Losing Track (Living Heartwood 2)

“Shit. You need a nurse.” My roommate, Erin or Arial or something, bounds from her bed. “Don’t move,” she says as she pauses at the open door. Our doors don’t lock, and we’re not supposed to close them. “I’ll be right back.”

The nurse she’s going for is the one who just made a round not five minutes ago. They take shifts during the night, or so I’m told. She waits in the hall, looking in on us. If we’re not asleep, we’re supposed to lift our arms. Then she writes notes on a pad. Some tally about who’s acclimating well and who’s not. Most healthy, non-chemically dependent people fall asleep easily and sleep through the night. Are able to fall asleep with no TV, no tunes, and no drugs to knock them out.

My mind is churning all this nonsense when the nurse and my roommate enter the room. “Ari, get the mop.” Ari—that’s her name—groans and heads back out.

“Look up at me,” the nurse instructs. I can’t recall her name either, and even the slight attempt to do so feels like an anvil smashing in my brain.

Lifting my head for me, she moves hers left to right as she shines a small penlight in each of my eyes. “Not so tough now, huh?” She shakes her head. “Should’ve just been honest, Mel. We could’ve given you something to taper off the withdrawal.”

She’s the only one to call me Mel since I last spoke with Jesse. Which feels like a lifetime ago. A wave of homesickness crashes over me, and I hug my stomach.

I’ve never had to ask or plead for anything in my life. When my dad died and left me and my mom on our own, and she took up drinking as her nine-to-five, and there wasn’t a damn thing to eat, I slammed the door in the good Samaritans’ faces offering a hand out, walked right into the Piggly Wiggly and shoved a packet of hamburger meat down my pants.

I remember the skin of my stomach going cold, prickling as it went numb. It was painful, but it felt so damn good. Because I knew I could take care of things. That I didn’t need anyone.

But right now…I’m close to getting on my knees and begging this woman to get me a fix. Hell, I might even offer to suck her dick.

“Hold still, Mel.” Her voice is a blaring siren in my ears.

“Just give me something,” I slur past the saliva filling my mouth. It feels like I’m going to lose my stomach again. “Please. Anything. I know you have something in this place.” My eyes meet hers, and she frowns at the desperation in my tone.

“I’m going to give you some Valium. For tonight.” She grips the bottom of my shirt and brings it over my head. I didn’t realize I puked all over myself. “But then in the morning, I’m taking you to the medical ward. I’m sure the rest of your test results are in by now, and depending on your levels, the doctor will put you on something to help you taper off the right way.”

I flop onto my back as Ari begins mopping up my mess, grumbling to herself. “If I was the one who yacked, I would’ve been put under supervised watch. Right, Nurse Bridge?”

The nurse tosses me a clean shirt and turns toward Ari. “Yes, but that’s because you can’t afford to lose any more weight, skinny mini.” She winks at her, and they share some kind of unspoken understanding between them before the nurse disappears from the room.

Weirdoes. I’m too dizzy to bother putting on the shirt, so I drape it over my chest. I’m not one to give a damn if I romp around in the nude. Right this second, though, I feel more than bare; I feel exposed.

By the time the nurse returns, I’m too ill to argue. I allow her to baby feed me the pill and sip the bottle of water she hands me.

“I’ve never once gone through this,” I say, my voice a low croak. And I haven’t. I’ve gone days without doing blow before, and the worst case of withdrawal I ever experienced included hard cravings and I turned into a superior, testy bitch. Irritable, and at times, lethargic. But I’ve never tossed my shit before.

The nurse stands over me, hands on her heavy hips. “Did you stop everything? Smoking pot, drinking, cigarettes?”

My brow creases, but I get what she’s saying. No, I didn’t chuck everything at once. When I wasn’t using, I’d still smoke a bowl—to calm my nerves. Or get wasted with Dar to knock myself out. And of course I didn’t stop smoking. At this very moment, even with my stomach churning bile, the thought of a cigarette makes my molars clamp down. I’d chew the tobacco up if it was the only way to get a hit of nicotine.

“Besides,” the nurse continues when I don’t say anything. “Usually, when someone knows they’re about to go away for a while, they tend to do it up. Go out in a blaze. If you were of that mindset before you got here, you’re probably going to suffer a bit harder for it now.”

Since the night Dar died, I haven’t spent one second sober, if I could help it. So yeah, her words make sense. Doesn’t mean I’m going to own to it.

I force myself into a sitting position and squeeze my eyes closed for a second, then start to stand.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Nurse Bridge says as she takes the mop from Ari and waves her back to bed.

“To smoke a cigarette.” The Valium is starting to kick in, and the nausea—though still kicking my ass—isn’t as strong.

“That won’t do your stomach any good.”

Like hell. “I need to at least fix one craving or I’m going to ram my head through a wall,” I tell her.

She sighs. “I’ll go with you.”

Awesome.

The hallways are cold and it’s too damn quiet. I wrap my arms around my stomach as I follow Nurse Bridge toward a side door off from the main rooms. We push through, and I’m surprised it’s unlocked.

The warm night air is a welcome balm to my sensitive skin. I flick my lighter and inhale a deep drag. Through the aches and chills and nausea, the nicotine does its magic. I feel like I’m fighting one less demon.