Title: Sombra de la Tormenta, part two: Never Again.
Author: Alanna diAblo
Summery: See part one.
Author's note: see end please
Rating: R
* * * *
Abby holds my gaze as my arms circle around her small body. I feel her relax into me, and as her weight leans into my chest, she sighs. Heaven, this is heaven on earth. I burry my face into the top of her head and inhale slighty, taking in her scent. Her fingertips play light patterns on my shoulders, the heat of them reaching my skin through my thin tee shirt. I rub her back, and she relaxes further, if that's possible.
"Mmm, Carter..." She murmers, making me shudder at the mere sound of my name on her tounge.
Suddenly, she pulls back and looks into my eyes once more. I swallow, starring right back into those deep brown pools she has for eyes. I'm sinking into them.
"Carter, kiss me." I do, oh god I do. I kiss her like there's no tomorrow, no yesterday and only today. When she moans from deep in her throat, I can't help but deepening the kiss even further. I pull Abby even closer to me, and in the secconds we break appart both of our shirts come off. Then a few moments later we're as close as we can be.
My alarm clock screams into my left ear and the dream fades.
Back to the real world, I think, pushing the covers off of my sweaty body.
At least I'll only be on triage.
* * * *
Group hasn't always been one of the more exciting things to do, but when it's that or one on one counciling, I'd pick group any day. This former addict, Ben, is speaking now. He's been to this rehab four times, and this is his third time through this particular program. He tells us all, how as soon as you get out of here, the real chalange begins. In the real world, you have to create your own support group because generally there's no one waiting for you on the other side of this wall.
Ben tells us that his narcotic addiction began when his mother had died. Picking up the needle was the best thing he could think of to ease the pain. That hits a little to close to home, and as I look around, I see that a lot of people have started to cry.
"Find yourself a family." Ben says. "A sponsor, a friend, anyone who will listen and who understands."
Now I know how Carter felt. Alone, scared no one would accept me now that I've admitted that I'm a narcotic. Being a narcotic can't be in the past tense, it's always there. Waiting in the shaddows of your mind, so that one day if you can't take life anymore, it can pounce on your broken psyhce and take over once more. I need someone when I get out in another twenty days or so.
Who the hell would want someone this broken? I feel like a cheap chocolate easter bunny, hollow and only as food as the date on the bottom of my cardbord cage. I sigh and sink back into the chair as Ben wraps up his advice. This is going to be a long month.
* * * *
This is going to be a long month. I miss her, and I want to see her. She's only a few miles away, I could sneak over now and we once more we'd make eye contact. It's been awhile.
I'm at work, and I'm going about my normal life style, but I've been living in my thoughts. Weaver's picked up on it too, and I've since been sentanced to triage until Abby is discharged.
The only way she'll get better is isolation, according to her doctor. The only way she'll be able to stop her addiction is to find her own way, and part of me understands that. Yet I can't take it anymore. If I couldn't help her then, why won't anyone let me help her now? Have I lost my validity as a friend or sponsor?
I finish up sutures on a caucasian male, 45, 5'5 and 203 pounds.I've stoped thinking of my paitients as human, and instead they've become numbers. It started when Abby left.
I couldn't feel anymore, it hurt to damn much.
God Abby, I miss you and I'd do anything to see you again, I'd die to see you well once more. I never thought I'd speak like one of those lovesick people, but you have that affect on me, can't you tell? When I'm without you, I'm nothing. I need you like I need air.
I think I'm going to be sick.
I am sick.
I run out of the lounge to the bathroom, but only make it halfway down the hall before I puke. Just lovely.
"You okay Carter?" Weaver asks me.
I swallow, the taste of stomache acid is fresh in my mouth and I try to ignore it. "Must have been something I ate."
Weaver looks at me. "You sure?"
"Mm hmm."
"If you need some time off until Abby recovers we can arange-" I don't let her finnish, a wave of rage posesses me.
"Why does everyone think I'm so upset about Abby? Are you going to blame every strange thing I do on her? Don't do that! It's all of my fault and I should feel guilty. So just leave it alone." I don't know if any of what I just said made sence, nor do I care, as I storm out of the ER to the roof.
After fighting my way past hospital staff and paitients, I'm here, I'm as close to privacy as possible for the time being. I take in a breath of fresh air, and let myself sob, I let it all out. I'm so sorry Abby. I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. At a time when you needed me the most I wasn't there. I don't care if you ever forgive me, I just want you to be all right.
I sink down against the brick wall and burry my face in my hands. I can't face the world ever again. Not after what I did to the one person I've ever truely cared about, not after betreyal like that. Never again.
If I'd had another chance, I wouldn't have yelled at her that night. I wouldn't have abandoned her, leaving her in a pool of tears she was drowning in. All she needed was a hand, to lift her up and dust her off, and in my fury I just left. The door slaming behind me still echos as a turning point in my mind.
I don't know what I was thinking.
"Hey." A voice from above says. I didn't hear anyone aproaching, but then again, I'm wrapped up in my own thoughts.
"Carter." I can't look up. "Carter, I need to talk with you." I give in and look up.
"What is it Susan? I'm not in the mood for a lecture." Funny, the way I've said it makes me sound broken.
"I know about Abby. It's understandable that you are upset, we all are." She leans against the wall and looks down at me. I don't say anything, I don't know what she wants me to say. "It's not your fault okay?" I nod, but I don't believe a word of it. "Addiction is a disease Carter, it's a sickness, one that can't be prevented in certain people, only treated. You did the best you could."
"No I didn't."
She sighs.
"I didn't do enough, I could have stopped her, I could have saved her."
"Did she ask you to help?"
"She begged me not to."
"Then you did the best you could have done."
"No. She needed help and I left her. I denyed I had a problem when I had one. I should have known better."
"You loved her, you still do, and it's enough." She takes one last look down at me. "It's enough. Goodnight Carter."
The sound of the door of the roof closing echos in my ears. I take in a deep breath. Maybe Susan is right, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, it's not helping anyone.
* * * *
Get me out of here. I can't stand another group meeting or another meeting with these over-friendly staff. I've read this book three times already, and the only other books around are being read by other people, no one wants to trade either. So here I sit, starring out of my window, waiting for another two weeks to go by to I can leave and attempt to get some form of my life back. The door opens, and I don't bother turning around.
"Hey Abby."
"Hi Shelia." This woman doesn't give up.
"What's up?" She comes in the room as if she's my best friend, and plops herself right down on my bed.
"Bored."
"Yeah?"
I shrug. I'm not in the mood for talking, I've had enough of that lately. We sit in silence for awhile, and she shifts uncomfortably on my bed, playing with her hands on her lap. I watch her reflection in the window as I wait for her to speak, but she doesn't say anything.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"Just to talk."
"I'm sick of talking. I'm sorry, but I can't talk anymore."
"Well, you need to talk, so that when you want to use, you have alternatives to drugs."
"I know what drugs did to me, and I know that I'm lucky that he brought be here."
"Do you think you'll ever go back to using?"
"I told you, I don't want to talk." She sighs.
"You have friends and family out there that miss you, they want to have you back, they'll help you."
"No, that's where you are mistaken. My brother is in Arabia with the military and doesn't even know about this. My mother died last year, and my father had never been around."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"You do have friends though."
I look down at the window sill, tears theatening to invade my eyes. I wipe them away, furious at myself.
"Go away. Please, I need to be alone." I motion with my hand for her to leave, and she gets up. But instead of leaving, she puts hand on my shoulder in attempt to comfort me. I shrug her off, almost jumping at the touch. No one has touched me for comfort me since my last night with Carter.
"..Please..." I whimper to Shelia. "I can't...please just go." She leaves, and I hug my knees to my chin. When I'm sure she's gone, I finish my cry quietly, then crawl into bed. This day is over. I surrender to the dark bliss of sleep, and I'm out cold for the night.
* * * *
She lost her home a few weeks after we stopped talking and eventually wound up on the streets of Chicago. I'd found out too late.
I had been out to dinner with my dad and some friends of the family the night I got the phone call. It was Susan Lewis, an advocate of Abby's ever since we'd cut off communication.
"Carter. It's me."
"Does Abby need another fifty bucks to get a fix?"
There was a pause as my own hard words rang in my ears and Susan sighed on the other end.
"Carter, I didn't tell you, but I haven't talked to Abby in awhile. I was hopping you'd heard from her...I guess not." It finaly had gotten to her that her best friend had disapeared. Now she knew how I'd felt all of this time. "Carter?"
"Yeah I'm still here."
"I went to the motel where she's been staying--"
"She's been living in a motel?!"
"She didn't want me to tell you."
"Like hell she didn't!"
"Calm down and listen to me. I went to see her, and she's not there. They kicked her out, all of her stuff was gone." Susan finished, and I gasped for air as if I had the wind knocked out of me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
There was no answer.
"What should we do Susan? Can we call the cops?"
Still no answer.
"Susan, I need your help."
"I can't do this anymore Carter. I can't keep running around Chicago at un-godly hours to check on her for you. I can't being the medium. I want to help, but you can't hide behind me any more." She hung up and I stood absorbing the aftershock of all that had just been thrown at me. As much as I hated to admit it, Susan was right. I couldn't sit on my ass waiting for her to hear from Abby, I had to take action.
I had grabbed my coat and a flashlight, and headed out into the night to search for Abby.
What a night that had been.
My memories are worn from being replayed so many times. A week and a half until she gets out of rehab, and I'm still not used to the idea that she was even an addict. It's crazy, I know, but this whole thing is crazy. I should probably head home, but I've taken a liking to lurking around Abby's old appartment.
I started paying rent on it after that night. I was clinging to the false hope that she would be found, and clean herself up. That this hell that has beccome our lives would be a mere memory we could push aside as she came back into the real world or sobrerity.
My dream's about to come true. This is what I want. Then why am I so scared?
Maybe, I think, it's because there's a possibility that what she wants it to be different.
* * * *
Did I blame Carter for my addiction? This is the question I'm asked at least once a week as I sit in this black leather chair, my sweat bonding with it to hold me prisoner in this office. Every time I answer no and today is no exception.
"This is good Abby. We are making progress." Dr.Marcek scribbles in his notes as I nod and smile a shit-eating grin. That's right, just nod and smile Abby. Poor little Abby the narcotic.
At times I hate my thought process.
He clears his throat. "You're getting out of here in a few days. What do you intend to do when you get back to life?"
There are to many unknowns. It's not safe to answer now. So I shrug and leave.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I break my facade and put my hands to my face. I feel as if the fire that has been burning in the pit of my stomache this entire time has finaly found fuel. I slump against the wall and let out a breath.
I'm clean. So what? I have nothing left outside of these walls. No one left either.
~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~^*^*~*^*~*^*End, Sombra de la Tormenta, Part Two: Never Again~*^*~
Author: Alanna diAblo
Summery: See part one.
Author's note: see end please
Rating: R
* * * *
Abby holds my gaze as my arms circle around her small body. I feel her relax into me, and as her weight leans into my chest, she sighs. Heaven, this is heaven on earth. I burry my face into the top of her head and inhale slighty, taking in her scent. Her fingertips play light patterns on my shoulders, the heat of them reaching my skin through my thin tee shirt. I rub her back, and she relaxes further, if that's possible.
"Mmm, Carter..." She murmers, making me shudder at the mere sound of my name on her tounge.
Suddenly, she pulls back and looks into my eyes once more. I swallow, starring right back into those deep brown pools she has for eyes. I'm sinking into them.
"Carter, kiss me." I do, oh god I do. I kiss her like there's no tomorrow, no yesterday and only today. When she moans from deep in her throat, I can't help but deepening the kiss even further. I pull Abby even closer to me, and in the secconds we break appart both of our shirts come off. Then a few moments later we're as close as we can be.
My alarm clock screams into my left ear and the dream fades.
Back to the real world, I think, pushing the covers off of my sweaty body.
At least I'll only be on triage.
* * * *
Group hasn't always been one of the more exciting things to do, but when it's that or one on one counciling, I'd pick group any day. This former addict, Ben, is speaking now. He's been to this rehab four times, and this is his third time through this particular program. He tells us all, how as soon as you get out of here, the real chalange begins. In the real world, you have to create your own support group because generally there's no one waiting for you on the other side of this wall.
Ben tells us that his narcotic addiction began when his mother had died. Picking up the needle was the best thing he could think of to ease the pain. That hits a little to close to home, and as I look around, I see that a lot of people have started to cry.
"Find yourself a family." Ben says. "A sponsor, a friend, anyone who will listen and who understands."
Now I know how Carter felt. Alone, scared no one would accept me now that I've admitted that I'm a narcotic. Being a narcotic can't be in the past tense, it's always there. Waiting in the shaddows of your mind, so that one day if you can't take life anymore, it can pounce on your broken psyhce and take over once more. I need someone when I get out in another twenty days or so.
Who the hell would want someone this broken? I feel like a cheap chocolate easter bunny, hollow and only as food as the date on the bottom of my cardbord cage. I sigh and sink back into the chair as Ben wraps up his advice. This is going to be a long month.
* * * *
This is going to be a long month. I miss her, and I want to see her. She's only a few miles away, I could sneak over now and we once more we'd make eye contact. It's been awhile.
I'm at work, and I'm going about my normal life style, but I've been living in my thoughts. Weaver's picked up on it too, and I've since been sentanced to triage until Abby is discharged.
The only way she'll get better is isolation, according to her doctor. The only way she'll be able to stop her addiction is to find her own way, and part of me understands that. Yet I can't take it anymore. If I couldn't help her then, why won't anyone let me help her now? Have I lost my validity as a friend or sponsor?
I finish up sutures on a caucasian male, 45, 5'5 and 203 pounds.I've stoped thinking of my paitients as human, and instead they've become numbers. It started when Abby left.
I couldn't feel anymore, it hurt to damn much.
God Abby, I miss you and I'd do anything to see you again, I'd die to see you well once more. I never thought I'd speak like one of those lovesick people, but you have that affect on me, can't you tell? When I'm without you, I'm nothing. I need you like I need air.
I think I'm going to be sick.
I am sick.
I run out of the lounge to the bathroom, but only make it halfway down the hall before I puke. Just lovely.
"You okay Carter?" Weaver asks me.
I swallow, the taste of stomache acid is fresh in my mouth and I try to ignore it. "Must have been something I ate."
Weaver looks at me. "You sure?"
"Mm hmm."
"If you need some time off until Abby recovers we can arange-" I don't let her finnish, a wave of rage posesses me.
"Why does everyone think I'm so upset about Abby? Are you going to blame every strange thing I do on her? Don't do that! It's all of my fault and I should feel guilty. So just leave it alone." I don't know if any of what I just said made sence, nor do I care, as I storm out of the ER to the roof.
After fighting my way past hospital staff and paitients, I'm here, I'm as close to privacy as possible for the time being. I take in a breath of fresh air, and let myself sob, I let it all out. I'm so sorry Abby. I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. At a time when you needed me the most I wasn't there. I don't care if you ever forgive me, I just want you to be all right.
I sink down against the brick wall and burry my face in my hands. I can't face the world ever again. Not after what I did to the one person I've ever truely cared about, not after betreyal like that. Never again.
If I'd had another chance, I wouldn't have yelled at her that night. I wouldn't have abandoned her, leaving her in a pool of tears she was drowning in. All she needed was a hand, to lift her up and dust her off, and in my fury I just left. The door slaming behind me still echos as a turning point in my mind.
I don't know what I was thinking.
"Hey." A voice from above says. I didn't hear anyone aproaching, but then again, I'm wrapped up in my own thoughts.
"Carter." I can't look up. "Carter, I need to talk with you." I give in and look up.
"What is it Susan? I'm not in the mood for a lecture." Funny, the way I've said it makes me sound broken.
"I know about Abby. It's understandable that you are upset, we all are." She leans against the wall and looks down at me. I don't say anything, I don't know what she wants me to say. "It's not your fault okay?" I nod, but I don't believe a word of it. "Addiction is a disease Carter, it's a sickness, one that can't be prevented in certain people, only treated. You did the best you could."
"No I didn't."
She sighs.
"I didn't do enough, I could have stopped her, I could have saved her."
"Did she ask you to help?"
"She begged me not to."
"Then you did the best you could have done."
"No. She needed help and I left her. I denyed I had a problem when I had one. I should have known better."
"You loved her, you still do, and it's enough." She takes one last look down at me. "It's enough. Goodnight Carter."
The sound of the door of the roof closing echos in my ears. I take in a deep breath. Maybe Susan is right, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, it's not helping anyone.
* * * *
Get me out of here. I can't stand another group meeting or another meeting with these over-friendly staff. I've read this book three times already, and the only other books around are being read by other people, no one wants to trade either. So here I sit, starring out of my window, waiting for another two weeks to go by to I can leave and attempt to get some form of my life back. The door opens, and I don't bother turning around.
"Hey Abby."
"Hi Shelia." This woman doesn't give up.
"What's up?" She comes in the room as if she's my best friend, and plops herself right down on my bed.
"Bored."
"Yeah?"
I shrug. I'm not in the mood for talking, I've had enough of that lately. We sit in silence for awhile, and she shifts uncomfortably on my bed, playing with her hands on her lap. I watch her reflection in the window as I wait for her to speak, but she doesn't say anything.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"Just to talk."
"I'm sick of talking. I'm sorry, but I can't talk anymore."
"Well, you need to talk, so that when you want to use, you have alternatives to drugs."
"I know what drugs did to me, and I know that I'm lucky that he brought be here."
"Do you think you'll ever go back to using?"
"I told you, I don't want to talk." She sighs.
"You have friends and family out there that miss you, they want to have you back, they'll help you."
"No, that's where you are mistaken. My brother is in Arabia with the military and doesn't even know about this. My mother died last year, and my father had never been around."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"You do have friends though."
I look down at the window sill, tears theatening to invade my eyes. I wipe them away, furious at myself.
"Go away. Please, I need to be alone." I motion with my hand for her to leave, and she gets up. But instead of leaving, she puts hand on my shoulder in attempt to comfort me. I shrug her off, almost jumping at the touch. No one has touched me for comfort me since my last night with Carter.
"..Please..." I whimper to Shelia. "I can't...please just go." She leaves, and I hug my knees to my chin. When I'm sure she's gone, I finish my cry quietly, then crawl into bed. This day is over. I surrender to the dark bliss of sleep, and I'm out cold for the night.
* * * *
She lost her home a few weeks after we stopped talking and eventually wound up on the streets of Chicago. I'd found out too late.
I had been out to dinner with my dad and some friends of the family the night I got the phone call. It was Susan Lewis, an advocate of Abby's ever since we'd cut off communication.
"Carter. It's me."
"Does Abby need another fifty bucks to get a fix?"
There was a pause as my own hard words rang in my ears and Susan sighed on the other end.
"Carter, I didn't tell you, but I haven't talked to Abby in awhile. I was hopping you'd heard from her...I guess not." It finaly had gotten to her that her best friend had disapeared. Now she knew how I'd felt all of this time. "Carter?"
"Yeah I'm still here."
"I went to the motel where she's been staying--"
"She's been living in a motel?!"
"She didn't want me to tell you."
"Like hell she didn't!"
"Calm down and listen to me. I went to see her, and she's not there. They kicked her out, all of her stuff was gone." Susan finished, and I gasped for air as if I had the wind knocked out of me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
There was no answer.
"What should we do Susan? Can we call the cops?"
Still no answer.
"Susan, I need your help."
"I can't do this anymore Carter. I can't keep running around Chicago at un-godly hours to check on her for you. I can't being the medium. I want to help, but you can't hide behind me any more." She hung up and I stood absorbing the aftershock of all that had just been thrown at me. As much as I hated to admit it, Susan was right. I couldn't sit on my ass waiting for her to hear from Abby, I had to take action.
I had grabbed my coat and a flashlight, and headed out into the night to search for Abby.
What a night that had been.
My memories are worn from being replayed so many times. A week and a half until she gets out of rehab, and I'm still not used to the idea that she was even an addict. It's crazy, I know, but this whole thing is crazy. I should probably head home, but I've taken a liking to lurking around Abby's old appartment.
I started paying rent on it after that night. I was clinging to the false hope that she would be found, and clean herself up. That this hell that has beccome our lives would be a mere memory we could push aside as she came back into the real world or sobrerity.
My dream's about to come true. This is what I want. Then why am I so scared?
Maybe, I think, it's because there's a possibility that what she wants it to be different.
* * * *
Did I blame Carter for my addiction? This is the question I'm asked at least once a week as I sit in this black leather chair, my sweat bonding with it to hold me prisoner in this office. Every time I answer no and today is no exception.
"This is good Abby. We are making progress." Dr.Marcek scribbles in his notes as I nod and smile a shit-eating grin. That's right, just nod and smile Abby. Poor little Abby the narcotic.
At times I hate my thought process.
He clears his throat. "You're getting out of here in a few days. What do you intend to do when you get back to life?"
There are to many unknowns. It's not safe to answer now. So I shrug and leave.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I break my facade and put my hands to my face. I feel as if the fire that has been burning in the pit of my stomache this entire time has finaly found fuel. I slump against the wall and let out a breath.
I'm clean. So what? I have nothing left outside of these walls. No one left either.
~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~^*^*~*^*~*^*End, Sombra de la Tormenta, Part Two: Never Again~*^*~