My therapist says
when I’m at my weakest
when I feel so lost
that’s when I need to treat this.
— “Answers,” Jack Cuoco
The judge sighed. “This is your second misdemeanor this year. Not to mention your other priors.”
I stared at the wooden floor underneath me. Would it open and swallow me whole? How had I gotten to this point? Was I on a bad trip or was this what my life had become?
I was in court, at risk of going to prison for parading around drunk and semi-naked. What would Len think? What would Tate think? The press had already published plenty of stories about my so-called “downfall,” although most of it was wrong. They were missing details, and they’d embellished others to make me look worse.
I couldn’t go to prison. What would I do without my skincare? My music? A guy like me would get destroyed in prison.
How much could my lawyer really help me? Or was I doomed?
“With respect, Your Honor, my client has had a difficult time over the last few months. And, before his most recent indiscretion, a close friend of his passed away,” said Jody, my lawyer.
The prosecution stood up, laughing. “Indiscretion? He was singing and dancing around Central Park in his boxers!”
“But—and I really think this is the important thing to remember—he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone but himself. He was grieving and struggling to cope with his emotions. Are you criticizing Mr Cuoco for grieving, counsel?”
The prosecution glared at my lawyer. “No, but grief isn’t an excuse to break the law.”
I pursed my lips. I didn’t like my anxiety or grief being talked about so much, but that context was the only thing that was going to get the judge to feel any empathy toward me. Given that it wasn’t my first offense, I was already on thin ice.
The judge drummed his fingers against his desk. From so high up, he couldn’t have been more intimidating. Obviously, that was the point. But it didn’t help with my nerves.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Mr Cuoco?” asked the judge.
I stared at him, my heart beating so fast I could hear it. What did he want me to say? A gazillion words ran through my mind, but none of them made any sense. None of them would appease the terrifying man before me. He held all the power, and just because we were the same race, it didn’t mean he’d understand my situation.
Jody nudged me. Right. I had to say something.
Deep breath.
“Your Honor, there are no words to convey how sorry I am for my stupidity. I could apologize, but I know that they’re just words. Apologies don’t mean anything without action. I don’t pretend to be perfect, nor have I ever. Losing Len—my best friend—pushed me to a dark place. A really dark, scary place I never want to go back to. I don’t want to be that person; to feel or do or think those things. I need to change. If you give me one more chance, I promise you I’ll check myself into rehab today, and get sorted once and for all.”
The judge narrowed his eyes at me, then looked at Jody. “Do you have a rehab center available and willing to take him today?”
“Yes, Your Honor. We have one waiting to receive him this afternoon.”
The prosecution wasn’t happy. “Your Honor, I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you of the statistics of repeat offenders, particularly when it comes to addiction.”
Jody gave him a look that, if looks could kill, would’ve given the prosecution a heart attack there and then. “Be that as they may, they’re statistics. Do we really want to reduce a person to a statistic? Or do we want to look at the person in front of you, who genuinely feels bad for what he’s done? As someone who’s in the public eye, I can’t imagine he would have done something like this without considering the consequences if he were of sound mind. Isn’t trial by media enough?”
“Enough for what? You say you can’t imagine he would have done something like this if he were of sound mind, but he has a history of irresponsible behavior, Your Honor. It’s a sure sign history will repeat itself.”
Instead of feeling offended by him calling me irresponsible—since he wasn’t technically wrong and was just doing his job—I decided to stand up for myself. Sort of. “Can I interject a minute, please?”
Jody bit her tongue.
The judge nodded. “Go ahead, Mr Cuoco.”
“There’s this new medication that helps with addiction. It would mean that alcohol can’t affect me. And if I start taking it while at rehab, and work through all my issues there…what other reason do I have to offend?”
The judge pursed his lips.
The prosecution scoffed. “Once an addict, always an addict.”
“Objection! While addicts are more likely to go back to the substance they’re addicted to, that doesn’t mean they all do,” said Jody.
“Sustained,” said the judge.
“You make this drug sound like a miracle cure. A panacea,” continued the prosecution.
“With all due respect, it isn’t a panacea. I still have to do a lot of work to let go of my reliance on alcohol as a coping mechanism for…everything. It won’t magically make me better. But it gives me more of a fighting chance. And I fully intend to do all the therapy, and meditation, and yoga, and whatever else I need to do to get my brain to think about something other than dangerous drugs and alcohol. But this one medication really could change my life. I just need the chance to start taking it.”
“If it’s that good, why didn’t you start taking it sooner?”
God that lawyer was pissing me off. It was his job, but that didn’t mean I had to like how much he was pushing against me. Or him.
“Nobody suggested it to me, and I had no idea it existed. There are a few versions which do similar things. But basically, I wouldn’t get the addictive high from alcohol anymore. I could even get sick if I drink it.”
“If it’s that good, why don’t more people take it?” said the prosecution.
I lowered my head, feeling guilty about the next part. “Most people can’t afford it. But also…”
“Also what?” snapped the prosecution.
“Not everyone one wants to. A lot of people use alcohol or gambling or whatever to run away from their problems, and that’s part of why they’re addicted. It’s a comfort thing. Our brains get obsessed with the endorphins that that thing triggers, and we hold on to that to hide from the pain. But I’m done running. I’m done hiding. I need to face what I’ve been holding on to for so long.”
“And what is it that you’ve been holding on to?”
“Objection!” said Jody. “This isn’t a therapy session.”
The judge nodded. He gestured to me. “Mr Cuoco, approach the bench.”
The two lawyers stared, open-mouthed, as I approached the bench. I forced my hands not to curl into fists so that I didn’t look like I was going to punch him, but really, I was so nervous I just wanted to curl up into a tiny ball. What did the judge want? Was he even allowed to summon me?
I glanced around the court. Angela gave me a supportive nod. I hadn’t even noticed she was there, but knowing she still had my back, despite everything, gave me a renewed sense of confidence.
There were a few other people in the audience, or whatever you called it, but nobody else I knew. A couple were scribbling in notebooks, so they were probably press. Of course they showed up.
Maddy was back with Tate and had texted to wish me luck. At my request, she still hadn’t told Tate what had happened. I knew she’d worry, but I wasn’t ready to burden her with what was going on with me. The next time she saw me, I wanted to be better; able to be the man she deserved.
I wished Len could’ve been there, sitting beside Angela. His support would’ve lifted me up even more. To try to make myself feel better, I pictured him there, encouraging me to open up. Talking about my past was always easier when he was there. He had a presence that always put me at ease.
“Tell me what it is. The short version. The rest of the court doesn’t need to know,” said the judge.
I gave him the short version. I didn’t want to go into details. I wasn’t comfortable doing that in a room full of strangers. It was something therapists had tried to get out of me for years. But talking to strangers about it felt disrespectful, somehow. And it made the memory even more intimidating. So I summed it up in one sentence.
The judge didn’t need to know how those events made me feel, just what they were. Anyone with an ounce of compassion would know that what I went through could fuck with someone for life.
The judge banged his gavel. I flinched, stepping back but not away, just in case he still wanted me there. “Jack, I sentence you to rehab starting immediately. You can leave when, and only when, the facility believes you’re capable of functioning in society again. The court will hold on to your passport until your therapist is satisfied with your progress. If you leave before they say you’re ready, or get yourself arrested again, you’ll find yourself with a six-month prison sentence.”
“Thank you, thank you!” I could’ve hugged him, but something told me that wasn’t appropriate. “You won’t regret this!”
I practically skipped over to Angela and hugged her. She was crying.
“Sorry,” she said. “They’re happy tears. Really.”
I kissed her cheek. “Thank you for being there for me.”
She stroked the top of my head. “Of course I’m here for you. Where else would I be?”
*
Angela and Jody came with me in a taxi to rehab. Larry was with his fancy new client so couldn’t come with me, but we’d spoken on the phone beforehand and he’d said he supported me and was there if I needed anything. It felt like the first genuine conversation we’d had in a long time.
It was weird, driving to rehab with Angela and Jody. But, as my lawyer, Jody was legally required to make sure I checked in. Angela wanted to be there to support me, just like she always did. I appreciated her presence. While Jody was nice—and had clearly done a good job—I knew that for her, it was still about business. She had no emotional attachment to me. I didn’t begrudge that, I just liked having someone who did care by my side.
I wished Tate could’ve been there, too, but I was terrified to talk to her. What would she think of me? Would she think I was a failure for what I’d done? Would she cut me out so that she wasn’t associated with someone who’d been arrested as many times as me?
Not that I’d blame her. She needed to protect her brand. And I’d always done a great job at ruining hers.
She’d given Liam another chance, but I’d already had several and ruined every single one.
My arrest was still fresh. It was hard, not checking what they were saying about me. I’d put limitation apps on my phone to stop me from obsessively checking the news on there, but they didn’t work. I’d always tell it to give me fifteen more minutes, or go on a different device.
Reading about myself didn’t help my mental health, so when I gave my phone up at rehab’s reception desk, for once, I felt relaxed. Released. It didn’t matter I couldn’t text, or call, or video chat with anyone. The world wouldn’t stop turning if it couldn’t get hold of me all of the time. Anyone who really cared about me would be there when I came out.
Angela pulled me into a hug. “You’ve got this. Call me if you need anything. Day or night.”
“Will you be OK?”
She ran her hands over my hair. “I’ve got the rest of my family. You focus on taking care of you.”
The rest of her family. She included me in that.
The tears came. I couldn’t stop them. Knowing she classed me as a part of her family broke me so hard. It was one thing for Isaiah to say it, but for Angela to say it? That meant even more because of everything we’d been through together.
She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to me. I dabbed at my eyes then blew my nose.
“Sorry. I just…when you called me part of your family…”
She rested her forehead against mine. “You’ll always be a part of our family.” She pushed me toward the interior door, which would take me through to the inpatient area. “Now go. Heal. And I’ll talk to you soon.”