Follow the River

My head is still pounding the following afternoon as I take a seat on Doctor Fulton’s couch in her office, my face resting in my hands as I try to fight off the continuous urge to cut my head off to stop the headache.

Yeah, I’m back at therapy again.

And after last night, I think I fucking need it.

If tripping out and imagining my dead friend on the table of the private room in the club wasn’t bad enough, then hallucinating my ex-best friend twice, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years, definitely pushed me in this direction.

The second I cleared my thoughts enough to be able to move, I bolted from the bathroom and ordered an Uber to take me to Taco Bell. It was my only hope that some food might sober me the fuck up so I could walk straight back into the hotel room.

Because yeah, I was definitely still drunk as shit off the whiskey I downed faster than a fish out of water. And the last thing I wanted in the entire damn world was to wake River up when the whole point of me going out to the club was to avoid him in the first place.

But alas, even though I was off my high and able to walk without ru

A feeling, something like guilt, tickled the back of my mind at the sight of him looking so helpless.

That all changed the second he saw me, though. Because he was on his feet and screaming before the door to our room was fully closed.

“It’s after three in the fucking morning, Rain! We have to be on a plane at eight o’clock. Or did you forget that little tidbit of information when you decided to go out and get fucking plastered out of your mind?” His eyes darted to my neck, where I was correct in assuming my little blonde hook up left quite the lover’s bite and he scoffed. “Of course. And to get fucked apparently.”

Yeah…

Needless to say there wasn’t a whole lot of talking the rest of the night between River and me. Or the plane ride home, which was thankfully short because I spent most of it fighting the urge to puke the entire time.

I even let him call me that goddamn nickname because I didn’t have the energy in me to fight with him. All I wanted was to flop down on my bed, pass out, and hope to fucking God the nightmares would stay away since I wouldn’t be getting a ton of sleep.

I relived part of one in the flesh while I was high as it was, but that didn’t mean the memories wouldn't torment me in the few hours of shut eye. Normally I’d fight the sleep off, and especially with River in the same room. But it wasn't worth it. I needed sleep because when the crash hit my body, it was like being backed over by a tank multiple times and then tossed over a cliff onto a ton of sharp, pointy rocks below.

You’d think it would be reason enough for people to keep off drugs, but apparently I’m one of those idiots who never learn their lesson. Because I broke years of drug sobriety for the cheap thrill of a meaningless fuck in a semi-public place and a quick way to chase away the demons for the night.

Again.

Only that didn’t exactly work, did it? Because the damn things—persistent as ever—were still there the whole time.

But I digress.

“So Ciaráin, tell me what brings you back after your colorful departure the last time we saw each other,” Doctor Fulton requests. I peek at her through my fingers to find her with a perky smile I want to wipe off her smug fucking face.

And don’t get me started on her cheery ass voice. It’s like nails on a fucking chalkboard, making me want to rip my goddamn hair out with every syllable.

Jesus Christ, coming back here was a worse idea than getting fucking lit up last night.

I remove my hand from my eyes entirely and glare at her, not giving a fuck that I look like I want to kill her with my bare hands. Honestly, life imprisonment for homicide charges might be worth it if I never have to listen to her damn voice again.

You’re here for a reason, I tell myself.

Namely, I fucked up by getting fucked up and the only way I’m going to deal with the resonating emotions from my actions last night is to talk them out. It sucks donkey dick, but there’s no way around it. It’s like I need someone else to absolve me of my sins in order for me to even attempt to move past them.

Though I’m rethinking this route, knowing it would be simpler and a lot less of a hassle to join a church and start going to confession.

Just fucking tell her, Rain. Tell her what a fuck up you are.

“I…” I start, letting out a sigh. “Something happened last night. A lot happened, actually, but I honestly don’t know where to start.”

Doctor Fulton sets her pen on the notepad in her lap and leans forward in her chair, her forearms resting on her thighs. “Usually when you don’t know where to start, the best place is the begi

The begi

Doctor Fulton must sense my apprehension, because she offers me a smile. Not one of condescension or a

“Ciaráin, it’s okay to be hesitant to share after what happened with your previous therapist. I get that. But just know this is a safe space for you to get out whatever it is eating you.”

And I don’t know why, I really fucking don’t, but for some reason, I believe her. This is a place I can share what I need to in order to move on from my mistakes and transgressions and find closure from my past.

So, I do it.

I open my mouth and tell her everything that happened last night from the moment Coach a

The confrontation with River, the texts from my stepfather, the drugs, the girl in the bathroom.

The hallucinations.

All of it.

And when I’m done baring my soul to this stranger, we sit in silence while she digests the previous night’s events. But there is no judgement in her eyes, no look of disgust on her face.

The only things I see are compassion and empathy and fuck if it doesn’t make my heart ache in my chest for being such a damn douche.

“Let me ask you this,” she says after another minute, twirling her pen between her fingers. “What part of last night do you regret the most?”

Her question gives me pause, which it shouldn’t. The answer should be obvious. I should be regretting taking the two lines of bumped up coke. If I hadn’t done the lines, I wouldn’t have hallucinated Deacon or Roman. I probably wouldn’t have even fucked that girl. And for the life of me, I still can’t even remember her name.

So that’s exactly what I tell her.

“I know what I should regret the most,” I sigh. “It should be drug use. Because if I had kept clean, I could have avoided so much of this other bullshit.”

She nods and then prompts me to continue with, “But?”

But the thing I regret most isn’t going to the club, getting drunk and high, or fucking that girl. No, what I regret the most…was coming back to the hotel to see River’s face for the split second before he lit into me.

I’ve never seen another human look so…distraught.