Withdrawal

 Firefly is in bed, tossing and turning beneath the black and gold comforter. She is going through withdrawals. The first twenty-four hours are the worst. It is not going well, but she has not given up. She gives out a primal moan, turns over, and states, "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," I tell her softly. "I know you can. You have done it before."

"Not like this."

I am not keeping her here, but she is on Xanax and Seroquel, and I will not move my truck from behind her car if she tries to drive away. She can choose to give into the body aches and chills, but she will be sick out on the streets without a car or money. She knows it.

I don't know what to do with Firefly. She is so young. She has a long way to go. My condo better than the trap house she stayed at when I kicked her out, but I am not sure being here is enough. She needs a psychologist, structure, and a job to keep her busy. 

I don't want to upset her. So, I return to my desk in the loft and attend a meeting. Firefly continues her restless shifting for a few minutes before the drugs take effect, and she falls into a fitful sleep.

She thinks I don't understand going through withdrawals. Maybe not, but I have seen it before. Firefly is tough. She handles them better than Billie. It is what comes after she has difficulty with.  She returned from our twenty-four-day road trip on Suboxone and ready to get a job. Left to her own devices, it didn't take her long to derail things.

The house is quiet in the afternoon. My typing is the only sound disturbing the silence. Periodically, I get up and check on Firefly. Her breathing is shallow but rhythmic, so I leave her alone.

I work on the computer till late in the evening.  I am intent on my editing when I hear Firefly call my name. Her voice is weak. She sounds pitiful.

"You okay?" I ask, coming into the room. 

She asks if I picked up a prescription refill for her. I haven't. I forgot, and I put on some clothes to run to the pharmacy. The medication isn't ready when I get to the pharmacy. The doctor's office did not call it in. She will be out in the morning.  

Firefly takes the last of her Seroquel and sleeps through the night. The worst is over by morning, but she has a long way to go.