The Wrong Side of Rock Bottom Page 2

  I try to take the spoon and the liquid pours out on the bed. Etherly stands up on the mattress and starts to kick me away. “Asshole. This shit costs money.”

  “Money you didn’t spend, right?” When she doesn’t answer I repeat, “Right?” The room continues to spin as I await a response that seems to take extra long to get.

  She grits her teeth, while remaining over me, her foot positioned to inflict extreme pain to my nether regions. “Whatever. I’m doing it one last time, with or without you. You’re not my fucking father, Rogan. You’re my husband. I’m asking you to share this with me. Stop being such a damn pussy and live a little. Why do you always have to bring me down?”

  I stand up and pace around the room, watching her taking another rock from the baggy and sticking it on the heated spoon. Now I’m scared for her. What if she has a bad experience? How will I know what the signs are to start worrying? Will I even be coherent enough to notice? Should I do this with her to protect her, or is that even worse of an idea?

  Then it happens. I watch her take the syringe and suck up the boiling hot liquid. She wraps a fabric headband around her arm to force her veins to bulge. I’m awestruck as she flicks the inside of her elbow until she finds the spot she desires. It’s slow motion as the syringe nears the area. “Please don’t do this.”

  Her smile is almost sickening. “I wish you could share this with me, one last time, Rogan.” There are real tears in her eyes. “You never let me have fun anymore. Don’t you want to experience euphoria while you’re making love to me?”

  I watch the needle pressing against her tender skin. My eyes close. I refuse to watch, but just as I begin to turn away, I dart forward and knock the needle from her grip. She attacks me, slapping me while yelling profanities. “You take everything from me! I hate you!”

  “No, you don’t.” I grab hold of her arms and force her still. “You don’t hate me.”

  I see nothing but revulsion when our eyes meet. She detests me for sure. I’m weak when she gets like this. My heart aches for the torturous battle that takes her further from reality. She’s high. She’ll say whatever it takes to get a reaction from me.

  “I wish we never married. You ruined everything. Just so you know, these drugs are mine. I got them weeks ago. Shows how much you pay attention to your own wife.”

  My grip weakens as my heart takes a serious punch. Then she rushes from the room with her paraphernalia, locking me out of the bathroom to prevent me from getting to her in time.

  I’m on the opposite side of the six paneled solid oak door, wishing the old house we rent didn’t have such strong structural features. There’s no way I can bust the door, but the lock is probably manageable.

  I shove my hip into the door three times before it breaks ajar. Etherly is slumped down between the tub and the toilet, her eyes glazed over and her head barely able to lift.

  I’m pissed, irrefutably at a loss of words. In this moment I know I’m fighting a losing battle. There is no end to her wrath. She’s on a path of destruction and asking her stop isn’t going to get us progress. She needs help, and I know as soon as I’m sober I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her into a program where a group of professionals can do what I’ve been unable to make happen.

  As I watch her lose consciousness and seep into a pool of madness, I make a promise to myself that I’ll never touch another drug again, because I’m not about to risk the safety of our daughter. One day when Etherly is clean she’ll thank me for helping her. She’ll be grateful I saved her from herself, and gave her the opportunity to raise our child right.

  It’ll happen, even if it’s the last thing I do.

  Chapter 2

  I wake wearing only a pair of underwear I somehow managed to put on, face down in the shallow unlit hallway, the pattern of the plush brown carpet pressed into my sore cheek. The light is bright in the bathroom when I look in and find Etherly in the same position I left her.

  Then it all comes crashing back, which leads me to believe I haven’t been out of it long.

  The argument. The hidden drugs. Etherly shooting up.

  I take in her naked body, her beautiful dark chocolate hair, the shape of her curvaceous breasts, and the way those puffy lips cause me to give in. I don’t want to fight anymore, especially knowing I’m going to get her the help she needs.

  After getting my footing, I start addressing her to see if she’ll wake up. “Etherly. Get up. You can’t sleep on the floor all night, baby. Come to bed.”

  In the distance I hear the sweet sound of a tiny voice, calling out for me. “Daddy.”

  It’s obvious my wife needs to continue to sleep off the high, and I’m almost pleased Mila is making an appearance this soon, because it only proves my point of needing to be sober enough to care for her. With a content smirk on my face, I get up and hurry to tend to our daughter instead of dealing with my drugged up wife. Later, we’ll have a knock down drag out fight about what she’s done, and how it will impact getting clean.

  Mila’s got one leg up over her white painted crib when I come into the room. Her chestnut brown curly hair is in all directions on top of her head, and a set of hazel eyes are staring at me beckoning for attention. We’ve put black out curtains in the room, to help with her sleeping, because she always seems to wake at the crack of dawn otherwise. There is a street light right outside her window that we needed to hide. Thankfully, my wife isn’t big on darkness, so there’s always a small nightlight on so we can get around. “Daddy, me out. Potty!”

  I take her into my arms, kissing her chubby cheeks as I immediately head back into the bathroom. “Hang on. Daddy’s going to get you all taken care of.”

  She’s pinching my nose, giggling in her normal cute fashion, and I’m surprised she’s this wide awake in the middle of the night. I maneuver around Etherly in order to sit my daughter on the toilet to allow her to empty her bladder. While she’s peeing, we both gaze over at the sleeping woman who we both love and wish would be different. I unravel some paper and help Mila clean up, then watch as she pulls up her own pants over her butt and leans forward to kiss her mother on the cheek. “Mommy, wake up!”

  “Yeah, Mommy, wake up,” I repeat.

  I give a light shove and wait for a reaction; something that would give me the impression that she’s coming to.

  Nothing happens, so I repeat the process, this time a bit harder. Her head falls heavy in front of her, limp, without any kind of muscle control. That’s when it really begins to worry me. I call out, while shaking her roughly. Mila lingers up against my side, swaying back and forth awaiting a response from her mother. She’s sucking on her thumb, unknowing what’s running through my head. There’s a rush of burning in the furthest reaches of my throat; a sudden spark of panic beneath my rough composure. “Damn it, Eth, wake the hell up. Come on. Stop playing around.”

  Her body sinks lower, the top of her head sliding down until the edge of the porcelain tub halts her from falling to the floor. Her shoulder is pulling on the rubber duck decorated shower curtain, so I rip it from her hold and shove it inside of the tub to prevent it from happening again.

  I catch a glimpse of Mila reaching forward to touch her mother’s cool skin. It’s that exact moment when my brain begins to rationally take me down a road I don’t want to travel. She’s cold, limp…but not… She can’t be. I’m shaking her harder, all while wondering how I’m supposed to manage if her eyes never open, if she never gets to look at our beautiful growing little girl and see real love radiating from within her petite frame. I take her by the shoulders and really evaluate what’s happening.

  “Mommy not wake up, Daddy.”

  My eyes sting as I fight to remain semi-calm in order to keep from scaring her. “Go get Daddy’s phone from the bedroom, Mila. Can you do that for me?”

  She loves playing with our phones, so I know she’s fully aware of the place I charge mine. I’ve often found it missing and her in a corner playing with that silly cat that repeats
everything he hears. He now chimes at all hours of the day asking for food and play time. I’ve deleted the application twice, only to have to reload it to prevent her sorrowful reaction. The things I do for my daughter.

  As soon as the patter of her feet leaves the room, I begin the horrible task of assessing my wife’s current condition. I search for any part of her body that’s at least a tepid temperature. Her skin, every single part of it is cold to touch. I open her mouth, but am too overcome to be able to tell if I can feel a breath. I lift her lids, and am shocked to find blood. There’s a hint of dried red inside of one of her nostrils, and even more residue when I actually check the inside of her mouth. I lean my head against her heart and that’s when I hear the sound. It’s not air extracting, not exactly, but it’s most certainly not a heart beat. It’s more of a gurgling, though the patter of a beat isn’t legible.

  I have hope, though. I assume she’s still with me, so I lay her down on the tile floor and really examine the attributes to the situation. The gurgling is low, hardly enough to warrant normal hearing capabilities. I have my ear up to her mouth and can barely make out the sound emanating from within. “Eth, you have to wake up. Please, baby, open your eyes.” It’s difficult to keep my emotions at bay when I’m struggling to find signs of life.

  Mila is back with my phone. Quickly I dial for the paramedics, explaining the little bit of information I have. I tell them what I think she’s taken, all while holding on to her wrist to make out some kind of pulse.

  As the operator assures me help is on the way, she begins asking me questions pertaining to my wife’s condition.

  “Is she breathing.” No.

  “Can you find a pulse?” No.

  “When did she lose consciousness?” I have no idea.

  As her words remind me of what I fear the most, I can feel the bile rising in my throat. Mila is attempting to climb on her mother, so I swiftly lift her and walk outside of the bathroom, turning around to get another glance at the love of my life’s unresponsive body.

  “There’s a gurgle,” I tell the woman. “It’s faint.”

  I expect her to tell me that’s a good sign. I feel as if there is still a bit of hope to this horrifying situation. As I struggle to imagine what will happen if she doesn’t make it, I’m beckoned by my curious daughter to allow her to get down from my arms. I can’t let her. I have to keep her away from Etherly, so I close the bathroom door before putting her bare feet to the hardwood floor. I’m crouched down, while still holding the cell phone up to my ear. “Let’s go wait for the ambulance to get here.”

  It’s not until we’re in the living room when I realize it hasn’t been a couple hours, but way longer. The sun is beating in through the sheer curtains. It’s morning. My stomach knots up, as the operator continues with her questions. “Can you still hear the gurgling?”

  I close my eyes as I reply, hating the fact that I can’t be in the room with Etherly because of Mila, so as I’m responding, I lift my daughter onto a high back chair and run toward the bathroom again. My ear is close. “No. I can’t hear it. Should I start CPR?”

  “Do you know how?”

  I’m suddenly struck with dread. “I’m not sure. It’s been a long time. I learned it in high school.”

  “Try to keep calm, sir. The ambulance is four minutes out.”

  “I’m doing CPR,” I explain, while peering down at my wife’s still naked frame. I locate her ribs, cock back her head and breathe in, beginning compressions while the phone sits next to me on speaker. I’m counting out loud, the operator typing something into her system as I continue.

  I breathe into her mouth again, her chest rising as my hot air fills her lungs. “Breathe, baby. Come on. You need to wake up.”

  I’m at it again, doing my best to keep from breaking her ribs as I struggle with this task. Burning fluids are forming in my eyes, blinding me from being able to see what I’m looking at. I wipe the first set away, only to have another take their place. I’m too distraught to admit what’s right in front of me. It’s too difficult to fathom this could be my reality.

  When I hear the sound of the siren I know help is coming, but fret it’s going to be too late. There’s still no pulse. I can’t hear the gurgled sounds, and she’s just as unresponsive as before. And those eyes, I shouldn’t have lifted her lids again when the result of the first time was so terrible.

  I’m rushing to the door, it flailing open as I point, almost unable to speak clearly. “In there. Please, hurry.”

  The next few moments are too rough to comprehend. Two medical workers search for vitals. They make a call and start speaking in professional terminology I’m not familiar with. I’m told to stay in the living room to allow them space to work. Mila is crying now, begging to get down from out of my hold, but I know I can’t allow it.

  I’m anxiously waiting for them to come out with good news, but that’s not what they deliver when they find me pacing in the living room. Their matching grimaces say it all. The female paramedic, a seriously pear shaped woman, puts her head down, while the older, gray haired male first looks to Mila before catching my gaze. “I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do.”

  Nothing they could do.

  My bottom lip begins to tremble. My usually strong arms feel weak as I proceed to lose the ability to hold my own daughter. The female takes her out of my arms, Mila screaming as she does it. She’s not used to strangers holding her, and I think in some ways she knows something bad is happening.

  I run my hands across my buzzed head and sink to the floor, unable to accept this is happening. As they stand over me, I lose my composure, rushing past them to make it back into the bathroom. I skid across the porcelain tile until I’m able to pull my wife into my arms. Her limbs flail around as I hold her close, my sorrowful emotions bursting from within me. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. I’m having a bad experience to the drugs I took earlier. It has to be that.

  While the gentlemen does his best to convince me that I need to wait for the coroner to arrive, I hear more voices emanating from the front of my home. I don’t leave the bathroom. I refuse to let go of my wife.

  Then I see them.

  Police.

  Several uniformed officers making their way into the small hallway just outside the bathroom. A well-dressed officer with a badge on his thick hip crouches down beside me. “Is this your girlfriend, or wife?”

  “My wife. She’s my wife,” I repeat. “She’s not gone. You have to check again.”

  He remains in the same position, taking in the scene. “I’m going to need you to come into the other room with me, sir.”

  “No. I won’t leave her.”

  I’m using my shaking hands to prevent them from seeing certain parts of my wife’s naked body. “Get out of here!” I announce.

  “Sir, we realize this is hard for you, but your wife is gone. Please let us do our jobs,” he interjects.

  Another officer speaks behind him while pulling a towel from the rack and shoving it in my direction to allow me to cover Etherly with it. “Is there someone we can call for you?”

  The room is spinning, and not because there are still drugs in my system. I’ve slept them off for sure. This ill feeling is due to the fact that my wife is lying dead in my arms, and the idea of having to tell her parents makes me wish I were the one who never woke up instead.

  I’m slowly led out of the bathroom, immediately noticing the coroner walking inside with a large camera, and an assistant carrying a black bag behind, which I can only assume is some kind of kit they use to collect evidence.

  Now I’m freaking out. Not only have I lost my wife, but now they’re standing over her body prepared to take pictures. More officers are snapping shots of the hallway, while another male starts looking around. I dart for the bedroom, desperate to hide the drugs Etherly kept in the bedroom drawer. I no sooner get it in my hands and begin opening the window to toss it in between the hedges, when someone is standing behind me. I kno
w I’ve been caught. This looks bad. It’s real bad.

  Next thing I know I’m being led back into the living room, while more officers start rummaging through our belongings to find more illegal items.

  A cop comes from the direction of my bedroom with the bag full of Etherly’s drugs, the bent spoon, and even the damn lighter she used. He’s giving me this look like I’m at fault for all of this.

  “They weren’t ours,” I attest. “A friend brought them over.”

  He’s ignoring me, probably because it’s now part of his investigation.

  I’m feeling sick again, this time losing my strength to hold it in. I rush into the kitchen and puke in the sink, hovering over it to keep my footing. They’re asking me questions, badgering me for answers I’m not ready to give them.

  They want to know what she took. They’re asking if I’ve been using. They want to know if we’d been fighting. They’re talking about bruises on her chest. They’re addressing the busted bathroom door handle, and all I can do is slump down on the kitchen floor and bury my face into my hands.

  I can’t do this. I can’t handle it. I’d never hurt my wife. I begged her not to do it.

  It’s been over an hour and Etherly’s body is still in the bathroom. They’ve brought in the black bag for the body, but it sits in the hallway. They’ve taken pictures of each room, and all the pills and drugs they’ve obtained, including the stuff they found in the bathroom next to my wife.

  I’ve been forbidden to leave the living room while they do their investigation. The original female officer has taken Mila outside to prevent her from getting upset. I can hear the metal swing chains creaking as she’s being pushed to stay occupied.

  I’m in a daze after having to call her parents and telling them what’s happened. I don’t wait for them to yell. After the initial scream from her mother, I hung up. They’ve always hated me. They told Etherly I’d ruin her life. They’ll blame me for everything.

  Then it happens. My estranged in-laws arrive. They’re pointing fingers at me from the start. Etherly’s mother is screaming, crying, and having to be held back from going into the bathroom. Her father does his best to keep his cool, but loses it as he witnesses them grabbing the black body bag.