April 16, 2016
She slept.
JC held her against him, as gently as he possibly could. He didn't want to break her. He didn't want to break her more.
He saw the lights flashing outside and heard the sirens before the knock on the door ever came. Her breathing was labored now. As much as it pained him, he lowered her on the bed so he could let the EMTs in. He noticed her nightgown had been moved up and he quickly pulled it down. He caused her to relapse. The last thing he was going to do was let complete strangers see any part of her that she didn't want them to see.
There was an urgent pounding at the door. He tore himself away from his wife to let in the only people he could save her. Two younger men, much younger than he was by at least fifteen years, came bustling in.
"Where is she?"
"In the bedroom, back there. Please save her."
His hand fumbled on the wall as he slid onto his backside and sat in the hallway. There was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach and he desperately wanted to vomit. Is this what grief felt like? It couldn't be. She wasn't dead. Maybe it was just guilt.
She's not dead yet, the voice reminded him.
He hated that voice. That voice was to blame for what happened, just as JC was for listening to it. He hit the sides of his head in a futile attempt to shut it up. In their bedroom, he heard a lot of grunting and counting. With a thought of revulsion he realized that she had stopped breathing.
As much as he didn't want to listen, he could hear the voices as the two men worked to revive her. He didn't really understand a lot of what they were saying, but he wasn't trying to understand. The extent of his medical knowledge was getting sewn up or having surgical procedures done to him when he was put under with anesthetic.
He was disgusted by how calm they sounded. This was perfunctory to them. She was nothing. He was nothing. They were cold and unfeeling. How dare they not treat her like she was special? She was far more important than anyone else they've ever treated. If she wasn't clinging to life he thought he might cave in their faces for not shedding a tear at the situation.
"Alright, Jeff. You work the oxygen, I'll push down on her chest again."
"Where's her husband?"
"In the hallway. Should I get him?"
"No, he'll just get in the way. Okay, one more time, then we'll have to pull out the paddles."
"Ready when you are."
More grunting. More counting. More oxygen being pumped into her lungs. All he wanted to do was block out the sounds of his wife dying and he could hear it with crystal clarity. He might as well have been in the room.
He heard a gasping noise, and assumed one of the paramedics was simply sighing because it was over. She was gone. He knew it. His eyes felt wet. He actually thought the tears might come, and he was surprised. It's not that he was incapable of crying, he just never had any real occasion to do it before now. Another clear gasp could be heard from the bedroom, followed by coughing. As it turned out, this night was full of surprises.
"Alright, she's breathing. Give me the needle."
"Here you go. Do we know how much is in her system?"
"Husband said he wasn't here when she took them. Administering the naloxone now. We'll wait five minutes and give her more if we have to."
"Hurry it up, her breathing's getting slow again."
He wanted to go in there and shout at them. Didn't they know she hated needles? Of course, that was the irrational side of his brain talking. It was the same part of him that got her in this situation. He refused to listen to that voice tonight. He had to remember that this was to save her. She probably wouldn't remember the needle.
He heard more coughing, then a moan from Stacy. She was awake. At least, that's what it sounded like. He wiped away any wetness from his eyes, not realizing they were already red. He forced himself to his feet and noticed that his legs were rubber. He took an uneasy step forward, putting one foot in front of the other until he could force himself to look at the nightmare going on in the next room.
He peeked his head in and saw that they had her turned over on her side. She was only awake in the sense that her eyes were open. She was groaning and unaware of her surroundings. Suddenly, she began to vomit, so her head was turned to the floor, where the other paramedic had the bathroom wastebasket waiting. He didn't care so much about their floor as he did why she was vomiting.
He pushed over the door open and shoved his way into the room.
"What the hell is going on? What did you give her?"
"Relax, sir. If she has..."
He wasn't listening. He started towards the bed to stop them. He wasn't aware of why he thought they were wrong. He was full of anger and grief and just wanted to make someone bleed. He grabbed the paramedic holding the trash can and lifted him against the wall. The man, who he assumed was "Jeff", knocked the alarm clock and a photo from their wedding off the nightstand as he sat on it.
JC calmly pressed his forearm against his trachea. The other man momentarily took his eyes off of the suffering Stacy and began to panic. Jeff simply gasped for air and grasped at JC's forearm while looking into his bloodshot, rage-filled eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"I want you to fix whatever you did to her."
"The naloxone is doing that! One of the side effects is vomiting!"
Once again, he wasn't listening. His forearm pressed a little tighter. Stacy had finished vomiting and simply lay there, dazed. It was a small comfort that she couldn't see what he was doing, and if she could, she likely wouldn't remember. The other paramedic left her side and put a hand on JC's shoulder. This time, he realized what was going through JC's mind and tried to bring him back to normal.
"This is actually a good thing. It's getting the pills she took out of her system. Otherwise we'd have to take her to the hospital to pump her stomach, and there's no guarantee they wouldn't enter her bloodstream before then."
JC stared at the man in front of him. He could end his life right now if he wanted. It would be easy. He had the strength to crush his throat. But that wouldn't save Stacy. He knew that, but he was so full of anger and had no other way to displace it.
"Please. I know you're upset, but this isn't going to help. Let us do our job."
He turned and looked at the other man, then relented. He looked down at his wife, who had started to vomit again. He reached down and stroked her short hair as she tried to purge the evening's mistakes from her body. The EMT known as Jeff coughed and muttered "crazy motherfucker" under his breath. JC ignored him.
"Is there anything you need from me?"
"We're about to get the stretcher. We're taking her to Jersey City Medical Center, if you want to meet us there."
"Fuck that, I'm riding along."
"That's your choice, but you'll need to come back at some point. I suggest driving along after we leave. Her breathing was bad for a while, we need to make sure there hasn't been any brain damage. We also need to run some tests to confirm the pills didn't do any permanent harm."
The words "brain damage" and "permanent harm" forced JC to listen. He looked at Jeff and decided to show a little humility and gratitude.
"Listen, I'm sorry. I lost my head."
He stuck out a hand. Jeff looked down at it, wary of his intentions. It was understandable given what just occurred. He finally let out a nervous chuckle.
"Don't worry about it. You're not the first angry family member to throttle one of us. Buy me a beer sometime and we're even."
"For saving her life, I'll buy you a fucking liquor store."
He left the room and allowed the men to do their work. Jeff quickly ran outside and came back with a stretcher. He heard them setting it up. He also heard Stacy starting to regain her composure. She wasn't all the way back yet, but she was starting to become aware that there were men strapping her down to a bed on wheels. They rolled her out and JC noticed her glazed eyes scanning the hallway.
"Joe?"
The two men paused so he could step over. She was clearly groggy, but being able to speak probably meant she was safe from brain damage. He grabbed her hand and held it in his.
"I'm here."
"I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for. This is my fault."
He noticed in his peripheral vision that the paramedics were growing impatient. They needed to get her to the emergency room and he knew it.
"They're going to take you the hospital now, Stace. They have to get all of this shit out of you. I'll be there as soon as I can."
Their hands parted and he watched two strangers take his wife out of their home. It didn't take long for him to grab his keys and quickly lock the door. As they loaded her into the back of the ambulance, he placed himself behind the wheel of his car. They drove out and he followed closely.
It was the longest drive of his life.
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"So Stacy, how was your day out?"
Stacy Sanders sat in a chair, surrounded by a group of fellow addicts. One man sat in the middle, with the back of the chair directly in front of him. He wasn't one of the doctors that worked for Drug Treatment Centers Jersey City. He was simply a therapist in charge of one of the day meetings for outpatient treatment. His name was Mark, or Matt, or something similar. It was hard to remember names when you were suffering from withdrawal. Since she was outpatient, she could come and go as she pleased, so she decided to go get some exercise.
"It was fine. I dyed my hair again. Went to the gym. Met some guy."
"Yes, your sponsor told me about that. And nice hair, by the way. I enjoy the shade of pink in there."
She gave him a fake smile to go along with his fake compliment, then ran a hand through the tuft of pink hair she had styled up in the front. If there was one thing she enjoyed about herself, even now on her second stint in rehab, it was her sense of style.
"So what was his name?"
"Is this really the time to ask about who I meet? Don't we have more pressing concerns?"
She glanced at the other people sitting in the circle, who were all staring intently at her. She pulled up her legs into the seat and clutched them against her chest. She was suddenly very self-conscious.
"Okay, I guess not."
"Discussing your outside life helps show that there is more to life than whatever it was you're addicted to."
"It was an opioid, Matt."
"It's Mark."
"Whatever."
Things weren't off to a good start.
"You seem tense, Stacy. Care to tell us why?"
She wanted to give them an entire myriad of reasons. She was bored with this treatment. She felt like she could handle her situation on her own. She was only here because her landlord found her pill stash and forced her out of the apartment complex. She was a 31-year-old woman living with her sister because she had no where else to go. She really wanted to pop an oxy or a vicodin in her mouth and just veg out. There were plenty of reasons to seem "tense".
"You know, the usual. Withdrawal."
"That's what these meetings are for. Let's not focus on the drugs and instead look at this person you met."
"Fine."
She was at the gym with her sponsor lurking in the background. She hadn't bothered to learn his name, because she knew that once her stint in rehab was over they wouldn't keep in touch. That's what happened the last time. The treatment center would blame her and she would blame them.
Neither method was very productive.
She was using the elliptical and regretting every second of it. She hadn't been to the gym in some time, because she was used to hiding out in her apartment, downing a pill or three and sleeping her life away. It wasn't healthy, she knew it wasn't healthy, but she liked the way they pills made her feel. People usually used these kinds of pills to numb pain or relieve severe anxiety. They had a calming sensation that allowed her to ignore the stresses of everyday life.
All of this was in her head. She'd rather not describe the euphoria of a constant vegetative state to a group designed to get her clean and sober. Of course she didn't want to talk about her day to a group of strangers but that couldn't be helped. Instead, she was selective with the details.
"Well, like I said, I was at the gym. I saw him really pushing himself on the weights and I thought I might say something. He seemed like he was, I don't know, working something out."
"And you felt like you needed to help him?"
"I just didn't want to see some him drop the weights and die."
That was true. The man she saw at the gym was really putting himself into the weights. It was the way you saw people work out when they recently experienced a loss of some kind. They pushed themselves physically to make up for things they couldn't change.
"So what did you say to him?"
"I asked if someone pissed him off."
She didn't really want to describe the entire ordeal to Mark and his sad circle of addicts. Especially since she saw potential in this guy, who called himself Joe. He used to be a wrestler. He certainly had the body for it. She didn't want to sit there and describe how she was focused on the more physical aspects, either. She really didn't want to get judged for thinking about things that everyone thought of.
She wasn't ashamed that she found some stranger at the gym attractive, she just didn't see how it was any of Mark's business. Neither was the 'meet-cute' she had nor the fact that she had a date set up for a week from now. That was all information they didn't need.
"So what happened?"
"Come on, do you really want to know?"
"I think we all do. Once again, it helps fighting addiction to focus on things you have to give it up for."
"I don't know if he's that important yet."
"Go on, Stacy. We're all interested. Isn't that right, guys?"
Several people in the circle gave noncommittal grunts while others completely ignored the question. Apparently Mark was just really nosy. It wasn't a form of therapy she liked. This was enough to make her give up therapy and go back to the way things were. The problem with that was her sister could and would throw her out if she caught her.
"At first, he was so into what he was doing that he didn't even acknowledge me. I thought about leaving him alone, but I felt like I should ask again."
When she asked Joe the second time, he put his weights down and seemed angry. Someone definitely pissed him off. However, when he saw her his defenses lowered a bit. Maybe she was just the kind of person he needed to talk to. Maybe it was her positive attitude in spite of everything. She wasn't really sure.
"So then, we got to talking..."
And flirting. There was a lot of flirting. She was amazed by how fast they clicked. She liked his sarcastic attitude. It synced up well with her own personality. Maybe he was just the kind of person she needed to talk to.
"..and now I have a date. No big deal."
"That's a good thing! Now you have something to look forward to and another reason to get sober. These meetings are all about sending you on that next journey with a new, positive outlook on life."
"Yeah, positive. Sure."
She had no sleeves to knead between her fingers, so she settled for the bottoms of her pants. She was positive, but only to a point. She didn't like discussing any aspect of her personal life with others. She wanted to wrap it up. More importantly, she wanted next week to get here. The idea of a date, her first in a while, excited her. It's hard to have an active dating life when you're perfectly fine with doping up and letting the world pass you by.
"So when's the date?"
"Next week. So I probably won't make my meeting then."
"You'll have to come in the next day to make up for it. I hope you have fun!"
This time it was Mark's turn to give an obviously fake smile. He seemed satisfied with Stacy's portion of the group talk and moved onto the skinny meth user next to her. She wondered how much he actually thought about the people in his care and how motivated he was by money. A lot of people used these gigs to get their foot in the door for something bigger. He seemed like the type.
She wondered where he would be in five years.
She also wondered if Joe would like her. He seemed receptive enough, but he also seemed like he was missing something. Mark was right about one thing. She didn't want to take any drugs. If it turned out Joe didn't like her, she wanted it to be because of who she was now, not who she was on her stash of happy pills.
She listened to the stories of the other addicts and nervously tapped her fingers against her leg. She had a lot to think about in the next week.
It dawned on him as he sat in a hard plastic chair at the Jersey City Medical Center that he mocked death recently.
It wasn't his idea. Chase Johnson wanted to capitalize on his previous run by shooting a video package of him inside a hospital, cutting some promo about how the OWF was on life support. The words were his, but he never liked how forced they were. He wanted to let his actions do the talking.
But if he didn't do it, he couldn't be in the Quest tournament. He was contractually obligated to promote his matches or he wouldn't be hired back. That included social media, which was why @TheAnswerJC was closing in on a hundred tweets. When he was told that he had to get a Twitter account he was against it. Not because he wanted to avoid lumbering into 2016, but because he thought the entire concept of promoting matches in 140 characters or less was inane.
Now he mostly did it to pass the time and take his mind off of the fact that his wife close to death four days ago. He fired off a threatening warning to whoever was reading, then turned off his smartphone to watch Stacy some more. She was beginning to regain some color in her face. Not much, but it was a good sign. At least when she was unconscious now, it was due to exhaustion and her body's attempts to recover.
She woke up several times during her hospital stay but mostly spent her time sleeping. A near-death experience took a lot out of her and that was before they ran a battery of tests to make sure there weren't any complications. Fortunately, there were none. JC and Stacy did manage to talk a little, mostly with the doctor or giving by each other affirmations of love.
He reached an hand up and scratched the five o'clock shadow that grew on his face. He hadn't left her bedside except to get food when his body wouldn't let him hold off anymore. The hospital room came equipped with a shower, so hygiene didn't require a trip back home either. Personal grooming, as far as this situation was concerned, was optional.
Her eyes fluttered open and she caught him scratching his chin.
"You know, you can take some time to shave. I'm okay."
"And miss watching you sleep?"
"That's just creepy."
"Really? I was going for romantic."
She gave him a weak smile and reached for his hand, pulling it away from his chin.
"Seriously, Joe. You need to sleep in something other than a chair."
"Not until you're home."
Before she could say anything else, there was a soft knock on the door. JC looked up at the doctor, while Stacy simply moved her eyes in her direction, before slowly letting her head follow. The doctor had a smile on her face. She clearly picked up on part of the conversation as she entered the room.
"I think I can help you with that."
She saw the eyes light up of both Joe and Stacy and she smiled. She held the chart in front of her.
"The blood work, CT scans, and all other tests came back negative. There's no reason you can't take her home for bed rest tonight, as long as you follow up with her regular doctor."
The two held hands, clearly excited by the news. It had been a long couple of days, but it seemed as if it was all finally over.
"That's great!"
"There is one catch though."
The mood changed. They had suspected there would be a catch but neither admitted it to the other. After all, they were just happy that Stacy was alive. The circumstances surrounding their future were something they planned to discuss later. There was no putting it off now.
"This was an accidental overdose, but it doesn't change the fact that she's had three outpatient rehab stints before this. Clearly it didn't work or she wouldn't have relapsed so easily."
"Wait a minute..."
He began to stand. He didn't intend to do anything aggressive, but he did intend to speak his mind. Instead, Stacy placed her hand on his forearm.
"Joe, let her talk."
"I don't mean that to be any kind of judgment, Mrs. Lee. I just mean that in these cases we consider the patient's history with the drug in question. Your history shows that you have been addicted in the past. Am I right?"
"Yes. I tried three times to get clean."
"I'm letting you go home today, but I think it's time to consider a full inpatient rehab stay. You would be able to pick the facility, but you'd have to stay there for a few weeks and complete the program. I can't force you to do it, but if you don't want this to happen again I strongly advise it. If I'm being completely honest, Mrs. Lee, you are damn lucky your husband arrived when he did. It seems he came in not long after the overdose symptoms began. If he hadn't, you could be brain dead or worse right now."
The severity of the situation was not lost on either one of them at this moment. JC was glad he made the decision to return to New Jersey after all. If he believed in a higher power, he would have thanked them profusely already.
"I'll let you too talk it over while I tell the nurse to get your discharge papers ready."
She left the room and left JC and Stacy on their own. For a minute, no one said a word. The weight of what they had to consider made it impossible to come up with the right way to get a dialogue going.
It was Stacy who finally spoke up.
"Well, what do you think?"
"I don't know. I mean, I thought we were past this."
"I thought we were too. I thought I was stronger than this. Maybe I should go."
He nodded. He was thinking it too, but wanted her to be the one to say it. It wasn't about being right. It was about making sure he never found her in that state again. He felt his weakest at that moment and never wanted to feel that way again.
"What's a few weeks away if it means you're off these drugs for good?"
"That's a good way to look at it. Would you mind telling the doctor? I'm a little tied up here."
She smiled again, lifting the blanket slightly to show that she was still in a hospital gown and socks. He smiled back and bent over to kiss her forehead. She reached up and rubbed the side of his face, then quickly pulled her hand away.
"And shave off that scruff. I don't like it."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll even go get you a nice change of clothes, if you don't mind waiting for me."
"Just hurry back, okay? I'm ready to get out of here."
He left the room to find the doctor that just left, when he heard Stacy shout after him.
"And never call me ma'am again!"
The sun was setting and it was approaching nightfall. JC wasn't thinking of the OWF, the Inner Circle or any member of the Violent Society. He hadn't even thought about his normally prevalent bloodlust. He was getting the woman he loved back.
What else mattered?
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September 17, 2011
Stacy felt nervous. She inspected herself in bathroom mirror of her sister's apartment, wearing a decently-sized skirt and hoping a strong wind didn't blow through when she went outside. She hoped to avoid the Marilyn Monroe impression and didn't want the entire neighborhood to see what color underwear she had on.
She saw that everything was exactly as she wanted. Her hair was done just the way she liked it. Her makeup was on point. It wasn't so much that she looked like she was trying too hard, but it was enough for her to impress.
Her sister, Michelle, wasn't making things easier.
"I haven't seen you dress up like this in years. Who is this guy?"
"It's not the guy that's important. Not really. I mean, I want the date to go well because he seems nice, but it's mostly because I haven't had a good time like this in a long time."
"Whatever sis, I think it's the guy."
She was thankful that her sister didn't bring up the fact that her lack of a "good time" was her own doing. It was a sore spot between them but it came up less frequently now that she was back in her group therapy sessions. Since her pill habit and their fighting over it was manageable for now, she could take some needling over her reactivated dating life.
Michelle was older than her by a good five years, but she was currently single so she decided to give Stacy a break. Family always came first for the two of them. It probably helped that they came from such a big family, even with their three brothers living halfway across the country.
"Maybe the date will go so well that we'll elope."
"I think mom would kill you."
"I think she'd kill you first for letting me do it."
"She always did blame me for your decisions. 'Michelle, why did you let Stacy make the mess in the kitchen?'"
"Remember that time I dropped her hair curler on the towels and burned a hole in one of them?"
"Okay that was actually my fault. But in my defense, Serenity was cute and we were a little...busy, at the time."
"I'm a grown woman now, sis. You can tell me that you and your high school girlfriend were making out. It's not going to ruin my delicate sensibilities."
The two shared a laugh. She was thrilled to be in a good mood for once. It was only a couple of weeks ago that her landlord kicked her out. When she wasn't at a therapy session or looking for employment, she bickered with Michelle. Part of it was because she was 31 and no longer had her own place or job. Part of it was because she was still fighting her cravings and it made her irritable.
Either way, having an adult conversation about something other than adult responsibilities was nice.
"So spare us both an untimely demise and don't shack up with some guy you met in a gym, okay?"
"Like you've never went home with someone after only one date."
"Bar hookups don't count."
"Oh, they count. If mine count, yours count."
"Just shut up and fix your hair."
She playfully punched Stacy in the arm and left the room. Stacy teased the tuft of hair in the front, making sure it was nice and curled. She took a step back and inspected her handiwork. She wasn't as full of herself as some ladies she knew, but she thought she looked great. Maybe the all-black outfit was too much. Maybe he wouldn't care. She decided she would like a second opinion though.
She turned off the light and made her way into the front room of the apartment, where Michelle was already on the couch flipping through the TV channels. It would seem kind of sad if someone didn't know her. Stacy did, and knew that this is how she liked her days off. She coughed so her sister would glance over and give her attention.
"Okay, Michelle. You like women. Would you want to get with this?"
She quickly did a twirl for emphasis.
"Stacy, you're disgusting and I'm not even going to entertain that with an answer."
"C'mon! Tell me how I look!"
"You do want to impress him! Does my little sis have a crush?"
"Is my big sis looking to get her ass kicked? Just answer the question!"
"9/10. The twirl was too cheesy."
"I love you too."
She turned back around and went to the guest room she was borrowing for the time being. She opted out of the fancy dress shoes in favor of her Chuck Taylors and her special red and black socks. If the date didn't go well, she wanted it to be because of who she was. That included choices in fashion that others may find questionable.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. No photo yet, but the name read "Joe", which meant he was waiting outside. She peaked out the window and saw his black truck parked outside. It looked beat up, like he had it for a while. He probably used it to travel when he went on the road. Did wrestlers travel by car? Maybe she should ask him.
She strolled back out of her temporary bedroom and walked by the couch. Michelle had landed on an a rerun of The King of Queens on TVLand. Michelle titled her head back to get a final glance at Stacy as she left.
"He's here. I'm going out."
"Oh my god, you went with the Chucks. I'll see you in ten minutes."
She rolled her eyes as she had a hand on the doorknob.
"You're watching a Kevin James sitcom. You're not allowed to question my choices tonight."
She grinned and left Michelle to her 'lazy Saturday'. She looked at the two flights of stairs and was glad she opted to avoid the heels. Using the steps allowed her to think about exactly what she would say once she got inside of his car.
She was really glad to have a night out. It didn't really matter if the date went well or not. She wanted it too, but the person she was on the date with wasn't as important as getting out on the date itself. She hoped he would change her mind. She had a feeling he could.
She planted her foot firmly on the first step and began her next journey.
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May 3, 2016
It had been a busy couple of weeks.
On the day JC was meant to go get Stacy's things to bring her home, two of Shaun Stewart's henchman broke into their house and tried to attack him. Instead, he broke the legs of Sarin and scared Crystal Meth so bad she left The Violent Society. He got a little overzealous in his defense against the giant, but he was able to claim self-defense. They broke into his home and tried to assault him, after all.
The arrival of Jersey City's finest was an ordeal in and of itself. Luckily it was pretty cut and dry. His home was clearly broken into, and the police agreed that he had no choice but to harm the large man that attacked him. Sarin was huge, it would take an incredible amount of violence to neutralize him. JC happened to excel at dishing out incredible amounts of violence. Stacy was obviously upset by what happened, but he reassured her it wouldn't happen again. He doubted Sarin would ever try that again and he knew Stewart was too much of a coward to do it on his own.
After her hospital stay and their work to repair the damage done to their home, he left to try to win the Network title and failed. There was too much on his mind to fully commit to a wrestling match, but he still gave it everything he had. She went with him, but stayed in the hotel. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight for longer than he could help it. He didn't even find out who won the Quest finals until much later, as he rushed back to the room when he was done.
Now Joseph and Stacy Lee stood hand in hand in the lobby of the Jersey City Drug Treatment Center. Neither of them had much to be proud about, but at least they still had each other.
There would be no outpatient stays this time. Three strikes and she was out of options. She was going to be forced to stay here for weeks. She was going to be forced to endure a detox session. He felt that she hated him a little for it and he felt she was right to do so.
As he repeatedly told himself over the last couple of weeks, this was absolutely his fault. It didn't matter how many times she tried to reassure him it wasn't. JC was going to blame himself for as long as he lived.
In the meantime, he planned to see her off and stay with her as long as he was able. He looked down at her and thought about how even now, at one of her lowest points, she was just as beautiful as the day he picked her up from the parking lot of her sister's apartment building.
"I know you don't want to do this."
"No, I don't."
He quickly shifted his glance. He didn't dare look into her eyes. He couldn't stand it if he saw the slightest hint of accusation.
"Joe, look at me."
He looked back and saw that instead there was affection and sadness. One he felt he didn't deserve because he caused the other.
"This isn't your fault. You didn't put those pills in me."
"We've went over this, Stace. You wouldn't have even thought about taking them if I didn't do what I did."
She turned to face him fully, letting go of his hand.
"Are you completely blameless? No."
He tried to look away again. He felt nothing but shame and guilt. She reached up, placing both palms against his face and forcing him to look directly at her.
"But let's not act like I'm someone that lives and dies by what her husband does, okay? You know me better than that."
She stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips, reassuring him. He returned the favor.
"I kept those pills on my own. I hid them from you on my own. I threw away everything that we worked hard for on my own."
She paused for a moment, thinking about exactly what she wanted to say.
"I'm not getting clean on my own. I'll be by myself here, but I'm going to fully commit this time. I know you'll be waiting for me the day I step back through those doors."
"I'm always here for you."
"Exactly. So let's stop feeling sorry for ourselves and hope fourth time's the charm."
In that moment, as he felt in many other moments before it, he realized that she was better than him. She had her faults and she made mistakes. She would be the first to own up to them. The difference is that in spite of all that, or maybe because of it, she was still strong.
"You know, you could probably do a lot better than me."
She smiled at him. It was a sad smile, given the circumstances, but still a warm one. She was holding back tears. He could tell.
"Yeah, probably. But I'm set in my ways. You're stuck with me."
They kissed again.
"I love you."
"I love you too. Let's go get me some fucking rehab."
They approached the desk where a man in his mid-thirties was playing some sort of game on his tablet. He didn't look up as he pushed a clipboard forward.
"I'm going to need you to fill this out before..."
The man looked up and instantly recognized the 36-year-old woman standing in front of him.
"Hello, Mark."
"Stacy? I gotta say, I didn't expect you to be back here."
She scoffed and grabbed the clipboard.
"I'm doing the inpatient this time. Doctor's orders. Clean or bust. So spare me the judgmental bullshit."
JC held back a laugh and tried to disguise it with a cough. He thought he should probably tell her he loved her again before they said goodbye. Mark adjusted his glasses and went for the diplomatic approach. It was clear he wouldn't be in charge of her therapy.
"Since you've been here before, we have your information on file. So just provide me with your doctor's information on that form and I can have the rest faxed over. And before you ask, I'm working clerical because it's a slow day. I'm not happy about it."
She turned around and sat down in a chair, letting him know that she really didn't care. JC sat next to her, unsure of how to occupy his time while they waited.
"Should you really by busting the balls of someone that works here?"
"Mark? Oh he's used to it. Besides, he's always got a stick up his ass."
She started to write down the right information for her doctor, but then paused halfway through. She set the clipboard down and turned in her chair to face her husband.
JC looked back and saw her face was solemn. In fact, it seemed like whatever good mood she had was quickly dissipating. He thought that maybe withdrawal was already setting in but that didn't seem likely. He decided he shouldn't say anything and give her the chance to work out what she wanted to tell him.
After a few moments of silence, she did.
"Alright, we're going to be separated soon. So, I think I need to say what it was I've been working up the courage to say since we left the house this morning."
He had an idea of what it was about. She might not blame him for what happened to her, but that didn't mean she was suddenly in favor of the circumstances that, at least in part, led to it. With everything that happened recently, she likely waited until she knew exactly what she wanted to tell him.
"I said that this wasn't your fault. It's not. You didn't put me here as much as you want to say you did. But my mind hasn't changed about what I told you weeks ago. I didn't marry a violent man. I won't stay married to a violent man."
This was getting more serious than he anticipated. Her attempts to remain upbeat threw him off guard and he didn't know how to react. She kept going before he could get a word in.
"You keep wrestling. You get out whatever rage you have to. I won't be watching because I'll be here. When I get out of here, I'm going to expect you to choose your need to hurt people or me. You can't have both. I won't allow it."
"Are you trying to say that you want me to binge on hurting people before you're out of here?"
"Fuck no. But you didn't want me to take those pills and I did. Do what you have to do, but I want this shit to stop. If you stop yourself or someone else stops you, I don't care. As long as it's over before I'm done here. After that, we'll talk about how to help you. I want..."
Her eyes began to glisten as she considered everything that had happened. What she said next came out through choked gasps as she tried to refrain from sobbing.
"I just want my husband back."
Then the tears came. He pulled her in and hugged her. She was the only one he was ever gentle with anymore. He would never tell her, but he thought somewhere inside he was thanking her. She had essentially given him permission to do what he wanted to do, even if that wasn't her intent. He wondered if the cost might be too great.
He repeated what he told her earlier.
"I'm right here, Stace. I'm always here."
"No you're not. But you will be. Either you'll stop or I'll lose you forever."
He noticed that she didn't say that he would lose her forever, even though it was true. The consequences of not shedding his violent impulses would destroy them both. He knew it and she knew it. And yet as they embraced again, he wasn't entirely sure he could stop.
In spite of everything that happened, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.
