April 12th, 2019

The boyfriend called us late on Monday afternoon. He was in an utter panic. He had gone to visit the girl at her motel room. She was not okay.

The boyfriend told my wife, “I talked to her on the phone while I was on my way to her place. We were going to hang out together. When I got there, she was already high. I asked, ‘What did you do? Are you huffing aerosols again?’ That wasn’t even five minutes from the time I called her!”

He went on, “I am so done with her! I have tried so hard to help her, and she just can’t keep clean! I don’t know what to do any more.”

The boyfriend kept going on and on like this for several minutes. He is a good man, but he tends to babble. I find that behavior irritating in the best of circumstances, and this was clearly not the best of circumstances. As background, this young woman has been to the ER twice in the last two months because she was found unconscious, because she was huffing keyboard cleaner. That stuff may get you high, but it will also kill you.

Finally, I couldn’t listen to the boyfriend rant about how he didn’t know what to do. I got pissed off and said,

“I know what I am going to do! I’m calling her P.O.!”

I tried to find the phone number for the girl’s probation officer. The boyfriend was still on a roll. My ability to focus was limited by my emotions, so I told him,

“Enough with the conversation! Let me look up the fucking number!”

He got quiet and told my wife, “Well, maybe I will leave guys alone for a while. Uh, I’ll check back later, okay?”


I called the P.O.’s office. A nice lady answered the phone and tried to connect me with the probation officer. I got sent to voice mail. I called the office again, and I told the pleasant receptionist about this girl, and my concern that she was going to die. The woman told me that she would get hold of the P.O., and she did.

Shortly after that, we got a call from the girl. She informed us that she was going directly to jail.

Some time after that, the probation officer contacted me.

The P.O. spoke in a crisp, professional manner. “Mr. Pauc, I am returning your call. The girl is now in custody.”

I sighed, and said, “That’s a good thing.”

She replied, “We will see what further steps we need to take.”

I told her, “I would prefer that she doesn’t die.”

The P.O. said to me, “I believe we share the same goal.”

I shook my head, and sighed again. Then I told the P.O. slowly,

“I am convinced that if she will die if she is on her own.”

There was a pause. The probation officer responded,

“We’ll see what can be done.”

I fought a feeling of impotent anger. I calmed myself and told her,

“Well, I appreciate you returning my call. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”

I have been wanting to cry ever since then. The girl is in jail, and she is not getting released any time soon. I don’t know what lies in her future. Hopefully, some kind of mental health treatment, but I don’t know that. All i know is that she can’t OD where she is now.

I don’t regret ratting her out. I truly believe that I had to call the probation officer to save this girl’s life. But I still feel dirty. I went behind her back. I broke our trust. At this point, I don’t know if she is even aware that I turned her in. I don’t plan on telling her, not yet anyway. The whole situation makes me sick, physically sick.

I feel like Judas.










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