ELEVEN
WESLEY
Two months later…
“Does anyone else want to share?”the counselor says, looking around at all of us assembled in a circle in the rec room.
I raise my hand and stand up. “Hey. I’m Wesley. Most of you know me as Ryder. And I’m an addict.”
“Hi, Ryder,” is chorused back at me. The woman that I snapped at in my group meeting before my breakdown, Crista, winks at me.
We’ve become good friends over the past few months. Like me, she was abused in ways that are unimaginable and used drugs to cope. We’ve leaned on each other, talking and joking to get through the days so we don’t think about using.
A sad smile crosses my face. “I’m not sure if I’m Ryder anymore. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about when I’ve been at my lowest, and it’s when I was in the studio or on tour. At my worst, I was drinking a fifth of vodka or tequila every day, at least five pills, doingcoke, and smoking a few joints. The only reason I didn’t do heroin is because I don’t like needles other than to get my ink.” I don’t tell them the real reason. I’m still not ready to face that.
“From when I was sixteen until three months ago, I used practically every day.” I run a hand through my hair, swallowing roughly. “I want to get high right now. This burden is heavy on me…it’s heavy on all of us. But I’m taking it one day at a time. I…I want to be sober. The past few months have been fucking hell. I’ve had to look at the shit that happened to me, why I started using and why I kept using. If I’m honest, I haven’t figured it all out, but I’m working on it.”
The people in the circle clap as I take my seat and listen to others that want to share.
Being drug and alcohol free these past two months hasn’t been a walk in the park. Some days I wake up and have the shakes so bad that I can hardly stand. My stomach hurts, and my skin feels so tight that I fear if I move, I’ll split in two.
Other days, I lash out, trying to tear people down with my words. Me and a few people have almost come to blows because of it. But I haven’t given up.
Some days, though, there’s nothing I want more than to give up, to not get out of bed, to not fucking exist anymore. My past assaults me every day, memories that were long buried rising to the surface to torment me. My mother’s stream of boyfriends who mistreated and ignored me, going hungry some nights, living in hotel rooms until my mom met Perry, and we moved into a house in an unfamiliar town. Then Perry himself. It all came back, and some days it fucking paralyzes me.
Doctor Steinfeld has been helping me come to termswith everything, but it’ll be a long road until I’m the person I want to be.
A better me.
We break a few minutes later, and I go to the gym and sign in. The facility has a lot of amenities that help us get healthier. Yoga, nutrition classes, art therapy, and this gym. I’ve been spending a lot of time on the treadmill. Running helps clear my mind, even though I’m not fast, and my body is still recovering from the abuse I put it through. I get winded more quickly than others who haven’t polluted themselves with drugs.
I climb on the treadmill and start a light jog. While I run, I let my mind wander, though it usually ends in a panic attack. Today, my thoughts land firmly on Jaxon. He’s one of the people I need to make amends with, along with my bandmates, even fucking Tech. But first and foremost, I need to make amends with Jaxon.
Since I’ve been able to look at my past with more clear and mature eyes, I see that Jaxon saved my life. Perry could have killed me or had me so used up from sharing me with his friends I would never have been the same. Jaxon telling his mom was the best thing that happened to me, even though I didn’t see it that way at the time. Hell, even now, I still don’t see it that way, holding on to my anger. But I know logically that he did the right thing. Since we’d met, he always had my back, always tried to protect me. That was just another instance.
It hurt when I heard him telling Mrs. Collins about my bruises, and it hurt even more when I found out he took photographs of them, but if it weren’t for that and Mr. Collins going to bat for me—not to mention the hospital evidence—I probably would have served time for cracking Perry’s skull with that snow globe.
Jaxon saved me from a terrible fate. I wasted fifteen years on misplaced anger. He needs to know that before I can move forward with trying to rebuild my life.
What will my life even look like after this? I have a plan of what I want, but I won’t have the help. I’ll be all alone. I’ve fucked up every relationship I’ve ever had, leaving people hanging when I didn’t feel like dealing with them. My oldest friends, Kas and Mitch, have had to put up with my shit for years, and they never complained. I should have been better to them. They’re on my amends list too.
“Wesley,” an orderly says, getting my attention. I hop to the side of the treadmill as I glance over at him. “You have visitors.”
I slam my hand on the emergency stop button, wondering who would be visiting. Since I’ve been in here, I’ve avoided calling anyone until I got myself together. I just started feeling like a normal person again. I’m not sure if that’s enough for whoever my visitors are to see me.
I’m led to the visitors’ bay, and a smile spreads across my face when I see Zed, Mitch, and Kas sitting on the soft leather couches.
Mitch notices me first, stands, and practically runs over to me. He pauses before he wraps his arms around me and then holds out a hand for me to shake. Though I’ve gotten better, I still don’t like unbidden touches.
I shake his hand, and he smiles hard. “Fuck man, it’s good to see you. Zed told us we had to wait until you…you know…”
“Sobered up,” I provide for him.
“Yeah. How do you feel?”
“Better.”
Kas and Zed walk over to me, shaking my hand in turn. Kas clears his throat as he takes me in, tearsswimming in his eyes. Thankfully, his voice sounds level when he says, “You look good. More like you did when we were kids.”
