8

Ben

I had forgotten what had happened the night before. I woke up not understanding why I was in pain. I opened my eyes and looked around at my surroundings. When I realized I was in the hospital, I remembered everything.

Adam was sitting by the window, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and head down. I looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:00 am.

"You're up early." I heard Adam say.

"I wish I could go back to sleep. I'm in so much pain right now."

"The doctor stopped by about forty minutes ago. He said he'd stop by in an hour."

"Okay. I can tough out the pain then."

Adam chuckled a little. I was going to say something else when a police officer walked in.

"Good morning, gentlemen."

He looked over at me.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Is that psychopath locked up?" Adam asked. A little aggression in his voice.

"Well, that's what I came to talk to you about."

"Go on."

"Bianca Alderean escaped police custody while being transported last night."

"WHAT?" Adam stood up.

"HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?"

"Adam, calm down." I got a little nervous. When provoked enough, Adam went into fits of rage. Sometimes they were mild, sometimes they were severe, and sometimes Adam was dangerous. He didn't need to lash out at an officer.

"We are currently working on tracking her down. We will have an officer at your door until we have her in custody."

"Just one officer? She's crazy!"

Adam had calmed down, but his voice still held much aggression. I could tell the officer was a little scared, but he was trying not to show it.

"Sir, we can only spare one officer. Now, I'll be in contact to inform you of any updates."

After the officer walked out, Adam shouted. It started me, so I ducked under the covers in case he started throwing things. A few seconds of silence passed. Since I didn't hear anything crashing, I peeked over the covers and saw Adam facing the corner. His fists were clenched, and he was breathing heavily. He could control his anger; I was very proud of Adam then. After a few minutes, Adam reached into his pocket and took out his phone. I panicked at that moment.

"You're not calling Chad, are you?"

Chad was Adam's hitman. He was a retired Navy SEAL with award-winning sharp shooting, tracking, and code-breaking skills. Adam called him whenever the police couldn't do their job right or he wasn't able to take care of something himself.

"Relax."

"Who are you calling?"

"I'm getting you twenty bodyguards."

"What?"

Adam owned a security company that offered bodyguard services. All the bodyguards that worked for Adam were reserved and retired Marines. It's impressive how well his business does.

"Twenty is overdoing it."

"No, it's not."

Adam lifted the phone to his ear and walked out of the room. I let out a sigh. I didn't understand Adam. Last night, he was happy about his date, and then he was worried about me. He actually showed that he was concerned. This morning, he went from calm to authoritative to angry, upset, and overprotective in just minutes.

Adam seriously needs to get reevaluated.

That thought brought Daphnie to my mind. What would she do when she found out how unstable Adam was? He had so many issues that even he didn't realize.

My thoughts were interrupted by the doctor walking in. He was followed by two RNs with some equipment.

"Good to see you're awake."

"I wish I was sleeping. I'm in so much pain."

"Where does it hurt exactly?"

"Everywhere," I groaned.

"Well, you sustained some severe injuries. We'll give you a small dose of morphine, which should relieve some pain and put you back to sleep."

I began to panic a little when the doctor mentioned morphine. If Adam was going to stay with me, the doctor could not give me morphine; I couldn't risk Adam having a relapse.

"Morphine?"

"Yes. Don't worry. Your insurance will cover it."

"Actually, I don't think I need morphine. Isn't there something else you can give me?"

"Well, with the pain you're in, I'm afraid morphine is the only thing that will help."

"No, no, no, you don't understand."

"What's going on?" I heard Adam ask. Once again, his voice was aggressive and accusing.

The doctor turned to face him.

"Well, your brother here doesn't want to take morphine for his pain, but nothing else will help his condition."

"I'm allergic to morphine!" I shouted before Adam could say anything.

The doctor and RNs looked surprised.

"That's unusual, but in that case, I'll see if we can give you a high dose of Tylenol, which will help relieve some of the pain. Also, we'll have to admit you, so we can do more tests. I want another MRI, some blood work, and more x-rays."

"Sounds great," I said sarcastically.

"I'll send someone in with Tylenol for you shortly."

"Thank you." I closed my eyes, hoping the doctors would get the hint to leave. When I heard them step out, I opened my eyes and saw Adam sitting next to me with a hurt expression.

"You don't trust me," Adam mumbled.

"No, it's just that I don't want you to be tempted."

"We're in a hospital, Ben; there's temptation everywhere."

"I understand that bu-"

"I've been sober for two years," Adam was calm, and his voice was soft yet shaky. I didn't know what to say.

"I know."

Adam shook his head and slowly stood up.

"I don't wanna be the reason you stay in pain. Your bodyguards will be here soon, and I'll call you to check on you. I'll see you hopefully soon."

Adam walked out of the room with his head down. I felt so guilty about what I said.

After about thirty minutes of pain, the doctor walked in with an RN, holding a small cup. She handed it to me, and I saw two familiar tablets; they were the exact dosage Adam used to take.

Yeah, Adam doesn't need to be around this.

After I took the pills, the RN walked out, but the doctor stayed.

"You're a good brother."

I looked at him in confusion.

"Your brother told us the situation. Not many people would endure pain to protect someone, especially in your pain.

I stayed quiet. The doctor's words made me feel worse; I didn't even give Adam a chance.

"How long has he been sober?"

"Two years."

"Wow... Definitely don't want to ruin that."

"Yeah. My brother had been an addict for three years."

"How come?"

"He was in pain."

"Why didn't he see a doctor."

"Not that kind of pain; it was emotional and mental. He was broken."

"Why not take antidepressants?"

"Antidepressants only numbed the pain. Morphine gave him a boost, and he felt good."

"I see."

I almost cried as I thought back to seeing Adam in that state. It was hard; All I could do was watch Adam go through that and beg him to stop.

"How did he get the morphine?"

"I don't know."

I lied. I knew exactly how Adam got his morphine. As a businessman, Adam knew A LOT of people. He knew all the right people and all the wrong people. Being wealthy, Adam was powerful. His demeanor made him intimidating, so everyone he knew feared or respected him. Adam used his resources in the State of Illinois to get multiple IDs with different social security numbers. With each identity, he registered at hospitals all over the state, mainly in Chicago. Adam paid each doctor to diagnose him with severe pain and prescribe him morphine. He even paid surgeons to prescribe him a more potent form of it. I couldn't tell the doctor that, though.

"Are you sure?"

I looked up at him.

"Yeah. As far as I know, he was never involved with gangs or the mob."

To redirect the doctor's attention, I forced some tears. When the doctor's facial expression changed to sympathetic, I softly said, "it was so hard to see him in that condition; I begged him to stop."

"What made him quit?"

At that moment, I remembered all the times Adam overdosed. I remembered all the times I found him passed out, the times I had to make him throw up, the times I watched doctors put a tube down his throat and pump charcoal into his stomach. The times I sat by his side in the hospital. I remembered when he was practically on his death bed in a coma.

"I don't know. He ended up in a coma."

"A coma?" The doctor sounded shocked.

"Yeah, he overdosed and ended up in a coma for five months."

"Wow... I'm sorry to hear that. Often, it takes extreme consequences to make people give up bad habits."

The doctor was wrong. Even being in a coma didn't stop Adam. After Adam came home after two months of physical therapy, he went back to doing morphine. I remembered that day he overdosed:

It had been a month since Adam came home. I finished a long day of work. I must've taken care of fifty cases. I couldn't wait to just sit back and relax. Adam promised that he would cook dinner for once. I peeked in the kitchen to check on Adam when I walked through the front door; he wasn't cooking. Instead, he was lying on the kitchen floor.

"Adam!"

I fell to my knees next to Adam; he was unconscious and pale. I grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

"Adam. Adam!"

Adam had overdosed again. I had hoped being in a coma had taught him a lesson.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 9-1-1, but I paused before hitting the call button. I was tired of going through all the mental and emotional stress. Yeah, Adam had issues and trauma, but what about me? What about the stressful job I had? What about the dates I had to cancel and the office parties I had to miss because I was taking care of Adam?

Adam had me as secondary on everything. If anything happened to him, I would get everything: businesses, hotels, restaurants, money, and everything else he owned.

"I'm done."

I stood up and put my phone in my pocket. I walked out of the kitchen, picked up my keys, and walked out the door, making sure to lock it. It was good that I parked in the garage; nobody could've seen me.

I decided I would treat myself. It would be a celebration of the majority of my problems coming to an end. I decided to go to Ricobene's. It was a semi-long drive, but it would kill some time.

I parked across the street and walked into the restaurant with joy. I walked up to the counter and ordered myself a breaded steak sandwich and fries. I sat down at a table and noticed that there weren't many people. I didn't mind at all. My sandwich tasted terrific. Just what I needed after five months of eating hospital food. Life was good.

My attention was turned to the door when I heard it open. Two young kids walked in. They were probably in their late teens. One was tall and built. He came in, holding up a more petite framed guy who looked pretty beat up. They were laughing together. The beat-up kid kept saying, "Thank you."

They reminded me of Adam and me when we were younger. I was constantly bullied by people in high school, and Adam was always saving my ass. He ended up getting detention several times for standing up for me. I could never stay out of trouble; I always needed to prove myself to the bullies, so Adam always had to save me. Even when he was in the Marines, Adam stood up for me. We wrote back and forth all the time. If I ever mentioned that someone in school or the office was bothering me, he would send them a threat so bad that they wouldn't even look at me. Adam was always there for me, and I had no right to complain about his situation.

A massive wave of guilt took over me. It suddenly hit me that Adam was barely alive when I left him. I ran to my car and sped all the way home. When I got inside, I ran up to Adam.

"Adam! Adam!"

Adam was ice cold and pale, and I couldn't feel his pulse. I called 9-1-1 and started CPR.

"Come on, Adam! Please!"

The paramedics arrived quickly. They took out some defibrillator pads and sent a charge through Adam. Nothing. They tried a second time and nothing. I was crying, and they tried one last time. Nothing.

"I'm sorry." One of them said.

I broke out into hardcore, sobbing and screaming.

"Adam! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! This is all my fault! Adam!"

I pushed the paramedics away and tried CPR again.

"Come on, Adam!"

They tried to pull me away. Eventually, one held me down while the other went to radio someone. All I could do was stare at Adam's lifeless body.

That was one of the worst days of my life. That day, I became a horrible person. I never told Adam what happened, what I did and didn't do. I just let him believe that it was the usual routine. I let him think I called 9-1-1 immediately because I didn't want him to die.

That was the last time Adam overdosed. I made him go cold turkey after that, but it wasn't easy. I remembered the conversation we had.

I got home from work early. I didn't think Adam would be home, but I felt I should peek in as I passed his room. I opened the door and saw Adam sitting on his bed with a pill bottle in his hand. He looked up at me like a deer in headlights.

"Ummm..."

It took everything in me to stay calm and not go off on him.

"Adam, you were in a coma. I thought you'd learn from that, but then you overdosed again. When are you gonna stop?"

"Believe me, Ben. I want to, but I can't."

"What can I do to help you?"

"You can't."

I put my head down and walked to my room. I tried thinking of ways to help Adam.

After about an hour of thinking, I decided that the best thing to do was make him go cold turkey. It wouldn't be easy, though; I would have to do some shopping and try to be discrete about it.

A week after our conversation, my plan was ready. I told Adam I would make dinner for both of us; I made ravioli and prepared our plates before calling Adam to eat. In Adam's dish, I mixed a Xanax in the sauce.

After dinner, Adam decided to get some work done. He stepped into his office and closed the door. I stood right outside and waited for him to pass out. Just thirty minutes after eating, I heard a thump, and I opened the door and saw Adam passed out on the floor. It was a sight I had seen so many times, but this time, Adam was breathing correctly.

I dragged Adam to my room and tied him to a chair I had set up in my bathtub. The chair had an 80-pound weight tied to each leg, and I researched military knots and used those to tie him up. I linked his legs to the chair's legs, tied his hands separately, and then together behind and to the chair. Finally, I tied his torso to the chair.

I had Adam facing away from the showerhead so I could run hot water while he was in there. The hot water would make steam, so he could sweat out what morphine was in his system.

I sat on the side as I waited for him to wake up. I took care of a few things here and there. After a few hours, he was finally wide awake. I could tell he was a little freaked out by what was happening. He looked like he was panicking. I was worried that would happen. Adam never talked about when he was a POW, so I didn't exactly know what would trigger him. He looked like he was having a panick attack until he turned and saw me.

"Ben?"

"Adam."

"WHAT THE HELL?"

"Adam, you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! What is this? I can't move!"

"That's the point."

"What?"

"You need to get sober."

"Sober?"

"You're done with morphine."

Adam looked like he suddenly realized something.

"Where's my morphine?"

"Gone."

"What? What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean, I got rid of it. All of it. While I was at it, I also got rid of all your IDs and social security cards."

"WHAT? Do you know what I had to do to get those?"

"Hmmm... Let me guess... You threatened some people and paid others off? Well, you have plenty of money, and your annual income keeps increasing as time goes by. Also, people know not to blackmail or rat you out, so you have nothing to worry about. I also deleted your G****e account, so you lost all your contacts."

"Why are you doing this?"

I looked Adam dead in the eyes.

"Because I need my best friend back."

"Going cold turkey can kill me."

I stood up and walked towards Adam.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

I turned the shower on, the water as hot as it could get. I closed the shower door and walked out of the bathroom.

I would let the shower run until the water was coming out cold, and I'd then turn the water off and feed and talk to Adam until we got more hot water. That cycle repeated over a few weeks. I sometimes pitied Adam: if he had to relieve himself, he would have to go on himself, and he couldn't sleep in his position. However, Adam survived.

Those days were rough. I could still vividly hear Adam scream out of pain from withdrawal. I could still see his pleading eyes when he begged me to get him any pain killer type.

I began to cry a little more. The doctor slightly nodded his head and walked out.

A few minutes later, two men dressed in black T-shirts and green cargo pants walked into my room. One had Italian features, while the other one looked Hispanic. They were tall and built. They had good posture and were rather stiff; I knew exactly who they were.

"You guys must be my bodyguards."

"Yes, sir." The Italian one said.

"What are your names?"

"Mario, sir." Said the Italian.

"Lucero, sir." Said the Hispanic.

"Nice to meet you guys. I'm Ben. Let me guess, you guys are the best out of the entire company? Or you guys were at least high ranking in the Marines?"

"Captain, sir," Mario said.

"First Lieutenant, sir," Lucero said next.

"Very impressive. Thank you both for your service to this country and your current service to me."

They were quiet. I should've seen that coming: as my bodyguards. They were expected to protect me, not be my friends. Adam made that very clear at each orientation and training session he led.

It was about an hour before I was admitted to the hospital. They took me in for an MRI, X-rays, and blood work. Of course, Mario and Lucero went with me everywhere. The doctor found it strange that Adam assigned me bodyguards. I explained to him that Adam and I are very close, and he's overprotective.

The MRI showed a slight tear in my appendix, so I needed surgery. X-rays showed that I had a hairline fracture in my pelvis; it was very minor, so they couldn't see it first. Thank God my blood work came out fine. Bianca had scratched me so badly that I needed stitches.

At about five o'clock, the doctor told me what other damage Bianca had done. He wanted to take me in for surgery right away, but I had just eaten, so we would have to wait until the following morning.

At seven, Adam called me. I was wondering what he had been up to.

"Hello?"

"Hey. How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm gonna need surgery."

"Shit."

"Yeah. She messed me up really bad."

"Well, don't worry about your job. I know you just got it; I know people at the office who will ensure they don't give your job away."

"Adam... That's not necessary."

"It is... And the surgery, whatever you need, don't worry about the cost. I'll cover whatever your insurance doesn't."

"Thanks."

"It's the least I can do. I remember everything you did for me and all the shit I put you through."

Another wave of guilt came over me. I made Adam remember the past he had tried to put behind him.

"Yeah... So what have you been up to? How was your day?"

"Well, after I left the hospital, I picked up Daphnie, and we talked. I told her."

I sat up in bed. I was absolutely shocked. I didn't think Adam would actually tell Daphnie about his issues.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing really. She thanked me for being honest with her, and she didn't judge me at all."

"Well, you can't judge someone for having PTSD and other issues."

"What do you mean other issues?"

Adam's voice sounded aggressive.

"Never mind, I'm sorry. I'm just talking shit."

"I didn't tell her about my PTSD."

I fell back into bed. I couldn't help but groan out of frustration.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her about my drug addiction."

That answer surprised me. I never thought Adam would ever tell anyone about his drug addiction. He was so ashamed that he didn't even attend a support group.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Good for you."

"Thanks."

"I'll talk to you later then."

"Bye."

I couldn't sleep that night. It wasn't my problem, but eventually, Adam would have to tell Daphnie everything. He would have to explain to her about all his businesses, connections, everything. How would that go down? I tried to get some sleep, but my fear of surgery kept me awake.

I was gonna be spending a long time here.