Two Summers Ago, the World Went to Shit

Chapter 18: Recipe for Disaster

Chapter 18: Recipe for Disaster

It'd been twelve days since I'd been rescued from Dillion and his friends. I still felt like someone could pinch me and I'd end up back in the room similarly to how I'd felt when I was seeing Jackson in my hallucinations. Everyone was walking on eggshells around me, and they kept their distance, as if trying to give me time to heal. But honestly, I was in worse shape than anyone thought. I was battling demons in my head that were pulling me further and further away from myself. I needed rescuing from that.
I hadn't spoken a word to anyone since being pulled from that house. I was selectively mute from the traumatic experiences I'd endured and rightfully so. I was processing each aspect of the abuse and neglect I underwent at the hands of three young men. It would take time.
Bailey especially had been keeping his distance; he wouldn't even bring Grace in the room for me to see her. I could only hear her cries and baby talk from the other end of the house we'd migrated to within the same neighborhood. I guess he thought I could snap or be triggered by something at any moment, so for the time being, he kept her from me. I think it did more damage to me.
He was pretty much keeping himself from me, too. I think I'd seen him once since we'd all found each other again, and it was only because they carried me into the house where he'd been waiting on their return. For some reason, I expected him to react so much differently. There was no relief and no happiness at my rescue. It was like he didn't recognize me. It was like he despised me—like he blamed me, or like he didn't want me to be found.
I could hear the conversations everyone was having about me in the next room. I was mute, but I wasn't deaf.
"It's been almost two weeks. We can't just keep waiting around on something to change in her. She's broken," Bailey said in frustration.
"She's not broken," Jackson responded angrily, grinding his teeth.
"She's not—she's traumatized; she's not broken."
     I could hear pain in Jackson's voice every time he talked to Bailey about me. I knew Bailey cared, but he'd been rattled about me and my health since finding out I'd gotten the injection. He was the one so adamant about getting to a cure in the first place; the longer I wasn't mentally stable and ready to get back on the road, the less time I had. That's the only way he could see it. Maybe he'd finally come to terms with the reality that I was a lost cause—or already dead.
His feelings were valid—I did seem broken. But, I'd been broken before. I'd been to rock bottom, and even in the midst of my manic episode and pregnancy from a mere stranger at the time, Jackson never once gave up on me or considered me a lost cause. He never called me broken, even when I was, even when we all knew I was.
"They starved her, abused her, scarred her—how do you expect her to react, Bailey," Jackson said emotionally.
     As I laid in bed listening to their conversation, all I could think about was how happy I'd been every time I went to that place with Jackson. My hallucinations were mind numbing and filled my body with a joy I'd longed for. I needed to go back desperately. I needed to get out of here and find Dillion's stash of ketamine. As scared as I was to expose myself to the world, I was struggling without my daily regimen of ketamine.
I contemplated it for hours and eventually my body began showing signs of withdrawal. I was shaking and sweating profusely. It was bad enough I'd been through so much already, but now I was addicted to ketamine. I removed the covers laying over me on the bed and was going to try and sneak out of the house. Once my feet hit the ground, Jackson entered the room. I flinched and moved over on the bed to distance myself from the door, gripping the edge of the mattress tightly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said holding his hands up defensively.
"I'll go," he said sadly.
I didn't speak, I just continued watching him with my empty eyes. I could feel the sweat dripping down my face, and Jackson noticed. It wasn't hot in here; it was actually pretty cool. It was strange for me to be sweating this heavily given the circumstances, so he picked up on it, especially when I started shivering.
"What's wrong," he asked worriedly, approaching me slowly.
"You look like you're burning up. You must have a fever."
I remained silent, but lifted the sleeve from the shirt they'd found me to wear, revealing my bruised arm with needle holes.
He looked closely, studying my symptoms.
"You're withdrawing from something aren't you," he asked sympathetically.
I looked into his eyes blankly.
I'd had two black eyes for a while after the beating I took, and they were finally turning a yellow-y purple color rather than a deep black and blue. My body wasn't healing at the rate it once had due to the substantial loss of nutrients, muscle, and other factors associated with Dillion. I was pale and ghostly. I looked malnourished, but I was slowly regaining the weight I'd lost while being held hostage. My strength was returning, but mentally, I wasn't sure how long it would take for me to recover. I did know that Jackson would probably be the one person to bring me back from this; I just wasn't sure how.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I began shaking more than I had been. I could tell he was debating heavily on how to address the situation. He could either tell Caleb and everyone else, find my next fix, or let me finish withdrawing. I knew what I wanted him to do, but I couldn't quite figure out how he would handle it. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't. I don't know how else to explain it.
"What was he giving you," Jackson asked.
Silence.
"I'm sorry. Can you write it down?"
I nodded ever so slightly.
He gave me a hint of a smile before leaving to grab a pen and paper, I assumed.
The crew in the living space of the house perked up when they saw him leave the room.
"Did she talk," Caleb asked hopefully.
He shook his head before he gave Caleb a subtle cue to meet him in the kitchen privately. He stood up from the dated plaid sofa and followed behind Jackson. Once they were away from everyone else, Caleb leaned over to Jackson to quietly ask him about our encounter.
"What happened?"
"She's withdrawing from something. I saw the needle marks on her arm, and she's shaking and sweating really bad from it. They did a number on her man."
"What were they giving her," Caleb asked.
"I don't know. I asked her if she could write it down, so I'm about to find out," he said keeping his voice low.
Caleb nodded and lingered in the kitchen while Jackson grabbed a pen and notepad from a random junk drawer to bring to me. When he entered the room again, he smiled so sweetly at me. I always appreciated how patient he was with me in all situations. I was beginning to see that Bailey lacked some of the compassion that Jackson had when it came to this kind of thing. It wasn't his fault he reacted differently than Jackson, but it mattered to me that he did.
"Can I sit beside you," he asked as he took soft steps towards me.
I scooted over to let him know that he could. He sat down beside me; this was the closest I'd been to anyone since they picked me up and brought me here from the other house. I felt on edge, but I was trying to work through it. Jackson would never hurt me; that's what I kept reminding myself. I just continued to struggle with identifying whether this was all one big hallucination or if I was actually safe now.
He held out the pen and notepad, making sure not to touch me. I hesitantly reached for both items before my tremoring shakes made a mess of the word I was trying to write down. I managed to get a very sloppy k written down before growing frustrated. Jackson could tell I was getting overwhelmed, so he pitched in another suggestion to take some of the pressure off of me.
"Here, I have an idea," he said reaching for the pen and notepad.
I gave it back to him, and he used his leg to prop the notepad on while he quickly began writing the alphabet across the page like you would playing hangman as a kid.
"Can you point to the letters in order?"
I nodded.
He held the notepad out for me again, so I grabbed it, studying each letter nervously as he watched my pale fingers shake. I put my right index finger onto the k holding it steady with my left hand. Then, I moved to the e, the t, the a, and so on until he quietly said the name aloud.
"Ketamine."
I avoided eye contact because a part of me was ashamed even though it was not my intention to become addicted to this drug. The way I was feeling now versus how I felt when I was on my high was incomparable. It was night and day...very dark nights and very bright days.
"I'll be back, okay?"
I nodded.
Once again, he'd left the room to share the information with Caleb from what I gathered. I remained in the same position on the edge of the bed as I tried to calm myself down, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Jackson met Caleb back in the kitchen where he'd been waiting, the two of them sharing concerned looks.
"What did you find out," he asked.
"They were shooting her up with ketamine," he whispered as Bailey entered the kitchen, overhearing the conversation.
"What," he said angrily.
Jackson sighed, annoyed that Bailey had eavesdropped.
"Shes addicted to ketamine?"
"Yeah. She's having withdrawals. I need to go back to that house and see if they left any vials hanging around somewhere," Jackson said.
"Absolutely not. You are not going to get her next fix. She needs to tough out these withdrawals. That's the only way she'll overcome the addiction," he protested.
"I'm sorry man, but this isn't your call," Jackson said.
"And what makes you think it's yours," he said stepping closer to Jackson.
"That's enough, both of you. She can hear everything going on out here. The last thing she needs is you two fighting over what you think is best for her. Only she knows that. Now I don't know much about addiction and withdrawals, and I can't ask our doctor because we don't have one anymore. But, we aren't sure what dose they've been giving her. We should at least try to wean her off rather than forcing her to suffer and stop cold turkey."
"Fine, feed the demon. That's exactly what she needs," Bailey mumbled as he stormed out of the kitchen.
Jackson pursed his lips while Caleb rubbed his forehead.
That was the first time I'd heard them actually get into a heated argument about something. Usually they were passive aggressive or sarcastic to each other, but it never ended it one of them actually being pissed off. I wasn't sure how that made me feel. Sad? Angry? Ashamed?
Caleb and Jackson gathered their things and left the house moments after the incident with Bailey. The two of them walked down the damp, wooden porch onto the sidewalk.
"Are we doing the right thing," Jackson asked Caleb seeking reassurance.
"I don't think I've known the answer to that since this apocalypse started. It's not like there's some guide book that tells us exactly how we're supposed to do any of this," Caleb said with his hands in the front pockets of his khakis.
"I just want what's best for her," Jackson said calmly.
"I know you do."
     They continued walking in silence until reaching the house I was in with Dillion and the others. They hesitantly walked up the steps, entering the front door of the house. Alex's body was a few feet from the door where he'd been shot. The green mustang was parked outside, and that was the dead giveaway to my brother and Jackson that I was here somewhere—smart move, Dillion.
They stepped around Alex's decaying body, putting their arms to their noses to try and block the horrid scent. Jackson looked around curiously while they maneuvered through the narrow entrance into the living room of the house. The living room was where Tanner's body laid lifelessly from Caleb sending a bullet through his head.
     The two of them weren't quite sure what to expect when looking through the house. They hadn't been here long that day to explore the grueling pieces of a puzzle that had the image of trauma impacting my new mental functioning. I never knew where Dillion got his supply of ketamine or if he had any leftover here somewhere.
They split up and carefully opened each drawer and cabinet door throughout the kitchen and bathroom in hopes of finding the vials. Caleb took the kitchen, and Jackson went to the bathroom. He looked around at the blue and white tiled floor and then up to the mirror where his reflection looked back at him. His dirty blonde hair and blue eyes stared back at him before he grabbed the mirror frame, pulling it towards him. The medicine cabinet behind the mirror was nearly empty with the exception of an opened box of bandaids and a lonely pair of tweezers. He immediately went to the other mirror to check it—nothing.
He was beginning to grow frustrated, aggressively opening each drawer only to find nothing. He pulled open every drawer on the left hand side, and now he was on the right side. When he opened the top drawer on the right hand side of the white bathroom cabinet, he found several vials of drugs, sterile water, and individually wrapped syringes. He smiled before realizing that he was wrong to feel happy about such a discovery. This wasn't a victory—it was compliance.
After studying the contents in the drawer, he tilted his head to the right once he noticed a vial that appeared slightly different than most of the others. Caleb walked into the bathroom to check on Jackson's progress when he said, "Jesus Christ," quietly.
"What? What did you find," Caleb asked.
"They were giving her more than just ketamine. They were lacing it with fentanyl," Jackson said now holding the vial in his hand, studying each letter of the name.
Caleb's eyes widened. He brushed past Jackson to see for himself, grabbing the vial that had the narcotic name written on the label.
"What's in the other vial with the green cap?"
"Naloxone" Jackson said as he grabbed it.
"I guess let's just take all of it. We'll figure out the rest later. I'm tired of being in this house. It gives me bad vibes," Caleb said as he and Jackson grabbed handfuls of supplies and shoved them into their pockets.
After cleaning out the drawer, they followed their steps back to the front door. They opened it up and walked back outside where they were greeted with a breeze of fresh air. The trip home was silent and short. Neither of them knew what to do, and without a doctor or someone with pharmacy experience, they were unprepared with how to proceed.
     Once they returned to the house we were staying in, Sophie, Lola, and Bailey were anxiously waiting in the living room. Bailey had shared the information with the two of them while Caleb and Jackson were gone, so now it was everyone's burden to bear. Part of me wanted to tell him to stay out of it; it wasn't his business. I just held this grudge almost against him and the others because I was angry. I was really angry.
     Bailey jumped up to meet Caleb and Jackson when the front door opened. The two of them remained silent. They walked over to the round wooden dining table where they emptied their pockets, sitting each vial and syringe onto the table. Bailey examined each of them, eventually finding the fentanyl vial.
"What the hell is this," he asked, looking appalled.
"It looks like they were lacing her ketamine with fentanyl," Jackson said.
     I'd laid back down in the bed while they were gone trying to fight through my aching withdrawal symptoms, but once I'd heard them say fentanyl, I grew nervous. We were in a whole new realm of issues now. This was above any of us, even me. We went over pharmacology in nursing school, but we didn't dig that deep into controlled substances like this. I only knew the foundation. There was so much room for error.
Bailey grew enraged, pointing at the two of them before speaking again.
"No. I let you two go ketamine hunting for her because I thought I had no choice, but I refuse to let you play pharmacist with a bunch of drugs when Sammi's body is the one at stake."
"We can't just let her suffer like this. She needs," Jackson began before Bailey interrupted.
"She needs to detox!"
"Let's just take a break from this and regroup after everyone's had time to cool down," Sophie said stepping into the dining area.
     Jackson sighed heavily and exited the room, heading towards the bathroom. The others lingered by the table unsure of what to do next. He remained in the bathroom for several minutes before slipping out and walking towards my room. The others had dispersed throughout the house, quietly keeping to themselves as I tried to navigate through grueling withdrawals.
A few minutes after the commotion between all of the guys, I heard Jackson approach the bedroom door right before he entered again.
"Hey you," he said sweetly.
     I'd been buried under layers of blankets with only my head remaining uncovered. The shakes were still heavily present, consuming my body. I just wanted the pain to stop. I was tired of feeling like a prisoner physically and mentally. My body was begging me for something, anything.
Jackson took soft steps towards me before he began talking.
"I need to know I'm doing the right thing, Sammi. Because I drew this up, but if I give it to you, it could really piss off Bailey and maybe even your brother," he said revealing a syringe in his hands.
     My skin began crawling. I twitched in the bed because it was like drowning in the ocean but seeing the surface inches from your face—fresh air to relieve the suffering. That's the feeling I got with ketamine and fentanyl it seemed. At that point, I didn't care what he put in that syringe, I just wanted to go back to that place where I felt safest. I wanted that high.
"You can't tell them, okay? It will only make things worse," he said.
     I moved around trying to situate myself to a comfortable position in the bed. My heart was racing in my chest feeding into the memory of what it felt like to be under the influence of such drugs. He handed me the syringe, half heartedly smiling as he exited the room.
The surface was right there; I'd reached it. I could finally breathe again.