542 Days

6. Chapter 6

Chapter Two

A girl in her early twenties met me outside the doctor’s office. She was taller than me, Spanish with blue eyes and an olive complexion, wearing the same light blue uniform the rest of the staff had bearing the name Ocean Haven on it. Ocean Haven- they make rehab sound so fancy. “Hi, my name is Julie,” she said, extending her hand to shake mine. I abruptly took her hand in mine and flashed a fake smile. “Let me take you to your room.” I followed her through the corridor; the view was truly breathtaking. On one side of the development was a beach side view with all-white cabins, and on the other, a resort with everything from the pool to an outdoor spa, golf course, tennis courts, and outside dining. She led me up the elevator until we got off the fifth floor. She seemed to know everyone by name as she walked past them. Once we got to the room, she opened the door and held it for me to lead the way as she handed me the key.

“If you need anything, do not hesitate to call the front desk and ask for Joe. He runs the grounds. All your belongings have been brought up already. There is a carton of Marlboro’s in the left-hand drawer of the night table, and we ask you to smoke outside. Except for drugs or alcohol, anything you need can be obtained by calling Joe.”

I gave a sarcastic smile. “You even know my cigarette brand- do we get conjugal visits too?”

“Right-hand drawer,” she answered as she winked at me and closed the door behind her.

I sat down on the bed, opened the right-hand drawer, and immediately slammed it shut when I saw she wasn’t kidding. There was a damn vibrator in there! What money can’t buy. Un-f*****g believable! I lied back and rested my head in my hand as I spun the key she handed me around in my right hand. I was mechanically moving it between my fingers. I couldn’t get the therapist out of my head. How dare he bring my mother up? That was none of his business. My mother’s mental issues were none of his concern. Yeah, she was f*****g nuts. He doesn’t need to know that. Maybe it wasn’t fair that I hated her for it, but that was my problem to deal with. He wasn’t there, and he didn’t have the memories I did. He didn’t know about her visions, that she had seen things that didn’t exist. Why didn’t he know? Because there was no record of it. She refused to get help. Instead, she killed herself and left my sister and me to fend for ourselves. I was getting madder and madder, bringing myself back to that day, remembering the police coming to the door. I remembered the bullshit note she had left me, “find it in your heart to forgive me.” “Forgive you?? Forgive you? I f*****g hate you!” I said out loud. f**k! I barely remember doing it, but I do recall my left fist lodged through the wall. I was grimacing in pain as warm, wet blood trickled down my arm.

I pulled my hand out of the broken drywall and went into the bathroom to grab a towel. Tightly wrapping my fist in it, I called the front desk to inquire about the infirmary. My first day was off to a great start. I put the key in my pocket and headed downstairs.

I kept my head down most of the walk and tried not to be noticed, as I made my way to get help.

Alex, the nurse, stayed quiet most of the time as he cleaned up my hand. He stood about 6’2, extremely tan, with blonde hair and light eyes, and had an athlete's body. He looked like a real life Ken doll. I sat on the stretcher, my legs dangling, while staring over at the white counter covered in gauze bandages, band aids and applicators.

“Long day, huh?” I asked, trying to make small talk. He barely even looked at me as he iced me up. My hands started shaking, and my breathing became heavy. I looked up at the clock. It was only 6 pm. I started rocking back and forth, and my palms became clammy. My body felt like it was aching, and not from the pain of my injured hand. More from the lack of drugs and alcohol in my system. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as I could feel my heart race with anxiety as I got the sudden urge to vomit.

“Hey,” I said a little above a whisper to get his attention. He looked up and finally made eye contact. “I’ll suck your d**k for a Xanax.”

“Good news, you don’t need stitches,” he said, turning around to grab a bandage. My cheeks grew warm as I guessed I was probably turning red.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked as he came back with the dressing.

“Yes, you’re Calista Reed. The Golden Train was fantastic- you should get an Oscar.”

“Did you hear what I offered you?” I asked, angry now that I felt he was mocking me.

“Yes, I did, but I don’t have drugs, so I can’t help you. But your hand should heal nicely,” he said as he finished wrapping me up. He looked up at me and smiled. “And I wasn’t kidding; I do think you should get an Oscar for your performance.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot. I’ll remember to mention you in my acceptance speech if I do,” I sarcastically said as I headed out.

Annoyed, I started heading back to my room. The sun was setting, as daytime was becoming night, and the bright full moon lit up the concrete pavement. The trembling in my hands started to get worse. My sweating progressed, and my body felt as if it was getting weaker by the minute. Finally, I stopped to light a cigarette and could barely keep my hand still long enough to light it. From the corner of my eye, I saw a guy headed in my direction. He was tall, at least 6’5 wearing a black hoodie and gray joggers, with jet black hair, blue eyes, and a very neatly groomed beard. He walked confidently like he knew he was sexy, but he wasn’t somebody I recognized from the Hollywood scene. “Hey, South Paw,” he said as he approached me, speaking with a deep, slurred voice as if doing some sort of impersonation. I exhaled my cigarette and looked up at him unamused.

“South Paw?” he said again, in the same tone. Then he started humming the Rocky theme song while hopping back and forth from one leg to another as if he were jogging up steps while swinging his fists in the air. “You’re from Hollywood,” he continued, motioning with his hands and being very dramatic. “You don’t know who Rocky Balboa is? Left-handed boxer from Philly….”

I started looking around to assure no one was watching us, as he was acting ridiculous. “Yes, I know who Rocky Balboa is,” I said, waving my pointer finger up and down the direction of his body. “Can you make this stop? You’re acting like a freak.” His jogging came to a halt, and he shot me a smile. A perfectly gorgeous smile. Great teeth, a dimple that appeared, I didn’t know who he was, but he should be in Hollywood based on his appearance. He pointed at my bandaged hand.

“You put your fist through a wall to get painkillers?” he asked.

I looked down at my hand and shook my head. “No, but that’s kind of a genius idea. Instead, I went straight to offering o******x,” I said, laughing in embarrassment.

“Ah, yeah, Alex gets more head offered to him than any man I’ve ever witnessed. I gotta tell you, since I have been here, never, not once has any chick offered me a blow job for drugs.”

“Can you get drugs?” I asked with a glimmer of hope.

He shook his head. “No, no drugs can ever make it to this island. Nothing, not even ibuprofen. Tell me you want celery juice; maybe I can make it happen. Drugs or alcohol, however, definitely not.”

“So why would someone offer you s****l favors?” I asked, now confused by his statement.

“Well, if they knew that, they wouldn’t. But they don’t. This makes me wonder, does it look like I can’t get drugs, or I don’t like blow jobs? Now, I’m in rehab, so clearly I could get drugs in my day, so I must look like I don’t like blow jobs, no?”

I was taken back by the question for a minute. I took a pull of my cigarette and now studied him head to toe.

I pictured what he would look like under that hoodie if I were to take it off him. I’d imagined he’d be toned, probably a six-pack; he looked like he spent a reasonable amount of time in the gym. He had big hands, and I imagined what they would feel like with my hair wrapped between his fingers and what he would sound like if I were pleasuring him. I bit my lip slightly at the image, and it got me a bit aroused. As if he were reading my mind, he inched closer and leaned into my ear. His cologne had a musky sensual scent, and I could feel his beard slightly touch my neck. Suddenly I felt like he had me under some sort of trance. “You’re thinking about it now, aren't you? Wondering what I would sound like?”

I backed away from him, my eyes locked intensely in his. “Is this some sort of mind f**k?” I asked.

“No,” he simply said as he slowly sucked in his bottom lip. “But you know what you’re not thinking about? Drugs. Wouldn’t you rather be thinking about what I sound like getting off than what you feel like getting high?” He had a point. I looked down at my hands, and they weren’t shaking anymore. He had somehow calmed me.

“So, your hand. What happened?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I got angry,” I said, matter of fact.

“Oh, I love me a girl with some anger management issues. It’s always the tiny ones also. What are you, 4’11?”

“5’1”

“Turn around,” he said, turning his pointing finger in a circular motion.

“What? I am most certainly not turning around for you,” I said, shooing him away.

“C’mon, one spin,” he said, giving me a playful pout. I pushed my hair behind my ears and put my cigarette out.

“Fine,” I finally said and reluctantly did one spin around. When I came back around, he was gazing at me with a genuine smile on his face.

“5’1, what, 115 pounds soaking wet? 36 C cup, blonde hair, green eyes- you’re like a gorgeous, angry little elf.”

“An elf?” I asked hastily.

He touched his lip with his finger and scrunched up his nose. “Well, I was going to say troll, but that sounded even less attractive than an elf, which was the exact opposite of what I was going for. How about a fairy? Fairies are sexy. Tinkerbell’s hot. I’d definitely do Tinkerbell.”

I slowly ran my eyes down his entire body. “Something tells me you’d destroy Tinkerbell,” I said.

He leaned in towards me. “Are you trying to turn me on?”

I smiled. “Why do I think it wouldn’t take much to turn you on?”

He straightened himself back up and winked. “Confident and feisty- I think I may be in love with you.”

I let out a laugh. “Careful, I can assure you; I am not the type of girl you want to fall in love with. I’m Calista. My friends call me Cali,” I said.

“I know who you are. I’m Josh, and my friends just call me an asshole,” he introduced himself.

“Why don’t I know who you are? Don’t you have to be someone to be here?” I asked.

“I am someone. I am someone whose money is just as green as yours. I’m just not famous yet. I’m working on it, though.”

“What are you going to do to be famous?” I asked.

“I’m gonna be a Gen Zer,” he answered so seriously.

“What? How old are you?”

“32.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” I said. This guy was truly hilarious. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a vape, held it up to display for me, and took a step back.

“Watch this,” he said. “I’ve been watching YouTube videos and practicing.” He took a deep inhale of the vape and held it in for a few seconds, then released the vapor into the air, making it form into circles that appeared to be dancing.

“I’m working on it, but once I master it, I’m going to t****k the f**k out of this s**t and watch. I am going to go viral!”

“And that’s your claim to fame? You’re going to blow fake smoke for a living?” I asked.

“Yes. Not everyone has the talent you do, and you are very talented. I am a big fan of yours. The Golden Train was awesome.”

“Thanks, you know I almost didn’t take that role,” I said.

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, really. But that’s a story for a different time. I’m very exhausted. It’s been an….” I looked down at my hand. The pain was setting in, and the realization that I couldn’t even get ibuprofen in this place made me realize exactly what type of hell I was in for. “It’s been an interesting day, to say the least. I need to sleep this off.”

He started cracking his knuckles and nodding his head in acknowledgment. “Yeah, cool. So, you maybe want to exchange phone numbers? Unfortunately, I can’t get you drugs, but if you ever want to dabble in celery juice, go for a run, talk, hang out, or whatever….”

“Are you nervous? You’re rambling?” I asked, teasing him.

He smiled and bit his bottom lip. “I mean, you do put your fist through walls; you are a bit intimidating,” he said.

I unlocked my phone and handed it to him. “Text yourself,” I said. He typed something and handed me back the phone. I took the phone and slid it into my back pocket.

“Nice meeting you, Josh.”

I made my way to the elevator and pressed 5. I just needed to get into my bed and go to sleep. The day needed to end already. When I got off, I realized I never took note of what my room number was. I dug in my other pocket for the key and held it to the light to see the number sketched into the metal. I stood in disbelief, staring at the number, bringing me back to the night of the accident. The part I didn’t tell the doctor. The hallucination I had seen right before I ran out of the hotel that night scared me so much it made me get into the car as intoxicated as I was. My room number: 542.

I slowly opened my door and scanned the room for signs of anything unusual. Nothing seemed out of place or weird. I opened the suitcase placed in front of my dresser by I assumed Joe, took out a nightgown, changed into it, and laid on my bed. I was too exhausted to even wash my face. I plugged my phone in when I saw the notification of an unread text on my phone from Josh. He stored his name as: “Your Lifeline.” I couldn’t help but smile as I read his text: If you feel the urge to punch something, text me.