Detox Mansion chapter 1

Trigger warning for smoking and eating disorders.

Trying out a prose concept to turn into a graphic novel along the way. 

I'm not a prose writer by training so this isn't polished by any means, just a way for me to have fun telling a story! I recommend listening to some Warren Zevon while reading. 

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Outside of the Thoreau Center for Addiction in Concord, Massachusetts, Lita took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. They still hadn’t gotten the hang of smoking, and fumbled with getting the lighter to work. Next to them was an older man, mid-thirties or later, also smoking.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” The man muttered, as Lita continued to struggle with the lighter with one hand, while attempting to grab a cigarette with their teeth out of the box.

With a startled cry, Lita dropped the carton to the ground, spilling several dollars’ worth of cigarettes.

“When I was your age smoking was something everyone did and it was inescapable. How can you smoke now, knowing it causes cancer?” The man glared at Lita with narrowed, judgmental eyes.

Lita cowered, retreating behind shaggy bangs and frayed military jacket. They shrugged wordlessly.

“So what about you?” Lita mumbled under their breath.

The man sucked in the cigarette long and hard. “Everyone was smoking when I grew up. Everyone in my family smoked. I didn’t give it a second thought when I was given a pack at age 12. It was just what you did. I’ve been trying to quit.”

Lita looked down at their shoes in embarrassment. “I mean, I only bought the one pack today. I don’t even know how to work a lighter.”

“So why the hell now? Why here?” The man went over to the ashtray and stubbed his cig, then returned to lean against the wall, facing Lita.

Lita peered at him tentatively through the hair that hung in their face. He seemed to tower over them, his 6 foot-something frame long and lanky compared to Lita’s petite 18 year old self. The entire lower half of his face and much of his neck was covered in unshaven scruff. In the dim outer lights, his skin was sallow and pale. He had on a tattered checkered shirt, and dirty blond hair curled around his neck down to the shirt’s collar. Wire-rimmed glasses that desperately needed to be cleaned were perched on a long, thin nose.

Lita shook their head nervously. “I dunno, I just kept thinking about what someone at school said once. That cigarettes curb your appetite. I wanted to see if it was real.”

The man scoffed. “So you’re in that program, huh? The one for anorexics?”

Lita remained deadpan. “No, well, not exactly. Just for eating disorders in general.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m in the alcoholics group. Haven’t touched a drink in years, but still trying to kick this habit.” He was automatically reaching for his cigarettes in his pants pocket, then abruptly stopped with a jerk.

“My break’s ending soon but hey, what’s your name?” He smiled, revealing the inevitably nicotine-stained teeth.

“I’m Lita.” They said, weakly shaking hands.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Winston.” For a split second, Lita inwardly grimaced. Wasn’t there a brand of cigarettes called Winston?

“It’s nice to meet you. I just started the program today so it’s nice to know someone. I gotta go too.” Lita gave a gentle wave and ducked into the glass revolving doors. The cigarettes remained untouched on the ground.

As Lita took their place for the second session of group therapy, they wondered if there was a program at this center for quitting smoking.

Lita returned outside, waiting back at the brick wall to be picked up. They felt as if levitating, like the heaviness of their pain was easing. Everyone in the room had understood, in a way Lita had never experienced before.

“Oh, hello!” They brightened when they saw Winston emerge from the revolving doors. They didn’t have enough time to say more, however, and got into their parents’ car feeling a little dissappointed.

“We saw you waving at someone, did you make a friend?” Lita’s mom asked, kindly, in Spanish.

“Si, hé hecho un amistad nuevo.” Lita smiled and nodded.

The moon hung over the highway, large and yellow.

Lita went to the Thoreau Center every Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings from 4 to 8:40. For the first session, they were given a ride, but from now on Lita would have to figure out how to get to Concord on their own which was a headache of transit lines.

They resolved to show up early and see if they could see Winston again. It wasn’t that Lita had a crush on him, they denied it vehemently. The man was probably old enough to be their father, forsooth. There was something intriguing about him but it was strictly a platonic interest.

After several bus and train transfers, Lita arrived 45 minutes early to the Thoreau Center with a packed dinner. Embarrassingly, they’d forgotten, and had to drink a couple of meal replacement shakes for group dinner which was generally frowned upon in the program. But this time Lita had prepared a kale-and-beet salad with almond butter dressing, something they picked up from their gig job at a vegan juice bar.

Lita walked around the building, which was a depressingly ordinary suburban office brick square surrounded by other office buildings. At least the trees were lush with the fluorescent green of early June.

There was Winston, coming out of his car in the large parking lot. Lita ran over to him, waving an arm.

“Hi Winston!” They greeted him breathlessly. “I had to take public transit so I ended up getting here too early.”

Winston looked surprised, but broke into a grin. “Yeah, I like to get here early. Traffic on 128 is hell.”

They walked to the entrance.

“Well, I usually stand out here and smoke a couple before my thing, but…” Winston shrugged and grimaced. “We can just go inside, it’s pretty hot out.”

The lobby provided cool relief from the June heat. They sat in chairs near large windows framed by fig plants and a rack with brochures on topics ranging from recognizing the signs for different eating disorders, to help for self-harm, to special clinics for recovering from opiate addiction located in the center of the state.

“I’m just curious, what brought you here?” Winston leaned back in his armchair, idly jerking a leg. “I guess you don’t have to tell me.” He added after a pause.

Lita brushed strands of hair out of their eyes. “I was forced to come here. Well, as much as anyone can force an 18 year old.” Winston gave an automatic “heh” in response. “But I know I need to be here. The eating disorder was taking over everything and I want my life back.”

“Hm, yeah.” Winston murmured in sympathy. “I was given an ultimatum back then, too. My wife threatened to divorce me if I didn’t get sober and do the program here. I did it, I got sober two years ago but she still divorced me. Go figure.” He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.

Lita gasped, clasping their hands to their mouth. “Oh no, I’m sorry.”

Winston sighed, unaffected. “I was too late, too far gone. But you can’t really force someone to go to rehab. Even when it’s forced, the person has to make that decision for themselves to recover. And I knew by then that I was ready to get sober.”

Lita thought of all the times they thought they’d finally kicked the disorder, after one good day of no behaviors and no negative self-image, only to relapse the next day into familiar bad habits. Of all the days that Lita swore to themself that they didn’t need help, that if they just lost that final number of pounds or cut sugar once and for all they’d be fine.

“I’m finally ready too.” Lita said, in a quavering voice. Their throat closed up and it was a surefire sign that they’d burst into tears any minute. Lita tried to shake off the urge to cry, but one look at Winston’s kind, sympathetic face broke Lita down into a sobbing mess.

Winston scrambled across the coffee table to Lita’s side and wrapped his arms around them, stealing a furtive glance at the receptionist. He figured they were all used to tearful outbursts, and focused on comforting Lita.

“I’ve lost so much to Ed. That’s what we call it—the eating disorder.” Lita explained between gasps for air. “I don’t want him to take anything more from my life. I’ve had this fucking thing for all of my teen years.”

“It’s… okay now.” Winston said, fumbling for the right words. He hadn’t seen his child since he’d been separated from his pregnant wife. He didn’t even know what gender baby it was, so any paternal instinct of his was halting, awkward.

“Listen,” He put two firm hands on Lita’s shoulders, “I’ve been through this recovery shit, I just go here for group check-ins now. I was in residential, rehab, hooked up to a bunch of IVs and shit, did all the 12 steps, whatever. So I know what you’re going through, more or less.”

Lita pawed at their face, trying to rub away tears.

“I gan helb you guit smoging.” They said, stuffed up with mucus.

Winston raised fuzzy blond eyebrows. “I mean…sure. It’s like any other addiction right? That’s what brings us together.”

“Unhealthy coping mechanisms.” Lita said, less stuffed now. “That’s what I learned the other day. That the eating disorder, or whatever substance, it’s a response to trauma that we ended up with because at the time we didn’t have access to the right tools we needed to cope.”

Lita helped themself to several tissues on the table. Winston nodded thoughtfully, then excused himself to his session.