, and it is much easier to stretch out a hand and say, 'okay, let's be friends again' than keeping the argument running forever. 

It doesn't matter that your lover destroys you slowly because that's what relationships are all about. 

I knew how twisted it was to think that way, but there was no point in sugar coating the truth. I had an addiction, and I would always struggle.