Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“I said no, of course.” She gave me a worried look. “He’s always pulling this crap. I’ve talked to him two times since Mom died, and both times he asked me for money. I think he’s in really big trouble.”
I sighed. It certainly sounded like it. You didn’t get desperate and call your sister at a drug treatment center asking for drugs if everything was fine. He was scraping the bottom of the barrel and had come up with the one person he thought he could bully into helping him. But Gina’s access to medication, one cup at a time, checked out from the pharmacy and delivered to her patients, wouldn’t satisfy a street dealer, much less a kingpin.
“I didn’t give him my number,” she admitted. “I don’t know how he found me.”
“Alright, well,” I said, not knowing where to begin. “At least he doesn’t know you’re here.”
“He’s my brother, Porter,” she sighed. “Don’t I owe him something?”
“You don’t owe him anything,” I insisted. “You definitely don’t owe him any money or drugs. Just be there when he’s ready to come clean. It doesn’t sound like he’s there yet.”
She wrapped a firm hand around my middle and snuggled in. “You’re the only one who could understand.”
I didn’t think that was exactly true. If there was one thing all the group therapy sessions had taught me, it was that there wasn’t anything unique about me as a user. All of us were selfish and traumatized; the specifics didn’t matter. Gina was acting out of a childhood need to feel useful, to help those who were suffering from the same ailment that claimed her mother’s life. I could see it clearly, even if she didn’t. Her attachment to her brother was classic, and I knew he would use it to his advantage if he could.
I almost felt like I had to protect Gina from herself. If she was wound so tightly around her dysfunctional family, then maybe I could help her disengage. We could start by letting her brother face his own demons.
“I feel the same way myself,” I told her, inching down so that my head rested on the pillow. “I know we’re not supposed to be together, but it seems like two people with so much in common should help each other out.”
She smiled; I could feel the muscles in her jaw working. “Is that what we’re doing? Helping each other out?”
“That and having fantastic sex,” I admitted.
I held her until she fell asleep, until she gave up her worry and surrendered to her fatigue. Her body felt so sweet, curled up next to mine, on this old mattress in my cheap apartment. I didn’t have a lot to offer her, but I could understand where she was coming from. My own childhood had been less than ideal.
In middle school and high school, I had spent as much time with Mike as I could. The stability of his household was a welcome contrast to the chaos of mine. Luckily, I had no siblings to drag me down, and my parents had passed away a long time ago. I was all alone in the world, with only my friends and the woman who now shared my bed.
Even without close family, I could understand the pull of blood relations. No one knew an addict like an addict. I understood that Gina’s brother wasn’t evil, just mired in the torment of his troubled existence. He was a lost cause until he decided to help himself. Gina, on the other hand, was a different story. With love and support, maybe I could help steer her away from the negative influence of her childhood, into brighter days.
I could start with my own sobriety. I didn’t want to be another drain on her resources. We could be partners, equal in responsibility, but only if I was a functional adult. I could be the safe harbor that she came home to, her shelter in the storm. I didn’t imagine myself to be a better person than her brother, just sober.
I found myself drifting toward sleep, having completely forgotten about the heroin in the trash.
22
GINA
At first, I didn’t know where I was when I woke. It wasn’t my own bed, and it wasn’t the hotel room. There was a body sleeping beside me—a warm male body. It all came back to me in a rush—the drive from Nashville, finding Porter in the diner, the sex at the hotel. I was in his bed, in his crappy room, four feet from the door. And I was happy.
I stretched out, not sure what time it was. George had called me, and I had driven to Porter’s home, desperate to talk to a friend. He had given me a listening ear and the longest hug ever invented. I must have fallen asleep.