Swell (15 page)

Three beers into my evening and the phone rang. It had been some time since a male voice crossed the phone lines in search of me.

“Beck. Are you okay?” Christian slurred and sounded relieved to have me on the line. I felt the same.

“Christian! Oh, Christian. Thank God…” I held my head in my hand and stopped my throat from closing before I continued. “I’m feeling better. Still hurt inside, but I’m taking care of that,” I said, sipping from my can and counting how many more were in my purse. The A.A. card peeked out at me.

“I’m killing myself thinking about you. I… I never stopped thinking about you,” he said.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either.”

“There’s been some things going on for a long time between me and Hillman. Things you should know about before you find out somewhere else.” I thought about Allison’s story, and Hillman’s threat.

I felt my way into my purse for another can. Although the beer was warm, it was effective. Temperature was irrelevant at this point.

“I did something. Something terrible. It was last year. I’d blacked out and hit a girl. I don’t remember doing it cause I was fucked up. And she… she was going to press charges and mess everything up for me. So I paid her
not to.”

There it was, Allison’s story. I cringed in horror and felt sick. Christian could throw a punch — I’d seen him do it to Hillman.

“You don’t remember at all?”

“I black out sometimes. When I hit her, Olivia, she threatened to tell the police.”

He was talking about Olivia Baskin, the lovesick girl who’d followed him around last year. Jenna had said they were like brother and sister, but apparently it went further than that. I took the pull-tab off the can I was holding, careful not to cut myself.

“Hillman saw it go down.” Christian was quiet for a moment and then cleared his throat. “He threatened to tell my parents everything, unless I did what he wanted.”

“And what did Hillman want? I thought you were friends.” I crushed my can and put it back in my purse. Some of the residual beer moistened the A.A. card.

“It’s a long story,” he said before going quiet again. I felt his tension and subsequent relief of exposing the facts, and imagined that he had an open jug of wine between his legs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I prodded.

He sighed and cleared his throat again. “I was dating his girlfriend and he didn’t know. Until he caught us. That’s all.”

He made it sound like everyday news that you date your friend’s girl.

“You let him push you around because he threatened to ruin you,” I said, at first taking another can into my hand and then putting it back. I didn’t want to be drunk in front of my parents.

“I’ve worked forever to get where I am. I wasn’t going to give it up. But now Hillman’s spilled the beans, so to say.”

I put my hand to my lips, tapping them with my fingers.

“Did you break-up with me because Hillman threatened you?” Christian’s nod was practically audible through the phone.

“Why did he want you to break-up with me?” I asked, my throat feeling swollen from the alcohol bath and emotional conversation.

“Wasn’t it obvious? He wanted
you
. There wasn’t a day that’d go by without him making a comment about how you looked, or smelled. It was like he’d never seen a girl before. You were all he could think about.

“I had entrance exams and shit going on and he was going to make it go down the toilet if he didn’t get what he wanted.”

My toes curled and a chill ran up my spine, the beer in my stomach sloshing around as it considered coming back up.

“You should know that he’s done this before, but not with someone I love,” said Christian, coming back to life with the word
love
. “I never stopped loving you. That’s why, when you disappeared from Devin’s, I went to find you because
I knew
.”

“This is too much to deal with right now,” I said, laying down on the carpet to stare at the ceiling.

“Beck, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Hillman’s pressing charges, I might have to leave school, but all I care about is you. Give me another chance.” He choked back tears.

“I don’t know if I can right now.” It was the truth. I had also filed charges against Hillman and the guys who’d taken me to his house. My parents hired an attorney and I left it to them. All I wanted to do was feel better and never have to see that redheaded bastard again.

“But I love you,” he said, the tables turned. He was now the one grasping at straws for a way to get me back on the hook, which was right there in my mouth all along. It pierced, it
pulled, and it had me caught in Christian’s net. I wasn’t about to let him know this.

“I know, Christian. I loved you, too,” I said, wondering if he’d catch the past-tense in my answer.

He sighed and yawned.

“Good night, Christian.” I hung up and tossed the phone in my purse. Before I zipped it up, I took the A.A. card and put it in my wallet so it wouldn’t get lost.

/////

In some ways, going back to school was like starting over again. I was someone new to look at and talk about. Except everyone knew who I was and probably what had happened. Jenna stuck close by, a guardian and every bit the good friend she always was before, during, and after Christian. On the other hand, it was I who hadn’t been very good to Jenna, who had neither the same attraction and desire to drink that I did, nor the ability to procure it with a variety of schemes like me. We had grown apart, but for this first day back we were more together than ever.

Christian hadn’t returned to school. Either had Hillman, and even if he had, there was a restraining order against him. We could go to school together, but he couldn’t come near, talk, or look at me. I knew he would, though, and I was scared that he would somehow get back at me for not only rejecting him, but also having him arrested.
I couldn’t imagine seeing Hillman again. This redheaded monster was cunning, deceptive and a planner of bad things.

My teachers allowed me to forego homework assignments for the time being and asked if I needed anything. It was as if the entire school had been briefed.

I trudged through the week, staying away from Jock Wall. I saw Devin in the bathroom, and she walked right past me. Even Allison had said a meager hello in passing. It seemed like I was being punished for something I didn’t do.

The one person who didn’t act like I was mental or treat me like flesh-eating bacteria was Jesse. He acted the same as before, but chose his jokes with care and even stopped eating jerky in front of me.

“You know how hard it is for me to give up the jerky?” He pretended to gnaw at an imaginary stick.

“I know it’s a big sacrifice for you, but thanks.” Little things like this made me look twice at Jesse. But aside from that, my world was dominated by more urgent matters.

When I ran out of the beer I’d pimped, I panicked. There was no stash of special bottles to run to. My parents had hidden the few bottles of wine and liquor they had left. I had the Vicodin, but that wasn’t the same. So I went dry, one hour at a time.

After a few hours, my head was ready to explode. Even my eyes hurt like they’d been pulled from the sockets and pushed back in. The nausea was like having stomach flu — bad enough to be a constant reminder of what I needed but couldn’t get. It would go away if I had a little something to drink. I knew it would. I thought of alternatives.

There was the vanilla and almond extracts my mom used for baking. I wandered into the kitchen and took a whiff of both. The almond extract made my stomach turn, but the vanilla was soothing. This made me think of Nyquil and how good it made me feel when I was sick. I raced to the medicine cabinet, throwing boxes and bottles around until I found the holy grail of relaxation.

Not only did Nyquil have enough alcohol in it to relieve me for a moment, it would knock me out for a one-two punch. I took a few healthy swigs, and waited to feel the relief.

When I woke up on the floor beside my bed the next morning, I knew that Nyquil was the temporary answer to my prayers.

Chapter 17

I eventually added vanilla extract to my mix of booze alternatives. It went quick, and I had to buy another bottle to replace the one I’d emptied. As I drank the last drop, I wondered if Julia Child, or any other chef for that matter, ever tried a bit of the extract.

Along with vanilla, I bought more Nyquil. I’d use my alternatives with caution before, during, and after school. Our school had a zero-tolerance policy, wherein we weren’t allowed to carry even one aspirin. But there was nothing wrong with carrying a bottle of vanilla.

I especially needed my vanilla when both Christian and Hillman returned to school. After only talking on the phone, Christian gave me the longest hug and warmest kiss when we saw each other again. I let him do both, and although it felt nice it left me with a ball of emotion in my throat. During my down time, I thought about a lot of things — especially what Christian and I spent the most time doing throughout our brief relationship. We drank, and drank some more.

It was becoming apparent that the thing I had most in common with Christian was drinking. Before we went out, I never gave it two thoughts. Now it was all I thought about. And when I saw Hillman lounging at Jock Wall, sunglasses covering his smashed eyes and a bandage across his nose, I had to act.

Rushing to the bathroom, I locked myself in a stall and fumbled for the vanilla bottle. It was the large size and more than half of it was gone before I left that bathroom and collapsed on the floor in front of the door.

When my eyes opened, I was flat on my back in the school office. Searing pain rippled through my stomach, and I wrapped my arms around my middle and winced. A woman sat next to me.

“You’ve been throwing up. That’s why your stomach hurts,” she said, holding up a kidney-shaped pan.

I rolled to my side and saw that I was on a couch in what looked like a principal’s office. When Principal Blanford walked in, I knew my guess was correct.

“Rebecca, your parents are coming to take you home.” His forehead crinkled upward in anticipation of my reaction, but I had none.

“We know you’ve been through a difficult time,” he said, sounding like he was standing at a podium. “But we cannot tolerate drinking on campus.”

“Drinking?” I asked.

He held up the vanilla bottle, shaking it like a little bell.

“Yes, Rebecca. We found this in your purse and have to suspend you for 10 days. I’m sorry, but it’s school policy.”

I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, like how the hell did he think I could get through a day at school when Hillman was running around free?  But I kept my mouth shut. I’d been back one week and now I was out again for vanilla.

“It’s just vanilla. I like to bake.” It sounded silly, carrying vanilla extract in case I got the urge to make brownies.

“You’re not the first student to drink vanilla to get drunk. Did you know it has a 35 percent alcohol content? That’s why you don’t have to drink much to feel the effects,” he said, as if he knew what it was like to have an extract buzz.

I was shaking a little, even though I was wearing a coat and the office temperature was tepid. I trembled away as Principal Blanford glanced at me every now and then until my parents came.

Like clothespin dolls, my parents sat immobile in two chairs as Blanford relayed the damning information. I stayed on the couch, sitting on my hands to make them stop jittering. I saw my mom’s mouth open a little, as if she had the answer as to why her vanilla was low. Words about school policy, possession,
alcoholism
and getting me help flew around the room. The whole time I said nothing and just shook.

“Thank you. We’ll make sure Rebecca gets help.” My dad shook Blanford’s hand before hauling me and my backpack out of the office. As we came around the corner, I caught a glimpse of Jesse Leary in the waiting area. He looked at me, stone-cold sober, his eyes seeming to understand everything he saw.

The ride home was like being in a deprivation chamber, which didn’t surprise me. If I found out my daughter was drinking weird things and getting kicked out of school for it, I’d be pissed, too.

My mom offered me some toast, which I said yes to in spite of zero appetite. I wanted to go to bed, but nibbled instead at the snack and watched her put away dishes from the dishwasher. She was a nice lady, and she loved me a lot. My dad was also a good guy. He worked hard every day, slaving away in an accounting job he didn’t love so that we could go with instead of without. Then there was me.

All I ever wanted was to belong and feel good about it, and because the one that I loved was drinking every time I saw him, I went along for the ride. It made me feel like I was the most beautiful, confident person in the universe. Things that usually made me feel awkward were taken without a grain of worry, and I was able to talk to people who’d previously made me itch with nervous tension.

In spite of whether I’d really done anything bad or not, I was left dry on a sea of sobriety, and my parents were the guardians of that. The headaches came back with a vengeance, along with nausea and that stupid trembling. My hands were dripping with perspiration and I had to wipe them off every five minutes.