A glimpse into the past….
“What the hell is this?” Nick asked, a bit of a slur to his voice when he awoke to find his mother looking over him, his father holding an empty bottle and shaking his head. Looking around, he was still in his apartment – so he must’ve either left the door unlocked, or his parents got the office to let them in for a welfare check. He was guessing the latter.
“Sweetie, we’ve been worried about you. You’re drinking is getting out of hand.” his mom said.
“I’m fine.” he snapped, sitting up before snatching the bottle from his father’s hands. He stood up to take the bottle to the kitchen, wobbling a bit before steadying himself and limping out of the room. But his father blocked him.
“Listen to your mother, Nick. We’re worried about you.” he said.
“I’m fine.” he repeated, feeling annoyed that they didn’t believe him. His father took the bottle from his hand then, and handed it to his mother, who took it into the kitchen.
“We want to show you something.” his father had said, and guided Nick into the kitchen. There, sitting on the counter, were a couple dozen liquor bottles, a fair amount of them empty or low. They were grouped, and in each group, save for one, there were crumpled receipts from where he’d bought them.
“Honey, I don’t think you realize how bad it is. These bottles were bought within the last month – maybe less. You’re drinking too much. What’s going on?” she asked.
“There’s more than that.” His dad said, and produced three pill bottles. “Why from three different pharmacies?”
“They wouldn’t give me my prescription.” he mumbled.
“These are painkillers, kiddo. How many have you been taking?” he asked.
“I’m in pain. Constantly.” Nick replied.
“There has to be another way, Nicholas.” his dad said, in a very dad-like tone.
“Please, Nicky – we want you to get help,” his mom begged.
“I’m fine!” he yelled. Then, he heard a squeak from behind him. He turned, and his little sister was there, her eyes wide, her body backed against the wall.
“Please, Nick.” she said. “I don’t want to lose my big brother.” Tears began to fill her eyes, and he looked around again, actually seeing the pain and the worry in his parents’ faces, and the evidence that had been placed in front of him.
“Alright.” he conceded. “I’ll go.”
It took a little doing, but his parents got him into a rehab facility and promised to look after his place while he was in, however long it took. The place wasn’t bad, but it sure wasn’t home. The first thing he went through was an intake, going over the process and procedure, before beginning the program. It was like visiting hell all over again, with everything feeling like torture. The withdrawal symptoms were the worst, between the shakes, the cramps, the nauseous and pain; that desperate desire to numb it all, but not being allowed to do anything but suffer through it.
He attended physical therapy while there to try and strengthen what he had left in his knee without pushing it to extremes, and helped him get back into exercise, which would become a daily routine for him once he got out. Mostly while there, they focused on the painkiller addiction, and had him attend meetings akin to Narcotics Anonymous. All in all, he was there six months before being able to go home. Upon release, he was encouraged to continue with Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, or both.
He attended meetings dutifully, kept appointments, and even managed to go to school to help with his music passion. On his one-year sobriety anniversary, he found he’d been approved for a service dog – a surprise for his parents. There was one that had been in training to help him especially – a German Shepard by the name of Chase. He was barely out of his puppy phase and into his full-grown state, but he was smart, dutiful and extremely loveable.
Chase took to Nick right away, and his usefulness became quickly apparent. He was able to help calm Nick during instances of PTSD, or distract him in moments of intense pain. Out and about, he was a good boy, never straying from his duty. At home, he was still a good boy, but he got to play, and overall was quite a happy dog. For his part, Nick enjoyed having the dog. He wasn’t sure he would at first, but Chase was very soothing to have around, and he was surprised at just how much his presence helped.
It was a rare, rainy night when he was having a bad time of it. The pain was dull and throbbing, and he hadn’t had much luck getting it to die down. Chase was asleep next to him, and he didn’t want to disturb the dog. Instead, he picked up the phone and scrolled through his contacts. He wanted to talk to someone, but it was late, and he knew several of the people he might normally talk to were asleep. With a heavy sigh, he started to put the phone down, then pulled up the text window, and sent a message to a familiar number.
I don’t expect you to respond to this. Hell, I don’t even know if you have that same number, and Ryan – if this isn’t you…sorry. I just wanted to say…you were right. I’m sorry.
He thought about sending one to Alyssa as well, but it could be days before she got it, and all he really wanted to tell her was that he missed her. He hoped that he got a response, but as the night went on, he got angry with himself for having done it at all, and decided to just call it a night.
After a while, he forgot about the text. He’s managed to land a job as a valet at a casino, with an occasional side-gig with music. In his a free time, he hung out with his buddies if they were available, or sometimes his sister.