Daddy's Angel (Weeping Willow Book 1) Read online

  The next morning when I woke up, I tried my best to convince myself that it hadn’t happened, that it had just been the lingering effects of a six-month drinking binge, that I had somehow pissed off my psyche and this was its spiteful way of getting back at me. I was unsuccessful! I didn’t believe a single word I told myself. How wonderful it was to be talking to myself. Damn, I had lost my mind! I forced myself out of bed, thinking surely I had imagined the whole thing, it couldn’t possibly happen again…could it?

  Cautiously, I travelled down the hall, making damn sure to open every door and look inside, slowly stepping into the kitchen before sitting at the table. As I sat, I began to believe that my mind had made the whole thing up. I was starting to think I was going completely mad.

  My senses were crawling back to me. I was able to think a little, however flawed my thoughts might be. I started to think over the events of the night before. I tried to find an explanation, an idea or way to see if it was real or not.

  My first thought was that I could somehow fool this thing with sleight of hand. If I could stand over the sink and pour a little out and each time I straightened the bottle back up, I could move it just a little closer to my mouth and by the time the bottle reached my face, whatever was observing my actions would be so bored it would’ve lost interest in whether or not I got a drink. Little did I realize that my sleight of hand had been relegated to slow motion and I was never that great with magic tricks in the first place!

  My head was dangling over the sink like a piñata just waiting to be smacked. One last look around the room, as if the spy would reveal themselves at that momemt, and then the moment of truth. As swiftly as my hands and fingers would raise and tilt the bottle, I had my face maneuvered under it waiting to drown in its sweet satisfaction. I could see the liquid surging towards my lips, tears running from my eyes in anticipation. My wait was almost over. Like in a cartoon, before the whiskey stream entered my mouth, and I was able to enjoy its numbing effects, it bent around my head and splashed straight down the drain. The entire contents of the bottle, in one single splash, just wasted. I watched as it swirled around the sink and vanished into darkness. Thinking my eyes were deceiving me, I decided to try again. This time I grabbed a bottle that was only half full. No sense wasting a perfectly full bottle again…right? I twisted around to the counter behind me and grabbed the next test subject. I gingerly removed the cap and replayed the exact same steps as before. Pour a little out - move it closer to my face. Pour a little out - move it closer to my face. Pour a little out - move it closer to my face, the whole time thinking I had finally outsmarted this thing. Pour a little out and – WHAM! The bottle flew across the room, sticking bottom first in the wall. I ran over, squatted down on my hands and knees, lowered my head to the newly formed puddle, and tried to lap it up like a dog, but it just evaporated and my tongue was licking the dry floor. I just sat there, defeated!

  I was more confused than scared, but I was starting to get pissed because I so desperately wanted a drink. As I was trying to work out what had just happened I was still not completely sure I believed it. I grabbed a couple of shot glasses and another bottle – straight up Kentucky bourbon – and sat at the table. Not thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed the shot glass and filled it to the brim and just let it run over on the table and then the floor. I was consumed by my thoughts, the bottle flying across the room, the stream dive bombing the drain, and my many failed attempts, and I subconsciously reached for the glass. As my fingers moved toward the glass, I said,

  “Here’s to you and yours.”

  I felt the glass being slapped away. It slid from one end of the table to the other and balanced on the edge for a minute before crashing to the floor.

  Beyond mad and with my emotions getting the best of me I screamed, “What the hell is your problem? Why can’t you just leave me alone! I’m well on my way to crazy town without your damn hysterics! Just go mess with some other poor slob and leave me to my own devices!”

  I realized as I looked around the room, ready to fight, that no one was there. There was no one to be mad at, no one to respond and now I was feeling like a fool. Crazy was one thing, but foolish was a whole different level that I never wanted to reach.

  Waiting for my temper to settle down and allow my mind just a second to think clearly, I spoke out loud, if only to hear myself as I tried to figure things out in my head.

  “Okay, whatever this is – whoever this is – isn’t trying to hurt me. No, they are actually not allowing me to drink anymore…but, why? First there were the bottles at the sink and then the shot glass. Why? What’s the purpose? Why would they do that? Why now, after all this time? Am I so far gone from the toxic medicine I’ve been so reliant on that I can’t tell what’s real from what’s imaginary anymore? Great! I have lost my ever-loving mind! Now, I’m even sitting here alone talking to myself and hoping some supernatural force will answer. If only I was able to drink some of that wasted whiskey, this whole scenario would make more sense right now.”

  I don’t know if my talking to myself helped or if my mind was so clouded that it just shut down and stopped thinking altogether, but I just sat there in silence watching the hands on the clock slowly ticking by. The minutes passed into hours as easily as my eyes blinked, but still, I could only stare and wait and hope that something was listening. Wanting anything to answer, only the ticking clock would keep me company.

  The coffee pot came to life once again and sent its aroma through the air. The toaster shimmied to the edge of the counter and bread danced over and jumped in. The fridge opened and bacon flew across the room and landed in a pan waiting on the stove. I stood there in total disbelief. I heard a voice. It was a familiar voice.

  “You must live! Live for Momma, live for me, and most importantly, you must live for yourself!”

  Then there was silence! I sat down and through my sobbing, I enjoyed the meal my little angel prepared for me. I sat there in silence!

  CHAPTER 6

  GOLDEN SPRINGS

  THE QUIET WAS MADDENING. IT WAS SO quiet I could hear the blood vessels in my head as they throbbed, expanding and contracting in perfect rhythm. It was all too much to take in at once. Nothing made sense. The harder I tried to concentrate, the more unclear everything became.

  I don’t know how long I sat there just staring off into space. I can’t recall the number of times I witnessed the sun’s light beam through the window, gradually fade, and then give way to darkness. I don’t remember the moon, shining like a beacon in the night sky, slowly relinquish its hold on the heavens and slumber its way behind the horizon.

  Finally, a single thought entered my mind. My daughter’s words were ringing in my ears that I must live. I decided then that I should do what she asked, that I could still make her proud of me by cleaning up my life and getting sober. That meant no more drinking. I had to get straight and if for no other reason than it was what my angel wanted. I had to start taking better care of myself. In a moment of short lived sanity, I believed that if I stopped drinking, maybe, just maybe, the dreams would leave me alone as well.

  The next few weeks were extremely difficult for me. The first step was getting rid of the alcohol I had accumulated over the last six months or so and calling the manager at the store to cancel my weekly standing orders. My accomplice needed to disappear! I was trying to remember where I may have hidden any bottles, a daunting task since I was drunk when I did it. Retracing my steps, in the hopes of not overlooking a single bottle, I found my stash and poured it down the drain. I could feel myself shaking and there was a little voice whispering in my ears as I tipped each bottle saying,

  “Don’t do it, you’ll regret it tomorrow. You’ll wish you still had this ammunition in the morning.”

  But, I couldn’t stop. Then the realization hit me. This was too hard, I was going to need help. It was much harder than I thought it would be.

  It took a couple of days to pick up the trash in the house. The mountain of
bags piled by the curb could have done more than its fair share of bringing any landfill to full capacity. Staying busy allowed me not to think a lot, and being focused on one task at a time kept me headed in the right direction.

  The first few weeks were excruciating. The dreams came every night - the normal dreams of how that day and accident really happened. Though I had gotten rid of all of the alcohol, I still longed for it - the taste, the smell, and its mind-numbing qualities.

  I remembered when I first started drinking, how it had turned my stomach, how it had caused the fits of convulsion, how it had burned my throat, and how I eventually hadn’t able to function without it. How I just wanted to get lost in each bottle and drown away my sorrows and die, but that had never happened. Those unsavory experiences were nothing compared to the reality of the dreams. They were no match for the torture I was now facing trying to get clean and sober.

  The uncontrollable shaking, the vomiting until only stomach acid seeped out, the nonstop headaches, and the incurable desire to drink again were all more than my weakened state would allow me to deal with alone. The tears forming in my eyes and constantly flowing were not from my pain. No, they were born out of my body’s efforts to cleanse itself of the poison I had been force feeding it for months. I figured it would take at least the same amount of time for my body to heal as it took to poison it.

  I thought, What a disgusting way to die! A long drawn out process, that slowly ate its way through your heart until it reached your soul, numbing your senses along the way so you couldn’t feel it eating you up from the inside out and change your mind. Alcohol hoped it could desensitize you so you didn’t care what it was doing to you. Who in their right mind would ever willingly put themselves through that type of agonizing hell? No one should live that way and it was certainly no way to die!

  I just hope the damage I’ve done isn’t permanent. The voice in my head agreed and I decided this was something I couldn’t do on my own. I needed help, professional help. It was time for medical intervention and I intended to get it started immediately. I wanted to make my little angel proud! It was time for rehab.

  I searched for days and called so many of the rehabilitation clinics, thinking, “God, everything has to be so politically correct these days. Why can’t they just call them the last resort for the hopelessly lost and confused?” Then, one day, almost instantly hanging up the phone, I settled on a place far outside of town. I never thought I’d need rehab and no one could’ve convinced me I would ever end up in one, but I believed it was my best chance at recovery, to heal my body and even help me deal with the mental issues now plaguing my life. My body desired to be healed, now I just needed my mind to get on board.

  I was supposed to check in at the Golden Springs Inner Child Rehab and Reclamation Center on Tuesday, which was only three days away. I had chosen the place for two reasons. First, it was far enough away from where I lived that no one should recognize me or know who I was. Second, the name just made me laugh. I desperately needed a good laugh. I mean, Golden Springs? Why not Clear Springs? It sounded to me like the water was tainted, like someone may have peed in it. That was sure to cleanse your soul. It was too funny! Then there was the Inner Child Rehab and Reclamation Center. Who thinks up these names? Really? Inner child? I was hoping to fix the end version of the child, to reclaim my life as an adult not a child. The name was so ironic and comical that it could have been my only choice.

  They had tried to sell me on the big-time doctors they had, the state of the art facilities, and the high tech treatment process they offered, but none of that mattered. I didn’t really hear any of it. I had been sold on the name alone and couldn’t move past it. They’d had me at Golden Springs Rehabilitation and Reclamation Center. Though I amused myself by saying the name over and over and couldn’t help but smile and laugh a little each time, I knew I was about to start a new chapter in my life. I was going to get better, healthier, and eventually happier. I might even learn how to handle life again with all it could throw at me.

  If I could only learn to live with their memories, not just hide them away under layers of regret and hurt or drown them out with alcohol, I wouldn’t need help, but that was the scariest part. I needed to learn how to function without being dependent on alcohol or anything else. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but I was looking forward to it.

  The big morning came and as I was loading my luggage in the cab, I turned around for one last look at what I was leaving. The house looked sad and lonely, like I was escaping from its control as the cab turned the corner and drove away. I hoped my demons wouldn’t be waiting for my return.

  Walking up the steps to the entrance, the building, at least not from the outside, didn’t resemble what they had tried to describe over the phone. Maybe I should’ve paid a little more attention to what they were saying and not to its insanely funny name. It was so dark and unwelcoming. The windows were all blacked out with bars on the outside of them, the grounds hadn’t seen a gardener in years, and the building’s lackluster appearance was in desperate need of a makeover.

  I kept telling myself that my mind was making things seem worse than they were, with little success, but I made my way up the steps and through the doors. Instantly, I felt transported back in time, to another place and a different way of life. It was straight out of a nineteen fifty’s horror flick. Bad lighting was flickering on and off, patients were just wandering around like zombies, drooling and running into things, and the staff was dressed in full length uniforms stained with blood and bodily fluids. I even thought I saw straps on all the chairs.

  Nervously, I made my way to the front desk and checked in. The woman sitting there looked up from her work and smiled. Finally, a friendly face!

  She said, “Hello, may I help you?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I squeaked, “I’m supposed to check in today.” I introduced myself.

  “Oh, fantastic! Yes, I see your name right here.”

  I guess she could sense how timid I was because she smiled again and motioned for me to sit beside her. I knew she could tell how weak and deteriorated my condition was. I was clearly powerless to hide it as I lost my balance and nearly missed the chair. I was unsteady even while sitting.

  “Don’t worry, this will only take a few minutes. Then we’ll get you to a room so you can rest.”

  “Thank you. I think I’ve just overdone it today, pushed myself further than I was ready to go.”

  “I understand. It’s a lot to deal with.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “Well let’s get through these questions and get you to your room so you can relax. I’ll have someone bring you some food once you’re situated.”

  “That sounds great. Don’t know how much more excitement I could handle today.”

  I tried to manage a smile, but it didn’t happen. I was doing my best to answer all the mundane questions in a timely manner, but my body had other plans. My head exploded from the pressure that had been building in it and an overwhelming feeling of nausea slammed into me, full force. Too dizzy and weak to make a mad dash to the bathroom, I sort of just melted into a blubbering mess on the floor. Luckily, I was close enough to her trash can that the contents of my stomach didn’t spill out onto the floor beside me and cover her shoes. That abruptly ended the registration process along with any other plans the staff had for me that night as I passed out right there on the floor at her feet.

  Rudely awakened by the tremors cascading throughout my body from head to toe and back again, I was hanging halfway off the bed and about to journey to the floor. A hot burning liquid was making its way up my esophagus and into my mouth. With the room spinning like a carnival ride, I tried to make it to the bathroom but it seemed this day would start like the night before had ended.

  I washed my face and sifted handfuls of water into my mouth, praying I could rinse the god awful taste out of it. I attempted to look into the mirror to see if I had missed anything, but the mirror just wouldn’t
stand still. I crept back to bed, using the walls and furniture as leverage, then I just crashed on it like a ton of bricks.

  CHAPTER 7

  LIFE WASHED AWAY

  THE MORNING LIGHT SENT SHOCK WAVES through me, and I was instantly running for the bathroom. My insides were evicting the stomach acids that had built up as I slept. Head hung lazily over the sink, I was wishing the spinning would stop. Eyes draining and burning, my only thought was to rinse out my mouth to get the bitterness diluted. I started splashing water on my face as fast as my shaking hands would allow me. My eyes were not yet clear enough to see. My weak legs gave in and I hit the floor. I was kneeling there crying, trembling, and praying for it all to end. This was more than I could handle.

  I braced myself on the toilet as I tried to pick myself up. Finally, my knees locked and I was standing again. I grabbed the towel hanging by the sink to wipe my face because the tears and snot were making their way down my chest. I glanced in the mirror and saw red lines streaking throughout my eyes. The fog covering the glass made it difficult to see much, so I swiped the rag across it. It took a minute for my eyes to focus and really see the image staring back at me, I wished I’d just stayed crying on the floor now.

  Her eyes glaring at me, she raised her arms. I stumbled backwards, hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor again. She just stood there staring at me with her arms outstretched. I was too messed up to run and my heads was still riding the merry-go-round.