Bad Seed

“Hello, my name is John.”

“Hi, John,” the group replied.

“Um—so yeah. Haven’t really talked much here,” he said. “Don’t really see the point. Since this hasn’t worked the past two times I’ve tried it.”

Two times? This fucker had been here twice already? Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

I shivered and shook all the way through the group therapy session as people talked about their addictions. Pill addicts because of botched surgeries and heroin overdoses because of childhood abuses. Everyone had such terrifying stories, and slowly my understanding of the situation dawned on me.

I had terrifying stories, too. And I was allowing them to control me. Just like these people were.

I had to keep my dreams at the forefront of my mind. I had to keep Elsie as my top priority. Higher than alcohol. I had an entire life to live that would be drowned in my drinking if I didn’t get my damn act together. People were counting on me. My fans were counting on me. I couldn’t let the destruction of my life and the desolate waste of my past keep holding me underneath the river of bourbon I was hell bent on drinking dry.

It would kill me if I let it.

And then who would be there for Elsie? For Paul? For Hank, and for Tammy?

I had to let that be the fuel that lit my fire. I had to let that be the inspiration for getting sober. Because if I let it go, even for a second, my demons would come crawling back up my throat.

And I’d try to wash them away with the bourbon underneath the kitchen sink.

CHAPTER 20

Delia

Two Weeks Later

I hit the ‘submit’ button as I sighed with relief. Done. I was done with my classes. Over the past two weeks, I’d thrown myself into nothing but work and school. I turned everything in early, completed modules at the speed of light, and had my teachers commending me for my speedy work. In a few short weeks, I would get my diploma in the mail and all of this would be put behind me.

I had gotten invited to the school’s award ceremony on campus, but I didn’t want to go. I hadn’t been feeling well the past couple of weeks, and I couldn’t stop thinking of Drake, no matter how much I told myself to let him go.

I kept wondering how he was doing, despite the distractions I kept for myself. I kept wanting to call the facility and check up on him, even though I knew that was unprofessional. My work with him was done and my contract had been successfully terminated by Hank. The money had been dumped into my account, I had paid off my education, and the rest went into a savings account to help me start my new life.

I spread out on the bed as my headache returned. For the life of me, I couldn’t get rid of it. There was an ache in my bones that began to settle again and my frustration continued to mount. I was done with the shit the memory of Drake was putting me through. If I wasn’t relieving myself in the shower, I was nauseous with worry over him. It was hard to eat, it was hard to think, and there were times where all I wanted to do was sleep. I feared the worst. I feared slipping into the same depression that ultimately killed my mother.

But what was there to be depressed about? Drake was just some guy, wasn’t he?

My head pounded so hard that my nausea got worse. My stomach began to cramp and my chest began to ache. Great. On top of everything else, I was about to start my damn period. I rolled myself from my bed and shuffled to the bathroom, then dug around underneath the sink for a pad.

I sat down on the toilet, ready to clean myself up. I rubbed my chest as I went to the bathroom, trying to ease the ache underneath my skin. My nausea was getting worse and I could taste my own stomach bile rising to the top of my throat.

But there was no evidence of my period anywhere.

I closed my eyes and tried to settle the panic in my stomach. Shit. The couple of times I’d been with Drake, neither of us had used any protection. The last time we’d had sex was only a couple of weeks back, but our first encounter was almost a full month ago.

That didn’t seem right. Symptoms like this didn’t arise until, like, eight or nine weeks.

Right?

The more I thought about it, the more panicked I became. I grabbed the trash can next to me and heaved into it, vomiting up the breakfast I’d managed to eat. My head was swirling, and my chest was aching. I cleaned myself up and headed for the grocery store. I gathered four different tests and purchased them on the spot. I raced back home and sat on the couch, waiting for the urge to pee. I sat there with my head in my hands as my television droned on in the background. The moment the sensation hit me I grabbed the grocery bag and darted for the bathroom.

I took every single test. Four different kinds, seven different sticks. I set them all on the bathroom counter and paced my small bathroom floor, hoping and praying to any God that would hear me that this wasn’t happening. I had the flu maybe. Or mono. Surely someone like Drake could pass on a kissing disease, right? Or maybe he had an STD. I never thought I’d pray for an STD before, but now I was. Anything seemed better than what I was fearing.

The required three minutes ticked by very slowly. It was agonizing, but once it was done I raced over to the bathroom counter. I picked each one of them up as my eyes grew in size, tears streaming down my cheeks.

My worst nightmare was coming true.

Gathering up the positive pregnancy tests, I sat down on the edge of my bed. I cried, my tears dripping into my lap as each one of the sticks sounded off the word ‘pregnant.’ I was pregnant by a man who couldn’t care less about me if he wanted to. The tests clattered to the floor as I sobbed into my hands, my body trembling as I curled up on the mattress of my bed.