No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [97]
“’Bye, Mia.”
22. Holding on, letting go
Sam left Mia just after eleven. He was tempted to knock on Mary’s door but her lights were off and he knew from Ivan that she had been having sleepless nights. He had also heard a greatly exaggerated account of her breakdown in Gemma’s beauty shop. He wondered if she was having that terrible nightmare again. He worried for her as he knew how devastating nightmares could be. He had been haunted by them for as long as he could remember – but his were based in reality.
He fell asleep quickly. Minutes later the nightmare woke him. He was starting to panic – that terrible panic to which he had often succumbed in his past life. The panic that started in the pit of his stomach, then leaked into his system and threatened to debilitate him. The panic that had enticed him into messing around with drugs. Sam hadn’t started with heroin – he’d tried pretty much everything else first: marijuana, mescaline, magic mushrooms, acid, china white, LSD, ketamine and cocaine to name a few, but nothing had come close to heroin. The others he could take or leave, but heroin had seduced him instantly and become his mistress. He had lost himself in her.
He made tea, trying to control the tremor in his hand. He sat at the kitchen table and tried to remember the breathing technique that Phones, his shrink, had taught him. He closed his eyes and attempted to visualize a calm day, but instead he saw a needle slipping into his vein, liquid slipping into his system and himself slipping into heaven. He shook his head vigorously to empty it. No. No. Think of the sea or a cornfield or a park. Think of the sun, the moon or anything but that. Come on, man, you can do it. If only I could stop this damn tremor. Damn it, what’s happening? But he couldn’t stop the memories of the almighty high flooding back.
When he was up, he was filled with colour. His body felt light and his mind free. He didn’t need to be touched or loved. He didn’t need to talk or listen. He could just be, wrapped up in his own heavenly bubble. He could almost feel the warmth. He stood up and walked around the room. OK, you want to remember heroin, remember all of it. Remember the bad times. Remember the nightmare, he told himself, as Danziger, his male nurse, had instructed. He closed his eyes and visualized coming down. It wasn’t hard to relive the hell that always followed like a blinding light – his head aching, his ears and skin buzzing, his body screaming. He could see himself in a ball, cold and twisted. His only escape was to slip another needle into his vein. He opened his eyes. I won’t go back there. It’s all OK. Everything is fine. I’m fine.
It was the first time he’d really thought about using since rehab. I’m OK. I’ll be OK. He needed to calm down so he took a hot bath. The techniques his shrink had taught him finally kicked in and the panic dissipated.
He was drying his hair when someone banged on the door. It was after two a.m. but he thought that maybe it was Mary.
He answered with a relief that was short-lived.
Caleb pushed past him. “You’re a real fuckin’ asshole, you know that?” He was holding a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The rest was on his breath.
“I didn’t ask her here,” Sam said, closing the door.
“No, of course you didn’t. Why would you? You don’t give a damn about her!”
Caleb plonked himself on one of Sam’s kitchen chairs. Sam took two glasses out of his cupboard and put them on the table. Caleb snorted at his presumption but poured them both some anyway.
“You’re wrong,” Sam said, after a sip of bourbon.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I do care about her. I just don’t love her. Not like you.” He drained his glass.
Caleb put his glass on the table in front of him. He began drumming his fingers. “She told you about us?”
“Yes.” Sam poured another round.
“What’s your hold over her, man?” Caleb asked, sounding defeated.
“She came to say goodbye,” said Sam, “and that was what she did.” He put his glass down without taking another sip. Instead he got up and