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Previous Chapter: Over and Over and Over
Disclaimer: I know you are fiction readers and don’t need this but. . .just in case. The events in this chapter are descriptive, not prescriptive. I’m not saying Dave does everything right or suggesting that anyone follow his example. I also apologize for any inaccuracies—I had to rely on my own research and limited resources.
3:00 a.m. Pounding on the door. Dave jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs; he knew it was her, even though he’d thought he might never see her again when she’d stumbled away last month. He’d been listening for this knock ever since.
She was leaning with her head against her arm on the frame of his door. He’d never seen her look so rough. He helped her up the stairs and to the futon, where she leaned heavily against him.
“I’m so sick, Dave. I’m so, so sick.”
“I see that.” He put his hand on her clammy forehead.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Please.”
“I’m coming clean.”
“What!?” His heart was pounding.
“I’m coming off the stuff.”
He pulled back to look at her face. “No kidding?!”
“Really. I have to. Dave . . . I saw someone die. I saw him die right down there between the mills. I didn’t even get what was happening and then he was gone.”
“What? When?”
“Hours ago.”
“I didn’t hear any sirens.”
Lacey didn’t say anything for a while, but rocked slightly. Then, “We didn’t call anyone. It was too late before we realized. I was meeting my dealer.” She doubled over with her arms around her waist. “Please Dave. Please help me. Please please please. I haven’t had any since last night. I need it. Please.”
“I thought you were coming clean?”
“I have to, I have to,” she grabbed his shirt and put her face close to his, “I have two choices. I can’t go like that. I have to kill myself or I have to get clean. I can’t do that shit, Dave. I can’t do it.” She was crying and her voice became shrill. “Am I dying Dave? Is this dying!?”
“Shhh, shhh. I’ll help you. I’ll take care of you. Lie down.” He covered her gently with a blanket and she tossed it off. She sat up, then threw up on the carpet. He cleaned it up.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Shhh,” he soothed her. “Shhh. It’s ok. But we need to get you to the hospital, I think.”
She opened her eyes suddenly and sat up. “No! No. You said you’d help me, was that true or a lie?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll help you. But let’s get you to a doctor.”
“I don’t want to. If you try to make me, I’m leaving. You’ll never see me again.” Dave turned his face to hide the tears of fear and hurt on his face.
“I only want to make sure you’re taken care of . . .”
“Please,” she moaned, “stop talking.”
Every so often, she would grow still and lie moaning on the futon. With one eye on her, Dave googled: “Heroin detox at home,” “Heroin withdrawal,” and “How to help person with addiction who is going through withdrawal.”
“It says here that we should get professional help.”
Lacey waved her hand as if swatting away a mosquito. “Unnnnnh don’t make me move. Don’t make me go somewhere. Please don’t do that.”
When another cycle of nausea or diarrhea or cramping or restlessness or panic hit, and she fell back exhausted, he’d say something like, “There’s a number here that we can call.”
“No! No. Promise me you won’t call anyone. I can’t stand to have anyone know about this, no, please, no one can see me this way, no one can know. I’ll get in trouble, I’ll go to jail . . .” she ranted.
She lay sweating on the futon. He changed the sheet. He brought her a Tylenol and water. “It says here these might help.” She turned her face away, then back, accepting them. “Please drink the water. You’ll get dehydrated and I’ll have to take you to the hospital. I will do it.” He mustered as stern a tone as possible, though in Dave this wasn’t particularly threatening.
“I’ll drink.”
He opened his laptop. “What do you like to watch? I read that it’s good to distract yourself.”
She laughed suddenly, a shrill laugh. “Haha ok ok, we’ll try it, we can try it.” She took the mouse, surfing from show to show, trailer to trailer. It did seem to distract her and help the time pass in between spasms of distress, of agony. Still, he tried convincing her to go for help.
Spring was coming. The sky was starting to lighten earlier. Dave was struggling to stay awake, but he didn’t dare leave her for even a second. She often questioned in her ravings if this was worth it; he knew she couldn’t keep at it without him.
Coffee. He went to the kitchen, always looking, listening for a motion from her. No, of course not. He never drank coffee. He uncovered one lonely bag of black tea under a pile of chamomile and mint and brewed that. He toasted a whole wheat English muffin and grabbed a hard-boiled egg from the fridge. As he returned to the living room, Lacey gagged.
“Not in here, not in here,” she said weakly.
“Do you want anything?” he asked as he backed into the kitchen.
“Hell no.” She rolled over onto her side, facing the back of the futon.
Time was getting blurry. He had to check the clock when the phone rang: 9:30 a.m.
“Dave! What the hell is going on?” Isla’s voice bellowed at him through the line.
“Going on?”
“Kim said she thought she heard something going on over there last night.”
“So much for privacy.”
“She couldn’t help it. She was worried. She thought it didn’t sound normal.” She had that right. “And then Mum said you never showed up for chair yoga.” Class! He’d forgotten all about it.
“I, uh . . . I’ve had a family crisis.”
“Oh no, Dave! Your dad?”
“Well, uh, no, but . . . I just . . . I’m just dealing with someone . . . something. It’s a bit of an emergency, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Da . . .” he hung up.
“Thank you for not telling her,” Lacey said. She rolled back in his direction and turned Netflix back on, then jumped up and ran to the bathroom. When she came back, she wrapped his blanket around her shoulders, pulling it tight, like a cocoon, like a safe place. She was shivering.
“She won’t let it go, though.”
“She’s nosy.”
“She’s concerned.”
“It doesn’t concern her, though.”
“She’s just trying to be a good friend. She doesn’t mean to be pushy.”
For a brief moment of lucidity, Lacey regarded him with pity. “You always think the best, don’t you?”
“I try.”
“And look at the trouble it gets you into.” She pointed her toe at a wet spot where he’d cleaned up the futon.
Her eyes were drifting on their own whims, but he tried looking into them. “This is my dream come true, Lacey.”
“Throw up on your couch?”
“You on my couch, wanting to get clean.”
She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms for a long moment before saying, “You have to wake up from dreams sometime. I didn’t used to think so, but now I know.”
“Don’t,” Dave said, “please don’t.”
They heard sirens several blocks away at the mills.
Dave ignored a couple of calls that afternoon, but he couldn’t help hearing the hammering on his door at 5:15.
“It’s Isla,” he told Lacey.
“Your friend who called?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you she was coming?”
“No, but I know it’s her.” There was just something about that insistent knock.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“How can you even ask that?”
“It’s been awhile since you said . . . since you said . . . what you said.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. No one is my girlfriend.”
“Ok.” Did she have the ghost of a smile on her face? Isla pounded again.
Dave opened the door but didn’t move off the stairs. Isla was there in her work clothes, hand still lifted. “What is going on?” she demanded.
“I have a friend over.”
“That’s your family emergency? Dave, you sly dog . . . you don’t have a family emergency, do you? You have some little lady here.” Isla had spotted Lacey’s sandals at the top of the stairs. Just then, Lacey ran for the bathroom, tripped on the step up to it, and didn’t make it to the toilet. Isla’s jaw dropped.
“I have to go,” Dave said.
“This is still going on?” Isla shook her head.
“I clearly have to go, now.” Dave started to close the door.
“You need a doctor here.”
“Well, yes, but anyway, I have to go and I’m going.”
Dave ran up the stairs two at a time to help Lacey back to the futon and clean up the mess. Isla followed him up, of course, and sat on the folding saucer chair that was next to the TV.
“So let me get this straight . . . nope, I don’t have enough facts to get it straight. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“Isla, this is my friend Lacey. You remember her? She’s unwell.”
“So I saw.”
“I think that’s about it. I hate to be inhospitable, but I believe she’d like some privacy.” Lacey scooted very close to him on the couch and put her head on his shoulder, which was more affection than she’d ever shown him in the past, at least when she wasn’t high.
“Are you ok?” Isla said, addressing Dave. “You look rough.”
“Never better. It’s true, I could use some sleep, but I’m great.”
“You’ll get to the studio?” The studio was so unimportant to Dave at that moment that he almost felt he hated it. He didn’t answer. “Dave, you have to show up to work. You’re barely getting by as it is.”
“I’m all set, Isla. Thank you.” His smile was a bit forced and dismissive. She set her lips and he knew it wasn’t over, but at least she headed for the stairs.
“I’ll see myself out,” she said when he didn’t rise to accompany her.
“K thanks,” he said, not regretfully as he tightened his arm around Lacey. She shivered. “We’re getting there. Hold on, we’re getting there,” he whispered.
At 7:30 p.m., a softer knock came. Dave had been nodding off and jumped up in panic. But Lacey was still there, lying on the couch and looking at him miserably.
“It’s Kim,” he said. “Can she come up? She’ll wait until I ask.”
“Kim’s nice,” Lacey murmured, and he took that for assent.
“Lacey’s here,” he told Kim as she opened the door.
“I know,” she said in a low voice, “Isla told me. She was quite concerned.”
“She’s detoxing.”
“Great! But here? Shouldn’t she go to the hospital?”
Dave shook his head. “I know, but I can’t get her to go anywhere.”
“Have you slept at all?” Dave shook his head.
“Well, you just have to.”
“I can’t leave her.” Dave’s face was desperate.
“You can’t take care of her like this. Let me stay. You go sleep in our guest room.”
“I couldn’t,” Dave said, but he looked tempted.
“Please do. I won’t sleep, I promise. I will watch her all the time.” Kim’s voice was so earnest that Dave couldn’t help but trust her.
“Let me see if she minds.” Kim nodded.
Dave sat on the coffee table beside the laptop and took Lacey’s hand, feeling rather forward and wondering if she’d pull away. She didn’t. “Kim says she’ll stay with you so I can go get some sleep. But I hate to leave you.”
“Oh no, I can’t bother her. I’ve been too much bother already.”
“Never,” Dave said emphatically. “Never. But I will not leave you alone. I can send her home.”
Lacey looked at his face, haggard with exhaustion.
“Ok. She can stay. Get some rest.” She smiled wanly, but peering into his hopeful eyes, warned him, “Don’t get ahead of things.”
“One day at a time,” he promised.
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Copyright 2025 Jennie Robertson