Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
The man smiled at me, handing me Connor’s pills, and I knew we had an understanding.
“Take these.” I handed the small white cup to Connor along with a bottle of water.
Without hesitating, he tossed the pills into his mouth, swallowed, and then sat at the small white table. “Can we go now?” He scratched almost violently at his arm.
“No, you can’t, Connor,” I explained. “Because you’re sick, honey.”
“No, I’m not.” He sounded like a pouting child.
Firmly, I told him, “Yes, you are. And this place is going to help you become well again.”
“Emmy.” He was jittery and his knee bounced a mile a minute. “I’ll tell you what I told the doctor. I’m not sick. I just need a little heroin to function. Just a bit, every day. Okay?” He looked on the verge of tears and pleaded pitifully, “Can we go now, baby? Please?”
How my heart broke for him. I wouldn’t cry. I’d save my tears for the ride home.
Instead, I smiled though I’m sure it shook. “Will you shower for me, sweetie?”
Connor looked down at himself, at his clothes, and frowned. His leg stilled. A moment later, he spoke and he did it quietly. “Okay.”
I beckoned the orderly and he escorted Connor to the showers. Waiting patiently, I stood when Connor walked back, clean and freshly shaved. He glared at the older man. “Fucking pervert, watching me shower. Fag.”
“Hey.” I was starting to get pissed off. I softened my tone when he looked at me like I physically assaulted him. “He’s just doing his job, okay? And your job is to get better so, please, let them help you.”
Connor glowered. “I hate it here.”
“Well, it’s not The Ritz.” When he looked up at me, I smiled gently. “You smell better.”
His lip twitched and then he stood, taking my hand. “C’mon.”
For a moment, I hesitated but when I saw he was leading me to his room, I went along. The orderly reminded me that I wasn’t allowed in Connor’s room, so I stood in the open doorway and watched Connor throw himself on the now-clean bed. “When can I leave?”
“When you’re better.”
His jaw tightened. “I need a lawyer, baby. They won’t let me sign myself out.”
“I know.”
“Call Rita. Tell her to come as soon as she can.”
Oh, Lord, this was not going to go down well. “No.”
He lifted his head and blinked at me. “What?”
“No,” I repeated, ignoring my thumping heart. “You’re staying this time.”
His brows lowered. “For how long?”
“Ninety days.” That was the longest length of inpatient rehab. Connor was still in withdrawal. I’d done my research. He needed to be around medical professionals at this stage, needed medication to fight withdrawal, because it was so physically painful. Heroin was not an easy drug to fight and the battle would be intense.
“Ninety…” He sat up, looking confused, muttering, “Ninety days?” His manner changed in an instant. “No fucking way, Emmy. I’m getting out of here.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Says who?”
My temper was starting to rile. “Says me.”
“You don’t understand, Emmy. I said I’d go to rehab and I did. Now I’m done and I’m leaving.” He shot up off the bed and went to the closet, opening a duffle and throwing his clothes inside.
My voice was as calm as it could be in this situation. “Connor, you’re not going anywhere. I’m in charge here.”
Connor always got mean when he was upset. He threw more clothes into the bag. “And who the fuck are you to me?”
“Your wife,” I told him and he stilled.
Yeah.
Remember when we got married, you asshole?
His entire body stiffened. “That was a gag. It didn’t mean shit.”
I huffed out a small laugh. “Not according to the state of Nevada.”
The memory of our last night in Vegas assaulted me and, quite suddenly, I was there again.
“Will you go somewhere with me?”
It felt like a lifetime ago.
It didn’t matter that we were both sex drunk and we laughed the entire ceremony, or that a Riff Raff lookalike from The Rocky Horror Picture Show was the celebrant. I had a marriage certificate and I had a ring. I walked down the aisle to ABBA’s “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do,” and the memory is so vivid, so fresh, that I can still smell the cologne Connor wore that night.
According to Rita, the only other person who knew about the marriage, Connor was not of sound mind at the minute so when I went to court to apply for medical guardianship, it was granted in less than a heartbeat.
I was in charge of Connor’s health and that was not something I took lightly.
“So, what?” he smiled nastily. “You’re pulling rank?”
Leaning against the doorframe, I folded my arms across my chest and nodded. “I guess I am.”
He looked miserable. Staring into my eyes, he picked up the duffle and threw it. It hit the wall with a loud thud and he pointed a menacing finger at me. “Fuck you.”