“And before that?”
I close my eyes and wish to hell that I wasn’t having this conversation with my father. He might not always have been around when I needed him, but he’s my dad and I respect him. I’m just happy my mom isn’t here to witness this.
“I can’t remember the last time I was sober.” Once the words are out of my mouth I feel relief, but that is quickly washed away as my brain starts telling me I need more coke so I don’t have to feel like a failure.
“Bodhi, what have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know, but…”
“But what?”
I feel something wet dripping from my nose. I swipe at it, only to find a red streak on my hand. I wipe again, but there’s more blood, and before I know it, it’s dripping down my face and landing on my bare chest.
My dad hands me his hanky, only for it to become soaked with blood almost immediately.
With the help of my father, I make it to the bathroom and sit on the toilet so he can help stop my nosebleed. He isn’t saying much, but I’m expecting him to rip into me any second. I tilt my head back and immediately gag on the blood that is dripping down my throat; I have to hurry over to the sink to spit it out. And right beside me is my dad, running the water so I don’t have to see the blood accumulate in the sink.
“Put this up your nose.” He hands me a rolled wad of tissue that I cram up there, hoping to stop the bleeding. I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror, and what I see there is a drug-addicted deadbeat who used a drug that ate away his nasal cavity. That alone should be enough to make me quit, but it’s not. If there was a line to take, I’d do it right now just so I could forget all the fuckery that is happening.
I stare at the guy I am now, with my sunken cheeks, broken blood vessels in my face, and a wad of red-tinted toilet paper up my nose, and wonder how I got here so fast. It doesn’t take much, that’s for sure. Tears fall from my eyes and a rush of hatred comes over me. I hate myself. I hate my life. I cry while I look at the person I am with my dad standing behind me, his hand on my shoulder, not saying a word. He should yell, scream, and tell me how much of a loser I am.
My father has to tear me away from the mirror. I go, unwillingly, only because I need to torture myself. He closes the door to the bathroom and leans up against the wall.
“Look at me, Bodhi,” he demands.
I shake my head, not wanting him to see me like this anymore. The tears haven’t stopped and I’m nothing but a blubbering mess.
“Bodhi?”
“I can’t,” I tell him through sobs. “I can’t.”
He kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my forearms. “Bodhi, look at me,” he says again, this time softer. I do as he asks, expecting to see disappointment and rage, but what I see is only hurt. “What is it that you’re doing, son? Let me help you.”
I shake my head again, not wanting to tell my dad how stupid I’ve been, but the words come tumbling out before I can stop them. “Cocaine.”
“Is that it?”
My dad pulls me into his arms, not caring about his thousand-dollar suit getting ruined with bloodstains. He holds me to his chest, cradling my head while I cry into his shoulder.
“I don’t know whether to hug you or kick your ass for being so stupid,” he says. “The man I brought with me, he’s a doctor, a friend of mine. He owns a facility in San Diego. You’re going to check in tomorrow for thirty days.”
“I can’t.”
“You can and you will. I’m driving you there. Get into the shower and clean up.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I feel like I have no say in my life. He takes one look at me and sighs before leaving me alone on the toilet. The irony isn’t lost on me how others have died sitting on their throne.
As soon as the door is shut, I find a little strength and haul my ass into the shower. I want to burn the pants I’m taking off. Stained with my own blood, they mock my carelessness. I pull the toilet paper out of my nostril and pray that the bleeding has stopped; if it hasn’t, at least being in the shower is better than anything else. I gently run my hand under my nose and pull my hand back to see that it’s clear. A sigh of relief washes over me, but that does nothing to calm the storm brewing inside. I fucked up, and now I’m going to pay the price.
When I get out of the shower, my soiled pants are gone and there’s a fresh set waiting for me on the counter. I don’t know who did this for me, but I’m grateful. I dry off as fast as I can so I can find out what my fate is.
I step out into my bedroom to find my dad and Rebel deep in conversation. When she sees me, her expression is unreadable. I have no doubt she’s disgusted by me and probably ready to eliminate me from the group. It’s not like she needs me for anything.
“I’m giving you all another month off,” she says at last. “What you do in that month is up to you, but I suggest you get help, because I won’t have you fucking up Virtuous Paradox.”
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and wondering what my father said to her. I could ask him, but he’ll tell me it’s business, which m
eans it’s none of mine.
“Everything is packed,” my dad tells me.