“My name is Darrian King and I was addicted to drugs. I’ve been clean for sixty-eight days. I can’t say I had one drug that was my favorite, I tried everything including the B+ pill which I believed would help me play ball better and find time to manage my homework and social life. The night of my accident, I used B+, marijuana, and alcohol before driving the car. I realize now that was a stupid mistake and I’ll only ever be thankful it was only me in the car and that no one else was injured because of what I did.” Her face swims in my vision clearly even as my eyes sting with tears. I take a deep breath before continuing. “The night I hurt the girl I love, I used cocaine. I did it on purpose to hurt her and honestly because I needed it. I had tried quitting on my own but with everything else going on…” My body shudders thinking back to those days. How could I not have seen how far gone I was? My fingers flex around the podium digging in until the skin around my nails turns almost white. “I couldn’t do it.” My gaze catches with the reverend who is leaning against the back table. He’s watching me closely and I wonder if this is what confession feels like.
“I liked using B+ and cocaine because I felt invincible. Marijuana has just always been marijuana to me. It grows in the ground, so it’s natural, right?” I laugh to myself, shaking my head, not the right crowd, I think to myself. “Sorry,” I say before continuing. “The girl I hurt, the one I supposedly loved…she’s coming back next week. I ran her off because of a misunderstanding. I know now that what I thought happened wasn’t true. I want to see her and explain everything and beg her to take me back. I also want to get as far away from Araminta as possible so I don’t have to face her anger. I’ve even almost taken up Stanford’s offer even though I don’t want to go to school there and I know I would be miserable and probably end up right back to where I was four months ago. I guess the reason I’m here today is because she’s coming back, and I’m scared. I’m scared that I can’t fix what happened and that makes me want to use. I’m afraid she will forgive me and that also makes me want to use. I don’t know how to be a person worthy of her or if I should even try to be. Maybe I should stay away.”
I skim my eyes over the crowd as they watch me, listening to my sob story. “When I say it out loud, it sounds petty. Like these are his worse problems? I know many of you know me and my family. I’ve heard your stories and I get it. I sound like a privileged trust fund baby. I can’t say I know what you’ve been through. I sympathize though with your addiction. Thank you for listening to me today.”
It’s still quiet as I crutch my way back to my seat. Cold sweat creeps down my back after releasing the fear I’d been holding onto for the past two months of sitting with these people. How do you say I’m a kid who liked to party while they’re spilling their guts about how childhood abuse caused them to use so they could forget? I hate NA meetings.
The reverend is speaking again about forgiveness. It’s his favorite speech I think because it never changes. Just like always, I zone out, reliving the conversation with my father about the money being stolen, prom, Nora’s face when she saw me with the chick who was supposed to be her friend, the pity party I threw myself for weeks after she and her dad left town, the news report, the accident, waking up from the accident…
My eyes feel itchy and dry, my throat clogged and scratchy like sandpaper. I glance down at my hand and see the needle attached to the clear rubber tube leading to the IV bag next to the bed. My brain registers the beeping sound coming from the other side of the bed. Before even glancing down, I know something is wrong with my leg. I remember the agonizing pain and blood after hitting the barrier. A gentle throb starts and stops, probably thanks to whatever meds they have me on. I try to move it, but it feels heavy and weighted down. My face frowns and another small stab of pain on my forehead causes me to wince. I bring my non-needled hand up to my head, my fingers graze over the bandage there.
“Oh sleeping beauty is awake.” Ethan’s voice grows louder as he comes closer to the bed.
“About time.” Elijah’s voice comes from the shadow in the back corner.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s crabby because he slept in the recliner,” Ethan laughs.
“Because you took the couch again, ass hat.” Elijah shoves Ethan’s shoulder.
I smile then wince when sharp pain sprints along my jaw. My hand comes up, my fingers meet with the squishy swollen tissue.
“It looks as bad as it feels,” Elijah tells me. His face is serious, and I realize it must be pretty bad.
“Do you remember what happened?” Ethan asks, shifting his eyes back and forth between me and Elijah. I nod my head as the memories play over in my head in little foggy clips.
“You’re fucking lucky,” Elijah says, shaking his head. I remember they tried to stop me, but there was no way I wasn’t going after her. Nora.
“Shit,” I say, sitting up straighter. “The news report. I still have to go apologize.” I try swinging my leg over the bed and realize again how weighted down it seems. It takes all my strength just to bring it to the edge.
“Ahh,” Ethan says. “Probably not a good idea right now, Cuz.” The twins exchange a look between themselves in their own private communication. I’ve always hated it when they do that.
“Why?” I ask. I’m starting to feel agitated, preparing myself for the worst, hoping nothing had happened to Nora. Even if the news story was wrong and her dad really did steal the money, I was going after her. I’d check myself out of the hospital and drive today to Seattle.
“Well,” Ethan says, looking back at me. “She was here.”
“She was here, as in she was in Araminta?”
“No, as in she was at the hospital,” Elijah finishes. “To see you.”
“She knows about the accident?” I deadpan, watching both of them closely. “Everyone knows about the accident, don’t they?” It’s not a question. I can tell by their faces I was right.
“To be fair, she heard it from Aunt Jodi before the news channel broke the story,” Ethan states quietly.
“What are they saying about it?” I ask. That scholarship flashing in the back of my mind.
“Your dad is working on it,” Elijah responds, his eyes watching me closely. My stomach feels sick thinking of how he’s handling it. Of what I’ll have to do for him to make up for it.
“Where is she?” I ask, suddenly feeling panic creep into my chest, “I have to talk to her.”
“She left already,” Ethan answers, “Back to Seattle. She wanted to make sure you were okay before leaving for good.”
“What are you talking about? Her dad is innocent, why wouldn’t they move back?”
“He is, but she wants to stay with her aunt.” Ethan takes a deep breath before blowing it out. “She doesn’t want us to contact her. Ever.”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head to be sure I’m not imagining this whole conversation. It doesn’t make sense. We fuck up and make mistakes, but we always get back to each other. Why would she give up all the sudden? “Is this because of the whole prom thing?” I question, even though a shallow pit in my stomach is telling me it is.