Care

Chase awoke and was disoriented as he glanced around the room. After a couple seconds he recognized his living room, and felt he pain in his neck that came from falling asleep with his head tilted back on the couch. Tilting his head side-to-side, Chase heard a satisfying crack and breathed a sigh of relief. As he did he heard breathing, and suddenly remembered how he'd come to pass out on the couch last night. He stood up hastily, immediately tripping over his coffee table and hitting the ground hard.

"Chase," came Justine's voice, soft and weak.

Giving up the hope of letting her sleep, Chase turned on the light and turned to her. He meant to return her greeting and maybe talk to her a bit, but the words died in his throat.

Simply put, Justine looked terrible, and the sight brought a lump to his throat and broke his heart.

She was doubled over, holding her stomach and groaning, though he could tell she was trying to keep from making noise. She was still sweating and her nose was runny. As Chase got up to refill her water she puked into the trashcan and he heard her yawn, even though she was trying to stifle it.

Discreetly as he could, Chase pulled out his phone and began scanning the internet for her symptoms in relation to heavy drug use. Half-a-minute was enough time to confirm his suspicion that Justine was going through withdrawal symptoms from heroin. He had no idea how long it had been since she'd used but phone was informing him that the initial stage of withdrawal could take around a week, and the second stage might take longer, though it was more emotional than the first.

This brought an idea to him. He really hadn't taken the time to question Justine when he'd found her in his home, and she hadn't–and still didn't–look up to an interrogation. Still, how long did she intend to stay here?

I mean, does it really matter? he asked himself. Even if she wants to stay here for the entire withdrawal process, it's not like I can't afford to help her. I can easily get another bed and set it up in here, and it's not as if work needs to take me out of the house or anything. The only downside would be missing church because I doubt I should leave her alone right…

Then another thought occurred to him. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner: Peter. He knew someone who was a genuine healer. Surely, Peter would help Justine. After all, he'd helped Chase with his sleeplessness. Surely, Peter could cure Justine as the drugs worked their way out of her system!

He glanced down at his phone again. It was a quarter past three in the morning. Far too early for a phone call, and there was no guarantee Peter would be able to do anything right away. Chase nodded to himself. He would look after Justine until seven, call Peter and see what the next step was.

That thought in mind, he took a moment to pray, he prayed for Justine and for guidance. Chase already knew he was so far out of his depth that it was laughable. He went back over to Justine and placed the water in front of her. Then, he dragged a chair in from the kitchen and sat in front of her, trying to appear friendly, though he had no clue what the effect must be. However, Justine gave him a sad smile, and it hurt nearly as bad as hearing her in pain, because the smile did not reach her eyes, which were still screaming in pain.

He retrieved a bottle of ibuprofen, setting it next to the bottle.

"How you holding up?" he asked softly, knowing it was a stupid question before he finished asking it.

"You know," she said, grimacing through her attempted humor. "Hanging in there. Everything hurts really bad, Chase."

"You want to phone an ambulance?" he asked, trying to sound gentle in his suggestion.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I just… can I stay here, please? I should've asked but…"

"It's alright," he said, holding up his hand. "I figured that was the case, but I'm sure you're feeling like shit."

"In more ways than one," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you last time we met."

"You don't have to talk about that right now," said Chase.

He did want to talk with her about all of that, but seeing her so ill made his heart go out to her. All that was in his mind right now was taking care of her and helping her recover. Whatever came after would come after.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, placing two fingers on her neck to check her pulse. "I have some soup if you'd feel up to it."

Her pulse was very fast and light under his fingertips.

"Starving," she said, trying to smile again, but she grimaced again.

Chase nodded and went to the kitchen to make some vegetable soup. He had no idea when she'd last eaten, but she looked a little thinner than the last time he'd seen her and if she'd been this sick for any length of time, she couldn't have been eating well. As a side thought, he opened his cabinet and examined what he had.

Most of his pills wouldn't be of much help, but he did pull out a Turmeric capsule and something he'd about a year ago that was supposed to help level out anxieties he got sometimes. The anxiety medication was a little out of date, but he figured her mind must be in such a poor state it could hardly do more damage than the drugs were.

A minute later he came in, setting the food and medicine on a stand up tray next to the armrest of the chair. He moved his own seat next to hers and looked over at her as she feebly began to eat the soup.

"So… why me?" he asked.

She nodded towards the painting, tucked away in a corner.

"You already helped save my life once," she said, without an ounce of sarcasm in her. "I guess I was hoping you'd be willing to do it again."

"Anything I can do to help," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"You're really too nice for your own good, Chase."

The way she said his name sent a small flutter through his heart. It was the way one spoke the name of a precious person, instead of a name used to identify a person. It was definitely better than her nicknames for him in the past. It sent a jolt of hope through him, opening a door he'd thought had been sealed a while ago. Still, right now, he needed to make sure she was going to be alright.

So, Chase spent the early morning next to Justine watching different shows and things on the television. Honestly, he knew she wasn't all that interested in whatever was playing, but beyond making sure she had what she needed, there seemed to be very little he could do for her. However, she didn't complain and by the time seven o'clock rolled around, she did seem a bit better than she had the previous evening.

"I've got to call someone," said Chase, standing up slowly.

"No!" Justine said, suddenly. "I said I didn't…"

"Not a hospital," said Chase soft, but firm. "This is a friend of mine who can help. I promise."

Chase pulled out his cell phone and navigated the electronic screen until he found Peter's contact information. Then he hit the call button and paced around the living room while the dull ringing filled his ears. Peter picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Peter," said Chase, relieved. "It's Chase."

"Good morning Chase," Peter said, clearly having just woken himself. "How are you this morning?"

"Things are… well, things are kind of difficult truth be told. But I'm calling because I was hoping you might be able to help."

He explained what he'd walked into the previous evening. Peter didn't interrupt or ask questions and instead merely listened while Chase explained. Once Chase had finished talking, Peter paused for a long moment, and then Chase heard him talking with Miranda for a little while. Around a minute later, Peter's voice came from the earpiece again.

"Alright Chase, give Miranda and I a chance to get dressed and we can be there in about forty minutes or so."

"Excellent," said Chase, smiling. "See you then."

He hung up and sat next to Justine again.

"My friend Peter is going to come by with his wife. He's used to helping people who are sick."

In that moment, he felt that saying Peter was a healer might turn Justine off the idea a bit, and he couldn't afford to drive her away… again. So instead, he took a deep breath and decided to try and understand her a little more as a person.

"So," he said, as carefully as if approaching a ticking bomb. "I know you said you wrote poetry, but I have to admit, your poem was pretty damn good. I never really studied poetry a lot, but I liked it."

She let out a soft chuckle, which became a grimace of pain a moment later. Chase winced as he heard the pain wrack her body.

"Not all street girls grew up street girls, Chase. I grew up in Saint Peters: white suburban paradise."

"Saint Peters?" Chase repeated, trying to keep Justine talking as this was already far more than she'd ever told him before. "Did you enjoy it?"

She considered his question for a long while, then shrugged slightly.

"Parts of it were alright, I guess. I really liked our home. It had a little garden and the study had a great big window that would be great to sit by in the afternoon, or watch the leaves change in the fall. I spent a lot of time either in the garden or the study. I still think about that a lot now. Sometimes… when I'm high… I almost feel like I'm back there, you know?"

Chase nodded, though he wasn't sure he did completely understand. His own childhood wasn't filled with moments or memories he liked to look back on. Between an angry drinker of a father and a mother who determinedly ignored her husband's issues, Chase did not associate his years of growing up with pleasure.

"Did you write poetry back then too?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," she said softly. "I was going to school to become an English teacher. Not exactly a money-earner, I know. Still, it was the only thing I was ever good at or passionate about, so it made sense to try and teach it to others."

"So what changed?"

Justine went quiet for several moments and Chase feared he'd pushed things too far. However, she eventually started speaking again, her voice shaking like a leaf in heavy wind.

"There was a guy at my college… Keller. He was a musician… played the acoustic guitar. He had long hair and was always just… cool, you know? He constantly talked out against big label music and swore that he could help set something right in his art. I was twenty at the time and… I don't know. Maybe I just wanted something different or maybe I was just being an idiot. Anyway, back then, I suppose I was different. I refused to have sex with him and he'd always said he was good with that; he could wait."

Chase didn't say anything, but placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping the gesture came off as reassuring instead of pressuring or difficult.

"Then one day… I guess he got tired of waiting. He had a bit too much to drink and he grabbed me and…"

Her voice shook again and she couldn't finish the statement. Chase understood well enough though, and an anger settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Afterwards," Justine said, taking a long drink of water and wiping the tears from her eyes. "I just couldn't go back to the way things were. Nothing made sense to me anymore. Everyone said it would just take time, but nothing ever got better. Two years in, I got my first hookup and… it made things… well, not better, but it made them numb. I didn't hurt in the same way. So, when it would all become… too much, I'd use. At first it was once every three or four weeks. Then twice a month, then every week… and so on."

Chase rubbed her back softly.

"Only three kind of girls end up being prostitutes, Chase. There are girls who need money, girls who love the sex, and girls who are just repeating abuse patterns. Honestly, most of everything was a blur after that. Years passed and I couldn't tell you much of what happened or where I went. Everything was like falling through the air until the bridge. I think that's part of why I was so angry with you… because you were like a sign of the life I couldn't have anymore."

Chase nodded softly, and moved his chair to look into her eyes.

"Thank you," he said, smiling gently at her. "I know that probably wasn't easy to tell and I appreciate that you did."

She looked away from him and he stood up before speaking again.

"Justine, I know you don't believe what I do. But I believe God led me to you, and if I can help you, I will. And for whatever it's worth, I think you're wrong. You say that I'm a life you can't have, but I seriously believe you can do whatever you really want to do. After all, you found me."

She smiled a little at that and then grimaced as she was sick.

"I'd like to think that was right, Chase. I really would."