#men will join the cartel before going to therapy

[geepranks]

I journey through the desert Of the mind with no hope I follow I drift along the ocean Dead lifeboats in the sun And come undone Pleasantly caving in I come undone (x)

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 12: The Daughter

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Having met Lorraine, the reader is quite startled, will the Texas retreat turn out disastrous?

Warnings: swearing, angst, vomiting, pregnancy symptoms

Masterlist

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Javier cringed a bit noticing the shock in your eyes, one that you managed to play-off very gracefully. “Oh we-we’re not married”, you chuckled, shaking the husband’s hand next.

“Gotcha, alright. Well, let me go put the dessert in the freezer and we can catch up”, she chirped, carrying her freezer bag into the garage.

Chucho picked up on the change of atmosphere and ushered his son-in-law into the living room, giving the two of you some much-needed space. Javier took a deep breath.

“Did you know they were coming?”, you asked quietly, setting a timer for the oven.

He closed the kitchen door, turning around to face you. “Yes, but I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“Javi, you promised me no more surprises”, you chided, covering your face with your hands. “You need to tell me these kind of things! We just talked about this!”

“Querida, please. I wasn’t even sure if she’d still show and I didn’t want to cause you any unnecessary stress”, he reasoned.

“I’m aware, but even then, these are things you just tell me! I don’t care if she’s here or not, but I would’ve liked to know beforehand! It’s kind of awkward having to just suddenly stand in front of your ex-fiancée”, you explained, washing and drying your hands.

“I wanted to tell you but – but I just couldn’t figure out how, or when, it just never seemed like the right time.”

You took some steps towards him, threading your fingers with his. “I’m happy to know you tried, but next time, try to bring it up okay. I-I didn’t mean to go off as much as I did I’m just so fucking stressed.”

“But why, pop adores you! The hardest part is over with”, he tried to soothe you, squeezing your hand in his.

You scoffed a bit, shaking your head. “She’s so beautiful Javier, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I guess I’m jealous.”

He threw you a confused glance, stuttering a bit as he tried to fathom what you had just said. “You’re joking? Corazón, Lorraine and I are ancient history, there’s nothing there. I’m here with you, because I want you to meet my father. Lorraine’s just a family friend, nothing more, I promise you.”

“Shit Javi, sorry I-I didn’t mean to-“

“Hey, it’s okay, I understand”, he comforted you, wrapping his arms around you. “Take a deep breath okay, I love you.”

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, hugging him a bit tighter. “I love you too, Javi. Thank you for bringing me here.”

He leaned into your touch, tilting your chin up to kiss you. It was a moment for him to convey just how much he adored you and just how sorry he was, lips moving against yours in an easy, soft rhythm. You pulled away with a muted sigh, looking into his eyes as you stepped back.

“You should check up on your dad, I’ll finish up in here”, you suggested, turning your attention back to the side dishes. “We can talk about it later.”

He gave a nod, more a formality than anything else and disappeared behind the wooden door. You drew in a deep breath, bracing yourself on the counter as you tried to comprehend everything that happened within that ten minute window.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on y’all, but I didn’t want to barge in mid conversation”, her voice sounded from behind you.

You jumped a bit, not exactly expecting for your boyfriend’s ex to sneak up on you like that. “I-it’s okay really”, you reassured her, covering the corn in tin foil.

“I can tell he hasn’t changed much”, she started, “He never was much of a talker.”

“He talks to me, it’s just not always as easy for him as it is for us”, you retorted, packing the other bowls in the fridge. “It’s a matter of mutual respect and understanding.”

She rested her hip against the counter, crossing her arms in front of her. “Well, respect is earned.”

You mentally knocked yourself on the head, not wanting to deal with this or spend a whole weekend biting back catty and snarky replies. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for that to-“

“How far along are you?”, she interrupted, nodding towards your stomach.

You reflexive hand on your bump, feeling a bit uneasy. “Excuse me, w-what?”

“Oh come on, you’re not fooling anyone with the oversized shirt, I have two sisters with kids”, she explained, coming closer.

“W-we really-“, you started once again.

“Oh was it unexpected?”, she questioned, making somewhat of a face.

You set the last dishes in the sink, intent on getting out of this conversation. “Javier asked me to help in there, so, I’ll see you at the table.”

It was a poor excuse, but one that worked nonetheless. You hurried your way out of there, re-joining the three men in the living room, taking a seat on the couch next to Javier. He rested his arm on the cushion behind you, encouraging you to sit closer. He noticed you’d gone somewhat pale but didn’t decide to pursue his train of thought, instead listening to the other two go on about some truck repairs.

Lorraine joined a few minutes later, smiling at the two of you before sitting down next to her husband. “So, how’s Columbia been?”, she asked, not specifically looking at either of you.

“Closing in on Escobar and the cartel, but the situation is stable as of right now. Had some close calls but we mostly manage to come out on top”, Javier answered, looking at you during the second part.

The three of them looked at you now, and you answered the question before any of them could ask it. “I work at the embassy as well, DEA, same division and office.”

“But you’re quitting, right?”, Lorraine pressed, pouring herself a glass of whiskey.

“Depends, but for now I have no intention of resigning.”

That seemed to set the husband off a bit, who leaned forward more, actively engaging in the ongoing conversation. “That’s kind of irresponsible, don’t you think? Exposing yourself and your child to all that corruption, drug use and violence.”

You noticed the way Javier’s jaw tightened, his fingers balled up into a fist. “We’re not just throwing her out there. There’s barely any field work to do now and she’s not putting herself at risk.”

You laid a hand on his thigh, hoping to calm him even just the tiniest bit. “I stick to mainly office jobs now, but if I do go out I have Javier and my other partner right alongside me.”

Chucho shot you a wink, assuring you that you were doing great. “She can handle herself just fine out there, pregnant or not. One of the best damn agents we have out there”, Javier continued, now wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Does the embassy know about you two then?” You both nodded. “Sounds like one heck of a complicated mess to me”, Lorraine chuckled.

“If anything, I think she’s keeping him sane down there”, Chucho intervened. “They can’t have much of an objection to that, she’s saving them heaps of therapy bills.”

You and Javier both softly laughed at that, lacing your fingers with one another. “It’s nice to have someone down there. If I didn’t have him to come home to every night I wouldn’t know how I’d survive down there”, you confessed.

The hearts in his eyes were nearly visible as he just plainly admired you. He drank in your praising words as he tried his best not to show just how flustered he was. Chucho knew his son better than that, grinning at the two of you as he raised his glass. “Bueno, bienvenida a la familia, mi hija.” (Well, welcome to the family my girl/daughter.)

You blushed a bit at Chucho’s words, staring down at your lap as you tried to keep yourself from grinning like an idiot. Javier pecked your cheek, muttering something about appetizers. You sat next to him at the table as well, right in front of Lorraine as Chucho seated himself at the head of the table. The atmosphere seemed to have finally turned around and there was some light-hearted conversation going on, with an occasional burst of laughter.

The rest of the evening went by just as smoothly, the only hiccup when you and Lorraine were alone in the kitchen, plating the turkey and getting the heated dishes out of the oven or off the stove.

“I’m sorry for being nasty earlier tonight, I just want the best for Javier”, she explained, shrugging off her oven mittens. “He’s a very complicated man, but it seems like you’ve got him figured out.”

“Thank you for apologizing, I’d hate for us to not get along”, you smiled, grabbing a hold of a kitchen towel. “And I’m sorry Javi was such a prick to you back in the day.”

She chuckled. “It’s all good, I’m very happy with my husband, we just haven’t been blessed with kids yet.”

“Well, when you least expect it, it might just happen”, you joked, softly stroking your own bump.

“I can tell he really cares about you, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous.”

You both laughed at that. “How do you think I felt when I saw you walk in? Such a gorgeous Texan woman, tough competition.”

“Now, now, don’t be silly. You’re much more his type! Adventurous, sexy, witty, tough, independent.. you could teach me a lesson or two”, she replied, handing you a pair of mittens yourself.

“Whatever the case, I need some dinner first – I’m starving.”

The table was covered in little plates and bowls, the smell of turkey and gravy lingering in the dining room as you joined the others there. You sat down once again, practically drooling as you looked over the absolute feast in front of you. Chucho started off with a little speech, expressing how grateful he was to have you all there and how happy he was to have a new addition to the family. There wasn’t much talk during dinner, all of you eager to just dig in and have at it. Javier had an amused look on his face as he watched you go for a third serving of that creamy mash, giving you an extra big scoop as you pouted at him. By the end of your main course, your bump had nearly doubled in size, your oversized shirt more regular sized that intended. Javier was right there with you, leant back in his chair with his belt unbuckled.

Lorraine’s husband, David, was already up and carrying dishes into the kitchen and when you go up to do the same, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. Chucho was sweetly smiling at you. “Why don’t you sit down for a bit, you’ve been on your feet for way too long.”

Javier went to stand as well, grabbing a hold of both your plates until his father cleared his throat once more. “Go join your girl, we’ll take care of it.”

You really tried, but protests didn’t get you very far in this house. So you eventually ended up on the couch, curled up in Javier’s side, a soft quilt covering your legs. He slowly but surely started laying down more flat, subtly taking you with him, until eventually you both fell asleep on the couch. He had his arms wrapped around your back, his cheek resting against your head as your nose was nuzzled into the collar of his shirt.

Lorraine and David were headed out for a walk, leaving only Chucho. Upon finding the two of you, he grabbed a second quilt, snatching the camera off the dresser to snap a picture of the both of you. It all felt very surreal to him, his son coming back from Columbia a better version of himself, but as he saw the two of you laid there, a pure depiction of intimacy and care, he sure as hell believed it. His boy was in love and worse than he probably realised himself.

You woke up to the screen door falling shut, successfully jolting you awake. This sudden motion in turn caused Javier to wake up as well, immediately putting his hands on you. You quickly reassured him, giggling a little as he fixed your dishevelled hair. The sun was setting by now, an orange hue filtering in through the drawn curtains.

Dessert was filled with more small-talk, Javier eventually zoning out, not being the overly social type. You put a hand on his thigh under the table, sending an encouraging smile his way, reminding him that it was almost over. But when David suggested some more drinks on the couch, you could tell your boyfriend was getting annoyed. Deciding to be a good girlfriend, you stepped in.

As you went to stand you let out a purposely loud wince and hissed a breath. All eyes were on you, entirely according to plan. Even Javier thought you were serious, immediately holding out a hand to steady you.

“Querida?”, he asked.

“I’m okay Javi – just my back”, you lied, placing a hand there yourself.

Chucho put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hijo, debes cuidar a tu esposa.” (Son, you should go take care of your wife.)

“Oh no – I don’t want to cut things short”, you continued, bracing your other hand on the table.

Lorraine moved to stand on your other side, grabbing a hold of your arm. “Nonsense, let’s get you to bed. Javier can help you up and I’ll get you a heating pad”, she tutted, guiding you into his arms.

You apologized another couple of times before Chucho ushered you upstairs as well, insisting you needed some rest. Halfway up the stairs, hidden from view, Javier let go of you letting you walk the rest of the way by yourself. Once inside the room, with the door shut, he pulled you flush against him, capturing your lips with yours for a saccharine kiss.

“Thank you”, he muttered, stepping away from you as he heard some steps down the hall.

Lorraine knocked before entering, handing Javier the heating pad. “We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

As the door shut again, he threw it right at you, sighing as he rested his head against the door. “I made the right decision at that altar. She doesn’t shut up, does she?”

You threw the pad right back, shaking your head as he caught it. “Manners, Peña.”

 The next morning you were hit with karma, hard karma. You were just in time, registering the familiar nausea and biting acidic feeling in the back of your throat and flailing the covers off of your body, rushing into the bathroom. You fell to your knees, so hard they’d be bruised, bracing yourself on the porcelain as you emptied out your guts. Your morning sickness was still around, but it wasn’t a daily reoccurrence anymore. But this very morning, it hit your hard, your back arching with the intensity of it all, legs shaking.

With the door wide open, Javier woke as well, hearing you wretch and hurl in the other room. He decided to give you some space, knowing you didn’t enjoy him seeing you like that. But when after ten minutes, it still wasn’t over and you were still heaving every thirty seconds, he decided the head downstairs.

He was greeted by his father, who sat at the kitchen table in a flannel, reading a newspaper. “Hoy te has levantado pronto. Something wrong?” (Well, you’re up early.)

“You have any mint tea or something?”, he asked, frantically flipping through the cabinets, “Usually helps her out.”

“Throwing up?”, Chucho questioned, folding his paper in half. “Go take care of her, I’ll bring something up.”

Javier just nodded, quickly grabbing a glass from the cupboard before sprinting up the steps again. He found you completely out of breath, head leaned on your forearms as your chest heaved up and down. He knelt down beside you, gently helping you into his arms, letting you lean back against him.

“Take a deep breath, I’m right here, corazón”, he shushed, wiping your forehead and mouth with the little hand towel.

You pushed his arms aside, sitting back up as you felt another wave of nausea hit you. He closed his eyes, annoyed there wasn’t more for him to do or help you. He fished a hair tie out of your make-up bag, tying your hair back before stroking up and down your back. It hadn’t been this bad since that day of the raid and he bit his lip as he tried to keep his worries to a minimum.

There was a knock at the door and Javier left your side only to see his father standing there, with a tray of stuff. “Have her drink those and eat that, she should be okay then.”

Without any more words he handed the tray over to his son, patting his shoulder before taking his leave again. Once back in the bathroom he noticed you were sat back against the wall, wiping your mouth down with the towel once again. He handed you one of the glasses and you tipped it back, scrunching up your nose at the sour taste. Javier encouraged you to keep going, handing you to second glass before also handing you the stack of saltines.

Once you managed to get all of that down, you took a deep breath, resting your cheek against the cold tiles on the wall. “This baby better be the cutest one ever.”

“How’re you feeling?”, he asked, kneeling down in front of you.

“I don’t know what was in those horrendous drinks, but it sure did something”, you chuckled, letting him pull you to your feet. Once up you reached for your toothbrush, eager to get the weird mixture of flavours out of your mouth.

He wrapped his arms around you again, sighing into your hair. “You’re shaking, querida. Get back in bed.”

“I’m fine Javi, just let me put on some clothes and we can get some breakfast”, you explained, turning around to face him.

He carefully knocked his forehead against yours. “Okay.. but if you so much as feel dizzy you’re laying the fuck down.”

There was something sweet about how protective Javier got at that times. It had started even before the two of you got in a bed together, within the first weeks of you working with the two of them. Whether it was giving you the newest and best vest or going into raids in front of you, he always made sure he had you covered. It didn’t stop there, that side of Javier started to come up more and more, whether it was defending you from patronizing glances and comments at the office or sex-crazed sicarios at the bar, he was always there. And now, as you were walking down the staircase of his childhood home, nearly three months pregnant, he was there as well. His broad palm engulfed yours as he guided you down the steps, telling you to watch out for the carpet on the last four of them.

Chucho was stood in the kitchen, bent over the stove stirring in a pan. He gave you a smile and a wink as you took a seat at the kitchen table, Javier disappearing into the garage.

“Feeling better?”, he asked with an amused tone.

You crossed your legs, skimming over the headlines on the front page of the newspaper. “Loads. How’d you know what to do?”

He set a plate of breakfast down in front of you and himself, sitting next to you. “My wife.. she had really bad morning sickness when she was pregnant with Javier. Doctor gave us a whole list of home remedies to try. It’s the sour foods you need.”

You listened intently, surprised by his knowledge and experience with pregnancy as a whole. “It worked like a charm, tasted putrid but did the job.”

“Remind me to write it down for you, got something to counter the swelling as well”, he told you, swinging his fork as he spoke.

Before you could thank him Javier walked back in with a bottle of milk. Filling a plate for himself before taking a seat across from you, next to his father. “Fence looks pretty banged up, had a storm recently?”, he asked, shoving a forkful of bacon and eggs in his mouth.

“Earlier this week, meant to fix it before you came but didn’t have time.”

“Oh”, you chimed in, “we could give you a hand, I mean we’re here anyways, might as well help out.”

Chucho put a hand over yours. “Hija, you helped enough with dinner yesterday, take the day off.”

Javier cut you off before you could even so much as begin to protest, talking to his dad himself. “She’s right pop, we’ve fixed it before, no reason we can’t do it again. Weather’s nice enough today.”

 It was uncharacteristically warm today, the beaming sun making it feel like a nice late summer day. You were sat up against a tree, comfortably watching from a distance as the two men worked on some replacements for the fence. Being the stubborn woman that you are, you’d insisted that you could at least do something, so Chucho shut you up by giving you some of his work shirts. They all needed some repairs, just simple patchwork and some sewing, nothing you couldn’t handle.

They worked on the fence all day, so you offered to make some dinner, using some of the Thanksgiving leftovers. By the time you were done cooking and heating everything up it was about six and the two men still weren’t back. So you went out again, making your way over to the edge of the fence, by the water. You were greeted by your boyfriend, aviators perched on his nose. His shirt had some sweat stains by now, strands of his dark hair plastered against his glimmering forehead.

“Dinner’s ready, you two can finish up tomorrow”, you suggested, leaning up against the good part of the fence. “I set the outside table, so the floors won’t get too dirty.”

To say Chucho was happy to have you here would’ve been an understatement. It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours, but the man was no fool. It was almost magical, the way you could just conjure up a day filled with smiles and joyful banter, it had been too long since that was the case. He’d been somewhat anxious to hear his son had put himself out there again, fearing another Lorraine might be the case, but seeing the way you took care of one another, the old man recognized a fairy-tale when he saw one.

The next day you managed to sleep in, being woken up by the dipping of the mattress. When you opened your eyes you were met with a sweaty Javier and a tray of food. He muttered something about eating lunch in bed before heading for the shower. You just laid back, slowly waking up more as he rinsed the sweat and dirt off of his golden skin, remerging in a flannel and some boxers.

“Why didn’t you wake me up”, you asked, sitting up against the headboard before glancing over the tray.

He sat down next to you, moving the tray as he did. “You needed the rest and we needed to finish the work on the fence. Didn’t think you’d sleep in past lunch though.”

“Javier Peña are you insinuating that I’m lazy?”, you giggled, grabbing the sandwich off the plate.

“I’m insinuating that you’re working too much”, he started, pushing you back into the pillows, “and that you need to take it easy.”

He grabbed a sandwich himself, laying back next to you, wrapping one of his arms around you. “How’s your dad?”

“Pop’s fine, out for the rest of the day”, he sighed, “Which means that I have all day to spend with you. Wherever and however we want.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, nudging his leg with your foot. “We have time for that tomorrow, when we’re home. Let’s soak up some more of the town before we leave instead.”

The two finished lunch together, got dressed and headed out. It was another warm afternoon, a pleasant breeze hitting the apples of your cheeks as the two of you strolled along the local shops. You looked so much like a couple in that instant, his arm slung across your shoulders, fingers fumbling with the strap of your purse. The two of you were talking and laughing about something work-related, his adorable dimple on full display as he smiled at you. He noticed you squinting, eyes struggling to stay open against the sun, so he grabbed the aviators out of his breast-pocket, gently placing them on the bridge of your nose, along with a kiss.

You were blushing like a teenager. Cheeks rosy with adoration and giddiness as you enjoyed the quality time with your boyfriend. The two of you would spend Christmas down in Bogotá, so you figured some early Christmas shopping was in order. Connie and you had a tradition of giving each other the essentials, good wine, some nice candles and soap and something blingy. Hence why you were stood in front of a jeweller, gazing in the window. Javier stood behind you, looking over your left shoulder with both hands resting on your hips.

“See something you like?”, he asked, lips ghosting over your ear.

You bit your lip, looking over the shiny bracelets and necklaces. “Do you think she’d like one of those engraved name bracelets for Liv?”

“What? I thought you were picking something out for yourself”, he chuckled in confusion.

You spun around, bracing your hands on his chest. “And what exactly would I need?”

“A ring maybe? I-I don’t really know what your taste in jewellery is”, he stuttered, scratching the back of his head.

“Why would I want a ring, I barely wear any – oh OH”, you replied, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. “I – what?”

He immediately started shifting, his confidence seemingly leaving his body. “You know, if we’re gonna raise a kid together and be together, might as well tie the knot. It’ll save us a lot of questions and weird looks.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes staring straight at him through the tinted glasses. “That is just the worst way of doing this. But I really like the gemstone rings”, the last part was more of a whisper, your hand on the doorhandle as you walked into the shop.

He smirked to himself, shaking his head as he followed you. “So not big on diamonds, huh?”

“Putting down thousands of dollars for some broken glass? Now, I thought you knew me better than that, Peña”, you teased, peering over at the displays.

Some sales assistant soon greeted the two of you, flashing you a bright, teeth-baring grin. “Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“Hi, yes”, you replied, smiling as well, “I’m looking for a bracelet to engrave, something cute and simple, adjustable as well.”

And with that the two of you were off, leaving Javier to look at all the shiny displays and windows surrounding him. You never ceased to amaze him, mocking him for his impromptu “proposal”. He chuckled into his hand as he looked over the rings. The two of you would get your little moment, he was sure of it, but some grand, big gesture wasn’t exactly in the cards, though he supposed a nice ring would mean a lot on its own. He spotted a thing band with three stones, a bigger one surrounded by two smaller ones. The middle stone had somewhat of a darker, deep purple/pink to it, a colour he found himself deeply attracted to. It had character yet subtlety, refinement yet something robust. It stood out but not because of the size or design, it stood out because it embodied you.

A second sales assistant was helping him now and he discreetly pointed over at you, asking the employee if they could estimate your ring size from here. There was a bit of laughter, but ultimately Javier walked out with a tiny box, lucky enough to have a suitable size in stock. You’d slipped the employee your actual size while Javi thought he was being slick.

The rest of the afternoon you were on the lookout for something for Steve and Javi. But soon you decided to stop at a little café, needing to be of your aching feet for a while. You sat in a booth alongside Javier, thigh to thigh with his arms around your waist. You shared a slice of cake with him, talking about a shop you’d seen in passing. A few shopping bags sat among you, mainly presents and necessities, seeing how the market for maternity clothing and necessities wasn’t as varied as the one here in Laredo.

By the time the two of you got back to the ranch it was already dark. You walked in through the backdoor, Javier’s jacket wrapped around you as it cooled off a lot more outside. Chucho was sat at the kitchen table, oiling up some of his tools.

“Have a nice day?”, he asked with a half-sided smile.

You plopped down in the seat across from him, letting out a deep breath. “I never knew Laredo was so fun.”

“Well, feel free to visit more often, especially if you need help with that little one”, the old man pointed out, gesturing to your bump.

“Trust me, I’ll drag Javi here myself if need be”, you whispered, raising your eyebrows in the direction of your boyfriend. “Let me write down the address for you as well, just in case.”

 Later that night, when Javier was already fast asleep you snuck back downstairs. You were still hungry, the whole “eating for two” thing clearly no understatement. When you were in the living room you noticed the light in the kitchen was still on. You carefully approached the door, relaxing when you saw it was just Javier’s father.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt”, you softly spoke, bracing your hands on the doorframe.

He shut the tiny television off, beckoning for you to have a seat. “You’re not, hija. Why are you still up?”

You swiped a strand of hair behind your ear, stopping a yawn from slipping out. “Was feeling hungry, baby is like a bottomless pit.”

The two of you quietly laughed at that, Chucho gesturing towards the fridge. “By all means.. Unless you want me to make you something?”

“Oh no, no, you’ve done so much already, Sir, some bread will do”, you assured him, grabbing the bread from the cupboard.

“Call me Pop, sweetheart, we’re a family now”, he reminded you, getting up to get you some cheese and ham. “You need the fats, they’ll keep the cravings away for a while.”

You gratefully took his advice, shoving a first bite into your mouth. “I’m sorry Javier’s been so distant, he gets caught up in his own head down there.”

“I’m glad he came, it’s been years”, he put a hand on your cheek, making you look right at him. “Thank you for giving me back my boy.”

Whatever you expected it wasn’t that. You put the sandwich on the counter, wrapping your arms around the man, trying to keep yourself from crying. “Thank you for giving me a family.”

 Leaving that Sunday morning was harder than you’d expected. Chucho couldn’t resist as he stocked your bag up with some home goodies, stressing once again that you should call more often. There were no tears, only genuine smiles and warm hugs as he dropped you off at the airport. The flight back was easy and nice, giving the two of you the opportunity to rest some more. Your drive back to the apartment was prolonged by the afternoon traffic, successfully annoying your partner.

“Do you want to come tomorrow night?”, you asked, trying to distract him from the person cutting him off.

“What’s tomorrow?”, the hand on your thigh moved to the stick, putting it in neutral as the car stopped yet again.

“I have my twelve week check-up, for the baby”, you clarified, sprawling a hand over your lower gut.

He grabbed a hold of your hand, gently pressing his lips to your knuckles. “Of course, querida, I’d love to go.”

You’d noticed his eagerness as soon as you set foot off that airplane, his hands seemingly both everywhere and nowhere at once. Sure the two of you weren’t teenagers anymore, but four days without any actions was even starting to get to you. His hand on your knee was enough to send that familiar electricity coursing through your veins. He was right there with you, the shirt you were wearing oversized to a point where the neckline slid down just enough to show off the top of your breasts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried back in Texas, it was that you’d slapped his wrist away as soon as he did so.

He cursed the Columbian traffic, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he tried to control the aching need to lose himself within you. Even just the sight of you, comfortably resting your head against the window was enticing. Once of the main road, it went a bit faster, his foot pressing down on the pedal a bit harder on the last street. He parked the car in one motion, not bothering to check if he was in between the lines. You got out of the passenger side, walking back to the trunk to get your bags, but Javier grabbed your hand before you could. The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: get to the apartment now.

The door closed as he pushed you up against it, pressing needy open-mouthed kisses to the crook of your neck while his hands worked on the buttons of his shirt. You briefly pushed him off, ripping your own shirt off before unclasping your bra behind your back. He let out a low groan at the sight of it, letting his own shirt drop to the floor as he surged forwards, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands found themselves on your breasts, squeezing the tender flesh as he pressed his groin into your hip.

“I fucking need you, baby”, he growled, literally sweeping you off your feet.

You let out a squeal, immediately wrapping your arms around his neck. “You seriously need to stop doing that! There’s a reason your back always hurts!”

“And I’m sure you’ll take care of it later”, he chuckled, setting you down in front of the bed.

He pushed you onto the mattress, immediately following suit, kissing up every inch of your body, paying special attention to your bump. “Oh don’t tease now”, you whined, sitting up to drag his face over to yours. “Fuck me, Javi.”

“Don’t you blow your back out now.”

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[breanime]

Bre’s Boys: “So what if I’m jealous?”(Jealous Boys)

Billy Russo: “Oh,” you looked down at your phone, “it says I have a missed call. When did Rob call me?” Billy didn’t look up from his phone. “When you were in the shower.” “Is that why you came in there?” You smirked; Billy had ended up joining you in the shower, hence you not checking your phone in a while. “I came in there to remind you who you belong to,” he answered back. You grinned. You and Rob had been working together for a while now, and Billy made no secret of his dislike for the guy. “Are you jealous?” “So what if I’m jealous,” he stood up, pocketing his phone as he walked over to you, “Doesn’t make you any less mine.” You laughed, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss. If Billy’s jealousy resulted in sexy showers well... who were you to say no?

Logan Delos: Logan had been pacing for 15 minutes now. No, correction--he was pacing and ranting. “So he grew up with you--okay, and? I still know you better!” You were on the couch, watching him. Logan had just met your childhood best friend, and they hadn’t exactly hit it off... “And what the hell was that whole ‘oh, since when were you into macaroons’ thing? Like, are you not allowed to like new things?” You laughed, and Logan stopped, glaring over at you. “What’s so funny?” “You/ You being jealous.” He huffed. “So what if I’m jealous--I’m the one you go home to every night, not that douchebag!” He leaned down and kissed you, and you smiled into the kiss. “That’s right,” you said as he crawled onto you, “you’re the one.” 

Jax Teller: As soon as your ex saw you, you could feel a change in the air. Jax watched him closely, his blue eyes unblinking until the guy is gone. “Dude, you looked like an insane person,” you said, leaning your head on Jax’s shoulder, “Did you get it all out?” “Get all what out?” “The jealousy.” Jax chuckled, shaking his head. “So what if I’m jealous? Doesn’t matter.” “Oh, it doesn’t?” Jax grabbed your waist and pulled you in front of him so that he was smirking down at you. “Nope. All that matters is that that guy, and every other guy within a 30 mile radius knows that you’re my girl.” He kissed you then, and it was the kind of kiss that made your toes curl. Jax probably had a point about everyone knowing you were his--after a kiss like that, how could they not?

Coco Cruz: “So what if I’m jealous?” Coco followed you into the house. “You’re my girl, I have a right to be jealous!” “Baby,” you sighed, turning to face him, “there’s no need to be jealous; I’m all yours.” “Yeah,” his hands went down to your waist, “I know you are, but still... I don’t like the idea of any asshole off the street coming on to you...” “I mean, I can’t help that I’m fine.” Coco laughed, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “Yeah, you’re fine as fuck, querida.” You wrapped your arms around him. “And I’m with you,” you promised, “for ever.” Coco raised his head. “Forever, huh?” He asked. “Forever,” you said back, your lips brushing against his, “my loco Coco...” 

Angel Reyes: “Say it again,” Angel grinned, leaning against the door. “Angel, I swear to God--” “C’mon, baby, say it again, please,” he whined, batting his eyes at you. You sighed, rolling your eyes and trying to swallow back a laugh. “I was just a little, teeny tiny bit jealous when I saw you with her,” you confessed, “Like--just a little bit.” “Awwww,” he grinned, “baby, you were jealous!” “Yeah, okay, so what if I was jealous? I can’t help it!” You reached over for him, your fists balling into his shirt. “You’re my Angel.” Angel’s answering smile made your heart melt, and he leaned down and kissed you, his lips soft on yours. “Tell me you love me.” “I love you, Angel.” He smiled, his lips on yours. “Love you too, babe.”

Miguel Galindo: Miguel didn’t say much on the drive home, but he didn’t have to. You knew he was jealous. He held your hand in his as the driver took the two of you around the city. You smiled as you dropped your head to his shoulder. “Lunch was great,” you said. His hand flexed in yours. “Yeah? You didn’t think it got too crowded?” You closed your eyes, a little buzzed from the mimosas. “Why? Because Blake was there?” Miguel groaned, his head nesting on top of yours. “I hate that you were with him.” “Once,” you reminded him, “a long, long time ago.” “I hate that you were going to marry him.” You sat up, smiling at your cartel boss husband as he basically pouted. “Are you jealous, Miguel?” He scoffed. “So what if I’m jealous? I’m the one who married you,” he huffed, his arm wrapping around you, “so I won.”

Nick Amaro: “I don’t like that guy,” Nick grumbled as he sat down across from you. “What guy? The host?” “He was looking at you...” “Well, yeah, that’s how conversations work.” “No, I mean...” Nick sighed, shaking his head, “forget it. I’m being stupid.” You licked your lips, trying to and failing at not smiling. “Is... Are you feeling a little territorial, Nick?” “Maybe...” “A little possessive?” You smirked. Nick laughed, shaking his head again. “It’s possible...” “Maybe even a bit jealous?” “So what if I’m jealous?” He leaned closer to you, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light of the restaurant. “I have the most beautiful woman in New York on my arm, how can I not be?” “Oh, Detective Amaro,” you cooed, “you’re such a charmer!” 

Johnny Tuturro: You could feel Johnny’s eyes on you as you talked with the local cop. And when you walked back over to Johnny, he was frowning. “What?” You asked, walking out of the precinct. “I didn’t know you two were friends,” Johnny said back. “Well, he’s the main guy on the gang unit here, so...” “So he gets that smile, huh?” He grumbled. “Thought that smile was just for me.” ‘Oh, Johnny,” you laughed, “are you jealous?” “Nope.” “Yes you are!” “No I’m not, I’m too hot to get jealous.” “You’re so jealous, you’re a jelly green donut, dude.” Johnny rolled his eyes as he took your hand in his. “So what if I’m jealous? I’m still 100% cuter than that guy.” You laughed. “Yes, Johnny, you’re cute.” “And I got a banging bod.” “Yes, Johnny.” “And I’m the best kisser in the world.” “Okay, babe--” “The galaxy, actually!”

Rio: “Hold up a second,” Rio’s voice was hard, and you looked up from your seat behind him as you went over this month’s expenses. He was glaring at one of the guys who were trying to do business with him. “The fuck are you looking at so closely?” Rio asked, he turned towards you, an eyebrow raised before he looked back at the men. “Her? My Queen? She what you’re looking at?” The room went silent, and you could feel the men take a collective, nervous breath. “Huh?” Rio went on. “Answer me.” “Nah, we--we weren’t,” one of the guys began. “Nah, not you. Him.” All eyes were on the accused man, and you could see the tension in Rio’s shoulders. “Sir, I--” the man began, but Rio interrupted him. “Get the fuck out of here,” he said, already turning back towards you as Mick escorted the men out. You raised an eyebrow at him. “So... you a little jealous, babe?” “So what if I’m jealous?” He leaned down and pecked your lips. “I don’t like people lookin’ at what’s mine.”

*******************************************************************************************

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[thisislakewood]

→ IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Character Name: Logan Legend

Characters Age: 39

Faceclaim Choice: Chris Evans

Gender and Pronouns: Male, He/him.

Birthplace: Lakewood, Texas.

Birthday: May 20th, 1979.

Occupation: Bar owner of Bullseye.

Family: The Bodyguard for the Reyes Family.

→ BIOGRAPHY

Triggers: spousal death, child death, parental death.

Legends were never created. They were born, bred from fire and metal and raised to be above mere humans. They were destined to a higher power, a greater recognition than what a mere human life. They were gods among men. Legends were meant to be idolized, and if you think back to the ones that had crossed us—it made all the sense. Mythical mentions of Hercules and Achilles were some that would bring brawn over brain. Albert Einstein and Marie Curie, vice versa. They were meant to leave a mark, meant to make you remember them. It was meant to make you think back and go ‘oh. THEM. Let’s talk about them.’ These were the legends that everyone talked about. But no one ever cracked a discussion about Logan Legend, for he was the exact opposite of the definition. Born upon the cusp of a rising power, in the newly dubbed Lakewood, Texas, sat a small family in middle of the boons. Men of soldiers and valiantly, women of honor and pride. This is where the newly dubbed Logan Jordan (something he curses his mother for giving him a ridiculous middle name) Legend was born, on the eve of a crisp summer’s night. The family was ideally set off with their two boys, both proud, popular and confident.. Logan was a good natured child, bit of a trouble maker in school, and an all-around class clown. He thrived off the spotlight, lived for the ideals that everyone’s eyes could—and at some points, in his opinion, should—be on him. His parents fed into the idealism as well, keeping their boy prepped and primed for life, providing the home envied by others, and the all-American dream of a good natured family. Hell, he was sure some kids were jealous of him. And if not—he’d make it so.

Now, while in this state, there wasn’t much in the way of what could and could not be done. He grew into a staggering six-foot-four man, proud and in his prime. Instead of going off to college as his parents may’ve wanted—but at the time of his mother’s illness, could not afford—Logan made the decision of a lifetime. Move to Boston, join the US Army, make a name for yourself, and go home—only home was far too out of reach for a man like himself. This was a game plan he could’ve stuck too, one that would’ve helped him in the long run. The war of worlds wasn’t something he was interested in, but it provided the sustainability to give back when he pleased, and that was ideal to Logan. For that, a man fresh into his twenties, he went off. Initially, it’d been fairly easy. Something that surprised him, how quickly he’d come to learn the ins and outs of it all. It’d taken him three years, but he’d finally found himself in the midst of something greater than himself. With the skills of a sniper, Logan found himself within the Green Berets. Wading and wandering, it created a gentleman out of him, one with respect. He took his earnings and returned them to the man and woman who gave their lives for him. But the money did not last long. Sickness was easy, and unavoidable and after his mother’s swift passing, his father sunk into a depressive state, too weak to fight the flu-like symptoms on a cold night, too small to appreciate the will to live. Logan couldn’t dump the responsibilities of them onto his little brother, who by far, was the opposite of himself. For that, he’d pack. When he’d sold his family’s land, belongings, and any namesakes packed into a small box to bring back to the army base in the Northern end of Texas, he knew—Lakewood would be empty. It was home, but it was a distant memory. It’d become a place to recollect, but never linger.

By the time he’d finally lived out his youth, his carefree nature, Logan knew he would need to settle down. He would need to find a woman who could support, live on the Legend—though the namesake never came with the definition, as he’d been used too, and move on in life. He should’ve had a wife by now, but his focus had been his job, the Army in which he served, and nothing would change that, regardless. For that, he met Jane. Bright eyed, paled woman, blonde hair. The fiercest blue eyes he’d ever seen. She was docile, sweet, timid. He enjoyed that, more so an alpha male than he would’ve liked to admit he was, and somehow, she sunk into a second nature. Perhaps that’s why he settled for her. No questions, no ruffling of feathers. Her parents old and sickly, but she was young, and a nurse to boot, at the base in which he was stationed. In his time, that’s what mattered, to grow a line of family. Given his nature, given his sense of pride, it made sense, regardless of her own emotions that she give into his proposal. It was a forging of lines, and it didn’t seem either were too keen on. Logan wanted excitement in a partner, someone with life. Someone to put him in his place when he’d become nothing more than a jackass at times. Someone vocal. Not someone scared of him, simply for all the work he’d put in as a soldier,. On a sweet summered June day, Logan married Jane, with family and friends all around.

Not that any of it helped. Now, nor then. Logan’s life, while painted well beyond the woes of a man who might’ve been stricken down by his country’s battle—was still reflected within the pools of Lakewood. Charlotte. She was this enigma, this motion of light that seemed to draw him in like a poor man’s moth, circling and entranced. He was envious of her lovers, and enthralled when she looked upon him. This was the image of the woman for he saw within his mind. This was the image of the woman to bear his name, take his hand—the ring he should’ve put on her finger. This was where his woes with Jane stemmed. His nature to recollect in a dream-like state had him calling out for her name, and while he hadn’t seen her since his youth—since he left her to join the army—it was still there. It was there like the drift of a spring’s wind as it tumbled though long grass. It was where his memory settled, and where he found himself drawn to her. Of course, no amount of therapy could console his wife within the first few months of their marriage, forced to sit on a couch and recant the tale of a girl so far gone from his reach, he had been grasping for air. That’s all it was, extending his hand into the dark, and expecting one, but there was another. Had he settled for Jane? Surely. Should he try? Well, that was the conclusion they’d both come too.

Their marriage was lively, for what it was in public. In their home, once Jane moved in with him, was almost dismal. It was tedious. Same routine. Kiss on the cheek when he woke, and the same when he returned from work. Into their marriage, did Logan find it hard to lay with his wife. In a drunken stupor, sure. There was almost never an issue there, should he not have fallen asleep beforehand on her and she left him there in a pile of his own piss. But to consummate—to make the marriage real, in the eyes of religion, constituted a child. After two years of becoming one with another, it happened. Jane was pregnant. Her pregnancy, however celebrated, and brought them closer to create another, came with complications. Having already suffered through her second trimester with painful contractions, bed rest before she was into her third—the pregnancy stopped looking positive. It was not a positive thing, for his wife could barely care for herself, never mind the child. When it came time to give birth, Logan knew—something was wrong. His gut screamed nothing could end well for him, for his child and his wife. This was not meant to happen as it was. If there was fate, this was it extending its power. Logan watched his life desecrated, going from being a solider and husband, to a sympathized widower. Jane did not survive the birth, nor did his son. Burying them was sentimental, and even though they struggled, he chose to put them with his parents, a sign of loyalty, allegiance. He carried Jane’s wedding ring with him on a necklace bound with his own. Never sentimental, never emotional. He’d learned growing that it was best to swallow them—be a man, his father would encourage. Men never showed true emotions in his family, and Logan never revealed his personal life with Jane to anyone. Not even if they saw the rings to this day hanging loosely around his neck. That was his burden, guilt, to bear until the end of his time.

When he returned to base with the woes of the truth shattered inside of his mind, Logan found himself at an odds. As though the world didn’t want to work for him. As though it couldn’t. Almost nineteen years since he joined the forces, rising through the ranks. A celebrated marksman, fifteen years of servitude and he found himself discharged. Off to be replaced by a younger, able-bodied person to perform half as well as he ever would. He’d seen the woes of man on the battlefield. He ranked higher than some would in their dreams for having such sharp aim. He could do it—he did it all. And when he found himself without the one thing he held onto—he was lost. Returning to Lakewood was the only thing Logan had left for him. Abundance of money, of glory from a battlefield now just out of his reach for the rest of his days, the once bright and sprightly man became jaded. Liquor became a good friend, and his mind seemed to only go back to the one thing that worked: aim. Firing the end of a gun off at a target made out of wood calmed the quell in a heart that didn’t have any bounds. The further he sunk into his depressive, maniac state—the more Logan found himself into the troubles of shadows long gone. When he’d been born within the mayhem of Lakewood, his own father a former Bodyguard for the Stone Cartel (another secret that alluded the elder Legend child)—the army was the only thing escaping him from himself, and a life on the edge. But hadn’t that been what he wanted? Service had provided him the thrill, but when it was gone, all he had left was the daring soul of a man confined.

When his father opened Bullseye almost forty-or-so years ago, it was the only thing he knew he might still be good at—something he could possibly succeed if not be it the murder and fatigue that followed him. Attesting it to the only thing he had left that he could call his own, his signature style for weaponry, prestige skill—and love of bikes, caught the eye of the Reyes Cartel. An elite crime family within the walls of his own home, shifting and bending the rules to their own. It was what he enjoyed the most. His bike had become something of a staple, one of the first thing to come back to life in his return. When the months spurn into dedication in years, Logan found himself knee deep within the Cartel business. The way it defined his outlook. He grew from the boy proud to bear arms, to the man, jaded, who knew it all. There was the inkling of a man underneath of what he used to be, subdued with the man he had become in his departure from the front lines. Logan had spent time on the outside once more—before heading right back in. Five years since being discharged, and he earned his moment, his place within the Reyes family. Now, as the Bodyguard within the Reyes Cartel, he uses his tactic of command and skill to keep those beneath him in line, all while upholding the values of a club who had, without ever knowing it, given him purpose once more.

→ PERSONALITY SUMMARY

+ Witty, Sarcastic, Loyal - Flirtatious, Guarded, Impulsive

[theconservativebrief]

When 27-year-old Debbie Honaker went to her doctor in Lebanon, Virginia, after a routine gallbladder surgery in the early 2000s, she was prescribed “Oxy tens” — 10 milligrams of OxyContin. At her next visit, it turned into 40s. Then she graduated to Percocet. Soon, she began stealing pills, then buying them from Medicaid patients for $1. “At the end of your journey, you’re not going after drugs to get high; you’re going to keep from being sick,” she says.

Honaker’s story is just one of many in author Beth Macy’s new book Dopesick: Dealers, Doctors, and the Drug Company that Addicted America, which chronicles the 20-year history of the opioid epidemic, starting with the dawn of OxyContin in 1996 and ending with grim statistics: 300,000 Americans dead from opioid overdoses over the past 15 years and predictions that 300,000 more will die in the next five.

Macy’s first book, 2014’s Factory Man, underscored the toll of offshoring business on America’s rural communities. In Dopesick, Macy, a Roanoke-based journalist, continues to follow American workers, investigating how those who have lost factory and mining jobs have been hit especially hard by the opioid epidemic.

The villains of Dopesick are the pharmaceutical companies — namely Purdue Pharma, the company that sold OxyContin — corruptible doctors, and a lax Food and Drug Administration. The victims? The rest of America, especially those in economically distressed parts of the country.

America is sick, Macy argues, and too many people have looked the other way during the worst drug epidemic in its history.

I spoke with Macy to better understand the history of the epidemic, its real-world impact, and what is missing from our national conversation on opioids.

Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Hope Reese

You write about central Appalachia as “the birthplace of the modern opioid epidemic.” What are the characteristics that made a region like Lee County, Virginia — which began seeing teenagers overdose in the late ’90s — susceptible to the OxyContin epidemic?

Beth Macy

It’s the same thing if you look at the other initial hot spots. In Machias, Maine, a logging and fishing community, there were also many people already on painkillers from legitimate injuries due to these manual labor jobs. But in Appalachia, in particular, you had trade deals like NAFTA in ’94, and then China joined the WTO in ’01, and so you saw the furniture and the textile mills closing and the jobs going away — and at the same time, a huge rise in disability.

Now, 57 percent of the men of working age in Lee County are unemployed. As this is happening, this whole notion that we were horribly undertreating pain began being pushed by big pharma. Suddenly you couldn’t go and visit somebody in the hospital where there wasn’t a whiteboard where they would ask you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10, or draw a smiley face or a frowny face.

All these things sort of converged: the joblessness, the rapacious behavior of big pharma, Purdue Pharma in particular. One of the first cops I interviewed said, “Oh, yeah, people were walking down the street with green and orange smudges on their shirt.” Orange was the color of an Oxy 40 mg and green for the Oxy 80 mg. They had held the pills in their mouths to soften up the time-release mechanism coating so they could get the euphoric rush of an entire pill all at once, then wiped the coating off on their shirtsleeves.

Hope Reese

I’m also interested in how doctors were incentivized. They were basically taking bribes — going on Caribbean vacations, for instance, hosted by pharma companies. Has there been a crackdown on doctors? What kind of gifts are they allowed to accept from sales reps?

Beth Macy

That’s changed in more recent years. In the first decade, it was kind of like a Wild West of pharmaceutical sales tactics. Pharmaceutical ads were starting to air on TV. A good friend of mine who is a pharma rep broke it down for me: They would find out what the doctor wanted and they would show up with whatever that was. He was waiting for the doctor, a chain-smoking doctor in Bland, Virginia, and another rep has already beaten him — they were there with a carton of cigarettes with a Celexa sticker on it.

Purdue used similar techniques. They paid doctors to be spokesmen for them, saying: Come to a seminar in Boca Raton or Arizona, and we’ll pay you to go out and give speeches about [OxyContin].

Hope Reese

Many people who become addicted to OxyContin eventually move on to heroin, which is cheaper. How are we doing with the pill problem? And even if we have tackled that issue, isn’t it a bigger problem once people start taking heroin?

Beth Macy

The updated CDC guidelines in 2016 were a great improvement. It was kind of what those parents who initially lost their kids to OxyContin overdose wanted. They wanted the guideline to be that opioids were used sparingly, that doctors try pain relievers like ibuprofen and aspirin before prescribing the highly addictive pills, and that they give most patients only a few days’ supply — that opioid therapy for short-term pain last three days, and very rarely longer than seven. Overall, that’s good, but as soon as the OxyContin and the other pills got harder to get, you saw the drug cartels bringing in heroin.

Marijuana laws started becoming legal in states, and the drug cartels needed to make up their profit [from lost marijuana sales]. The doctors are doing better about not prescribing opioids out the wazoo, but we now have 2.6 million Americans with opioid use disorder. What are we going to do about that? You just can’t flip off a switch and it stops.

What I see on the ground are serious holes in the tapestry of treatment. The Roanoke Times finally did a story on medication-assisted treatment, or MAT, which combines therapy with medications like methadone or Suboxone. In it, they quote Steve Ratliff, adult and family services director for Blue Ridge Behavioral Healthcare, and he doesn’t believe in it. He told the newspaper that they only use buprenorphine if counseling has been attempted first and doesn’t work — and then they give them the option. This is not consistent with state policy, and in my view, it is just wrong.

Now, in an age of Fentanyl — dealers started cutting heroin with fentanyl heavily in 2015, and it became much stronger and deadlier — the risk of dying is much higher. We’re going to let them fail first?

Hope Reese

In the book, you point to evidence that shows that abstinence-based centers, a model of treatment in which people are cut completely off of the drugs, have not proven to be the best route to recovery. So why do they dominate the treatment landscape?

Beth Macy

I think it’s because the recovery industry developed largely as treatment centers for alcoholism. So the abstinence-only models put forth by [Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous] are historically what most of the recovery industry has been centered around.

Abstinence models may be better to treat alcoholism, but not opioids, since opioids, especially those laced with fentanyl, are deadly. [Many fewer people] OD on alcohol [compared to heroin]. What I see on the ground is families that can afford to send their children to rehabs — and most families can’t — end up spending thousands of dollars for treatment that is not what science says is the best way to treat opioid use disorder.

One family I know with two heroin-addicted sons spent $300,000 on an abstinence center. That wasn’t including the heroin-related legal fees that they had.

Hope Reese

More than 40,000 Americans died of overdoses from opioids such as fentanyl, heroin, and prescribed painkillers in 2016, and they are estimating even more in 2017. What about long-term consequences? If this has been going on for 20 years, what will the country look like in 20 more years?

Beth Macy

Think about the foster care system. In Lee County, one in three kids are raised in foster care now. And think about what are their kids going to be like? That’s really frightening.

Another long-term consequence that scares the dickens out of me is hepatitis C. There are centers, needle exchange programs, where you come and you turn in your dirty needles. There, you get clean needles and you get to know these people who want to help you and want to help you get you hooked up with social work and counseling and ultimately, when you’re ready, go on to treatment. That’s what’s missing in most of America right now.

I was visiting a needle exchange recovery program in Las Vegas recently that was only located on the outskirts of town. If you’re an addicted person and you’re homeless, you probably live near the downtown in these tunnels underneath the city, so the homeless people who are addicted have to save up their bus fare to go there. And it’s because they didn’t want the tourists to see the addicts.

The guy who runs it who has been in this world of prevention and harm reduction for a long time said that what keeps him up at night is in 15 to 20 years, we’re gonna have a tsunami of hepatitis C because so many people who are injecting are sharing needles.

I mean, it’s cultural. Our country’s way of thinking has been, “We gotta incarcerate our way out of this,” “We gotta be tough,” “We gotta just say no.” And that has not worked in other countries. Other countries that have adopted a treatment approach have done much better.

Hope Reese

This topic has finally become of part of a national conversation — but what’s still missing from the larger dialogue? What surprised you after spending all this time with addicts, dealers, and families?

Beth Macy

What surprised me is how this could happen to just anyone. It literally spares no one. And because it started out in these politically unimportant places, people didn’t pay attention to it. We’re basically leaving the institution of the family to deal with the worst drug crisis in the nation’s history.

You see these families in so much pain. They’re so weary; they’re so worn out. Many of them have these ideological divides within the family, because maybe they have somebody in AA or NA themselves — who maybe doesn’t see medication-assisted treatment as the best way for their addicted loved one to get better.

You see that colors a lot of family dynamics around medication-assisted treatment, and you see them worn out also because of bad behavior by the addicted people whose brains have been taken over by this drug, such as users who steal from their families to fund their next fix, for instance. Too often, the addicted person isn’t seen as someone worthy of evidence-based medical care until people are sitting in the pews at their funeral.

Hope Reese

I want to know how the book affected you, especially since a lot of the reporting was done in your own community. In particular, one of the women addicted to heroin who you spent a lot of time with ended up becoming a prostitute in Nevada, and was eventually found dead, in what appeared to be a violent murder.

Beth Macy

It was really hard to interview people who died before I had the chance to write up my book, but it was nothing compared to the pain that these families are going through.

I was constantly balancing that between anxiety and feeling hopeless about it.

I take things pretty personally sometimes. I have hundreds of text messages back and forth with many of the mothers in the book. But as a friend of mine said, “The only way I think you’re going to be able to protect yourself and write this book at the same time and survive it is to find the helpers.”

Hope Reese is a journalist in Louisville, Kentucky. Her writing has appeared in the Atlantic, the Boston Globe, the Chicago Tribune, Playboy, Vox, and other publications. Find her on Twitter @hope_reese.

Original Source -> The author of Dopesick on how we’re still failing opioid users

via The Conservative Brief