Oblivion (Completed)

Ryan

Five Years Ago

She's crying, and it's my fault. As the tears glide down her cheeks, I can't begin to comprehend why I'd ever put us here. Just weeks ago my life was on the line as the surgeons worked to alleviate the pressure on my brain, and the truth is, I barely remember the events leading to the accident.

A fight with Henley. The itching in my belly, the angry beast of addition crawling beneath my skin, begging to be fed and draining me of all common sense. Killing me slowly and threatening to destroy everything good in my life. I don't like to admit it, but there were moments when my addiction was stronger than me and soothing it meant more to me than anything, even more than the heartbreak in Henley's eyes. Yeah, I've had a lot of time to think about my choices and the things that led me here. I'd like to think the reality alone would've been enough to make me quit, but I know that's a lie. I was in too deep. If I hadn't crashed my car, I'd still be wrecking our lives with those pills. I just wonder how long it would've taken for her to realize I was never going to stop. For her to leave me.

While I don't understand the schematics of it, I'm told had I hit that wall any other way, I wouldn't be here today. I don't let myself think on it too much, because I'm guilty as hell as it is. It kind of leaves me wondering what I did to earn a second chance, and I'm not just talking about breathing.

"Questions for me?" The thin, red-headed woman's voice pulls me from the troubled corners of my mind. I've been waiting for this day for what seems like forever, but now that it's here, I'm starting to worry. What if I can't do this?

"Ryan?" My God. I don't know if she's crying because I've accomplished something and she's happy we'll be together again or because she's worried I won't make it, too. I offer her a smile that I hope tells her how grateful I am she's mine. I've been overlooking and ignoring so much good in my life; I half wonder if this was the only way I'd ever really wake up. And while it's messed up to say it, I can't help thinking my accident was somehow a blessing in disguise. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine. No questions," I say on an exhale and squeeze her shaky hand.

I'm sitting at a table next to my wife at my rehabilitation center, signing a shitload of paperwork that states I'm cleared to leave the substance abuse rehabilitation center I've been at since leaving the hospital. It's been months.

Her eyes sparkle, glisten as I scratch my signature over the final line, and her warm hand slides comfortingly along the top of my thigh. I don't know how in the world I ever sought comfort in anything but this woman. Now that I'm clear-headed again, I know no chemical reaction to a pill could ever come close to the love of my wife. I'm a fool for ever letting it try.

The clinician gives me a standard smile, and I wonder how much of what he just told me is true. I wonder how many faces he sees walk through these doors more than once, and if he warned me in the ways he just did me. I refuse to be another statistic or end up worse off than I was when I came in. Unlike most, I was still on painkillers when I walked into this facility. This time they were prescribed and regulated, and I wasn't allowed to touch the bottle. No one had to fight me to get me to agree to treatment, because I knew I was doing the right thing by giving it up, I just needed to be sober to accept that. I wanted to quit, to be the man Henley deserved and needed. I wanted to stop wondering if the tears on her pillow every night were because my shit has been eating her alive or because she regretted marrying someone who would only end up being another disappointment. I knew the withdrawals were going to be hell, but this was the hardest damn thing I've done in my life. I hope I can look in the mirror in two months and still see the sober, hopeful man I did this morning. I hope I can finally be what she needs.

The clinician's chair slides out and she's gone, leaving us alone with nothing but time. A future.

As I slip my hands into my coat sleeves and feel Henley's warm hand slide into mine, I know I've got a struggle ahead of me. Rehab was ruthless on my nerves; as soon as I went off the painkillers, I lost it. I experienced what I imagine everyone else does in these types of places. The things people fear the most. I heard plenty of stories from peers while I was here, and I came to realize I've got it a whole lot better than most. Some guys in here don't have anyone to go home to. Don't have reasons to stay clean, or live or dream. But I do, and I'll be damn sure I let Henley know how very sorry I am and how precious every moment I spend with her will be from this point forward.