Disclaimer: This chapter contains mentions of drug abuse…
Chapter 5: Trapped…
JPOV
After Charlie and Emmett's visit, I called my doctor because Emmett's punch really fucking hurt. I could feel his hammy knuckles all the way to my spine, fucker. Good old Dr. Volutri came through with a new prescription for me. It would be ready for me at the pharmacy the following day. I just needed to pick up the triplicate script, which I did right after taking a couple of pills.
After I got home from getting the script, I grabbed a bottle of red wine, a slice of pizza from the box I picked up from the pizza store next to the doctor, and a few more oxy. A trick I learned from my pain group was if I crushed them up, they worked faster, and goddamnit, after the piss cutter of the day I had, I needed them to work faster. The pain was miserable, and worse yet, the nausea was kicking in with the sweats.
I knew from experience I needed the greasy pizza to ward off the nausea, and alcohol worked with oxy. Red wine worked the best. I ate some pizza quickly and then put a few pills on Bella's laptop. Using one of our shot glasses from our Hawaii honeymoon, I crushed the pills. Then I pulled a dollar bill from my wallet, rolled it up, and snorted it. The initial burn caused me to cough for a minute, but a few minutes later, I was in heaven. I drank the red wine and then started to float. The pain was gone, then nausea, everything. All my worries, my cares, everything clicked at that moment. I could function.
I started to put together a list of things I needed to do tomorrow. First, I needed to fill my prescription and finally talk to Bella. This was ridiculous; she needed to come home. I also needed to call into work; I would need another day to prepare things in the house. It really was a pigsty. When Bella came back, we would be able to get this house together with no problems. We worked well together. As a real estate developer, I did well. Now that a few days have passed, Bella will calm down like I did. She was rational; she knew that I made most of the money, and she didn't want to be a single mom. Maybe she would come home if I offered to get Bella a maid. It would be okay. Those thoughts comforted me as I nodded off to sleep.
When my alarm went off, the drizzle outside muted the early morning sunlight. I felt better than I had for the last couple of days, but the shakes were starting again. I grabbed my cell phone and left a message at my job, telling them I would be out one more day.
With that out of the way, I grabbed a pill from my stash that Bella didn't know about, pills in my coffee beans. She hated my coffee, an expensive espresso brand she thought was too bitter. Laughing to myself, I had been so angry that when she threw away my other oxys, I had forgotten about these ones. A quick snort and my hands stopped shaking. A quick run to the shower, and then I would be off in my blue heaven.
I pushed the acidic taste to the back of my mouth as I pulled on my jeans and shirt.
My phone rang as I got my keys to the Land Rover, our other car.
"Yeah," I muttered into the receiver. I wasn't really interested in this call unless it was Bella or my doctor.
"Jasper, what the fuck, man," my partner James spat into the phone, "You're not coming in again?"
"Fuck," I hissed, wishing I had checked the goddamn caller id before answering the damn call.
James has been my partner since I graduated college. We joined the brokerage together with our fraternity brother Laurent.
"Jasper, you've hardly been in the office this month," James shouted, "You got to get it together, man. We're in talks to get bought out, remember?"
Shit, I thought, remembering we were supposed to meet with Twilight Holdings to discuss a major deal.
"Jesus, I'm sorry, man, look, this flu is really kicking my ass; I'll be there for sure tomorrow."
"Jazz, you've had the flu for fucking week; I'm not an idiot, man. Are you using again?"
"Shit, no, of course not," I snapped, pissed at Bella all over again. Inspiration struck me. "Listen, James, man, I'm sorry, I didn't want to say anything, but Bella and I are having problems. She left me a couple of days ago. I didn't want to say, but she's got a drug problem."
"Oh shit, really," James asked surprised. "Bella has a problem?"
"Yeah, I've been covering for her for a long time, and fuck, James, she took the kids, man," I replied, feeling like shit for a moment.
"Oh Jasper, man, I'm so sorry. Look, I get it. Go take care of your family, okay?" he said, "Laurent and I have it."
"Are you sure I'm not trying to leave you and Laurent holding the bag," I told him.
"No, we've got it. We'll call you later," James said, hanging up the phone.
A breath I didn't realize that I was holding escaped me. Guilt flooded me since I damn well knew Bella had never done an illicit drug in her life. She barely drank and had never been drunk. But she also got me in this position when she threw out my medicine. I would have never missed a meeting if I had not been feeling so sick.
Keep telling yourself that, buddy, that nagging voice that sounded like my wife told me. While you're at it, keep telling yourself that James and Laurent can pull this deal off without you since you did all the legwork.
I grabbed my keys and shoved the phone in my pocket. It was time to get better.
When my doctor asked me where I wanted to get my medicine, I had him call the third pharmacy on the rotation. Thank you very much, I didn't need the judgmental looks I had been getting when going to one pharmacy.
I just needed my pills, and then I was going to Renee's house. At the very least, I would be able to talk to Angela. Angela would tell me what I needed to know.
"Okay, Mr. Whitlock. " The young dude with a fauxhawk said, "Do you have your script?"
I fished out the pinkish piece of paper, promising relief. "Yeah, here you go, man," I told him.
"Cool, okay. I got it in the back. Give me a couple of minutes," he said, walking back to where they did their work.
A few minutes and fifteen dollars later, I was ready to go.
I went to the water fountain and took a couple of pills, aware that people were looking at me, the nosy fuckers.
Screw that - I needed to get out of here and find my family. As the medicine made me feel normal again, it occurred to me that Renee and Charlie probably were guarding Bella and the kids like a couple of rottweilers. What I needed was help from my side of the family.
Bella loved my parents, and they loved her. All I needed to do was have them call Bella and stop by to see the kids. If anyone could appeal to Bella's emotions, it was my mom, and my dad would certainly get her to see the logic in the situation. And if I had to, I would call Bree. Bree would help me, at least by calling Angela. It was a foolproof plan.
All I needed to do was get my parents on the phone and explain that Bella lost and stole the kids.
Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I dialed my parents.
"Hello," I heard my mom say.
"Mom," I started, "I need help."
Ten minutes later, I had my mother in my corner, promising to call Bella herself.
Feeling infinitely better, I wondered if I had enough time to get across town and get to that meeting. All I had to do was change clothes, and I kept a fresh set in my office.
"Jasper Whitlock," a deep voice said behind me.
"Yeah," I said, turning around. Two cops were standing behind me. One was a tall, beefy
dude who reminded me of Emmett, and the other was a smaller woman.
"Mr. Whitlock, can you please come with us?" the female officer asked.
"What's this about? Is something wrong, officers?" I asked, feeling some apprehension.
"You're under arrest for assault," the male cop said.
"What!" I yelled, "There has to be some mistake! I've never hurt anyone before."
He continued like I hadn't spoken. "You're under arrest for the assault and battery of your
wife and child, Mr. Whitlock; you have the right to remain silent; anything you say can be used against you in a court of law."
"What? No! - listen, officers, there has been some sort of mistake," I pleaded, not believing that Bella took it to this level. She couldn't have done this, unfucking believable.
"Sir, please come this way," the female cop said.
"No, listen, get my wife on the phone," I demanded, "Do you know who I am? Who my father is? I'll have your badges!"
"Sir, if I were you, I would stop before I add resisting arrest to my charges," she retorted.
"What is your name," I demanded, "You have to identify yourselves!
"I'm Officer Sam Uley. Here's my number," the cop said dryly, pointing to his badge on his chest.
"And I'm Officer Mary Brandon," the woman added, pointing to her badge. We'll put our badge numbers on the report so you have them. Now, if you're done, let's go. We'll make sure you have a phone call."
Both of them frog-marched me to their car. "Spread your feet; we're going to pat you down to see if there is anything that could harm you or ourselves," Officer Brandon ordered, her voice changing from calm to commanding.
I spread my feet and put my hands on their car, and the guy started patting me down.
"And what do we have here?" Officer Uley said, feeling my medication in my pocket.
"Hey, that's my medicine," I snapped.
"You'll get it back when you make bail," Officer Brandon replied.
"I need that!"
"If you need it, we have a nurse who will give you your medication after intake," she said with disgust. Sam, let's go."
"Right on," he replied, "Okay, Mr. Whitlock, we're taking you in now."
I had never felt so humiliated in my entire. The first thing the cops did was fingerprint me. Then they took my mugshot and then placed me in a cell with a bunch of losers.
We sat around there, staring into space, a few of us staring at each other. The place stank like piss.
It felt like forever when they finally called me for my one phone call.
"Make it quick, Whitlock," the guard, who looked like a sumo wrestler in a previous life.
I nodded and dialed my parents' number, praying that my mom was home.
"Hello?" my dad's voice came on the line.
"Dad," I said with two parts relief and one part dread. He wasn't Bella's biggest fan and thought I could have done better as a wife, but recently, especially after Ellen was born, I felt like he had one eye on me.
"Jasper?"
"Dad, you have to help me!" I wailed, "Bella, Bella had me arrested!"
"What! Where are you?" he asked incredulously.
"I'm in jail, I told you, Bella, Bella - she's crazy! She's got this massive drug problem! You should see what she did in the house! She stole my kids! Dad, please, you got to help me!" I pleaded, feeling the sweats start again. I needed to get out of this hellhole before I began crashing. I needed my fucking pills. The goddamn nurse still hadn't come with my dose.
"Okay, okay, son, don't worry; we're going to call our lawyer now and get to the bottom of this, alright?" Dad replied in his irritating, calm way.
"Thanks, please hurry," I said, desperate for him to come.
The call disconnected, and I put the receiver back on the phone.
"Okay, Whitlock, you've had your call. It's time to go back to your cell," the guard said.
"Wait, can't I have my medicine?" I pleaded, petrified of getting sick in that tiny cell with all these other people watching me puke my guts out or go into a fetal position.
"Once it's clear you have your medicine, the nurse can't contact your doctor to verify your prescription," he replied.
Asshole, I thought, as he took me back to that shitty cell. How dare he; he had no idea how goddamn miserable this was. When I got out of here, I was going to have his fucking badge too, along with the two losers that arrested me.
A few hours later, the inevitable happened. The anxiety kicked in when I could not get my medicine. Each minute separated me away from my last dosage and further into the pain. Then, my stomach started to twist.
"Hey, guard, look, I'm serious, man," I called out to the bored-looking guy on the chair who was reading a Sportsman Illustrated. "I feel like shit, I need my medicine."
"Yeah, right," he replied, not bothering to look up from his magazine.
"I'm not fucking kidding; I'm going to puke if I don't get a pill," I implored.
"You'll get your medicine once the nurse clears it, so wait until asswipe," he said.
Frustrated, I smacked the cinderblock wall and started pacing the cell.
The other guys there looked at me with varying degrees of amusement. Until they realized I was not kidding.
"Hey man, are you okay? Look, why don't you ask for water? They'll get that for you," one guy with a face tattoo asked.
"I don't need water; I need an oxy," I retorted, not needing this guy's advice, "Unless you got an oxy, don't bother me."
"Okay, dude, just trying to help," he replied, holding his hands up. "You look real sick, man."
"That's because I feel real sick, asshole," I snapped, and nausea started to build in me. Cold sweat broke out all over me, and I began to shiver.
"Look, sit down and put your head in between your legs," a buff middle-aged white guy said. "It'll help for a minute."
I started to say something when the nausea won. Bile built up, and the smell of us in that piss-scented cell triggered me. Bending down, I managed to miss the tattooed kid who first tried to help me, and I managed to puke between the bars.
"Guard," when the others yelled, "You better do something - he's puking here."
Not only was I vomiting, but I couldn't stop. This was not your typical session where you heaved a couple of times, and it was over. I couldn't stop gagging. One of the guys was trying to help as the guard called for help; I guess he was making sure we wouldn't make a run for it. It was so satisfying when the guard nearly slipped in that puke, that bastard.
But that feeling was surpassed by the lightheaded taking over. It got so far back that I fell forward, my head hitting the bench. The last thing I remember before the world went dark was the guard and medic standing around me—and then nothing. A black abyss.
Author's note: This story takes place in the mid-2000's. At the time I was working with terminal ill patients as a medical secretary and one of my jobs was to get prescriptions ready for the doctors to sign them. This included scripts for pain medications like Oxy. While it took a few more years for Oxy abuse to be front in the mainstream media, medical personnel was starting to realize the dangers of certain pain meds. For drugs like oxy, you had to complete a specific script called triplicate which made of a specific type of paper and the patient had to present it going to the pharmacy. A pharmacy might let a patient have a pill or two to get through a day but they would not give a full thirty prescription without one. At that time more crook providers were starting to set up pill shops for people desperate for their medications. These where the days patients would stop at ERs begging for scripts, something I saw quite often as a young healthcare worker. Today most scripts are sent electronically to avoid something of the double dealing Jasper is doing with his doctor.
Jasper has been doing this for a while now and he also access to a lot of money as a real estate developer. In the next chapter we're going to family reunion of sorts.
Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews!