Chapter Twenty Seven

Monica’s first night at Detox was miserable. Miserably boring, that is. She had been made to sit down with a doctor for a full medical history and evaluation, informing him of how much and how often she’d used, and when the last hit she’d had was. Though the doctor was nice enough, it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

She didn’t like talking about her habit as an addiction. She wasn’t really addicted. She was an occasional user. She used it to party hard, or when she needed an escape from the mounting problems of her past. The fact that the need for escape had been daily escaped her.

Since she’d been almost 30 hours without a hit or bad craving, she didn’t expect to have many withdrawal symptoms. But the doctor informed her that she was probably nervous and her adrenaline was over-producing, warding off the effects of withdrawal. Once she was settled at the center she would begin to feel it in earnest.

She lay in her bed that night with nothing to do, no books to read, no TV, no movies. Just her thoughts. And that was not such a good thing. Her mind kept wandering to the events of the past few days.

She had never stolen before for any reason. Not even for her habit. There had been no reason to steal. She had a good job and made sure what she couldn’t pay was put on her tab with Joe. Why did she steal the ball from Tim? She couldn’t think of an immediate reason.

The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked, who can know it?

What? Where did that thought come from? Monica knew it was a Bible verse, but didn’t know why it had popped into her mind. She didn’t want to think about her wicked heart. She knew it was wicked. All she had to do was hear the name Sarah, and she would flash back to images of wickedness she’d allowed that immediately filled her with remorse and brought tears to her eyes.

Monica pushed those feelings aside. There was a logical reason she’d stolen the ball. It would just take her a moment to think of it.

There is a way that seemeth right to man, but the end thereof is the way of death.

More verses? What was wrong with her brain? Couldn’t she get any of her own thoughts out? Right now she was still angry with Tim for bringing her here and making it look like it was her decision. She wanted to wallow in her misery for a while.

Monica knew she could leave at any time with no questions asked, but was afraid what Tim might do. He could decide to press charges about the theft. Even though Monica wasn’t entirely sure she even needed to be at the center, she decided to give the place three days. If nothing happened- no withdrawal symptoms at all, she would leave.

Monica rolled over on her side and tried to sleep. Snapshots of all that had happened over the past week, starting with her stealing Tim’s ball, flashed before her eyes. She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to block the instant replay from her mind’s eye. The last image before she dozed off was that of Tim’s disappointed eyes looking at her, then leaving the detox center without another word.

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Later that morning Monica awoke with a dry mouth and a headache. She felt like she hadn’t slept all night. The sheet was wrapped so tightly around her that she could hardly move her arms. When she finally untangled herself and rose from the bed, she found she was extremely irritable and threw the sheet away from her in frustration.

She was also shaky. Her legs carried her to the bathroom, but just barely. When she had washed her face and run a brush through her hair, she went to her room to get dressed.

The only choices were the center-issued day clothes. She was not looking forward to being seen in them. They were little more than glorified scrubs. But since Tim hadn’t told her where they were going, there had been no time to pack. She was stuck.

The thought of Tim made her feel so angry. As she pulled on the clothing, she seethed. Not only had thoughts of him troubled her sleep, he was so self-righteous it made her sick. Who did he think he was? Jesus? Didn’t he used to be addicted to drugs? What made him so much better than her now?

If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.

Monica thought for a moment about the scripture that had yet again come unbidden to her thoughts. Being in Christ had made Tim new. That was what happened. Well, she was in Christ too, so why wasn’t she changing?

Be not conformed to this world but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind.

The words hit home. Monica had been conforming to the world. More than conforming, she had made it her home and been very comfortable there. She had spent so many years out of the will of God and living for self, allowing unspeakable things to go on under her roof, that she was surprised God had not killed her.

My mercy endures forever.

Monica sat back on her bed, ignoring the lumpy feel of the twisted sheet beneath her, and wondered if God could really mean it. His mercy endured forever? No matter what? A wave of nausea hit, and she raced to the bathroom. After she had emptied her stomach, she suddenly felt very tired. She slowly made her way on shaky legs back to bed and up onto her pillow. She gladly let herself fall into deep sleep.

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Monica was holding a baby girl. The baby was a beautiful newborn. Perfect, with ten fingers and toes. She had dark hair and a perfect little round baby face. But the baby was changing. The baby kept growing in her arms until she was no longer a new born, but sitting up on her own across the room. She pointed a finger at Monica and said “Mama”.

Monica was very pleased that the baby was so smart. She walked over to place a kiss on the baby’s head and scoop her up onto her lap, but the baby pointed again and said “Bad Mama”.

Then the baby disappeared, and in her place were nurses and a doctor covered in blood. They were holding instruments used in abortions, and they were pointing to her and chanting “killer, killer, killer…”

That scene faded and another took its place. A different baby was on Monica’s lap. This baby she recognized as Sarah. Monica moved her head close and took a deep breath of her baby scent. She smelled so sweet, so full of promise.

This baby, too, grew quickly and became a toddler running from Monica. When Monica reached her arms out and called to Sarah to stop running, the child only looked back in fear and panic, running faster.

Then the child stopped abruptly, pointed a finger at Monica and shouted “It’s all your fault! All your fault!!”

Suddenly Monica was outside Sarah’s room listening to her daughter scream for help, pleading for her mother to stop what was about to happen. She plugged her ears and ran down the hall. She went down the stairs as fast as she could, to the front door.

Only there was no door. There were no windows either. She couldn’t get out. All she could do was hear Sarah’s screams louder and louder inside her head. She clawed at her ears, trying to make them stop.

She needed to get out of the house. She ran to the basement, hoping to escape through the storm doors, but as she tried to make the first step, she fell. She tumbled over and over again. She fell straight down for what seemed like miles, arms flailing, legs kicking, as though she was in water and could propel herself back to the surface.

Monica woke with a start. She leaned up on her elbows, and clutched the side of the bed with both hands, immediately becoming sick on the floor. What was happening to her? She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and lay back again on her pillow.

She needed a hit. That would calm her down and make these dreams go away. Cocaine was the only thing that had helped ease the pain of her poor life choices.

If only she hadn’t dropped the bag Boss had given her. She should have swallowed it. Then maybe she’d be dead by now instead of only wishing she was.

A nurse entered the room with a breakfast tray, saw the mess on the floor, and immediately turned around. Monica knew she must look horrible, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to try and sleep again, but seemed helpless to do anything else for the moment. She lay there on her pillow and waited to see what the nurse would do. She wasn’t sure she wanted her to come back, even if it meant the room would stink and be a mess.

As her eyelids started to droop, a doctor came in and gave her an injection. She tried to protest, but it was too late. Monica relaxed a bit, against her will, and fell into a dreamless sleep.