King of Slaves (Jenna's Story) (The Slave Series Book 5) (47 page)

“How can you live in Seattle and not like coffee?” he asked and knitted his brows together.

“I like the smell, but not the taste,” I explained.

“Here… use my phone and make the call.” He handed me his cell phone, and I found the business card Michael Young had given me in my pocket.

To my delight, I only got voice mail.

“Hey, I got your number from my lawyer… who says I need some counseling to avoid parole… or something, so if you could call me back on this number, I would like… ehhm… appreciate that.”

Blahh…
I hate to talk to voice mail, I always sound like a complete idiot.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Gabriel asked and moved around the small kitchen as if he was looking for something. “I have cornflakes and bagels.”

“Don’t worry about it. I still have the cinnamon bun from yesterday,” I said. “But would you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“No, of course not. If you want, you can wash your clothes too. There’s a washer and dryer in the bathroom.”

I was tempted, but I didn’t have any other clothes with me. “It’s okay… I just need a quick shower,” I said.

With my situation I didn’t have the option of changing clothes every day. I was used to wearing the same clothes for four or five days, but my personal hygiene has always been important to me, and so I made sure my hair was clean.

I didn’t find a comb in Gabriel’s bathroom but luckily I don’t have any curls, so my hair was fairly easy to finger comb.

Gabriel was waiting for me in the living room when I came out of the bathroom. He looked excited.

“The therapist called back while you were in the shower,” he said. “I spoke to him.”

“And what did he say?”

“That they are willing to take you right away.”

“All right.”

“But he wants to do a screening of you first.”

I sat down on a high chair in the kitchen. “What does that mean?”

“Well, he wants to speak to you and determine if you’re the right fit for his camp.”

“His wha – what? Did you say camp?”

“Yes, they have a place down in the Quinault Rain Forest about three hours from here and offer some intensive therapy programs.”

I closed my eyes. An hour in an office I could survive, but a fucking camp in a forest with twenty-four/seven structure… it sounded horrible.

“Hang on, I’ll call him up on Facetime and then you can talk to him; he seemed really nice.”

Gabriel was already pushing buttons on his phone, and I heard a ringing sound.

“This is Bruce,” a male voice answered.

“Hey, Bruce, Black is out of the shower and ready to talk to you.”

No, I wasn’t! But I didn’t have much choice when Gabriel pushed the phone at me.

“Hey,” I said and looked at the screen, where a guy around fifty, with large square glasses, was looking back at me.

“Hello, Black, nice to meet you. My name is Bruce Connelly and I’m the founder of the Regression Therapy Center, also called Camp RTC.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Yeah, I can be polite when I want to.

“I understand from your uncle that you’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a pickle and need to impress the judge before your first court hearing.”

“That’s right.”

“When is that hearing?”

“May twenty-eighth.”

“Good, then we have time. I would suggest you come down and follow our two-week treatment plan. You’ll be happy to hear we can squeeze you in right away.”

“What? You mean, like… today?”

“Yes. Can you come today?”

I looked up at Gabriel, who nodded his head and mimed “I can drive you.”

I wanted to say no, but the unpleasant memory of facing the judge yesterday made me say, “Okay, I suppose I could.”

“Good, but before you start packing your bags, I need to make sure you’re the right fit for our program.

“Okay.” 

“Now tell me, are you addicted to drugs? And before you answer, let me warn you that we will have you give urine and blood samples when you arrive to see if you have anything in your system.” 

“No, I’m not a drug addict,” I said.

“And yet I understand from your uncle that you were caught with oxycodone by the police.”

“That’s right, but I was going to sell them to make a profit, not take them all myself.”

“You say not take them
all
yourself… how many were for you?”

I sighed. “Sometimes I take a pill to make me relax and feel better. ”

“And how often is sometimes?”

I hesitated. “That depends… daily if I have the money, but sometimes I go a week without a pill.”

“When did you take your last pill?”

This guy was relentless with his questions, but I answered. “Maybe four days ago.”

“Okay.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment before he continued. “You say you’re not a drug addict, but for someone to commit theft to get their drugs doesn’t sound like recreational use to me.”

I shrugged in response.

“Let me ask you again, are you addicted to oxycodone?”

“Maybe to a small degree,” I admitted.

“All right, so I’ll add drug addict to your papers then.”

“No, I told you I’m not a drug addict,” I protested.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Yet, you just admitted to being addicted to oxycodone.”

“Yeah, but I’m not like shooting myself with needles or prostituting myself to get high or anything,” I pointed out.

“That’s good to know. I’ll note that down too,” he said and scribbled some more. “When and why did you take your first pill?”

“About two years ago. It was a present from a friend.”

“And what do you like about taking the pills?”

“The amazing feeling I get in my whole body.”

“Would you say it’s an escape from your problems or is it because you’re bored?”

“An escape.”

“What do you need to escape from?”

Ahh, come on
… I felt compelled to press the red button and end the call. I
hate
when people start probing around in my misery, but Gabriel was standing next to me and his presence was a reminder that I didn’t have much choice, so I huffed out air in annoyance.  “Where do you want me to start?”

Bruce waited patiently.

“I’m homeless, I’m unemployed, I don’t have any money or family, and I’m fucking tired of swimming upstream, when everyone else seems to be floating on an air mattress with a drink in their hand,” I said with an attitude.

“Okay, now, if you could change one thing in your life what would it be?”

Loved…. I would like to be loved.
It was the first thing that came to mind, but I couldn’t say that and there were enough other things to pick from, so I said. “I would like to have money.”

“Why?”

I arched a brow. “Seriously?”

“Yes, tell me why you would like to have money.”

“So I could have a place to stay, so I could eat every day, so I didn’t need to steal… do you need more reasons than that?”

“So if we accept you into our program and you leave here in two weeks, what would you like to have changed?”

I leaned my head back and glanced up in the ceiling for a few seconds before I looked at him. “I know you want me to say that I want to be free of my addiction to the pills, but unless you can help me figure out all the things that aren’t working in my life, then I honestly don’t want to give up on the pills. They are my only escape.”

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “I appreciate your honesty, but tell me: How many days of your freedom is each pill worth to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“From what your uncle told me on the phone, you’re potentially facing a year in prison. How many pills are worth a year in your life?” 

How do you answer that? I didn’t. I just scowled at him. He had made a point.

“Listen, Black, I can understand that you’re using the pills to numb your pain. It’s a classic situation. When we can’t figure out how to solve the problems in our lives, we do the next best thing. We numb ourselves. Some use porn, others food, power shopping, gambling, alcohol, or in your case drugs. But it’s a very destructive type of behavior because it never solves anything.”

“So what do you suggest?” I asked feeling defensive.

“We need to get to the root and discover what went wrong, and fix it, so that you can make better decisions for yourself and get back on the right track. Are you ready to do that?”

I gave a hollow laugh. “I don’t see how you can change what has already happened.”

“We can’t. But we can change your perspective of what happened and give it a new meaning. One that will empower you.”

I must have looked very skeptical, because Gabriel spoke up. “That sounds good!”

“Then let me tell you a few practical things,” Bruce said.

“All right.” I studied the man on the screen. His square glasses gave him that look of an intellectual and if he thought his little blond mustache made him look good, I’m sorry to say it didn’t. His eyes were very intense; I felt like he was looking straight inside my brain, which was unnerving as hell. 

“The kind of therapy that we offer is a bit unorthodox, but to simplify it I want you to think of a computer.”

“Okay.”

“When a computer doesn’t function we reboot it, yes?”

“I guess.”

“Yes, and in case of a really destructive virus, we have to reinstall the software.”

“Right.”

“We believe it’s a bit of the same with people. Often we need a simple reboot to make things right again. In other words, we’ll restore your past to make your present better.”

Gabriel raised both brows but didn’t say anything.

“You have probably heard about past life regression therapy as something where hypnosis is used to discover past lives.”

“Not really.”

“Well that’s good, because that’s
not
what we do here. I want to make it very clear that we only go as far back as your childhood and that we don’t use hypnosis.”

“Okay.”

“Your uncle already told me you had a rough childhood, so I think you’ll benefit enormously from our program, but for it to have the best impact, you need to bring your parents.”

“My parents?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not happening,” I scoffed.

“Are they dead?”

“I have no clue where my mom is and I prefer it that way, and my dad won’t have anything to do with me.”

“Are you sure? Because it would make a huge difference if you could bring at least one of them.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said firmly.

“Can your uncle come with you and step in for your parents? Worst case, we can have one of our therapists act as your parent during the exercises but we always encourage having a real parent or at least a family member.”

“No,” I said at the same time as Gabriel said, “Yes.”

I gave him a hard stare and mimed
no
… he just tilted his head and mimed
yeah.

“Did I hear you correctly there, G? Would you be willing to help your niece through the program?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said loud and clear.

“That’s good, it’s a very admirable thing to do; but I need to warn you that therapy of this kind can get intense at times and you might see sides of your niece you haven’t seen before.”

Gabriel and I exchanged a glance and there was a smile in the corner of his mouth. He didn’t know me – of course he would see new sides of me.

“There are many more practicalities but I think we can deal with those when you get here. You’ll find driving instructions and a list of things to pack on our website, and the price of the course is a fixed rate of three thousand five hundred dollars for the two weeks.”

“What?” I spit out. “I can’t pay that.”

“Do you take credit cards?” Gabriel said loud enough for Bruce to hear.

“Of course, and you can just pay when you get here. I’ll see you in a few hours, and I look forward to meeting you both.”

“We’ll see you soon.” Gabriel took the phone from me and gave me a bright smile.

“Ferfucksake?” I exclaimed with frustration. “I already owe you three hundred dollars, and now you want to put me in more debts without asking me first.”

“It’s the right thing to do and besides, you can consider it a birthday gift for all the years I didn’t give you a present.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to believe that you’re just going to give me three thousand five hundred dollars and not ask me for something in return?”

He looked a bit perplexed. “Ask you for what? What do you mean?”