Chapter Twenty-Five

So, Monday I am back in the shit, and Tuesday and Wednesday, I remain there. Yes, there was the half day of freedom with Adam, but it was only a brief (and dubious in terms of leaving me relaxed) reprieve from the anti-denial boot camp Dr. Koch has set up for me. Between trying to repress/ignore/forget my feelings for Adam, and dealing with all the people trying to delve into my psyche, I am overwhelmed. By Wednesday, I would gladly pick up a real addiction if one were available.

Anything to ease the stress of everyone on my case and all the emotional drama, not to mention I have not had a single second to myself since my idiotic move at AA on Friday night.

Meanwhile, Adam has retreated to full bran-muffin, perfect-ethics, goody-two-shoes mode, to the point that I’m starting to think I imagined Sunday afternoon. Except if I had imagined it, I would have imagined it going differently. And now I can’t stop imagining it going differently, which results in my being, in addition to stressed, irritated, et cetera, almost painfully drawn to this person who doesn’t want me anywhere near him.

In addition, I keep losing track of my stuff, which makes me feel like I’m going crazy. I have now lost my favorite pair of jeans, a bikini, some earrings, one of my new pairs of sunglasses, a lip gloss, and my Warhol T-shirt; the only person I really like (Talia) is overly intense, clingy, prone to breakdowns and TMI; and my other roommate is an increasingly malevolent presence with a rapidly intensifying head-banging habit. Seriously. And finally, Dr. Koch has slapped me back to Level One status so I can barely take a pee without someone making note of it.

And then things get worse.

It happens in group, where we’re making sock puppet self-portraits.

I’ve got my head down and I’m trying my best to stay out of trouble. Except I’m sitting there as silent as Jade and I keep catching her staring at me with her nasty emo glower and it’s annoying. I mean, here everyone’s been pestering me to death and we have this massively-talented-but-screwed-up hypocrite among us and everyone’s just ignoring her.

And there she sits, all edgy with her black, leather-haired, marble-eyed puppet wearing a freaking dog collar around its neck.

“What, Jade, no mouth?” I say.

Her head snaps up.

“How long you going to keep that up?”

She looks at me. I look back at her. The rest of the group is quiet, either studiously ignoring us or watching. Finally Jade shrugs and reaches for a red marker and draws a jagged scar of a mouth on the white tube sock.

“Gorgeous,” I say. “Almost looks like she might burst into song…”

Jade’s eyes go wide and her mouth hardens.

I smile at her, then go back to gluing silver beads onto the right wrist of my puppet.

And then an unfamiliar voice says, “Fuck you.”

I look up.

“Fuck you, Lola Carlyle.”

It’s Jade, standing with the puppet on her hand, holding it in front of her face so we can’t see her mouth moving behind it.

“Okay, you are so weird,” I say.

“Jade,” Mary pipes up in her counselor voice, “is there something you’d like to say?”

“Uh, I think she already said it,” I reply.

Mary ignores me and looks expectantly at Jade.

“Oh, come on. She’s swearing at me and you’re going to encourage her? That’s bullshit.”

“Lola, this is not about you.”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…”

“Why do people always say that? It’s happening to me.”

Mary goes to Jade and puts a hand on her back. “Jade, honey?”

Jade shoves her off and takes a step toward me, puppet in front of her mouth, eyes like throwing knives.

“FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU…”

Now would probably be a good time for me to say something calming, or else walk away. Problem is I’m not so good with backing down.

“Fuck you, too, Jade.”

And that’s when she lunges for me. Fortunately, Mary is fast and, dreads flying, gets to Jade before Jade gets to me.

“Stop. Stop it now,” she shouts, holding Jade in something between a hug and a headlock.

“What, you’re going to kill me with a tube sock?”

“You are such a fucking bitch,” she screeches.

“I never did anything to you. I even kept your pathetic little singing secret until now. So what is your problem?”

“My problem is you never shut up,” Jade shouts. “You never shut up about your clothes and your fucking jewelry and your fucking lifestyle. You sit here every fucking day acting like you’re better than us and don’t need rehab, like you just happen to be here because you need a vacation. And you’re full of shit.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, I know you. I know you better than you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say.

“You don’t want to find out,” she says.

“Oh, I’m scared. By the way, you forgot to use ‘fuck’ in that sentence.”

“Guess what, you spoiled little bitch, I could—”

“Come on, Jade, stop,” Talia says, coming forward. “You don’t need to do this.”

Jade pivots toward her, still straining against Mary. “I don’t have to listen to you, Miss Kiss-Ass. I’m sick to death of listening to you.”

Talia puts her hands up. “Hey, I’m only—”

“You want to be all cozy and climbing into her bed whispering secrets at night and acting like you’re her best friend, go ahead. Wait until she finds your little stash of stolen treasures.”

Talia’s mouth opens and her chest seems to crumple like she’s been hit.

“That’s right. Her clothes, her jewelry, what else have you got squirreled away?”

Talia looks from me, to Jade, and back. Tears come streaming down her cheeks and drip off her chin. “Lola, it’s not… I didn’t… Well, I did but not… I can’t explain but it’s not how it looks.”

I hold myself very still, trying to take this in, while Jade gloats and everyone else stands frozen.

Talia starts toward me. “Please, let me—”

I step back toward the door, palms out in front of me like I’m pushing it all away. “For fuck’s sake, is there not a single person on this planet I can trust?”

Thirty seconds later, I nearly flatten Adam in the hallway.

“Whoa, whoa. Where’s the fire?” Then he sees my face and grabs me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I need to talk to Dr. Koch,” I say, trying unsuccessfully to disengage and go around him.

“About what?”

“Nothing! I need to talk, that’s all.”

“Come on, it’s me.”

“Oh, like that helps. You don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Lola—okay, we need to talk,” he says, taking me by the arm and propelling me down the hallway where he pulls out his keys, unlocks a classroom door, and pulls me inside, closing the door behind us.

“What?”

“Look,” he says, walking into the center of the room. “Maybe I didn’t explain it well Sunday because I was…confused. And now you’re upset.”

“I’m upset? You’re the one who’s acting like we’re total strangers.”

“I am trying to put some…distance back, that’s all. Meanwhile you keep looking at me like you want to punch me.”

“You’re really reading me wrong, if that’s what you think I want.”

“But you’re hurt.”

I look down, wishing, too late, that I’d hidden that fact a bit better.

“You’re hurt and you’re pissed. Because maybe I didn’t explain it very well. I wasn’t thinking.”

“But you’re thinking now?”

“Yes. Can you listen?”

“I’ve got a few other problems right now, but fine. Yes.”

He leans back on a desk and looks at me intently. “I don’t want to be selfish about you,” he says, slowly and clearly like he wants to make sure I hear it. “I don’t want to complicate your already complicated situation here. I want to do the right thing, and the overall worldview right thing, at the moment, is also the right thing for you because we need to have trust. How’re you going to trust me if you think all I’m trying to do is…hook up with you? Not to mention how do I stay objective at all about your care, your program, your headspace, if I’m spending all my time thinking about you like that? I can’t. Not to mention, how would I trust any feelings you think you have for me when they might be transference? When you’re—no offense—so volatile? When every chance you get you’re flirting with that Miller dude? Don’t you get that at all? I’m not doing it.”

“So you’re just…not thinking about me, is that it? You just flipped a switch and shut it off?”

“It’s an attraction,” he says, totally matter-of-fact. “They happen. It’ll pass.”

“Oh, that’s really nice. Now I’m a passing attraction. In that case why do you care who I flirt with?”

“Honestly?” He pushes himself away from the desk. “Because I think you use that kind of thing to distract yourself from the real work you’re doing here. And because I don’t like that guy. And because, as I keep saying, you’re vulnerable right now.”

“What if…” I say, coming close to him, but in a furious, up-in-his-face kind of way, and then stalking him through the classroom as I rant. “What if I am actually just a regular, moderately messed-up human being and not an addict and don’t actually belong here, and half the issues I’m dealing with actually have to do with being locked up with a bunch of lunatics and liars and thieves, which is what I keep telling you? What business, in that case, do you have making all these judgments about what I do and don’t need?”

“You’re here, so it’s irrelevant,” he says, finally backing into a wall of vision boards.

“And if we were out in the real world instead?”

“I would still want to strangle you half the time,” he says. “Most of the time, in fact. But that question, too, is irrelevant. We’re here. We’re not doing this.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay, fine. Is it passing yet?” I ask, stepping even closer into his space. “The attraction? Has it passed?”

“I’m sure it will,” he says, and swallows. “Any minute now.”

“Right,” I say, putting both my hands on his chest. “Fine. From here on in, I will try to play by your awesome principles.” My hands slide up to his shoulders and he shudders. “But if you want to keep this all professional and everything, I suggest you stop dragging me into empty classrooms because it makes me very…” I’m right up against him, hands on the back of his neck, and I can feel how shallow his breathing is.

“Lola—” he says in a low, warning voice.

And then, because I can’t help it, I kiss him.

At first he lets me. Then he grunts, swears, pulls away, but my arms are still around him and his are around me, too, and with an insanely sexy moan and another muttered curse, he pulls me closer and kisses me back, deep and hard and surprisingly sweet.

It is beyond good or great. It’s dazzling, sizzling, bring you to your knees hot.

It’s bells ringing, birds chirping, insides melting, clothes falling off by themselves hot.

Except our clothes do not fall off because while my little bit of a conscious brain is thinking about dragging him onto the floor and yanking his shirt off, his little bit of conscious brain is telling him…

“Stop.”

He drags his lips from mine, then puts his hands on my shoulders and straight-arms me.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he says, then shoves me away. “No! Haven’t you listened to a single thing I’ve said?”

“I—” I am so breathless and stunned from the kiss, and simultaneously furious and humiliated by being shoved away, that I don’t know what to say.

“We have to get out of here,” he mutters, looking around, then finding his set of keys on a desk just inside the door. I notice he’s breathing just as hard as I am, and he’s also flustered as hell.

“Wait, Adam…” I reach out to touch his face, but he catches my hand, holding it but pushing me away at the same time. “Please, can’t we take a minute? To, uh, calm down?”

“I am not going to calm down while I’m alone in here with you,” he says in a harsh voice. “Let’s go,” he says, and then stomps his way to the door and opens it for me. “And by the way, this subject is closed.”

“You don’t get to go all Mr. Authority Figure when you just kissed me like that.”

“Shh!”

“Fine,” I say, passing him to get into the hallway and feeling the pressure of fresh tears forming behind my eyes. “I still need to see Dr. Koch.”

“That’s the thing: you should be talking to me,” he says, like we’re just continuing the argument from before, and no kiss happened at all, although he still looks flustered and flushed.

“Well,” I say, trying to do the same, “the fact is, you have a tendency to be a lot less helpful than Dr. Koch.”

“Because I’m actually aware that what you want isn’t always what you need—”

“Don’t even talk to me about what I need.”

“—and because I actually give a shit.”

“And Dr. Koch doesn’t?”

“Are you really asking me that question?”

I look away. Dr. Koch cares about Dr. Koch. We both know that.

“I understand what makes Dr. Koch tick,” I say, jaw clenched, body still buzzing, every part of me wishing we were back in the classroom, making out, and yet so mad at myself for being so weak. “The fact is, it’s what I’m used to and I know how to deal with it and I know how to get what I need from…that kind of person. And that’s who I’m going to right now.”

“Damn it, don’t you hear how that sounds?”

“Like the truth?”

“Fine. We’ll go together.”

“Dr. Koch, you have to get me out of here,” I say before I’ve even crossed the threshold of his office.

“Miss Carlyle, Adam. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Please. My one roommate, Jade, is a psychotic bitch, and it turns out the other one—the one I liked—has been stealing my stuff. Plus I have no privacy, my therapist is a nightmare, and everyone is discriminating against me”—I shoot a look at Adam—“because I’m not actually an addict.”

“What is it you expect me to do?”

“What I said—let me the hell out of here! Talk to my mother and convince her she needs to get back here to take me out. And in the meantime I’ll…I’ll stay at a hotel or something. Or you could just give me a private room and excuse me from the program until she comes back. I promise I won’t make any trouble.”

Behind me, Adam makes a choking sound.

“Shut up, Adam.”

“You wish.”

I turn back to Dr. Koch. “Even if my mom can’t come back…I’ve got this lovely uncle who’s house-sitting for us right now and I’m sure if you and my mom both signed off on it—I mean, you’re the one with the power, right?—then it would be okay for him to come get me.”

“As her mentor, I do not advise this course of action, sir,” Adam says, coming up beside me, but not so close that we’re touching—not that it matters, because I can feel him anyway.

“You stay out of it,” I say, turning to glare at him.

“Dr. Koch—” Adam starts forward, and then cuts off as Koch holds up a hand.

“I will speak with Miss Carlyle alone.”

Adam lets out a frustrated sigh and turns to lock eyes with me. “I’ll be waiting,” he says, and then leaves and shuts the door behind him.

There’s a moment of quiet after the thunk of the door when it feels like all the energy has gone out of the room.

Then I turn back and my eyes meet Koch’s and I get a sudden shiver.

“Sit,” he orders.

I sit, he smiles, almost erasing the chill I just felt. Maybe I imagined it.

“Believe it or not,” he says smoothly, “roommate issues are not uncommon, particularly among the female patients. Have you asked yourself what life lessons and personal growth might be gleaned from facing up to these problems and resolving them, rather than running away?”

“Are you serious?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Jade is a nutcase. I don’t think it can be resolved, it just is. And it’s got nothing to do with me. Ditto with someone stealing from me.”

“But perhaps there is something in you, some unconscious behavior, that is sparking these reactions in others.”

I surge up out of my chair. “This is not helpful, Dr. Koch.”

“Sit down.”

Yikes. Coldness not imagined. I sit.

“I have been good to you so far, have I not?” he says, now in a smooth but dangerously low voice.

“You have.”

“And I believe your outlook would improve if you had your privileges restored and were also approved for the sober outings? This Saturday, for example, everyone with Level Three status is going to Disneyland.”

“Yeah, of course I’d love to go to that, if I’m still here. But—”

“Let me be clear,” he says, coming to stand in front of his desk and giving me a gross smile. “You are not going anywhere. You are an addict and you are going to be cured. Period.”

“But—”

“No buts. Sunrise is my project, Miss Carlyle. Mine. It is the fruition of a great deal of work, and I am on the brink of realizing some of my greatest dreams. The timing is rather delicate right now. The entire world—the one that concerns us, anyway—knows you’re here, and I can’t have you leaving the program without completing it. I need success stories, do you understand?”

“The thing is, Dr. Koch, I’m really not—”

“Success stories!” he bellows, and for a moment I see his real face—the ugly, angry, grasping face that lies beneath his usual charming one. I knew it was there, but it’s scarier than I expected.

I shut my mouth.

“You came to be treated and you will be treated, Miss Carlyle. You can do it the hard way, and I assure you, you haven’t even begun to experience the hard way, or you can do it the easy way,” he says, charming smile back in place. “The easy way, you’ll have noticed, can be much more pleasant and offers many perquisites for those who are cooperative. The quality of your experience is up to you, but you will complete this program and you will do it successfully.”

“So…you’re not letting me out.”

“Of course not. And if I don’t start seeing some commitment and personal growth from you, be assured your stay here will not only not be shortened, it will be prolonged. Now,” he says, propelling me out of my chair and toward the exit, “of course my door remains open to you should you need anything, but I suggest you move along—you have a great deal of work to do.”