If you missed out on Chapter One go here
If you want to read Chapter Three go here
Caleb woke the morning of his final day in the six month rehab facility and took a long breath, letting it out slowly. It was later than usual, a little after ten in the morning. No one had woken him since the final meeting didn’t commence until 11 am. The poster on the wall, as usual, was the first thing his eyes focused on as they opened past half mast. The Twelve Steps of a recovered Alcohol and Drug Addict.
- We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.
- Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
- Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
- Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
- Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
- Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
- Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
- Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
- Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
- Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
- Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
- Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Blah, blah, fucking blah. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went about the business of getting dressed then made his way to the cafeteria, grabbed a cup of coffee, and dragged a chair to the corner of the large room by the air-conditioner vents. He stretched out his legs, surveying the room through hooded eyes. Most of the other “patients” were seated at tables in small groups, chatting animatedly, likely excited by the prospect of leaving this shithole and starting their “new lives” as drug-free and productive members of society. Christ it was depressing.
He watched as the head counselor entered the room, his smile wide as he stopped by tables and chatted with his rehabilitated, reprogrammed groupies. Dr. Douchebag. He grimaced and got to his feet, heading outdoors for a cigarette.
He sat on a picnic table staring into nothing. In less than an hour they would have their last group therapy session and be given their walking papers. Which meant in just over an hour his buddy Jake would pick him up and he’d have his first beer in six months. Now that was something to look forward to. He continued staring out into nothing until the door behind him opened, releasing a dozen other smokers to come and cramp his style. He hopped off the bench and passed them without saying a word, heading straight into the room that would deliver his freedom.
“Okay everyone, can I get you to quiet down?” Dr. Douchebag smiled his large toothy smile as the room silenced. “Thank you. Big day, I know, big, big day. An epic day, if I may say so. The start of a new era in all of your lives, a new dawn is breaking, a brand new world awaits!”
Applause broke out and his toothy smile grew impossibly wider. “Thank you. Yes. You should put your hands together. But not for me, oh no, not for me. For yourselves. For what all of you here have accomplished. One Hundred and Eighty Days drug free!”
More applause. More toothy grin. A hand held up for silence. A lot of nodding, and more toothy grin. “Okay, good, yes, very good. Now, we are almost there, and I’d like to hear from some of you, how you’re feeling, what your plans are. With a show of hands…yes, go ahead Katie.”
The girl drawls on about all the sparkly new plans she has for her sparkly new life. Next is a guy who is going to work hard to take over the family business, make his daddy proud. Another girl, teary this time, so grateful, so thankful. And on and on they droned.
As it came to a close Caleb pulled himself to an upright position, ready to grab his walking papers. Ready for that beer. Final speeches were made and the applause died down. Dr. Douchebag held up his hand and the room quieted.
Suddenly he was aware that every eye was on him and he blinked, thinking he was imagining it.
“Caleb?” Dr. Douchebag prompted. “How about it?”
He cleared his throat, “Uhh, how about what?”
People tittered and that toothy smile flashed again. “How about you tell us what you’ve learned from this, where you see yourself in the future?”
He stared at the guy with his scraggly beard and wire-rimmed glasses, is he fucking serious? Yes. Yes he is.
“What I’ve learned,” he mumbled as a buzz filled his head. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, semi-aware of the words coming out of Douchebag’s mouth, something about how little he’s contributed in groups, how he’s concerned that poor Caleb will be right back where he’s sitting if he doesn’t learn to share and to let go.
Finally the chatter faded and he lifted his head and locked eyes with Dr. Douchebag, smiling without humor. “What I’ve learned. Hmm, well let’s take a look at steps one through three, shall we?" He swept his gaze across the room and saw that he had their full attention. "Admit we are powerless over our addiction, that a power greater than us can restore us to sanity, and then give control of our lives to this so-called power." He turned back to Douchebag. "Well I for one never felt “powerless over my addiction”, assuming what that means is that I couldn’t let go of a certain drug or drugs if and when I so chose. There was never a point where I had let go of sanity, so the need to be restored to it-that one’s out as well. And giving control of my life and my will to some nameless faceless entity, some grey-beard who lives high up in the sky?" He glanced around the room again. "Sorry to burst your bubble but this step completely negates steps one and two, because A: you will never be powerful as long as you believe that power comes from somewhere outside of you, and B: you have to be somewhere Oz side of crazy to believe any such thing in the first place."
He turned his full attention back on the doc. "You think I’m the one out of this room full of sheep that will be sitting here again, listening to this bullshit? The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of here is start learning how the law works so I can avoid ever again being dragged to this ridiculous sham that is nothing more than another way for the powers that be to make money off of us.”
“Well I’m sorry that you feel this way…
“I wasn’t finished,” Caleb cut him off and Douchebag waved him on.
“I actually appreciate steps four through seven if I translate them a little differently. Face myself and all the shitty things about me, admit to myself where I’ve thoroughly fucked up, figure out how to correct my fuckups and then cut them out like cancer. Unfortunately I’m still working out whether these so-called fuckups are in fact just society’s idea of what fuckups are, rather than my own. And as for eight and nine? There was one being who was harmed by what society has deemed as my fuckup, I can’t make amends to him because he’s dead, and I’m fairly fucking certain it was the fault of the trigger happy cops of the injustice system where they’ve somehow decided that people who like a little recreational chemicals are dangerous enough to fucking shoot!” His voice had risen an octave as he said this last, the first hint of emotion he’d shown in a very long time, and he instantly regretted it as he watched Dr. Douchebag’s facial expression become “knowing.” He sat back and prepared himself to listen to some more bullshit.
“Why don’t we talk about your father, Caleb.”-
Caleb’s smile was wry and dark. “Ah yes, you believe his death is at the root of all my problems.”
“Well perhaps not at the root, but certainly a large factor. He was killed in an attempt to stop your course of self-destruction, isn’t that right?”
Caleb shook his head, his bitter smile still in place. “He was killed because some idiot cop mistook him for a dealer, and because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was killed because he woke up one morning and realized he had a son and thought the way to express this epiphany was to stick his nose in his business. He was killed for stupidity, all the way around.”
“Including your stupidity?” Douchebag prompted.
He stared at the man and sighed. Whatever, he just wanted out of this place. “Yeah sure.”
“Yes well, I would recommend that you continue seeing someone Caleb. Perhaps you have overcome your addictions, but you still have…
“Thank you doc,” Caleb interjected, “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
The doctor’s lips thinned. “I hope you do. Okay everyone, time to get started in your new lives.”
There was no applause this time, just a restless stirring, people casting sideways glances at Caleb. The doctor started calling out names and he got to his feet and walked forward to grab the piece of paper that "gave" him his freedom. What a laugh. The doc held onto it for a moment. “You can always come back and talk with me if you’d like.”
Caleb bit back the sarcastic response and managed to nod. The doc released the paper and he walked out of the building and straight to the waiting car of his buddy without looking back.
-*****-
Several hours later he was wasted and watching the activity going on around him, thinking that the only real difference between where he was now and where he’d been for the past several months was the booze. And the loud music. And honestly, he appreciated both a great deal more than the company. Which was probably why he’d hated rehab so much, because without those two things all you were left with was people and their idiotic ideas about all manner of things.
“Hey Hamilton, what’s up man, how was rehab?”
He looked up at the kid hovering over him, amazed at how many times the same phrase had been repeated in one night. He’d answered a few times but at this point rolling his eyes and putting his beer up in the air seemed enough of a response.
The kid clinked his beer with the one he held and laughed heartily, “Right? Hell yeah, bet it’s good to be out!”
Caleb nodded and kept right on doing it to the beat of the song that came on.
“Hey my friend.”
Caleb looked sideways at the guy who had just dropped down beside him saying those three words with such authority you almost had to believe him. “Grant.”
Grant ginned his blue eyes sparking, showing off his perfect teeth in an almost too perfect face. He was just masculine enough to be called handsome rather than pretty. “Did you miss me?”
Caleb smiled despite himself. “Every day. I often wondered, am I gay? Does Grant love me?”
His friend laughed loudly, doubling over his knees. When he came up for air he thumped Caleb on the back. “Damn man, from anyone else I would wonder if those words were true. But you are the one guy I can confidently say does not harbor any homosexual tendencies.”
Caleb lifted a brow. “Oh really? How do you know? After all I have been in a form of lock up for six months.”
Grant grinned, “A co-ed lockup. Stop fucking with me bro, you’ll create hope where there’s none to be had.”
Caleb shook his head, smiling wryly. “You don’t care who you fuck as long as they’re just a little less attractive than you so your giant ego gets off when your cock does.”
Grant gave him a mock wounded look then gave it up and grinned. “You know me too well.” He pulled out a sack, placing the contents on the table in front of them.
Caleb started shaking his head before the offer was made.
“Don’t be a hater Hamilton, trust me, you want to try this.” He spread the powder into lines. “Seriously my friend, this is exactly what you need.”
Caleb stared at it, understanding immediately that it wasn’t coke and likely wasn’t any of the other myriad things he’d tried that looked exactly the same. He glanced back up at Grant’s face and thought, 'Why the fuck not'? He shrugged slightly and bent forward, sniffing the contents up his nose. He did three more lines in succession and the high lasted all of three blissful minutes before his heart stopped.
“HAMILTON! Holy shit, what the fuck, oh fuck…Caleb Goddammit, don’t you do this, don’t you fucking do this…”
Caleb watched the scene with the detachment of someone caught in a dream. He was dying. Or at least his body was, because the rest of what made him, Him? That was right here in the ether, the in between place, the world of invisibility. He was hovering above himself, floating. That was a new experience. He continued to stare until, without warning, he was sucked up through the ceiling.
His life began to play in reverse, and he understood what it meant. He was dying. Well okay then. Time to see what comes next. He watched impassively as the years rewound. Until it came to her. Lissa. His relative peace was blown to pieces with the first glimpse of her infuriatingly beautiful face. A face he hated. But as the time continued to run backwards her face changed into one that he loved. At fourteen, laughing, her dark hair streaming behind her as she raced him to their clubhouse. At twelve, her catlike green eyes dancing again as she pelted him with a water balloon. At ten. At eight years old, the first time he’d ever seen her. Time scrolled further back, to a time before he knew her, and it was empty. Like it had become later. After she’d betrayed him, sold him out. Rage filled him, terrifying in its vastness. He tumbled around in a storm of his own creation until it became so loud he could no longer think, no longer feel. Then darkness.
Logo made by the incredibly awesome @papa-pepper