One Time, Badly Read online

  "Hey, you're back. How was lunch?"

  "Max, please don't act like nothing happened."

  "Did I ever thank you? After the last time," this subject change threw her. She'd been gearing up for another version of the same old fight.

  "I don't know, Max. It wasn't really the kind of situation that requires a thank you. I felt like you agreeing to go through it was thanks enough."

  "That's bullshit," he turned fully around now, so he could face her head on. "I should've been on my knees thanking you every single day. You saved my life, Cee. I was in such bad shape and you just refused to let me get any worse. It's the best thing anyone's ever done for me and I didn't even say thanks."

  "What's the point of this, Max? You didn't thank me, it's not a big deal. I didn't buy you a present, I was just doing what anyone would've done in the same situation."

  "That's not true. A lot of girls would've just said screw this and jumped ship. Hanging around isn't the only option."

  "I'm in love with you, it was the only option for me."

  "I love you, too. You know that right? You know I love you more than anything in the whole world?"

  "Yeah, Max, I do."

  "So, when this shit happens, when I slip up and I make these huge mistakes, you know I do it in spite of the fact that I have you? This has nothing to do with you. I have a personal problem and it's ruining things for you."

  "Max, you're scaring me. What are you trying to say?"

  "I'm trying to tell you that I lied. That wasn't a one-time thing in the kitchen earlier," he dropped his face into his hands at that. "I'm such a piece of shit."

  "How long?" Her voice was soft again and she really wished that she could force some power into it.

  "About two weeks after I went through the withdrawals last time," his voice, while shaky, was clear. He'd spent her time out with her parents preparing for this.

  "Damn it."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I could get it back under control and I don't think I can. Not alone. I couldn't do it on my own last time, I don't know why I thought it would be any different now."

  "Ok, so what do you want to do? Do you want to look into rehabs? Do you want to see a doctor?"

  "I don't know. I don't think I should even be the person to make that decision."

  She stared at him for a few seconds, just taking in his face and his eyes and his mouth. Just looking at this man who seemed so like a stranger sometimes, but so much like a part of her own body at others.

  "I know it's a lot to ask, but we've done it before and I don't want to be like this anymore. I have so much more to lose now. I know you're not going to stay with me if I keep doing this and I know I can't keep my grades up if I let this happen again. So please, will you help me?"

  Still, she couldn't find an answer for him. He reached for her, taking her hands in his, holding on.

  "It's a story, Cee and I've been telling it for years. It starts with me saying I'm fine and it hasn't ended yet so I can't tell you about that. But looking at you right now, I'm scared that I'm about to find out. Don’t tell me how it ends. I'm begging you to stay in the beginning of the story with me. Because that's where we are. This is the beginning. I want decades with you. I want to pull you out of bed when we're 80, even if it hurts my back and cracks my bones. There's a plan here and I know that I've been fucking it up, but that's how stories get told. This is the low point and if we just stay together we can get to the good stuff. Please, don't let me know how it ends. Please, Cee.

  I'm learning to fight this for real. I have it in me, I know I can do it and I can be a real person and stop wasting money killing myself. It doesn't have to be this way. It won't always be this way. Just give me one more chance, I promise you that I will never touch another pill again. I know what I have to lose and I can't lose you. I can't be apart from you and know that I ruined it for us."

  And though they hadn't said any vows, she understood this as the part of their commitment where for better or worse came into play. And she loved him in the way that made those vows seem applicable, though they'd never spoken them to one another. She felt them in her bones when she looked at him and heard his voice and felt him lean towards her in random moments of closeness.

  For years, she planned to say them to him one day and she promised herself now that she would live by them as practice so that her life may one day be the way she so badly wanted it to be. With the two of them in a home of their own, falling into step with one another as they made breakfast together or brushed their teeth at night. With him lifting her through a doorway and carrying her to bed, laying her down, and creating a new life in their own right.

  And if Max wasn't the one she ended up with, she felt bad for the man that was. Because this wasn't going away. She felt it even as she agreed to stay, as she let him pull her into his arms and rested his weary head against hers. This was her man, this was her choice and if he forced her to walk a different path she would hold onto both love and hate for him. She would always dream of the life that she could have had.

  Chapter 16

  2015

  August

  And so they did it again. Cecelia was too new at her job to be taking vacation already, so the next week she called out sick on Friday and Monday, giving them four days together. She remembered him feeling at least slightly better after the third day last time, so she figured it'd be alright to do it this way.

  And it was just as awful as she remembered. It made no difference that he'd come to her this time, and that it had been his decision, rather than her forcing him to do it. That mental fortitude didn't carry over into these days and nights of pain and sickness. She didn't even tell anyone she was sick this time. Her parents wouldn't notice that she wasn't going to work and the only other person who'd wonder why she wasn't heading into the city would be Louisiana.

  She couldn't exactly hide it from her roommate, so she told her everything. And it felt so damn good to have someone on her side, to let someone into this terrible little world that she'd been dealing with since the year before. She could see that Lou really didn't know how to respond, and that was okay. She just didn't want her to feel uncomfortable in the apartment, but Lou was much more worried about the toll that this would take on Cecelia. And to that, all Cecelia could say was that it had been lessened an unbelievable amount now that she had Lou to talk to.

  And she did just that. At the end of each day, with Max tucked away in her bed, Cecelia made sure that she ate dinner with Lou. It gave her a false sense of normalcy and it was so nice to be able to give someone an update on Max. Even if she just threw out a quick, "Things are better today," it made her feel less alone.

  It wasn't until a week after she'd told Lou, when Max had already gotten back on his feet and gone back to his parents' house for a few days, that Lou finally sat Cecelia down.

  "Listen, Cecelia. I'm not going to ever tell you what to do, or judge you for making a decision I don't understand, but I feel like I need to say something here," Lou began, and Cee braced herself. It was rare to see Louisiana this serious about anything.

  "This situation is serious. Like, life or death serious," Lou continued and Cee just nodded. "I think that you should involve Max's family. Even if it's just letting his sister know so that she can keep an eye at him when he's home. I know that we aren't kids anymore and it might feel weird to go to his parents, but I'm not sure that this is something you should be doing alone."

  "I know, Lou. I totally understand where you're coming from and I've been tempted so many times to do just that, but I just don't know how much it could possibly help. From the very vague history of this whole mess that I've gotten from Max, his family knows about this and has tried to help him before. I think at this point they'd just send him away to some rehab and he really, really, doesn't want that."

  "Should that be up to him, though? He's clearly got a lot going on right now, I can't imagine that he's thinking clearly at all. He needs someone to
step in, he needs real help, Cecelia."

  "And what have I been doing, Lou? I'm trying my best to get him through this in a way that he's comfortable with. He doesn't want to go to rehab, he doesn't think it'll help him and, from what I've been reading, he might be right," And now Cecelia could feel hear the emotion in her own voice, could feel her hands start to get that slight shake that signaled tears or an explosion of some sort.

  "It's a bubble, Lou. He'd go away for a month and spend time in an environment that we could never recreate, that we could never offer him here and he'd get clean and then he'd come back and there goes his safe little world. And then his tolerance is low and his craving comes back and that's when shit could really get bad. Do you know how many people overdose as soon as they get home from rehab? It's sick. And I can't have that happen. I couldn't survive that. So he needs to do it here. He needs to do it on his own terms in the world he lives in or it won't stick. I'm not being stupid, Louisiana, I'm doing everything I can and it's been a million times easier for me since I told you. Please, just be here for me and trust that I'm doing the best thing for him. I love him more than anything in the whole world and I'm truly doing what I think will save him."

  And the saddest look was resting on Lou's face when Cecelia finally finished her little speech. "Ok, Cee," she shrugged, "I'm here for you, always. I trust you. I just want you to be okay. I don't want this to start dragging you down, too."

  "I know and I love you for that, but we're going to get through this and Max will graduate and it will all be okay. And, if it starts to feel like more than I can take, then I promise to find another way. I love him, but I love me, too and I won't forget it."

  And Cecelia wrapped her very best friend up in her arms and hugged her hard, hoping that Lou wouldn't let this affect them. That she wouldn't start to lose her in helping Max.

  It wasn't until the next week that Cecelia's life finally took a turn for the better. She'd walked to her cubicle on a Wednesday morning, iced latte in hand and her favorite pair of heels on her feet. Her day got off to an average start, she spent the morning answering emails and working on her next article, which was going well so far.

  She convinced her favorite coworker Lita to grab lunch in Bryant Park, and they'd spent that hour sipping on fancy iced teas and talking about their bosses and the group of tourists two table over who seemed to have gotten terribly drunk at noon on a Wednesday.

  It was when Cecelia came back to her desk to find a note from her boss that the day began to take its true shape. Because this day, as it were, would turn out to be very important in the grand scheme of things. It was a rare starting point, when things begin to unravel and there's nothing that you can do to stop them.

  Stan's note had instructed her to meet him in his office at 3:00 pm for a short meeting. Cecelia spent the hour prior to this meeting going through her emails and her calendar and anything she could get her hands on that might prepare her for whatever it was that Stan wanted to talk about.

  At 55 years old, Stan Gilport was a stout and friendly man who'd been great to Cecelia since the day she started this job. He seemed to truly believe that she was a talented writer and, though critique was necessary, he also took the time to tell her when he enjoyed an article and to compliment her work whenever he felt that she was doing well.

  So she was more curious than nervous when she lightly knocked on Stan's office door that warm Wednesday afternoon at 3:00pm sharp. Stan called her in and told her to have a seat as he pulled a sheet of paper from a pile on his desk. He didn't hand it to her right away though, instead he seemed to study her for a moment.

  "I'm not totally sure about what I'm about to say, but I have a gut feeling about it and, as soon as I saw the piece of paper I knew that I needed to have this conversation with you."

  "Ok," and, as always, she tried to ensure that she sounded confident. It didn't matter that she had no idea what was going on, she wanted her boss to know that she was ready for it.

  "I'll get to the point. So basically, the company is hosting a competition of sorts, beginning next week, and I want you to enter. I think you'll win, without a doubt in my mind." He slid the sheet of paper he'd been holding across his desk to Cecelia. She took a second to read it, then shook her head.

  "Creative writing? Stan, that's not really what I do."

  "I know it isn't your job right now, but, I'm sorry if this offends you, I feel like you're wasting your talent. You've got a real voice, your work is so engaging and, yes, there can be improvements made here and there, but you're a good writer and that's the bottom line. I watched every other editor in there turn up their nose at this and I think they're being ignorant. I want to get ahead of this."

  "But the site doesn't even publish fiction. I don't understand."

  "It's something new that the higher ups are trying to get off the ground. Once a month, they'd like to publish a short story that follows some sort of relevant theme. They'd like the website to have more of a voice, a bit more personality, if you will, and I want it to be your voice."

  "If you want me to enter, of course I'll enter. I'm just not sure that I can do this style as well as you think I can."

  "I know you can do it. I'm your editor, remember? There's no one else on this staff who can write the way you do. And that's not to say there aren't other talented people here, everyone here is excellent at what they do, but I don't believe that they can do this. And I don't think their editors will be encouraging them to do it, either. If you win, it's essentially a complete role change, but it would be a sort of promotion. You'd be the head of this little sector and it would give you more stability here. No one's numbers to compete with, no having to give a story up because someone pitched it 5 minutes before you. You'd have complete freedom."

  "Ok, yes. Yes, I'm going to do this. Thanks, Stan. Really, this sounds like an awesome opportunity and I probably wouldn't have given it a second thought without your encouragement."

  "Good, great, Cecelia. Here, take the paper with you. The terms are pretty clear, but let me know if you have any questions. And I'm with you on this, to bounce ideas off of or to read drafts, just let me know."

  "Thanks, Stan. I better get back to my desk, but I'm going to go through all of this tonight."

  "Me too, Cecelia. For the first time in maybe 10 years this company is doing something I can be really excited about."

  Cecelia hurried back to her desk, popped in her headphones so she wouldn't be bothered, and ate up every word on the form that Stan had given her. She really never would've thought of herself for this type of thing, but Stan had done a good job in convincing her that she could do it. And it really seemed simple enough.

  Every two weeks, prospective applicants (the info sheet was avoiding calling this a contest, it was being pitched as a long, in-company application process) would submit a short story, 5,000 words or less that had to do with something relevant in their own lives.

  They were instructed to give honest accounts of their struggles, relationships, travels, anything that would interest or inspire their peers. Of course, the stories were supposed to be fiction, so they would have to maintain that style and wording, but it seemed like she could write word for word a fight that she and Max or she and Lou had had and just change the names. And it was in this moment that Cecelia's life really came into perspective for her.

  Because all of the nice, normal girls her age would have pretty much the same thing to say. But she had something different, something powerful, to share. And it was fiction, so she wouldn't use their names or their location or any other identifying factors, but she knew that at least one of her submissions would detail the heartache that comes with addiction, even when you aren't the addict. And the fear, she would most definitely be including the fear.

  Cecelia's first two article submissions were on the lighter side, which she'd done on purpose. She had a plan to slowly build to her deeper entries and, she figured, it would be better to write about the more serious topics
after she'd gotten some feedback and allowed herself to get used to writing creatively in a way that she hadn't done since college. Submission comments were sent via email from a generic company address three days after entries were received and Cecelia was happy with the reaction she was getting so far.

  Her comments were less about content and more about keeping the tone throughout and small grammar notes that seemed to be more editor preference than actual mistakes. Stan always read her stories beforehand, so she'd know if she was making any glaring errors before her work reached the top.

  She was also working chronologically, beginning with the conversation she and her parents had the night before she left for college. They'd wanted to give her some advice, but it turned into an emotional night, including a few walks down memory lane and this insane feeling of her childhood really and truly slipping through her fingers for the first time.

  Next, she'd hit on her first real fight with Louisiana. They'd been reading a magazine and Louisiana took it out of Cee's hands to read an article about sex. She'd made a comment about Cecelia not needing to see it because she was still a virgin and it just hit a nerve. She stormed out of the dorm room and didn't talk to Louisiana until she finally apologized two days later. It seems petty now, but she was able to insert a lot of emotion into that one and she'd ended up being really pleased with the finished product.

  For her next two, she planned on writing about the night she met Max and then she wanted to choose something from the months surrounding graduation. She wasn't sure if she was going to focus on the emotions leading up to leaving college or the stress of trying to get her bearings in the adult world, but she knew it would have something to do with that time in her life.

  Finally, she would be writing about her discovery of Max's addiction and the subsequent withdrawals that she'd watched him go through. It was by far the darkest topic of the bunch and she thought that it might be straying too far into unknown territory as far as "experiences similar to her peers" went, but she was coming to realize that she may have taken this project on as an excuse to write it all down and to rationalize it that way.