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Rehab was supposed to be a fresh start for Madeline.
The first time she went was fresh out of college. Madeline wasn’t as frequent a user back then, just at parties if the right person offered a line here or a pill there. She had been picked up by a scouting agent looking for talent. He had been to a local black box theater performance in Miami that Madeline so happened to be doing, since Helen would be traveling down there anyway to go to some stupid writing seminar.
The man approached her after a surprisingly smooth rendition of ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ had closed, of course, she played Audrey, and complemented her ability to capture the eye of onlookers.
Madeline noticed the way he looked at her, not at her talent but where the talent was housed. Her figure. It was the first time she ever used her body to better her career, slipping a chaste kiss to his cheek and a wink when she grabbed his business card. Helen had seen it all, knowing it wasn’t all true.
Helen opted to stay in for the night, Madeline on the other hand got dressed in a little pink getup and hit the town with the people she met from the show.
Around four in the morning, Helen’s phone had woken her from sleep, she begrudgingly read the name of the caller who belonged to her and made a mental note to curse Madeline out for waking her up when she knew it took Helen ages to finally rest her eyes.
An unfamiliar woman was on the line, voice slurring.
“Is this Helen Sharp?” The girl asked, Helen sat up with a scrunched brow, reaching for her glasses on the hotel nightstand.
”Yes?”
“Madeline passed out on the bathroom floor and won't wake up and—“
Helen’s heart stopped, the rush of anxiety pushing away the drowsiness, she was wide awake now.
”Call a fucking ambulance then! Jesus—make sure she's breathing and..” Helen rattled off a list of basic things they could do to ensure Madeline would be okay, another person on the line dialed 911 so she could talk to whomever it was through the process. Helen sprinted out of bed, grabbing a sweater, phone, and rental car keys and sped off to the hospital. The drive was quiet except for the racing heart that pound in her head, lungs never capable enough of getting enough air so she teetered on the edge of hyperventilation.
Thirty minutes later Helen sat besides her best friend, a shaky hand clutching a cold one. Madeline had overdosed on cocaine, they had to pump her stomach. She would be alright the doctors said, but she would be put into rehab involuntarily.
They found two other substances along with booze in her system, Madeline had been out club hopping with actors and other random people from place to place.
Helen watched as this look of shame washed over Madeline when the doctors told her what lay ahead, but she didn’t argue for once. Helen was the one to pick the blonde up when those two weeks were over and take the both of them back home to their apartment. Madeline never went into details about her time in the facility, but Helen never failed to see the way her once cheery, extroverted, and bubbly Mad was replaced by this thin and bitchy counterpart.
Her weight had dropped significantly after leaving, she was irritable, Helen spent most nights alone so Madeline could have peace and quiet. The author never left her side however despite how much she should have. Through all the boyfriend stealing, borderline bullying, baiting, and switching, the bitching, and the biting she stayed.
The second time Madeline ended up in rehab was at the peak of her stardom, multiple movies, TV shows, readings, and even rumors of an autobiographical type of Broadway extravaganza.
She was found in her trailer, unresponsive and half draped over her vanity, the tell tail signs of white powder dusting her nostril and upper lip. Helen was again the first thing she registered after regaining consciousness, her hand clutched inbetween the authors tightly.
The calming smell of flowers filled the air, Helen brought her yellow roses, they were also Helen’s favorite.
”I’m okay, Hel.” Madeline croaked out, throat dry and tight. Helen handed her a glass of water, a disapproving look under a sad smile.
”You promise me, you wont ever scare me like that again.” Her voice was small, watery with past tears that threatened an encore, Madeline nodded her head slowly, pink lips curling up into an attempt to soften the moment.
She couldn’t sleep.
Red hair and glasses gnawed at the back of her mind.
Nasal laughter buzzed though the silence of her room.
The smell of old paper and vanilla clouded her nostrils.
Madeline stumbled till she reached the tops of the avant-garde marble staircase, pink silken robe flowing behind like a cape in the wind as she swept about. Her cropped bob stuck to sweaty, flushed, sagging skin, eyes roaming lazily to register the most basic of surroundings.
”Ernie?” She called out to the dimly lit room down the hallway nearest her left hand side. No response. It was around eleven o’clock on a rather warm Tuesday, part of her brain forgot he worked late, the other part didn't care too much.
Creeping down the stairs—and nearly taking a tumble in the process, she made it to her studio situated in the back half of her mansion. Despite being alone under the cover of night, she gingerly opened the door, flipped on the lights, and made a b-line for the chaise lounge snuggled by a vanity.
The drawer was opened, a false bottom. Pushing away the wooden plate lay a small stash of plastic bags, orange pill bottles, and one or two pre-rolls made by Stefan's careful hands.
Madeline reached inside for the baggie of white powder, shutting the drawer and sitting at the vanity.
She flipped off the main big light and switched on the vanity lights, each bulb dim and buzzing, one even burnt out.
Just like you.
The voice sounded strangely familiar, but the thought was pushed aside as Madeline’s shaky hand reached for an old business card, her face bright and warm on the thick paper. She had grown up believing that she’d never touch anything stronger than Tylenol, now look where she was now. Little Maddie from Newark cut lines while deeper ones settled into her skin as time flew by.
The first line was heavenly, Madeline immediately felt the way her body buzzed and heart pounded loudly in her ears. For a minute everything was quiet.
You said you’d quit. Liar. Snortning that shit like a cheap tramp.
The second line was longer, she coughed afterwards and gulped down air as her head swam with endorphins. Fifteen minutes later she craved more, needed this feeling to go away.
Ernest arrived home just after midnight, groggily dragging himself up the steps to the front door and heading inside. It took a moment to realize a light had been left on downstairs, “Madeline?” he called towards the faint glow.
A barely legible string of sounds met his hearing, followed by a sniffle and a thump. Ernest dropped his briefcase and hurried over to find the small figure of his wife hunched over on the floor, the bench to the vanity knocked over.
The doctor surveyed the room, noticing the powdery residue and business card discarded onto the floor. He knelt to her, pulling her up to a comfortable position. His voice made no sense, his jaw flapped rapidly and Madeline was too far gone to register, the only decipherable noise falling from her pale lips,
”M’sorryHelen.”
Madeline’s body shook violently, lurched forward, and gagged, her body’s poor attempt at expelling the contents inside. Ernest drew his phone from his pocket with clammy hands, dialing 911.
She was hysterical, babbling like a fool and trying to keep her head up, eventually succumbing to gravity and going limp.
The blonde awoke to the sound of monitors beeping, the sticky sensation of medical tape, and the sting of an IV pressed into the crease of her elbow. The room felt too bright, no hand held hers, no calming smell of flowers, just sanitary and lifeless. Ernest sat quietly, tone hushed as the doctor calmly explained something to him.
Madeline didn't need to hear what it was, for she knew where she’d end up.