The House Pt. 02

A couple of notes.

This is the second of two parts. It is my sincere belief you will understand part 2 only if you've read part 1. There is some intentional ambiguity - so it is my hope you understand and enjoy both parts. Part 2 is in the voice of Elaine, the cheating spouse in part 1.

The story is not a BTB, nor does it have anything to do with reconciliation. If you prefer a cheating spouse get burned at the stake, this is not for you.

Like part 1, this is a tale of serendipity. Is good fortune a matter of coincidence, guidance, providence, or does our belief help determine it?

Introduction, Elaine

It was so much fun. Well, for a while.

My life was crap. I didn't like being a mother, I didn't like the job I got instead. I was bored with my husband. My friends were happy in their misery. I, however, needed something different.

The "wilder" set of my work group started Wednesday girls' nights out. What a waste. Drinking and dancing with the same losers, who we were supposed to be escaping.

One night I wandered off from the bar we were visiting and found a group of five guys and two women huddled in the entrance to the alley beside the bar. They looked at me with downright paranoia. I laughed at them and said they were as boring as the group inside.

One of them, Henry Marten, took an interest. He separated himself from the group and we started talking. He offered me a green pill - capsule I guess is a more accurate term. I asked what it was. He laughed at me and said I was as boring as the people inside.

I took the capsule.

I have no idea what was in it, but boredom was a thing of the past. Henry was cautious. He wouldn't give me anymore and he wouldn't really let me party. He got me home on time and promised to meet me for lunch the next day.

He gave me another capsule, it was either different drugs or a smaller dose, but it brightened my mood, and I was on my way!

On my way where? I might have asked. Sadly, I did not.

Slowly but surely, he had me on more drugs, more often, and not long-thereafter, had me doing sexual favors to earn my drugs. Every situation has its good aspects and bad aspects. My problem was my notion of what was good and what was bad were distorted.

I was in search of excitement, something new, a little dark adventure. Henry didn't need to get me badly addicted; I sought the evil he was pushing.

Henry was thrilled. He didn't need to create some low-level crack whore, worth only a few dollars more than her addiction - I made him a handsome profit.

It enabled me to stay in my humdrum life and have enough fun to make it bearable. Well, until our nosy across-the-street neighbor got suspicious and told Don. I was busted - well sort of. Don thought I was fucking around on him. If only he'd known. Well, that's wishful thinking, and not helpful - to me or to my tale.

<<<<>>>>

"Where am I."

"You are in County Hospital, Ms. Wilson. We almost lost you. As I heard it, your son found you unconscious, and called 9-1-1."

"Oh, no! Where are the boys now? Oh, wait! When is now? What night is it?"

"This is Tuesday night, ma'am, you've been here since Saturday afternoon."

"Tuesday, the 12^th? My divorce is final today. I wonder if that caused..."

The nurse looked at me. "Ms. Wilson, what were you doing on Saturday, the 9^th?"

Wow! I have no idea. I don't remember anything after my Wednesday girls-night out. "Nurse, I am embarrassed to say, I don't remember Saturday - nor Thursday or Friday, for that matter."

I stared straight ahead; I don't know if she was expecting more conversation, but I was trying to find the missing days. She went wherever it is nurses go and a few minutes later another woman came in.

"Ms. Wilson? My name is Dr. Adams. I am the attending physician on your case. How are you feeling?"

"Confused. I woke up and the last day I remember is Wednesday. I found I was admitted here on Saturday. I cannot reconstruct any of the time from getting off work on Wednesday until now."

"Temporary loss of memory is not that uncommon. Usually, it is associated with an injury. In this case, I suspect what we call Psychogenic Amnesia - which is caused by some emotional trauma. So, we need to find what you did that led you here."

I thought for maybe five or six milliseconds. There is nothing she needs to know about that. I knew the boys were staying with Don last week. I was increasingly uncomfortable with being single. Wednesday was my night with Henry. That I cannot remember explains the level of my debauchery - not whether there might be an alternate cause. "My divorce is final today; I was dreading that; I must have over done it. I am glad I am back now. However, there are ants crawling all over me."

"Overdone is not what I would say, Ms. Wilson. You had high levels of several drugs in your system. You are now going through withdrawal. We are administering other drugs now, to prevent your withdrawal from being too harsh."

"When do I get out of here? I have two young boys at home."

"I have asked the nurse to contact a Mr. Don Wilson. I understand he is your ex-husband. Your boys have been staying with him for the past few days. You show every sign of a serious addiction. I recommend you take some time in a rehab facility before you go home."

"He is coming to care for me?" as I completed the thought, my eyes filled with tears. How could he care about me after all I have done?

"Try to compose yourself. Mr. Wilson will be here soon."

"How soon? I must be a mess..."

"Don't worry about how you look, you have bigger fish to fry right now. There are decisions to be made about your recovery." She looked at me sternly and left the room.

Decisions, what decisions? But more importantly, I need to get myself presentable. My dear one is coming to help me, and I must look my best. I found the call button and started pushing it like the harder it was pushed, the more quickly the nurse would arrive. My thumb was just starting to tremble when she arrived.

"Nurse, I need a comb and a mirror. My love is coming."

The nurse looked uneasy, like maybe she was going to correct something I said. But after a brief pause, she said, "Let's see what I can find. I just spoke to Mr. Wilson; he will be here in about thirty minutes.

The mirror frightened me. If I had not been holding it in front of my face, I would have asked who this pale, sickly individual was. I only had a few minutes, so I did the best I could. I will make my apologies when he arrived.

<<<<>>>>

"Oh, Don! You look so good. This is just terrible. I can't believe after all I've done; you're still looking after me."

"Whoa, slow down Elaine."

"Why not Laney? You always called me Laney."

"Please, calm down. Maybe this isn't what you are expecting. Our divorce was final today, do you remember that?"

"Well, duh! Of course. Yet here you are."

"Elaine, I am here because our 10-year-old son called me frantically telling me, 'Mommy's dead.'"

I looked at him, there was no warmth, no concern, just a good man standing at the bedside of some whore-addict, trying to figure out what to do. "Oh," I know the disappointment showed. "I'm so sorry, what have I done?" I started crying again. A brief image of Henry shouting at me appeared and was gone. Don started to talk, but I held up my hand and he stopped.

"Don, let me gather myself for a second, but tell me what I can do, or what you want to do. This is not the time for me to wallow in my shit, pardon the phrase."

"Thank goodness." He was smiling, broadly. "Elaine, I haven't heard anything that made much sense from you in a while. I hope it means you are on a path to recovery. It's recovery I've come to talk to you about."

"It's time for me to get my head out of my ass, go home and start being the wife and mother... oh, that is not true... being the mother I am supposed to be."

"Elaine. I dropped the boys off Saturday at Noon, per our agreement. Four hours later our 10-year-old son called. You are in the hospital; they tell me you are full of illegal drugs. It is time to straighten yourself out."

That makes me angry. The son of a bitch is so boring I go out and find some relief. I can handle that. Who is he to tell me I need straightening out? "Well, Don, maybe I do. I guess it is up to me to decide."

He shook his head. "Here is the deal. I know there is no family around to help you. I don't know if you can make decisions on your own behalf, and I am not prepared to make them on your behalf. I can't risk the liability."

The tears were close, again. Suddenly, I have no confidence, he is right, I need help. My thoughts bounce around. No, it's emotion, I have no thoughts. Damn it! I had to get a hold of myself. "What decisions need made?"

"On Monday morning I called your employer and told him you were in the hospital. I also said I was your ex-husband and had not been told why you were hospitalized but would convey to you as quickly as I was able that you were to contact them. The hospital says you need some time in a residential treatment center to get past your drug addiction. Oh, by the way, I gave them a sworn statement that I will tell no one of any of your medical information. They were able to tell me because I am still listed as your next of kin. Finally, we need to have some temporary understanding about custody of the boys."

"That sounds simple enough." It didn't sound simple, at all. I am a mess. I cannot hold a thought.

"Elaine, you have been, well let's say you have been under the weather for a while. Are you sure you can act on your own behalf? Maybe your attorney should act for you."

"You're right. I had better make sure he agrees with what I want to do. But, Don, for the time being the boys are yours. I know you will look after them. I don't know what my recovery time is but can I ask you not to do anything permanent before then?"

"Elaine, I never want another call like the one I got from Tim. He is still traumatized. Hopefully, now you are back on the right track, and we can both give the boys the attention they need. Here is what I promise you. When I am assured you are recovered, we will come to a mutual agreement on the boys."

"That sounds good. You are a good man; I am so sorry we are where we are because of me. Would you tell the boys I am doing better and will be talking to them as soon as I can?"

"Sure."

"In the morning, do you want my attorney to contact you or your lawyer?" I tried to show him I wanted his help, rather than more legal hassles.

"Oh, let's start with me. I want him to know we are going to do this in as friendly a fashion as we can."

"Thanks, Don, that means a lot. I still love you; you know."

That brought a look like he'd swallowed wrong, "You take care. I am sure we will be in touch." He turned and left.

I decided to see if I could sleep.

<<<<>>>>

I woke up many times. There were people coming in and out - drawing blood, asking if I was sleeping, giving me pills. Hospitals are no place for a sick person. Morning arrived, anyway.

I was going to be okay at work. One of the things Henry had advised me to do was fuck my boss. That would compromise him and leave me grounds for a lawsuit if they tried to fire me.

I made the call; he told me to take the time I needed. He transferred my call to Human Resources. They told me our employee insurance covered residential treatment for drug or alcohol addiction. They also said I had up to 42 days, including what I had missed while in the hospital, at full pay. After that, we would talk about whether pay would continue.

I was able to call my attorney by 8:55. I knew he never got in too early and did not schedule much until he'd had a chance or two at the coffee urn. We chatted and he said the short-term with the kids would be no issue. Longer term, Don might have issues and we would deal with those when they occurred.

I asked the doctor who they recommended for residential treatment, called them, and would be admitted there in three days.

I tried to remember the last week. I'd gone off the deep end, for sure. Six months ago, I was a moderately unhappy wife and mother, too spoiled to think about what I needed to do to get over myself.

So, I found a guy who drugged me up and made me a whore, as a temporary solution. No doubt, there were better options available to me. But it's late for that, now.

September 16

I checked into the treatment center. Ugh! There were two large rooms, each with couches and a TV. Those rooms were separated by a dining room. Several conference rooms and fourteen bedrooms were down one of two hallways. Twelve were two-bed rooms, and the corner rooms had three beds. Here I was with my 29 new best friends for the next 28 days.

I guess the place was well enough run, but the immediate lesson for me was I had better get clean and stay clean or I would have to visit here a second time. Once was going to be more than sufficient.

The first big event of the first day was a group therapy session. Twelve women whining about how some trivial bull shit caused them to become addicted to whatever, and now they were sorry. People were asked if they wanted to speak, and one-by-one they did. Suddenly, I felt compelled.

"My name is Laney."

Hi, Laney." They droned back.

"I don't want any of you to take this the wrong way, but I have been listening to your stories. At first, what I heard was blah, blah, blah. Life is hard and it's not fair. I am a victim." I looked around, no one seemed to show any empathy.

"Then, it hit me. I wasn't listening to you. I was hearing my own voice through your stories. I had a good life, decided it wasn't, and pissed it all away. How could I have been so stupid?" I looked around the room, the disapproval was gone, but most were shaking their heads, as if to say, "the bitch is new, she'll learn."

And learn I did.

This place is hell. I am about to scratch myself to death. They keep telling me that withdrawal won't last that long. I figured out why. It won't last that long because I won't last that long.

If I do live to get out of here the first thing I am going to do is find Henry and shove a dozen or so of his pills up his ass.

I have been here more than a week, what is going on? I should be on the route to recovery. An orderly came up to me, "Ma'am, can you come to the office? We have your attorney on the phone."

These conversations are hard. I need to have the outside world thinking I am okay, but I am not okay. I need to convey reason, but I don't feel reasonable. "This is Elaine."

"Elaine, I have what I think is some good news. Your ex-husband wants to minimize the impact on your children. He is proposing you and he trade houses for a period. He is open to specifying an end-date, or to leaving the date open with the written understanding that when you can return to the primary care for your sons, you can trade back."

It's all I can do not to jump and cheer. I don't want to be caring for the little shits, but that is not reasonable. "Oh, I don't know, I am so anxious to get back to being a mother. Are you sure it is a good idea?"

"I do. You will be demonstrating good faith. Further, I recommend no specific end-date. You will ease your ex's mind and that will build trust. When you are ready to move back to your home, I am sure he will be very reasonable.

"Hang on a minute, I want to think this through." I want to break into 'Happy Days Are Here Again", but that would give me away. I'll wait another minute or so and give him my reasonable response. "Okay, you have been very good in representing me. I'll do what you say."

"Great, I'll get it written up. All I need is your verbal assent and he will start moving out of his place and into yours. He says just the clothing, all the furnishings can stay as they are until you move into his current house. You can ask for anything you want at that point, and he will move it for you."

Well, that was a big success. Although I did learn, I've not been here more than a week; it's just seemed that long. I have been here three days. How could it be only three days?

<<<<>>>>

I'm glad they don't give inmates, or whatever the fuck it is they call us, phones. I would have called Henry and told him what a bastard he is and how his life would not be worth a plug nickel, when I get out.

It's depressing. They tell us not to form any romantic relationships for a year. They tell us we will not be back to normal for several years. We will always be vulnerable to becoming addicted, again. The odds are long and all against me - maybe I should just give in early.

This is my current thinking now that I am nearly two weeks into my stay. I feel empty inside. The staff here have tried to help me see that the lifestyle I chose was at the root of all my problems. That is probably at least partially true.

But I am thinking if I can just have a couple of pills and maybe a shot, that will help my mind clear and then I can quit. I just need to keep it together long enough to get into my new house, make a call, and get myself right with the world.

Luckily, I asked for my cell phone to be charging in my new bedroom. I can make that call right away.

September 29

It's a sad day. My roommate, Gwen, graduates today. She has been great. More than the counselors, she knows what I am going through and has helped me. She worries me though. She was addicted to heroin for nearly a decade and is still very frail.

Her attitude is good. Maybe she'll make it.

Every day at lunch, someone is spending their last meal with us. The custom is for them to say a few words about their time here and about their hopes for the future. Gwen says she is hopeful, she has a home to return to. She is going to go to work for her brother and has confidence. She broke down, saying she would miss us all so much. "I have not had a friend other than that white powder in more years than I can remember." She finally choked out. When she finished, there was not a dry eye in the crowd.

I left the dining room and went to my counseling appointment. Today was individual therapy.

"How do you think you are progressing, Elaine?"

"I have no idea and that scares me to death."

"Elaine, that is to be expected. Your physical addiction is mostly behind you. But you must establish new habits. I do mean new habits. If you go back to how you were before you got in trouble, you'll get in trouble again."

"I haven't been able to say this before. I didn't like my life. I didn't like me. I tried to believe my husband was boring, and my kids a continuing disappointment. But it was me. Wasn't it?"

"That is a profound question. You will have to answer it. Let me just say this. Everyone lives in an environment largely of their own making. One can see their surroundings as a palace or a prison; you need to work on seeing the palace."

"What a load of crap!"

"No. Not really. You were well off and lived in a prison. You can find many people living in poverty who love their lives. Attitude is going to make the difference in whether you recover, or not."

I sat looking at her. I'll bet she is right. I'd love to try to win Don back - but if I try, I'll see my life as I did. I must find a different life. New habits for a new life.

The boys are different. I miss them. My mother genes must be intact. It is a big step. I let them down. I put them in danger.