Never Too Late

NEVER TOO LATE

DB#22

Edited by kenjisato.

She was one step from losing it all. Could she change?

++0++

CHAPTER 1: CARRIE

I was lying on the floor in a puddle of slimy vomit. The floor was hard and hurt my back. My head was pounding like a drum. It felt like someone had split my skull with an ax.

Barely able to open my eyes in the gleaming light, I drifted in and out of consciousness for what seemed like an hour or two.

I reached out with my hand and touched something. My eyes were still closed like I was just too exhausted to even try to open them. I peeked down at my phone and turned it on. Dozens of missing calls and texts pinged in. Each sound was painfully amplified by my headache.

Squinting my eyes, I scrolled through the multitude of missed calls and text messages my husband, Ernie, had sent me.

'I am worried about you'; 'Are you okay?'; 'Why aren't you returning my messages?'; 'Did you turn off your phone?'; Where are you?!'

The last message, however, stopped my heart. 'I hope you are not getting drunk again.'

He couldn't know about my problem with alcohol. I had been careful.

I tried to get up and find out where I was, but my head started hurting again and things around me began to veer. I peeked through my squinted eyes and saw I was home.

I was still wearing the same clothes I had on the previous day. Then, I realized I didn't remember even coming back home. The last thing I could recall was going out drinking after work. It had been a very complicated day, and I needed to relax. I was on my third vodka martini while some of my co-workers were still on their first drink. I was having a good time and laughing a lot. But after that, everything else was a blur.

"Ernie?" I called out, but it came out groggy, and I wasn't sure if my husband heard me, or even if he was awake.

I slowly stood up and started stretching my arms. I was still exhausted and sore from whatever happened the previous night.

I could hear noises coming from the kitchen, and a few footsteps. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. As soon as I smelled the coffee, I felt so much more awake.

"Ernie!" I called my husband again. This time my voice was louder.

The footsteps became heavier and were coming in my direction.

"Ah, you are finally awake," Ernie said. He was carrying a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Please, could you keep your voice down, honey? My head is killing me." I tried to sit down on the couch, but my feet slipped on the puke and ended up on the floor.

I had a sour taste in my mouth and a burning sensation in my throat.

"How did I get back here?"

"A bartender from Seattle called me," Ernie told me, handing me the coffee. I knew that tone of voice. He was making an effort to remain calm. "You had passed out at his bar."

He didn't try to disguise his disgust.

"I don't even remember passing out. I went out for a drink with a group of co-workers," I said, taking a sip of coffee. It was strong and bitter. "Why am I lying on the floor?"

Ernie shrugged. "I put you on the couch. I have no idea how you ended up on the floor. You must have fallen." His voice was cold. "You need to stop doing this to yourself, Carrie. You need help."

From the way Ernie's breathing changed, I could tell that he was mad at me and doing his best not to yell at me.

"Help? Because last night I had one too many? I don't need any help" I shouted back. My temples started pulsing fast and my head hurt. I lowered my voice, "I work hard, and I deserve to let my hair down after a long and stressful week. You will not tell me what I need or don't need."

"I will tell you what I don't need," he barked. "I don't need a drunk wife. I can't build a future              with someone who doesn't love herself enough to admit she has a problem."

I felt his words hit hard on my heart like a sledgehammer. The pounding in my head wasn't helping.

"Honey, it was just this time. You are making a mountain out of a molehill." My voice was a little dodgy.

Ernie threw his arms up in frustration and groaned.

"One time? Carrie, stop it! You're not kidding anyone. Not anymore. This situation is destroying me!" He wrinkled his nose, and added, "You stink. You're lying in a puddle of your vomit; you peed yourself and I can smell the alcohol coming from your mouth from where I'm standing."

"Yes, last night I drank a bit more than usual, but I am not a drunkard," I protested.

Ernie snorted. "A bit? Try a lot better. Open your eyes, Carrie. Your drinking is out of control. You need to stop." He shook his head, frustrated. "You know what? I can't do this anymore. I can't look the other way and pretend this is normal, because it's not!"

"Honey, can we have this conversation later? My head is killing me."

"NO! We are having this conversation now! I'm tired of making excuses for your drinking with our friends. Or should I say, ex-friends? Haven't you noticed that they don't invite us to their gatherings anymore? Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was when some of them suggested that I should do something about your drinking?"

My husband's words were like daggers to my heart. I kept shaking my head at Ernie's words. I had been careful. No one could know how much I needed alcohol to function.

"Honey, they are exaggerating. I don't drink that much, but if that's a problem for them, I won't drink at social gatherings."

Ernie snorted. "At the last gathering we were invited to; I asked you to stop drinking four times and you ignored me. All of our friends kept exchanging glances and shaking their heads."

"Well, we don't need friends like that."

"Steve McAllister offered to come here with his wife and some other fellow teachers and stage an intervention."

"I don't need a fucking intervention because I'm not a drunkard. So, tell your sanctimonious fellow teachers that I'm fine! Ouch! My head!"

I didn't get any sympathy from my husband. He ignored me and went on.

"Carrie, please, open your eyes. They didn't ask me to play Santa this year because they were afraid my drunk wife would make a scene in front of the whole town!" Ernie's voice raised with each word.

"You know how much I love playing Santa and seeing the excitement on the kids' faces." His voice lowered down to a painful whisper.

I bit my lower lip and looked down. I didn't know that. I felt awful.

"The thing is, when I think about the future... I don't see a future for us. I don't want to have kids with you... Children deserve a sober mother. They don't deserve a life of chaos, instability, and confusion. They deserve good birthdays, a Christmas tree with presents underneath, and love. They deserve to be taught how to ride a bike. They deserve to be sung to sleep. They deserve to spend time with their family talking about life at the dinner table. They deserve to be loved! There are too many children being raised by grandparents, family members, and foster care because of addiction."

Tears were rolling down my husband's cheeks.

I felt extremely ashamed of myself. And you know what's worse? At that moment, I needed a drink more than ever! Maybe, I did have a problem!

"You know what? I'm tired of this! I'm tired of pretending everything is all right or making excuses for your drinking. Last night, you reached a new low," Ernie went on.

He turned around and walked to the front door. I tried to stand but slipped again on the puke that covered the floor and fell on my ass. The coffee cup slipped from my hand and broke on the floor.

"Where are you going?" I yelled in desperation, my voice cracking.

"As far from you as I can get. I can't be around you when you are like this. YOU-NEED-HELP!"

"Are you leaving me?" my voice was filled with fear. I had no one else to turn to.

"I vowed for better or worse at our wedding, and I'm keeping my word. But, Carrie, this is beyond worse. This is hell. Your drinking is out of control. I need to calm down and think hard about what I'm going to do. Then we'll talk. But know this, I won't take this anymore."

I kept weeping and shaking my head.

"You need to think about what you want to do with your life. Seek help for your drinking problem or go on like this on your own." He let out a painful sigh. "This is not life for me." A sob escaped from my husband.

I could tell Ernie was serious. He was suffering.

And I was dying for a drink to numb myself into oblivion!

"Please, Ernie, don't leave me!" I pleaded. "Come back! I promise I'll do anything."

He couldn't leave me. He was my anchor, my whole life. The sane part of my brain was screaming, with reason, that I would be lost without him.

Naturally, I had no intention of owning up. On the con­trary, I blamed anyone else.

"I'll let you clean your mess. We'll keep talking about your options when I come back," he said and left the house.

I was going to lose my husband if I didn't change. I knew my husband, and he had reached his limit. He was ready to divorce me. I was scared to death because I wasn't sure if I could stop drinking. I had tried it before and failed. What if I couldn't stop?

CHAPTER 2: ERNIE

I stormed out of the house and walked around town to calm my nerves. I walked as if the devil was chasing me. Maybe he was. A demon called alcohol was destroying my marriage.

I was tired of the lies, the mood swings, and the constant worry about Carrie's well-being.

I began to weep and could not stop. I didn't deserve all the pain I had endured all these years.

"My wife is an alcoholic," I muttered. I had turned a blind eye to my wife's alcoholism. Not anymore.

My 'perfect' marriage had never been perfect. I had been living a fantasy. Lately, I had become a caretaker, rather than a spouse.

The future we had planned together was long gone.

Our social life was nonexistent.

Our sex life could hardly be worse. I didn't feel attracted to Carrie anymore.

I couldn't do this anymore. She needed help. I needed help.

Believe it or not. There was a time when Carrie made me happy, happier than I ever could have dreamed of being.

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I met my future wife at a gathering in Seattle. Random meeting, instant relationship. We were both in our mid-twenties and we were not in a relationship. We were attracted to each other like two magnets. We were so very different that it made us perfect complements. I was shy and preferred to listen more than talk. I was captivated by her. She was the soul of any social event. She mingled with everyone and seemed to be carefree and full of life. She was sweet, funny, and kind. Her laugh was infectious.

I was a teacher at Middletown High. She was a project manager in Seattle. I lived in a small town, and she had grown up in a big city.

We dated and our attraction turned into love. I drove back and forth from Middletown to Seattle every weekend.

Dating Carrie was an adventure. Our first months were pure bliss. She fell in love with Middletown. Camping and hiking became our favorite outdoor activities.

The first clouds in our clear sky appeared six or seven months later.

Carrie's personality changed. My loving and adventurous girlfriend had turned into a distant, anxious, and snappy person. I knew something was wrong, but Carrie refused to talk about it. I thought she had found herself a new man and was looking for an excuse to break up with me.

"Carrie, something's not right. You've been acting differently lately. Is everything okay?"

"Of course, I'm fine. Everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be?" she said defensively.

"Something is going on with you. I can see it. You've changed. I love you, but these last weeks you've been like a time bomb waiting to go off. Talk to me, please. I want to help you, but you shut me out."

She started to cry. "It's not you, Ernie, it's me. This is something I have to sort out by myself. I need some time by myself."

"Is there someone else?" I couldn't help the quiver in my voice.

"What? Of course, not! Ernie, I love you with all my heart. This is something else."

Years later, I discovered Carrie had tried to stay away from alcohol but being sober made her a different person. It was like Jekyll and Hyde.

Two weeks later, Carrie came back to me and apologized for her behavior. She told me a story about being stressed about some projects and deadlines at work. I chose to believe her because the truth was I wanted her back in my life. Scratch that, I needed her back in my life. So, we became an item again.

Six months later, we started talking about our future, and the same cycle repeated. This time, I made the decision to break up with her.

Three days later, Carrie showed up at my doorstep with tears in her eyes. "I need you, Ernie. You are my rock. My one and only love. Give me a chance to make things right. Please! I'll promise you I'll change."

There was this gallant streak in me that wanted to protect her, so I took her back. Or maybe I was stupid. Take your pick.

At that time, I had a feeling Carrie had a deep black hole at her very center. Hiding behind a carefree mask, there was a very troubled person. I foolishly thought that all I had to do was fill the void within her with my love, and together, we would be happy forever.

As she promised, Carrie was back to her old loving self. Before long, we decided our relationship was destined to become permanent, so we started making plans for the future. We talked about marriage, children, and fidelity. In the coolness of October, I proposed. At first, she thought I was joking. I told her I was not, and she accepted.

I decided it was time for her to meet my parents, who suggested I invite my brand-new fiancée for Sunday lunch.

When I told Carrie about meeting my parents she was petrified with fear. My reassurance that neither of my parents would bite did nothing to assuage her anxiety, which bordered on panic.

Sunday lunch went remarkably well. My parents fell in love with her on the spot. My mother was a very nurturing person and showered Carrie with TLC. Carrie's anxiety vanished ten minutes after my mother hugged her tightly and welcomed her to our family.

I was never invited to meet Carrie's parents. Her family was a no-go subject for her that I respected. She didn't even invite them to our wedding which was a very simple event.

We got married at Middletown's church on a cold December morning with my family and a few friends and colleagues in attendance.

Some days later, Carrie got a call from her father. Her whole demeanor changed. She was that scared person again. The call was short and to the point.

"My father organized a wedding party for us," she said in a perfunctory voice, when the call ended. "Somehow, he discovered we got married."

I thought it was a nice gesture. Carrie didn't. "You don't know my father, Ernie," was all she said.

The next weekend, we drove to Seattle, to her parents' house.

Her father had invited a lot of people we didn't know to the reception. Her family's place was a mansion, and it was packed with businessmen, politicians, and people from Seattle's high class. On my side, it was only my parents, my sister, my best man, and a few selected colleagues from Middletown High. It was a lavish, cold, and well-organized event. We were like extras at our own party. I could tell Carrie was equally uncomfortable as me, if not more.

I took an immediate dislike of her father; he was a stuck-up snob who thought he was better than everyone around him. He couldn't be more different from Carrie. At some point, he took me aside. I supposed we were going to have 'the talk'. You know, 'don't hurt my little girl' and all that. I couldn't be more wrong.

"Nice to finally meet you, sir," I said, extending my hand.

"How did you dare to get married to my daughter without letting me know? Do you know how embarrassing it was to me to learn about your wedding for a business associate?"

I was about to apologize and explain that it was Carrie's decision to leave them out of our wedding, not mine. However, throwing my wife under the bus was not something I'd do. So, I kept my mouth shut.

He took a good look at me and went on, "I investigated you. You are unworthy of my daughter. I would have never allowed my daughter to marry someone like you. A high school teacher no less. I had plans for her and you ruined them. Let me warn you, she won't see a single dollar from me. I have taken her out of my will years ago."

Those were his first words to me. He caught me off guard, and again, I didn't know what to say. So, I just turned around and left. He called me but I ignored him and kept walking.

I stood away from him for the rest of the reception, except for the mandatory family pictures. I certainly understood Carrie's fears about her father and her wish to keep her family out of our lives much better.

I had noticed, in the past, that Carrie needed alcohol to get through social situations. After a few drinks, she became more pleasant and relaxed.

During the reception, Carrie drank more than usual. Again, I never saw anything wrong with that. I drank more than usual, as well.

We danced to the 'Wedding Waltz' oblivious to everyone and everything. To this today, the song sends me back to that enchanted day with my beloved new wife and her love-filled eyes.

On the way back, I told Carrie, "I didn't know your family was wealthy."

She was leaning back on the car seat with her eyes closed and her fingers massaging her temples. "You said it right, Ernie, my family has money, not me. My father disowned me when I refused to live under his thumb. This is the first contact I have with him in years, and hopefully the last."

"I see. Maybe this party was a peace offering to rekindle his relationship with you."

Carrie opened her eyes, and looked at me, "No, Ernie, this reception was about my father keeping appearances with his business associates and political contacts. He was selling the picture of a perfect family to his acquaintances. My father never cared for me. In case you didn't notice, he had a plastered smile the whole time and barely interacted with me. I bet his words to you when he took you apart were anything but nice."

"You're right. He was downright rude with me," I admitted.

Carrie sighed, "Don't worry, this was the last time you'll have to interact with him."

During the next few months, we got some fancy cards from his father inviting us to some lavish events, but Carrie wasn't interested in keeping any kind of relationship with her family at all, so we just ignored them. I was relieved.

We decided to settle in Middletown.

The first two years of our married life were heaven on earth for me. We dealt with the same obstacles that many newlywed couples do, but we were still blissfully happy.

Carrie couldn't have been more attentive, loving, and giving in every way. She would repeatedly tell me how much she loved me and how happy she was with me. Our sex life was just as incredible. Nothing was off-limits.

We started talking about having a baby. And then, all of a sudden, my loving wife disappeared, and the moody, snappy stranger was back.

Where, previously, we had sat reading, listening to music, and talking together through the long winter evenings, she had come to silently cook dinners and then to immediately retreat to our bedroom with scarcely a word.

Yes, we still had a sex life, but it was the meeting of two healthy young bodies satisfying their needs. She used to cling to me after we both had come and would tell me how much she needed me.

I didn't notice Carrie wasn't drinking anymore. I thought she might be bipolar, so I suggested we should check with a psychiatrist.

"Do you think I'm crazy? Nothing is wrong with me, Ernie, I'm fine! We are fine! I just have been feeling peaky and it's been hard to keep anything down lately, that's all."