High Achiever Page 11

  The girl smiled and took a step closer to me.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi,” I replied cautiously.

  “How are you?”

  “Shitty.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Why do you look so confused?”

  “I’m just. Um. Trying to figure out why there are teenagers with clipboards in here. Is this for a project or something?”

  She turned to the other girl and laughed, then smiled back at me. “I’m not a teenager, I’m twenty-three, but thanks for the compliment.”

  “Okayyyy, sooooo, what’s going on?” I said, looking back and forth at her and the other girl.

  She stuck out her hand for me to shake. I hesitated but stuck mine out as well.

  “My name is Stephanie, and I’m here to talk to some of the girls. What are your plans when you get out of here?”

  “I have to go to rehab for six months. Why?” I said, crossing my arms.

  She smiled. “It’s fate!”

  “What is?”

  “You being the first person I saw when I came in.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because I am here to find girls who are interested in attending our faith-based rehabilitation program.”

  “Faith-based as in…”

  “Faith-based as in—God,” she said with a smile.

  I looked up to the ceiling and began laughing, hysterically. I’ll tell you what—if there is a God, He certainly has a fucked-up sense of humor.

  21

  I poked around at the carrots on my dinner tray, reflecting on the conversation Stephanie and I had had earlier.

  I spoke with her for a while, and listened as she explained the road she had taken that led her to where she was today. Looking at her, I couldn’t have imagined the dark past she’d experienced. She looked young and sweet. I imagined her working at an ice cream shop or Petland. Not recruiting girls from jail to join her rehab program.

  At first, I was hesitant to speak with her, I had been on a mission to find drugs. My foot had been tapping wildly under the table and my mind was elsewhere through most of our conversation. Her mouth was moving, words were coming out, but I wasn’t processing a thing. Until she said something that caught me by surprise. “You hate God, don’t you?”

  My foot stopped tapping and my eyes focused on hers. “What did you say?”

  “You resent Him, and don’t believe He is real. I can see it in your eyes, and that’s okay. If I may ask, did you lose someone close to you?” she said, leaning forward and placing her hand on my forearm.

  Images of my mother began flipping through my mind like a photo album. Memories played in my head like a movie I wasn’t prepared to watch. Her laughing, her smiling, her dancing around with me in the kitchen, lip-syncing to ZZ Top. Her getting sick, withering away, breathing her last breath…

  I tried to push the memories away, because each heartbreaking scene made my stomach turn. My mom’s bright blue eyes flashed in my mind for a moment, and I felt a rogue tear fall from my eye. My hand flew up to wipe it, hoping Stephanie didn’t notice. I could feel my chin quivering as I tried to keep the floodgates from bursting. I hadn’t yet grieved for my mom, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to start today.

  I looked down at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact.

  “It’s okay to be sad, you know. You don’t need to tell me what’s going on, but you need to know that it’s okay to feel, it’s a good thing.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I want to share something with you, and then I have to go,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I lost my mom. I was very angry at God for taking her, but I have learned so much about God, and the miracles He performs daily. I now realize that He didn’t ‘take’ her. She is in a place more beautiful than you and I could begin to imagine, and I know in my heart we will see each other again, and it will be beautiful.

  “I know that when I leave here, your feelings for God will be the same as when I came,” she continued, “but I think it would be really great if you came and lived with us, and gave yourself the chance to learn about Him and see firsthand how amazing He truly is. I don’t think it was a coincidence that you were basically waiting at the door for me. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that today was the day we were approved to come here. God arranged this meeting, and I hope you will consider giving Him a chance.”

  I replayed our encounter over and over again in my head. For some reason, for the first time in my life, the urge to get high just—went away. It went away on its own. Any time I wanted to get high in the past, the moment the thought entered my head, I did whatever it took to get my drugs. And I mean…whatever it took. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s just say that stealing razors from the dollar store and shaving in the car to “prepare” on my way to my drug dealer’s house was not uncommon.

  “Earth to Tiffany,” Sarah said, waving her hand in front of my face and bringing me back to the present. “You were somewhere far away just now. I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

  “I’m sorry, I was. I just have a lot on my mind. I have to find a way to get ahold of my attorney. I think I want to go to Horizons rehab. Anyway, what were you saying?” I asked, realizing I had been completely oblivious to the fact she was even next to me, let alone talking.

  “I saaaaaaaid, are you gonna eat your bread pudding? Dinner is almost over and you haven’t eaten anything. You know they will make you throw it away and I don’t want it to go to waste,” she said, pulling it off my plate before I could even respond.

  “Do you believe in God?” I asked as she took a bite.

  “What?” she said, her mouth full.

  “Do you believe in God, like, do you think there is such a thing?”

  “Oh definitely. I mean, there’s some stuff that doesn’t make sense like, okay, for example: A guy lived in a whale’s stomach for a few days? C’mon. Or some guy was just chillin’ by a bush and all of a sudden it caught on fire and started talking to him?”

  “Right.” I nodded, agreeing that it sounded preposterous.

  “So what I have chosen to do, is take the things that do make sense, and focus on them. If I get too wrapped up in the things that sound crazy, my faith will go out the window comp—”

  All of a sudden I felt sick. Nauseous. I felt my body begin to sway slightly as I raised my eyebrows, trying to focus on Sarah as she spoke. She must have noticed something was off, because she stopped midsentence. She asked if I was okay, but her words came out slow and slurred.

  I reached out to grab something, anything, and all I could grasp was air. I felt my eyes roll back into my head and then everything suddenly went—black.

  When my eyes fluttered open, I was shocked by searing pain over every inch of my body. My muscles felt like they had just been through a marathon, and my neck was aching like it had whenever I had slept on it wrong. Fuck, what the hell?

  I slowly reached up to my face, and my arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I wiped away the drool surrounding my mouth and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the light. I was moving. Down a hallway. I glanced down and realized I was in a wheelchair.

  “She’s awake!” someone behind me said, and as I turned to face her I realized she had a look of serious concern. “You okay, Johnson?” Deputy Cane asked as she walked briskly beside my wheelchair. I opened my mouth to speak but didn’t have the energy. “It’s okay, just relax.”

  I was exhausted, and I had no clue what the hell was happening. “Did…I…faint?” I managed to say. I had fainted plenty of times in the past, but it had never felt like this. “What’s going on?”

  The wheelchair stopped abruptly, and Deputy Cane crouched down in front of me to look into my eyes. I could feel them rolling back into my head and I tried desperately to focus on her face. Something
was wrong. “Johnson, look at me for a second, can you look at me?” It hurt to breathe. I wanted to lie down and sleep; I needed to rest. I stared blankly at where I felt her eyes should be, but it was as if my muscles weren’t listening to my brain.

  I felt my eyes roll back and the last thing I heard was “Aw, fuck. Here we go again—”

  I came to on the cold concrete floor. I could see the wheelchair I had just been sitting in off to the side. I was surrounded by deputies and medical personnel, and instantly began crying. Fuck, my body hurt so bad. It felt as if I had been punched in the head twenty times. I reached my hand to the back of my skull and the nurse taking my pulse yelled, “No, don’t do that—” Too late. I pulled my hand down in front of my face and realized it was covered in blood.

  Panic rose up within me and I rolled over to my side to see the floor where I’d been lying; it was covered in blood and hair. “What the he—” I stopped midsentence because my tongue was on fire. I was sobbing by this point and the sobbing itself was excruciating. The nurse could tell I was having a nervous breakdown, because she pulled me close and gently hugged me.

  “Shhhhhhh. Shhhhhh….It’s all right, relax. You have to stay still, okay? You are injured. You had a couple of seizures, honey, okay?”

  “Wha—” I tried to scream. Electric pain inside my mouth vibrated through every cell of my body. I screamed in response, another shot of unbearable pain radiating from my mouth. Seizures? I’d never had a fucking seizure; that was impossible.

  “Sweetie, please don’t speak. Okay? You have a very large gash in the back of your head, you are probably going to need stitches. And…you must have bitten your tongue, because it’s only hanging on by a thread….”

  22

  I was taken to the hospital via ambulance, and had been handcuffed to the stretcher like a dog chained to a pole. I’d had plenty of hospital visits in the past, but I’d never arrived via police escort, covered in blood, and handcuffed.

  Each person we passed in the hallways of the hospital looked at me like I was Hannibal Lecter. Women clutched their purses tightly to their sides and pulled their children close to them, while the hospital employees whispered to one another and giggled at the “freak show” being wheeled by.

  I stared straight up at the ceiling, counting the fluorescent lights as we passed underneath them. Although this was the only opportunity I’d had in a long time to be a part of the outside world and see colors, hear elevator music, and smell various fragrances, I chose to stare straight up at the ceiling.

  The embarrassment and shame were almost more painful than my physical injuries. My tongue was throbbing, my body felt like it had been hit by a truck, and I was completely exhausted. They didn’t want me to go to sleep until they gave me a brain scan and ruled out a concussion.

  “Here ya go,” the paramedic said as he snapped the brakes on the stretcher into place once I was in the room. I nodded, because speaking was too painful. It hurt to swallow, but it also hurt to allow the saliva to pool on my tongue. I needed pain pills and was secretly praying that the doctors would determine that my injuries were so severe that I needed sedation.

  As the paramedic exited the room, the deputy escorting me, one I’d never seen before, followed behind without saying a word. I felt so insignificant, unworthy of a “good luck” or “I hope you feel better.” He just left.

  Forty-seven minutes passed before anyone came in again, and unfortunately, it was the hospital registrar. This person who looked like a teenager smiled nervously in my direction but immediately averted his eyes when I forced a smile in response.

  His voice was shaking as he asked me the questions. I’m assuming he was concerned that I might try to eat his face off. I wanted to run with it, really play it up. Start growling and writhing around in bed like I was possessed. But luckily for him, I was way too tired.

  “Your name?”

  “Titthany Honthin.”

  “Address?”

  “No.”

  He glanced up at me briefly, down at my handcuffs, and back at the computer.

  “Marital status?”

  “Thingle.”

  “Insurance?”

  “No.”

  “Emergency contact?”

  I paused. My heart sank to the floor and I was consumed by sadness. I didn’t know who to say. My emergency contact person hated my guts, my father was sick in the hospital, and my sister would probably allow me to bleed to death if it came down to it. I was all alone in this world. I had done this to myself.

  I began crying, and it was excruciatingly painful. I tried to control the tears but I couldn’t. I wanted my mommy. I wanted someone. I was hurt and alone and felt lower than I ever had, once I realized that there wasn’t a damn person on this planet who gave a shit about me.

  The kid quickly wrapped it up once he saw that I was beginning to get agitated, and he must have told someone once he left because shortly after the doctor came in.

  “Hello, Miss Johnson, I’m Dr. Fuller. You feeling okay?” he asked, staring down at the papers on his clipboard.

  I think he meant Dr. McSteamy, because holy shit.

  I shook my head and muttered, “Mmm-mmm.” He placed the clipboard on the counter and put a pair of gloves on to examine the damage. “I would ask you to tell me what happened,” he said, gently feeling around my skull as if he were examining a melon for ripeness, “but I’m assuming that talking is the last thing you want to do.”

  I closed my eyes as he rubbed around on my head and for a moment the pain disappeared. I hadn’t been touched in so long, let alone by a man. It didn’t even feel sexual, it just felt…nice to have human contact. You don’t realize how important it is until you no longer have it.

  He pulled his gloves off, tossed them into the trash, and leaned up against the counter.

  “Okay, the good news is, you don’t need stitches. The bad news is, your tongue looks like hamburger meat. Since you are currently, um, incarcerated, we obviously can’t do any pain management with narcotics.”

  Suddenly I hated him.

  “The tongue is one of the fastest-healing parts of the body, though, so don’t worry. It will be better within one to two weeks. I am going to give you a salt rinse and some Advil for the pain. Our options are limited here. You need to rinse with the salt three times a day, and hydrogen peroxide once per day.”

  I rolled my eyes as he continued listing off the bullshit I had to do to heal my mangled tongue, none of which consisted of drugs. I wanted to punch him in the kneecap. Maybe that was why they kept us handcuffed in here.

  “As for your muscles, when a person has a seizure, just about every muscle in your body tenses up as tight as it possibly can. When you shake the tense muscles, it stretches them beyond their capacity. So it feels like you were hit by a truck, but it’s basically the same as if you had just had a good workout. The Advil should help,” he said, heading toward the door.

  “Ha-ha.”

  The Advil should help. I’m a fucking junkie. I shoot 100 milligrams of Dilaudid into my veins at a time without blinking. This guy is a fucking idiot.

  “I’m gonna send you down for a CAT scan to make sure there’s no damage there. They said you hit your head pretty hard. We will just wait for those results and if they are clear, we will go ahead and send you home—er—send you back. Okay?”

  I didn’t nod. I didn’t smile. I wanted to scream and demand pills, but I couldn’t. I turned to face the wall as tears began streaming down my cheeks. I had gotten my hopes up for drugs, I had been anticipating feeling better, and instead I was getting saltwater and baby aspirin.

  FML.

  The scans checked out fine and I was sent back to jail. I had to stay in Medical for three days, so they could monitor me and make sure my tongue was healing. They were also concerned about my seizure. I’d never had one before,
and since I wasn’t withdrawing off anything, it was unusual for me to have one. The nurse assumed it was stress-related.

  I was also given an antiseizure medication that made me really sleepy, which was good. Every minute in Medical was torture, so the more time I could spend unconscious, the better.

  This was certainly not how I wanted to spend my last month in jail. My emotions had been on more roller-coaster rides than I could handle. One minute things were good, the next they were terrible, then they were great, then I blink and my tongue is broken and my head is cracked open.

  The worst part of all of it was, I couldn’t blame anyone but myself. I stole from people, I lied, I broke the law, I chased the high, did the drugs, and ruined my life. It was my fault that all the bridges were burned and I had no one to turn to. When you have no one to blame but yourself, you have no choice but to internalize that anger, and having no clue how to release it in a productive way…I knew I was a ticking time bomb.

  I only had twenty-eight days left in jail. I was in the homestretch. All I had to do was keep it together for a little while longer and I’d be out of there. I made a vow right then and there that for the next few weeks I would mind my own business, keep to myself, and focus on my future. The past was the past, and I was almost finished with that chapter and into the beginning of a new one.

  My new mantra had definitely improved my mood, and I had begun to feel optimistic. That lasted for about three hours—until I was served a subpoena to testify in court against the drug dealer who wanted to kill me.

  23

  “Was it scary?” Sarah asked, taking a bite of her honey bun.

  “Ha!” I replied, still shaking from adrenaline. I had been back from court for about two hours, and my heart was still pounding like a drum. “Scary isn’t even the word. It was one of the worst experiences of my life.”

  Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “What happened?!”