“Sit down, Bodhi,” my dad says.
“I’ll stand, thanks.” I don’t know what’s going on, but something in the pit of my stomach tells me that I’m not going to like it.
My dad pushes me toward the couch. At first I pause, but the look in his eyes tells me I need to move. I go reluctantly, taking an available chair instead of sitting next to the random stranger.
“Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask again, even though I have a feeling I’m asking for confirmation of something I’ve feared in the back of my mind for a long time now.
“I think you know what this is, Bodhi,” my dad states. His hands are clasped in front of him as he leans toward me. “We’re worried.”
“What about?” I avoid looking at anyone in the room.
“About your drug use,” Rebel says. Suddenly something catches her eye, and I quickly follow her gaze toward my bedroom door, where Aspen is trying to slip out unnoticed. By now I’m certain that everyone in the room heard what was going on in there.
“Recreational drug use isn’t a crime.”
“What you’re doing isn’t recreational, Bodhi.”
“Come on, Dad. I’m not doing anything that other people aren’t doing.” I glance at my now closed door, wishing Aspen was in here too. Instead she’s rushing down the hall with her drug bag over her shoulder, leaving. Fucking great.
Dad sighs and picks up a folder that is sitting on the table. He leafs through the contents and hands me a stack of photos. I thumb through the images while my stomach turns. In front of me, in color, are pictures of me from the bar and other places I’ve been hanging out.
I throw them back on the table and shrug. “So what? I went to a few parties.”
My dad jumps up and yells at me, “Is that all you have to say?”
The one person in the room that I don’t know rises more slowly from the couch and stands next to him, placing his hand on his shoulder.
“Let me try, Roger. Bodhi, I’m Dr. Gordon. I’ve been a friend of your father’s for a while, and he, along with your mother and Ms. Van Zandt, have grown concerned for your health.”
“I don’t need help. I’m not addicted.”
“When’s the last time you got high?” the doctor asks. I lean back in the chair and ignore him. I don’t know him and I don’t have to answer his questions.
“Bodhi, you need to answer him,” Rebel says. “Your spot with Virtuous Paradox hangs in the balance. You’ve known from the beginning that I won’t tolerate this type of behavior.”
“Fuck you all,” I yell, getting up. “I’m an adult, and if I want to get high, I can.”
My father pushes me down in the chair and looks me in the eyes. “You’re high right now.”
I shake my head, hoping he’ll buy the lie.
“He is, Roger. That’s what I caught him doing when I walked into his room.”
“Fucking bitch,” I mutter as I look away from my father.
“Can you give us a minute? I’d like to talk to my son, alone.”
It takes only a second for the room to clear. Not that they’ve gone far; they’re probably just down the hall and can hear whatever he says.
He pulls another chair over and sits down, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Rebel called. She’s been concerned for a while, but she couldn’t come out and accuse you of using until she saw you do it. It’s taken me some time to accept that you might be in trouble, but after witnessing what I did, I’m here to help. When’s the last time you used?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not a fool, Bodhi. I’ve been in this business long enough to know an addict when I see one. So, let me ask you again. When was the last time you used?”
I pause, trying to think of an excuse to counter his suspicions, but the look on his face tells me I’m fighting a losing battle.
“Right before you got here.”