Page 4 of Be Your Somebody
“Cas? Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?” Her smile was replaced with a frown as she frantically wiped her face.
“Huh? I mean–I–uh. No, you don’t have anything on your face. Your face is fine. I mean, it’s more than fine...I mean, uh—" I stammered.
“Cas, what’s wrong? You’re acting all funny.” Concern danced beneath her green eyes as she searched my face for an answer.
“My dad.” Two words, but by the look on her face, she knew.
“I hate that man. I’m sorry, Cas. I know he’s such a tough topic to talk about.” She reached out to touch my arm. The brush of her fingertips sent electricity throughout my body, jolting me.
“I—did I shock you?” Avery asked while she jerked her hand back.
Yes.“ No, I um. I’m not sure what happened.” My eyes turned downward as my feet shuffled a rock back and forth.
Avery blinked a few times before she nodded. I knew she didn’t believe me, but she let it go. “Well, I’m sorry, Cas. It just breaks my heart that he has this effect on you.” Her voice croaked on the last word, so I brought her into my arms and noticed how right it felt. I’ve hugged her plenty of times, but this time, however, felt different. It felt like the start of two lives intertwining to create something beautiful.
Present Day, Late Fall of 2022
Thinking about Avery makes me feel claustrophobic. My heart is beating way too fast. Is this how I die? Oh fuck, is this a heart attack? I find myself in a panic loop. The more my heart races, the faster the beeping from the machine goes which in turn makes me panic even more.
“Cassidy, I need you to focus on your breathing. Can you do that?” the doctor asks, yet I can’t seem to control my breathing. He reaches into one of the many cabinets and pulls out a brown paper bag. “Here. Take this and put it over your mouth. Just focus on taking nice, slow, deep breaths into the bag,” he instructs.
I follow his instructions and focus on the rise and fall of my chest. My frantic breathing begins to regulate and my heart is no longer threatening to leap out of my chest. I attempt to return the bag to him, but he shakes his head.
“Keep it. You seem to have elevated levels of anxiety, which can happen during withdrawal.”
“Anxiety? I don’t have anxiety. I’m not crazy.” My voice sounds like I swallowed a squeaky toy with how high-pitched it is.
“Having anxiety doesn't make you crazy, Cas. It makes you human. Everyone has some level of anxiety because it keeps us safe. When you obsess about things you can’t control, it borders on unhealthy. Lots of professionals, myself included, have anxiety.” I open my mouth, but the words refuse to come. I’m not sure what I wanted to say, anyway, so I let the doctor continue.
“Now,” he continues, “ I want to discuss your options for when you get discharged.”
“My options?” I ask.
“Yes. You should probably seek some treatment. I have a folder of resources with some of the top rehab facilities in the area. I highly recommend you consider them,” the doctor says, his tone suddenly switching from soft to serious.
“What if I want to do treatment athome? On my own?”
“That’s an option. Honestly, though, I don’t think doing this type of recovery at home is in your best interest. You’re extremely vulnerable in the beginning stages of sobriety and should have addiction specialists to help you recover. Just look these over in the next few days when you feel better. I’ll be by to check on you sometime later today or tomorrow. Until then, call any of the nurses assigned to you and they can help you.” He says this with a smile before turning to leave the room.
He starts to open the door, but pauses and turns to look at me. “I’m happy you pulled through. You have a good soul, kid. I can see it in your eyes. Take care of yourself, Cassidy.” He finally walks out the door.
I spend what feels like hours contemplating my next move. I could do all this recovery shit on my own or I could ask for help. One option has my skin crawling with anxious hives, while the other has me thinking about that graveyard scene. To get my life back, I’ll have to put my pride aside and go to rehab. All this thinking gives me a headache. When I place the folder on the table next to my bedside, a white letter falls to the floor with a soft thud. I bend down and my body makes the same noise as someone who stomps on bubble wrap. As soon as I have the letter in my hands, time stands still and the air whooshes out of my lungs. My name decorates the front of the envelope in a penmanship I’m all too familiar with.
Chapter 4
Avery
Emotional whiplash
Mid Winter, 2023
Iawakewithasmile as I cling to the dream of Cas and I swaying together in the kitchen. I clutch onto dream Cas like a lifeline. The real Cas. The happy, sober Cas. But the dream disintegrates. Reality slaps me in the face with the force of a polar vortex wind. It’s been three months since he overdosed. And every time I think about his journey with sobriety, I getwhiplash.
The wordsobrietysets off a chain reaction in my brain. Visions of Cas and I flicker across my mind like a movie trailer. I watch as Cas tries to reenter my life during my sophomore year of college. I watch tears cascade down my face while I repeatedly push at his chest. I watch as Cas hands me his sobriety chip while disbelief and shock play across my face. And the cruelest memory of all: watching us rekindle our friendship only for it to be demolished by his personal demons.
Who wouldn’t get goddamn whiplash from that clusterfuck? Addiction is complicated, but I can still be upset and hurt.
The familiar sound of a doorbell startles me out of my thoughts, the muscles on my face contort with confusion. My heart beats like a drum solo inside my chest, loud and chaotic. I almost fall out of the bed with how quickly I remove myself from beneath the covers. I grab my robe that hangs off my bedroom door and slowly make my way downstairs.
