“Your heart doesn’t know the difference; only your brain does. You can listen to your brain and keep a wall up, or you can listen to your heart and maybe let him in.”
“My dad would never allow that.”
Daphne sighs. “I didn’t think you had to abide by the same guidelines as everyone else. I mean, it’d be different if you were treating the patients, but you’re not. You’re being their friend.”
“That’s true, I’m not officially treating them. But it’s implied,” I tell her. Here, like in any other medical facility, fraternizing with the patients is against the rules.
“How long is he there for?”
“Thirty days,” I sigh as I lie on my couch.
“So you have twenty-nine left.”
I wish I had her optimism. When he leaves here, I won’t be anything more than someone he spent time with while in rehab. He won’t want to see me again because I’ll be nothing more than a reminder of the time his life was in a shambles.
I tell Daphne to go back to sleep and hang up. I’m not tired, even though my day has been emotional, and so instead of going to bed after I take a shower, I find myself back in Bodhi’s room. I walk in and tell myself that I’m checking his vitals. Over the years I’ve learned to read them, to know how my patients are doing. Bodhi is stable and the dimmed light above his head allows me to see that he’s sleeping peacefully. His face has calmed and his breathing has evened out. I can’t fight the urge to run my fingers through his dark locks. Even though his hair is on the shorter side, I can still feel the smoothness of the strands between my fingers.
“Hi,” he says in barely a whisper, startling me. I jump back, but soon I realize his eyes are still closed. He’s talking in his sleep.
“Sleep, Bodhi,” I tell him, enjoying the way his name rolls off my lips.
“I think I’m in love,” he says.
I stand back as my heart thumps loudly in my chest. I know he’s dreaming, but your dreams can reveal your heart’s desire.
“With who?” I know that what I’m doing is violating every policy known to the medical world. If he wanted to tell me this when he was conscious, I would listen and help him achieve his desire, but asking while he’s in a dreamlike state is immoral.
“With you,” he sighs.
“What’s her name?” I ask, my voice barely above a squeak.
“Kimberly.”
Chapter 7
Bodhi
“Good morning, everyone.” Dr. Rosenberg is always chipper. I haven’t seen her have a bad day yet, even when I’m being an epic shit. It’s been a week since I arrived and had the worst paranoid episode that I ever hope to experience. That alone is enough to make me stop snorting coke, except the urge is still there. It’s especially there at six in the morning when the bell sounds and we have to get up to start our day. Everything here works because of the mix of structure and freedom.
Everyone has chores, and with those chores comes the expectation that you do them well. If a task takes you all day, so be it, but it gets done before lights-out. You’re never doing the same chore back to back. One day you could be sweeping the offices, which has been my favorite so far because that’s when I get to spend all day with Kim. Or you could be cleaning the horse stalls, which is what I’m doing later today. The hard labor is supposed to keep your mind focused. Being in the office with Kim kept me focused, though. It kept me focused on her lips as she spoke on the phone and I imagined them wrapped around my dick. Of course, my mind never wandered to places obscene when she’d bend over and her ass would stick out, inviting me to step in behind her and rub my ever-growing hard-on against the swell of her ass. And I never once thought about what it’d be like to take her up against the wall in the supply closet or what it’d be like to hear her call out my name.
I never said I wasn’t a liar either.
For the most part she’s ignored me, but I watch her like a stalker because I can’t get enough of her. I have yet to pinpoint what it is about her that draws me to her. I keep trying, but the answer seems to be blocked. I find everything she does sexy, and I ask myself why her and not any of the other women I’ve been with. What is it about Kimberly Gordon that gets the blood flowing through my veins and has me always thinking about her?
It can’t be because I’m stuck in here. There are plenty of women who would be willing to grab a quick fuck in the bathroom if that’s what I was looking for, but it’s not. She’s got a grip that isn’t wavering, and for the life of me I can’t seem to let go either.
“Morning,” the other ten people in my group say, shaking me from my thoughts. In the week I’ve been here I have yet to meet anyone else. Sure, I talk to people when they say hi, but as far as names go, I haven’t introduced myself. I don’t want to. I’m here to get clean and return to my life. I’m not here to care about others or worry about how they’re doing once I leave Serenity Springs. My life on the outside is so different from theirs, and we don’t fit into each other’s worlds. I know I sound conceited, but it’s the way it is. My parents would flip if I brought home someone from here: “Hey, Mom and Dad, meet my friend Charlie from rehab.”
Yeah, something like that wouldn’t go over well. But how would they feel about Kim if I brought her home? What would my mom say if I introduced her to the one reason I’m finding to stay clean?
Today we’re meeting outside. The setup is nice, if a bit hippie-ish. There’s a small circle with large pillows that we sit on. Dr. Rosenberg is one with nature and likes to sit by campfires singing “Kumbaya.” I suppose there isn’t anything wrong with that, except I’ve never been camping.
And I truly hate being in group therapy. People stare. They gawk, point, and whisper. I want to stand up and ask them what the fuck their problem is, but that would mean I care and I don’t, or at least I’m not supposed to. They know who I am and they’re all realizing I’m human just like they are. Humans fuck up, even famous ones. Some worse than others.
“Today we’re going to talk about self-worth and what that means to you,” Dr. Rosenberg says, earning a few grumbles. It’s hard to have any self-worth when you’re in rehab for drug use. I mean, you aren’t thinking about yourself or what others think of you when you shoot up or snort the lines; all you think about is the feeling you experience after the act is done. In hindsight, the feeling is brief, and given how much pain it causes, is it really worth it? Unfortunately, the answer for me is still yes. I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself. My friends didn’t suffer; in fact, they benefited. I never let them down. I was never late. I performed, and probably better than I can when I’m sober. If I can do all that while high, why am I here? And what happens when I’m out and I’m back to being the mediocre person I was before I started using? What happens when the exhaustion sets in and the cravings are there? Am I supposed to sit down and meditate, seeking an answer that is never going to come?
“Bodhi, do you wish to share today?”