Clean Read online

  Also by Juno Dawson

  FICTION

  The Gender Games

  Margot and Me

  All of the Above

  Under My Skin

  Say Her Name

  Cruel Summer

  Hollow Pike

  NON-FICTION

  Mind Your Head

  This Book is Gay

  Being a Boy

  What is Gender? How Does it Define Us?

  Contents

  Author Note

  Dedication

  STEP 1: I ADMIT I HAVE A PROBLEM

  STEP 2: THE CHOICE TO RECOVER IS MINE TO MAKE

  STEP 3: I WILL LEARN TO TRUST IN MYSELF AND OTHERS

  STEP 4: I AM STRONGER THAN I THINK I AM

  STEP 5: I ACCEPT I AM NOT A BAD PERSON

  STEP 6: I WILL STRIVE TO BE A BETTER PERSON

  STEP 7: I WILL EMBRACE CHANGE – IN MYSELF, OTHERS AND MY ENVIRONMENT

  STEP 8: I ACCEPT I HAVE HURT MYSELF AND OTHERS

  STEP 9: I WILL MAKE AMENDS

  STEP 1: I ADMIT I HAVE A PROBLEM

  STEP 10: I UNDERSTAND RECOVERY IS AN ONGOING, LIFE-LONG COMMITMENT

  Support

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright Page

  Author Note

  Clean is a work of fiction but it deals with many real, sensitive subjects including mental health, eating disorders, self-harm and addiction.

  Links to advice and support can be located at the back of this book.

  Juno x

  Dedicated to anyone who has ever

  fallen over and then got back up

  STEP 1: I ADMIT I HAVE A PROBLEM

  Face-down on leather. New car smell. Pine Fresh.

  I can’t move.

  I’m being kidnapped.

  But I can’t move.

  My arms and legs feel like they’ve been deboned, dangling like jellied eels. Sick or dribble is crusted on my chin and cheek. With great effort, I peel my face off the seat.

  My lips and tongue are chalky dry. I open my eyes, and blistering daylight burns them right out of the sockets. It hurts. I screw them shut but snatch a glimpse of Nikolai. From this angle, I only see the back of his head; his high fade haircut, and his hands on the steering wheel. I recognise his Rolex.

  I don’t understand what’s happening.

  Where am I?

  Where was I?

  Rewind the night. The last thing I remember, I was at the hotel. Yeah, that’s it. We were in a penthouse. I got a key from reception. Me, Kurt and Baggy and that girl. The Fashion Week party . . . the bar . . . we left the bar to get high.

  Oh yeah. The blue chaise longue. A needle.

  Shit.

  Is this what an overdose feels like?

  I can’t remember anything after I came up. I run a trembling hand over my body and I’m still in the gunmetal Miu Miu dress I was wearing last night. I’m covered in a scratchy plaid blanket. My feet are bare.

  ‘Nik?’ I croak. My throat feels like it has barbed wire stuffed down it.

  ‘It’s OK, Lexi. I’m getting you help.’

  What now?

  Oh fuck me hard, it’s an intervention.

  I start to argue, but my eyes catch fire again. I squeeze them tight and let darkness wrap around me like a sushi roll.

  Can’t sleep now.

  I gotta wake up.

  I claw my way out of the brainfudge and back into the car.

  I’m coming down at speed, all backwards and bent. I’m cold and my skin has scales. Usually I can sleep it off, or I do a tiny bit more stuff to smooth the edges. A pill works too. Oxy or Vicodin or tramadol or diazepam. Whatever’s to hand.

  A man’s voice. Not Nikolai’s. ‘She all right, bruv?’

  ‘She took a sleeping pill,’ Nik says. ‘She’ll be out of it for a while.’

  Where are we? I try to roll over but can’t. I can smell the sea: briny depths and salt air and seaweed. Seagulls shriek like bastard demons. Shut up, you flying dickheads. My head is pounding. Dehydrated. Mummified.

  Where is he taking me? The seaside? How long have we been driving for? How is it even light outside? How long was I out for? Where’s Kurt? The questions squawk louder than the seagulls. Perhaps this man can save me. I’ll tell him I’m being kidnapped. I’ll say I’ve been raped.

  ‘Help . . .’ I mutter. My lips are scabby and my tongue is suede and I don’t really muster more than a mumble. ‘Help . . .’ I try again.

  ‘She’s my sister,’ Nikolai says loudly, drowning me out. ‘Hungover. Do you need our passports? Sure, here you go.’

  The BMW rolls off and jolts as we go over a bump. ‘Nik . . . Nik . . . where are we going?’

  He casts a quick look back over his shoulder. ‘You’re gonna be fine. Just get some rest.’

  I remember laying back on the chaise. I remember Kurt sliding the needle in my arm. I never do it myself, obviously – that’s sketchy. I remember looking out of the window and seeing all the lights, all the tiny little lights of London. Amber and gold and glitter. Boats on the Thames, headlights, the Shard on the horizon. Everything went blurry, everything was fireflies.

  Fireflies.

  I dream of fireflies.

  Tyres crunch over gravel. Sleep hasn’t helped. I still feel like I’ve been scraped inside out with fish hooks. My teeth are spongy; porous.

  The car door opens and Nikolai steps out. I hear footsteps approach. Lots of feet.

  Wherever we are, we’re here.

  Where’s Kurt?

  It takes a lot of effort, but I drag myself upright by clinging to the door handle and the rim of the back window. It’s still blindingly bright. Oh, I see Nik remembered his own Ray-Bans but didn’t think to bring any for me. I need my phone. I scan the backseat for my purse, but I remember my phone was attached to the speakers in the penthouse anyway. It must still be there. Shit.

  I squint. Nik shakes hands with a super-tall man with a beard. He’s a bit ‘Hagrid’s more attractive brother’. Blazer, open collar, no tie. He’s accompanied by two women in sharp, futuristic nurses’ whites.

  Shit just got really real. Oh god. He’s threatened it before – Lex, you need help – but I totally thought he was kidding. Now he’s actually doing it. I’m at a hospital.

  I’m at rehab.

  Not. A. Chance.

  Dress around my hips, I scramble between the driver and passenger seats and flop down into the driver’s seat, reaching for the ignition. He’s taken the key. Damn. I’ll have to run for it. I tug on the door handle but my balance is shot. A breeze catches the car door as I open it, flinging it wide, and I tumble onto the asphalt. I put my hands down to break the fall and feel gravel dig into my palms like studs.

  ‘Lexi, wait! Be careful,’ says Nikolai.

  Bodies and dark shadows circle me. Hands reach for me, fingers come at my face. I wave my arms like a messy windmill, trying to swat them away.

  ‘Let’s get her inside, shall we?’ says Dr McBeardy.

  ‘No!’ I cry. My volume button is broken. I scream my throat out of my neck and it echoes around the garden.

  I peep through the jungle of legs and see we’re on a long driveway leading to a gorgeous country mansion. Downton fucking Abbey. It’s weathered, grey and mottled; partially covered in ivy. The main entrance is flanked with handsome columns. The grounds must be acres and acres – all I can see for miles is trimmed green lawn, surrounded by lush forest.

  I’m hauled to standing, but the gravel hurts my bare feet. ‘Ow!’ I howl like I’m dying, even though it’s not that bad. The nurses sort-of-lift, sort-of-drag me in the direction of the house. ‘Nik! Please!’

  I turn and face him, my eyes as big and innocent as I can make them. Little Sister Lexi. Sweet Little Lexi. Protect her, she’s a girl, a bone china baby.


  ‘Sorry, Lexi . . . you need help.’ He doesn’t look me in the eye.

  ‘Let’s all talk in my office,’ McBeardy says soothingly. I am far from soothed. I can’t go to rehab – mainly because in about four hours I’m going to really need a bump. I start to kick and flail, then when that doesn’t work I go floppy like a toddler in a supermarket aisle. The nurses, who must pound protein shakes or something, hoist me up using some amazing technique they learned in Nurse Army Camp.

  ‘Put me down, you cunts!’ I scream. ‘Let me go!’

  They ignore me so I just start screaming CUNTS over and over again because it’s the worst word I know.

  I sit in McBeardy’s office, knees pulled to my chest, in a sleek, tan leather chair. There is definitely vomit down the front of my dress. It reeks. He hands me a bottle of Evian and I take a sip. It helps the mouth-rot.

  Tell you what’d be nicer than mineral water: heroin.

  Nikolai sits sheepishly next to me. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks quietly.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘You did the right thing, Mr Volkov,’ says McBeardy, taking his seat on the opposite side of a burly chestnut desk. The furniture is trying very hard to be masculine and I wonder if he’s compensating for a tiny little penis. ‘Nice to meet you, Lexi.’

  ‘Fuck. Off.’

  The doctor has the smug audacity to smile and fold his hands around a mug of black coffee. ‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions, Miss Volkov.’

  ‘Just one: will you please fuck off and let me go?’

  ‘Technically speaking, that’s two questions, and no, I’m afraid I can’t. At least not just yet. This isn’t a prison and you haven’t been sectioned. You are free to leave, but I hope you’ll stay.’ I’m about to protest but he goes on. ‘Let me bring you up to speed. My name is Isaac Goldstein and I am lead doctor at the Clarity Centre.’

  ‘This is rehab, right?’

  ‘It’s a residential treatment facility.’

  ‘So, rehab.’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Lexi,’ Nik butts in, ‘it’s the very best, OK. The best of the best.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I say, turning back to Goldstein. ‘Who’s the most famous person who’s ever been here?’

  ‘Our reputation is built on our discretion, Miss Volkov.’

  So discreet I’ve never heard of it. Nik could have at least taken me to The Priory. ‘A Kardashian? Khloé? Kylie?’

  Dr Goldstein ignores me. ‘Don’t get me wrong – we’re not a hotel, but we do have world class facilities: luxury rooms and villas, heated indoor and outdoor pools, gym, spa treatments and chefs from Michelin-starred restaurants. You’ll be very well looked after during your recovery.’

  Nice try. Recovery is the key word. ‘But it’s still rehab. Like, can you even get a vodka tonic?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Can I smoke in here? Do you have a cigarette?’

  ‘Yes, smoking is allowed. Although I don’t have a cigarette.’

  Nik reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a packet of Marlboro Lights and a lighter. I snatch them off him and spark up. Oh man, that’s better. I almost suck it down to the filter in one great greedy gulp, until I realise Nikolai is staring at me with a cocktail of horror, pity and stank disgust. It’s the kind of look you might give a filthy homeless person eating out of a bin. ‘What?’

  ‘I thought you were dead, Lexi.’ His eyes glaze over like Krispy Kremes.

  ‘Boo hoo! We all learned and grew as people. Can we go home now?’

  ‘No.’ He dabs his eye with a Kleenex. ‘I’m not taking you back.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Fine. I’ll call Kurt and he’ll come and get me.’

  ‘The Clarity Centre is on a private island off the south coast,’ Goldstein says. That explains the sea smell. ‘We’re a very successful treatment facility, Miss Volkov, and we don’t let just anyone board the ferry – every vehicle that crosses must have clearance. We can of course choose to restrict access – for obvious reasons, we have to be very careful who we let on the island.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding? How is this not a prison?’

  ‘I already said, you’re welcome to leave any time you like.’

  ‘How? If I swim?’ I turn to Nik. ‘This is insane. Nik, I can’t stay here.’ I push back my chair and start towards the door. ‘Come on.’

  ‘It was Kurt who called me,’ Nik says, and I stop. ‘They thought you’d overdosed. When I got to the penthouse, you were blue, Lexi. Your lips were fucking blue.’ He reaches into his pocket again and takes out my phone. He brought it! Only then he slides it over the desk to Goldstein.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘We can look after that for now,’ Goldstein says, dropping it into his drawer.

  ‘You can’t do that! I know my rights!’

  ‘Standard practice.’

  I throw myself down at the side of Nik’s chair. If we leave now, we can be back in London before the cravings get really bad. ‘Look. Nikolai. I’m totally a recreational user . . . it’s not a biggy.’

  ‘Can you hear yourself? I thought things were getting out of hand when it was pills and coke. But heroin? Lexi, people don’t use heroin recreationally!’

  ‘They totally do! That’s why I couldn’t handle it . . . I hardly ever use. It was just a bit of fun, I swear. I’m not an addict! Do I look like a junkie to you?’

  My brother’s eyes gape. Another tear falls. He’s silent for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he says finally. ‘You absolutely look like a junkie.’

  I’ve lost him. There’s nothing I can say. I’m on my own. I march to the door and yank on the handle. It’s locked. ‘Let me out! Let me out right now, you fat fucker.’

  ‘Sit down please, Miss Volkov.’

  ‘Give it a rest, Lexi. You’re staying and that’s that.’

  ‘You can’t make me!’

  Nik stands, hands on hips. ‘Well you’re not coming with me and they won’t let your sketchy friends on the ferry, so I guess you’ll just have to ask Dad to come get you. And then you can explain why I brought you here.’

  That stops me. Daddy would kill me. Or worse, cancel my credit cards. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘I bloody would. This is where it stops. I’m not covering for you any more. I took pictures last night, Lexi. You either stay here or I show him his little princess covered in puke, track marks on her arm.’

  I scream and scream and scream. Blood-red vision. I pull a bookcase over. I swipe a load of shit off the doctor’s desk. I try to throw an armchair out of the window but it’s too heavy to shift so I just look stupid.

  Two stacked guys in the same starched white uniforms enter the office, hanging back to the sides of the room, waiting for their instructions from Goldstein. In the midst of the chaos I’m making, he remains infuriatingly calm. ‘Mr Volkov, as Lexi is under eighteen and you’re her next of kin and an adult, you can authorise us to sedate Lexi if need be.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ I scream. ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘Do whatever you need to do,’ Nikolai says without hesitation.

  The boynurses move in on me and I shrink into the mess I’ve made like a cornered animal. One of them flicks the tip of a needle. As twisted as it sounds, the sight of the hypodermic briefly calms me until I remember it isn’t a hit. That said, if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that a drug’s a drug. It’s probably a downer, so it’ll def take the edge off, but it means I’ll have to stay in this hellhole. Dilemma. They stalk closer. My time is running out. I have to decide. And I decide I want to stay conscious. ‘God, whatever. You don’t have to sedate me. Look! I’m calm. I’m Zen. I’ll pick up the books. Jesus.’

  The boynurse stops. I’ll cooperate for now. I need time to cook up a plan. I can’t have Daddy cut me off. I’ll play nice and get off Rehab Island when they realise this is all a catastrophic clusterfuck and acknowledge I’m not Amy Bloody Winehouse.

  I make an attempt to lift the bookcase,
but it’s actually pretty heavy. ‘That’s OK, Miss Volkov. I’ll get someone to tidy the office,’ says Goldstein. ‘For now, you need to say goodbye to your brother and we’ll get you settled into your suite.’

  ‘I have to go?’ Nikolai says. ‘Already?’

  ‘I think it’s for the best.’

  Nikolai uses the bathroom before we walk back to his car. I’m wrapped in a blanket and have been given some box-fresh white Vans for my bare feet. Goldstein and one of the boynurses lurk behind us.

  ‘I’ve got to go and collect Tabitha from Heathrow later, but I’ll get someone from the hotel to send some clothes and stuff,’ he tells me. I try to remember where his girlfriend’s been this time. Milan? She interns at Tatler. ‘I’ll make sure they’re discreet.’

  I wrap my arms around my body and it legit feels like I’m holding my skeleton in formation. I’m coming apart at the seams, but can’t show him that. Junkies would call it ‘clucking’ but I’m no junkie, so I don’t call it anything. ‘Nik, this is crazy,’ I tell him, making my voice Sunny Delight. ‘As if I need to be here. Look, I swear if you take me home I’ll never ever do Brown or Oxy or Vicodin ever again. I promise. And I’ll see my therapist twice a week like a good girl.’

  I see his resolve waver, just for a second, and then he shakes his head. ‘No, Lexi. You need to get away from your shitty friends. Look . . . I really think this place is the nuts, yeah. Just give it a go. Please?’

  ‘Nik . . . I can’t stay here!’

  ‘It’s only a few months, Lexi.’

  ‘MONTHS?’

  ‘It’s a seventy-day programme.’

  ‘You might as well kill me now.’

  He pulls me into a hug but I push him off me. Bastard Judas. ‘You’ll be fine, Lexi. I’m gonna tell Dad you’re with Mum. He’s hardly going to call her to check, is he?’ He climbs into the BMW. ‘Just get better. I’ll be back to visit you.’

  I cling to the door. ‘Please . . .’ I’m crying now, and not even pretending.