Page 3 of Be Your Somebody
Fuck,theselightsarelike staring directly into the sun. The room begins to spin and pain radiates behind my eyelids, forcing me to close my eyes. Minutes pass and the pressure behind my eyelids lessens, so I decide to test the waters by opening them again. When the pain doesn’t come, I open them all the way. Fuck. Nope. Abort mission. My eyes snap shut with the quickness of a shutter release on a digital camera. I sure as hell hope I won’t have to keep them shut forever.
I attempt to move into a sitting position, but I’m tangled amongst various chords. The only option I have is to shift to my side to preventhurting myself further. I clumsily move to my side, but nausea punches me in the stomach. I have about five seconds to do something before I end up vomiting all over myself.
I blindly search for something to use and my fingers find what Ihopeis a bucket. The sound of my retching echoes throughout the room so loudly you’d think I was in a cave. The nausea fades, but my body decides to introduce its friend, dizziness. My brain is stuck on a Tilt-a-Whirl that increases its speed with each rotation.
“You’re going to feel like this for a while. It's totally normal,” a woman says. I open my eyes to slits to get a good view of her. She is pretty and her curly black hair that’s in a ponytail is doing everything in its power to escape its captor. She’s slim and tall, dressed in Pepto Bismol colored scrubs. I scan her face and notice warm hazel eyes and a smile that is patient, yet stern. Her face is completely bare with a tiny mole above her lip.
“Fuck. What’s your name? I mean, I could look at your nametag, but that would require opening my eyes all the way, and that didn’t go so well last time.” My laugh quickly turns into a coughing fit, causing her to bring me the bucket. My head is under construction and my mouth feels like sandpaper. This has to be the worst hangover I’ve ever experienced.
I can’t keep doing this shit. It’s too much. This time will be different. Ithasto be different. If I want to fix things with Avery, I can’t teeter the line between sober and stoned. If I keep fucking up like this, I can kiss any chance I have at a life with Avery goodbye. So yes, this completely sucks balls, but I’d take this sick feeling any day over losing her forever.
That word—sick—triggers what now seems like a Pavlovian response as my body dispels even more crap from my stomach. I’m surprised I’m still getting this sick. I don’t have anything left in my stomach. This fucking sucks.
“Cassidy, you need to take it easy. To answer your earlier question, my name is Poppy. I’m what they call a substance abuse nurse so I know a thing of two about withdrawal symptoms. Have you overdosed before?” she asks. I shake my head and she continues. “Well, it's going to be like this for at least the next three days. You’ll experience all sorts of symptoms eerily similar to the flu. I’ll continue checking on you and try to make you as comfortable as I can.”
“Thank you,” I croak, my throat raw from the stomach acid. “I'm sorry you have to clean my puke. That's a real shitty job.”
She looks at me and just laughs. “Oh, honey, I've been doing this for nine years. I've seen it all. You just rest now and I’ll send the doctor in shortly. If you need anything, please let me know. I’ll be back to check in on you later in the afternoon,” she says before walking out the door.
I close my eyes and focus on breathing through the dizziness and nausea. Shouldn't they have something to ease the intensity? Even if they do, they probably won’t give an addict anything. I mean, why would they? Giving an addict pain pills is as helpful as giving a sex addict a porn subscription.
As soon as the doctor enters the room, my first instinct is to flee because holy fuck, he’s intimidating. I mean, this man appears to be in his fifties and is built like a massive linebacker. His face is covered with frown lines, trophies of his older age, and his hair is the perfect mix of salt and pepper. Is it too late to request a new doctor? The nurse was so sweet and friendly, but it seems like the man before me would rather eat nails than deal with my ass. You know what happens when you assume, though.
“Hey, Cassidy. How are we feeling today?” The doctor’s soft-spoken voice takes me by surprise. I half expected him to growl at me. I’ve received so many nasty looks from people as if I’m the dirt beneath their shoes. Everyone always has shit to say about those with addiction issues, but they never ask themselves why someone would use it in the first place. He must sense my thoughts because he laughs loudly, jolting my body as if lightning struck me. “I bet you thought I would be a jerk, didn't you?” he asks.
I nod my head as he continues. “Yeah, I get that all the time. My wife always yells at me to fix my face, but what can you do? Anyway, the nurse told me you got sick a couple of times. Are you experiencing any headaches, dizziness, or body shakes?” he asks.
I haven’t paid much attention to how the rest of my body feels, probably because I’ve been getting sick every five seconds. Is someone throwing bricks against my skull? Because fuck, it hurts.
“Can I answer D, all of the above? I also get hot really quickly. It’s like one second, I feel like I'm in an ice bath, and then the next, I’m sweating balls,” I say.
He nods his head before speaking. “These are all normal, but won’t last forever. Are you experiencing any heightened anxiety?”
Anxiety?That word tastes sour in my mouth. I don’t like to talk—let alone express—my feelings. By the time I went to live with my grandparents, I’d already learned how to lie and hide everything below the surface. Oh, they tried their hardest to get me to open up, but I’ve only been able to do that with one person: Avery.
Summer before Cas & Avery’s first year of high school
Dad was back at his bullshit again. They tried to hide it from me, but didn’t realize how loud they got when they were mad. I had to leave before I said or did something I’d regret. I reached for my new phone and texted someone I knew would be there.
Me: Dick?
Avery: …dick?
Dick?What is she—oh shit! I looked down at my phone. My face grew hot and my palms were sticky with sweat. I wish there were a way to delete that message from our brains.Being so wrapped up in my inner turmoil, I didn’t realize what was happening in my body. My stomach felt jumbly and my heart picked up speed. What was happening to me? Was this how I would die? Death by autocorrect? I shook my head at those thoughts and forced myself to respond to her message.
Me: Dock! I meant dock.
Avery: Everything okay?
The worddockhad been our codeword for when we needed to talk. A part of me wanted to say forget it. The more people you let in, the more you set yourself up for disappointment. The thought of sharing a part of me with her didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would.Shit.I’ve been so in my head that I had left her on read for five minutes.
Me: Kind of. I’ll meet you down there.
Avery: I’ll be there.
I’ll be there.That small, but powerful text had the ability to take away my anxiety. Avery has always had that effect on me ever since I moved in with my maternal grandparents. Avery was the light to my dark side and everything I could’ve ever asked for in a best friend.
I ran down the stairs, and the minute I opened the backdoor, I saw her. The sun was beginning to set fire to the lake, and there she was. Her hands were on her hips, head tilted toward the sun as her wavy-red hair billowed around her. She must have sensed my presence because she turned in my direction with the most breathtaking smile. My steps faltered and I could hear the thunderous sound of my heart ramming against my chest. She’s so beautiful. I can’t help but think about that feeling I experienced earlier today. What was the word for it?Crush.I couldn’t have a crush on my best friend—that would fuck everything up.
