When her mom collapsed from a belated cardiac arrest at home, Lydia was on a 3 day binge at a penthouse suite with a suave traveller. Snort, dance, snort, fuck, snort, sleep, work, repeat. Looking at the dreary Hong Kong skyline while fucked from behind, she secretly hopes the window breaks and she can finally be free. With this thought she came, and she felt it’s also fine if the window didn’t break. Or does it matter? Does anything matter? Unknown numbers kept calling Lydia at the same time but she never bothered to pick it up, when she did eventually reach inside her handbag, it’s not for the phone but for some crystals. She needs to head to work in an hour and there isn’t time for a phone call. Time is better spent recharging her body battery in her mind. After a few puffs, she decided it’s ok to be late for work, the first few hours at the club are always quiet anyways. 


When she finally decided to leave the suite 2 hours later, she was greeted by a bunch of police officers screaming her name. For the first time in years, she felt relief, this is the rock bottom she has craved for so long, the divine intervention that will turn her life around. But why is the police here? Why are they so surprised by the drugs? 


You see, the heart pacer is an IoT device, and when there is a cardiac arrest, it first calls the emergency contact, and after 30 minutes of missed calls, it calls the emergency services. And when the ambulance arrived after 20 minutes to find the door locked, the fire services had to be called to break down the door. And then it’s already too late for Mama. A dead body demands attention, and when one lives in a city that’s part of China, they can be expected to be tracked and located at the drop of a hat. 


“But how were you able to leave Hong Kong? Aren't penalties for drug charges pretty severe?” Const. Desertberet queried. 


Not when it’s my first offence, and not when I am a grieving daughter. Yes, I was using before my Mama died, but my attorney says there is something called anticipatory grief and for a few bucks more, I can get myself an expert witness in psychology and bullshit my way out of a jail sentence. I said yes to everything, I was going through withdrawal in lockup and I couldn’t think straight, I was in no accounting mood. And when the judge smashed the gavel and slapped me with fines, a suspended sentence, 2 years of probation and urine tests, mandatory NA and AA meetings, plus an ankle monitor to make sure I was at the meetings… my first thought was, I am going to look short in maxi dresses. Second thought was, how much did I owe people now, I know there are legal fees on top of the burial fees for Mama. 


“Yeah, let’s talk about those NA/AA meetings.” Desertberet flipped through his notebook again.

“First rule is, I’m not supposed to talk about it. Second rule is, I am NOT supposed to talk about it.”

“I think you are confusing things… anyways, did your mindset change after the meetings?”

“Yes, I can share my experience with you. But can you help me get the nurse, my whole body is feeling pain.”

“Okay, let me get the nurse for you.”


Redhead enters and exchanges glances with Desertberet. I finally hear her voice.


“Is there discomfort?”

“Yeah I am feeling more and more pain.” I complained.

“I know, but… the surgeon in charge determines the optimal dosage of the meds, let me page him and see if he’s able to up the dosage to make you feel better.”

“Okay, thank you, you are so kind.”


The afternoon sun streaks past the window. Sunlight beamed onto my aching body, and I walked down memory lane again.


The meetings… the early days I found myself sleeping earlier, enjoying sunlight for the first time in years, and sunlight did something magical to my headspace, I felt a benevolent presence. I prepare myself to turn in my life to the hands of a Higher Power, but at first I felt unease praying to a Higher Power. I was afraid that what if He doesn’t give a shit about me? I indirectly caused my Mama’s death, all I did in life was sin after sin. But then I found a common thread among the stories I heard in the rooms, even though He is a busybody, He still gives a shit, people survived car crashes and overdoses and divorces, all before bowing down to Him. He sent me here to hear these stories instead of jail, gave me a second chance by gifting me a temp criminal record instead of a permanent one, leaving open a back door to pursue my childhood dream of living in a house in an idyllic village by the sea with someone I love. He kept me beautiful after all the abuse my body endured. And I am thinking of all these divine occurrences whilst NOT on acid, I was tripping just on sugary orange juice. Yeah, orange juice tastes so good without vodka. I remember while in lockup, the little box of orange juice is the only solace I have. Anyways, after a few weeks with my sponsor, I opened up my mind and I prayed and listened and let a Higher Power guide me though working at an office sober and getting promoted, because I speak English well, and I come to believe it is undeniably another gift from Him. I was able to pay off my debts to the Government and my attorney, I sat my ass down at home to read and read and become knowledgeable, I traded my trashy weekends with healthy ones spent with the fellowship, hiking, BBQ…


“I get the general idea. What about these new friends, is there anyone you are particularly close with in the fellowship? Or like, do you all still keep in touch?”


This question triggered a sense of unease. As the pain builds up, Lydia plays the tape forward to now, and wonders why does she feels like her Higher Power has ditched her on this hospital bed now, restrained, left to suffer all alone. Why pull her from the torment of addiction hell only to stop loving her now. She took a deep breath to pause these negative thoughts and let the beeping from the vitals monitor pace her into a meditation. She does know why she fell out of His favour.  


There is something else I remembered: Writing down my experiences and the stories I heard and compositing these things into short stories that won competitions. I took precautions to use a pen name and never showed up at the prize presentation ceremonies. I was living a double life. I had to cling on to the AA community, I am dependent on the supportive faces in the rooms for my probation and sobriety and clean urine tests, but I find myself unable to let go of wanting the thrill of winning something. 


“Was there a particular face that was especially memorable? A name perhaps?” Interjected Desertberet. “I brought along a visual aid to help you.” 


He then proceeds to take out a kiddie Ouija board. My spirit hovers over the board, landing on four letters, and then a hooded demon smashes its hammer through the Ouija board and flattens my skull.


Lydia passes out from another migraine.