If Only I Knew What I'd Become

No matter how many times Seth tried to begin the letter it always came out wrong

”Dear Mickey Mouse, I'm sorry I threw up in your costume head.”

Too insensitive.

”Hey Mickey, you know the head? Sorry about that.”

Too insincere.

He glared and snickered in mockery at the pamphlet that lay beside him. This was a stupid program. It incorporated remorse and religion into his 'healing process'. However there was one small flaw the courts overlooked when sending him here: he was neither apologetic or religious. And for that matter; he didn't need to be healed, he wasn't sick.

Alcoholism wasn't a disease, it was a choice.

Apparently, the first step in 'healing' was apologizing... starting with the charge that had landed him in the Seattle Healing Center For Substance abuse. It wasn't like he had done something spectacular like overdosing or getting alcohol poisoning for the hundredth time. He had very simply gotten intoxicated in Disneyland, yanked off Mickey Mouse's head, and then vomited in it before passing out.

He made the 8 o'clock news.

He sighed and dropped the pen and pathetic attempt at an apology beside the brochure. Groaning, he looked around at his surroundings. He had white walls, white clothes, white carpeting, pillows, comforter. There was a sharp twist in his stomach as he began to realize how similar this place looked to a mental hospital.

It didn't really matter, anyway. He belonged in a psych ward. Memories began to cloud his mind and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

They drank.

She screamed

He hit.

She soothed.

They drank again.

“I could sure use some vodka right about now,” Seth muttered to no one in particular. The phone rang and Seth turned his head slightly; willing it to go silent. The only people who could call him were the doctors and nurses, and he wasn't in the mood to have his mind analyzed.

Seth pulled himself off the bed and stretched. They would be here any minute and he had to act quickly. He searched to find something to barricade his door, but his labors remained fruitless. His bed and night table were bolted to the floor; the lamp and phone were bolted to the night table. After last time they had taken away his desk, drawers, and chair.

His doctor burst into the room with two nurses and his therapist in tow. Them piling through the door in a loud manner didn't really disturb him, however, the two large syringes the doctor was carrying did.

“Seth?” The doctor was obviously dumbfounded to find him standing upright instead of laying comatose on the floor. “When you didn't answer your phone we assumed the worst.”

“You assumed I was drunk? How could I possibly get alcohol into this place?” There was a shallow pause where the nurses breathing could be heard. It seemed like an eternity before someone answered him.

“We assumed you were dead,” the therapist answered quietly, “Suicide risk is quite high in recovering addict.” He stopped for a moment to gather his thought before continuing: “Though it's quite interesting that when you hear the term 'assume the worst' your mind goes to inebriation not death.”

Seth grimaced at the man. He hated how every single thing he said or did was watched and broken down so they could assess his state of mind.

“You think that being drunk is worse than being dead?”

“The reason that I didn't answer my phone was because I didn't want to go to therapy and have my brain picked today. Thanks anyway.”

“You're therapy isn't until three this afternoon. It's ten AM. You've lost track of time too?”

“I don't have a clock. Why the fuck are you calling me so early?”

“You have a visitor.”

The rest of what they said fell on deaf ears. He had been in this hell-hole for for three months and not once had those words been uttered to him. A feeling of nausea overwhelmed him and he sat down on the edge of the bed. The bottle of whiskey that he had had his former roommate Michael sew into the mattress poked his backside and he shifted in discomfort.

His parents had disowned him after the Disneyland incident. None of his friends would come to a rehab clinic for fear that they would be taken on as patients. The only person who would dare set foot in a place like this just to see him was Haelii.

His warm memories of her mingled with the cold ones and his stomach fluttered in protest. Wincing from the effort he reluctantly stood. He cautiously placed one foot in front of the other until he reached the lobby.

And there she was.

He remembered who she used to be and his eyes welled up with tears with another glance at the defeated woman before him. Her bright, soft skin had now taken on a hue that was more pallid. The once blue eyes that looked at him had faded to the point that their colour now bordered on gray. His beautiful, vibrant ray of hope had now turned into a thundercloud; predicting disaster.

Everything that she had been originally had withered and died like a flower hidden from the sun. The smile she showed him was forced and lacked joy. He couldn't blame her for her lack of exuberance; this place had a nasty habit of making people miserable.

“Hey sugar, pick your poison.”

“What are you talking about?”

She grabbed Seth's hands and placed them on her thighs before reaching back and lifting her shirt up a smidgen. There was a flash of a glass bottle filled to the brim with amber taped to her undershirt. Beneath his fingers lay two packages; one taped to each leg. If Seth knew Haelii as well as he thought he did; one would be cocaine and one would be marijuana.

“I mean pick your poison.”

“I'm in rehab, Haelii. Do you really think that this is the best idea?”

“Sugar, even if you don't use it yourself you can sell it. Like you sai: you're in rehab, you can charge whatever you want.”

“I don't know, Haelii.”

“Either you do this fort me and get me some good customers or I go to the cops and tell them about the 'slip up' you had with me. I still got pictures of the bruises.” Seth turned his eyes down to the floor to conceal the pained expression on his face and the shame lurking in his eyes. “Look at me, you little fucker!” She hissed while grabbing his chin and forcing his gaze to meet hers.

“You get me some good customers and I'll burn the pictures. Hell, I'll even let you have a cut of the product and the profits.” Seth nodded.

The two made small talk for a few minutes. One of the topics happened to be what his room number was. Haelii went to the 'washroom' before she left, and when Seth returned to his room he found a package of marijuana, cocaine, and a bottle of Jack Daniels hidden under his mattress.

The alcohol was for him; he decided that much. He wasn't a drug addict though, so the rest he would sell. Michael would help him with that. His old roommate had been moved to a different room when they figured out that he was the source of Seth's regression.

>>>X<<<

Sure I'll help you get rid of it... for a cut.” Seth nodded. “Are you sure you want to do this, Seth? I mean. you're in pretty bad shape already. This could put you over the edge.”

“Shut up and help me sell this shit,” Seth snapped, “I want it away from me.”

“As long as you know what you're doing.”

Seth went back to his room and shut the door behind him. He sighed and glared at his bed. The liquids it contained taunted and teased him. Glancing back over his shoulder at the door every few seconds, he took slow steps towards the bed.

Footsteps in the hall made him jump six inches in the air. They fell away as quickly as they come but he remained as still as a statue for the next fifteen minutes anyway. He slid his foot forward inches at a time. When he finally reached the bed he lifted the mattress and winced when the frame creaked. he froze again for a few moments.

Seth leaned down a little further and his dark brown hair shielded his eyes. The sunlight filtered through the curtains and landed on the bottle of Jack Daniels. It lit up and looked like a gift from heaven. He smiled.

>>>X<<<

”Hello?” Seth slurred into the phone.

“You're late for your appointment,” the therapist replied. The phone was dead silent as Seth scrambled for a suitable excuse to miss his therapy session. “Seth, are you drunk?”

“Nawwh, I'm just not feeling too good. Hold on, I gotta puke.” The doctor grimaced as he heard his patient gagging on the other end of the phone. “I don't think I'm gonna make it to the session. I can't walk too much.”

“Fine. I'll come see you.”

Click.

Seth looked to the empty bottle beside him and then to the half empty one that sat on he night stand. He thought about destroying the evidence, or hiding it at the very least; but failed to see the point. They already knew that he was nothing but a drunk.

Thats all he was; all he ever was. To some, maybe he was a drunk with connections. But everything about him always came back to the fact that he was just an alcoholic.

To Haelii? To Haelii he was simply an opportunity that came equipped with vodka. The memories kept flooding back, and with them they brought tears which cascaded down his face and mingled with the amber droplets that had already stained his shirt.

”Haelii, I'm never drinking again. I can't keep doing stuff like this, you deserve better,” he said with resolve. She crawled into his lap and began to play with his hair. Her eyes were wide and the corners of her mouth were turned up in a playful smirk.

“Honey, it only happened one time. it won't happen again.” She raised her hand to brush the bruise that now resided on her left cheek. “I'll tell you what; if it happens again, then you can give up drinking. Until then it's fine. Just... relax. Have a drink." Haelii poured a copious amount of vodka for the both of them and then downed hers in one shot. “Besides, you're more fun like this anyways.”

“Haelii...”

“Trust me.”

At her urging he downed the clear beverage in one gulp just as she had done.

Seth heard the doctor cursing and running up the hall toward his room. He pulled himself into a half decent sitting position with his knees tucked into his chest. While lowering his chin to his kneecaps, he tried unsuccessfully to wipe away the tears.

The doctor stormed into the room, slamming the door open so hard he left indents in the wall. Seth didn't flinch. His therapist was prepared to scream at him for sneaking alcohol into the facility; until he saw the tears that kept falling down his face. He ran over to the boy who was hunched over with his head resting on his knees.

“Seth? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong?” Seth just shook his head as the sobs continued to wrack through his body. He shuddered and convulsed uncontrollably. “Seth?” Seth looked up at his therapist with glazed over eyes.

“I didn't mean to,” He whispered.