Recovery

by Nicole Dykes

  She seems to breathe a sigh of relief, but I don’t feel any less guilty over that fact, that they lived. Because I could have killed them that night.

  “They couldn’t completely sweep it under the rug this time. So, I got ninety days in jail and two years on probation.”

  “You went to jail?”

  I nod my head, finally sitting up to fully face her. “Yes, I did. And when I got out, I started going to meetings. I apologized to Finn, and the son of a bitch forgave me. We started taking classes to learn tattooing, and life moved on.”

  “So, you’re an addict?”

  “The counselors I’ve seen don’t seem to think so. I don’t crave it, Mya. I just don’t. I can have a beer and not want anymore. I stay away from the pills. But I don’t know if I’m really addicted to them or if I just fucked up during a really bad time in my life.”

  She shakes her head, tears remaining in her eyes. “No. You go to meetings.”

  “Because I never want to do that shit again. Because I’ll never forget seeing those kids being loaded into an ambulance and thinking they could have died because of me.”

  Again, she shakes her head and stands up. “You were addicted to alcohol and pills your senior year.”

  “I wanted to get fucked-up, and I did. I haven’t had another problem since.” I stand up too, but when I approach her, she pulls back, and I stop. “Mya, why are you afraid of me?”

  “Because I am.” She lifts her chin. “I . . .” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, but I can’t . . .”

  I want to walk closer but don’t. “Can’t what?”

  “We can be roommates, maybe even friends. But I can’t sleep with you anymore.”

  I don’t get it, but I have to respect her choice. “Okay.”

  “My mother . . .” She shakes her head, her tearful eyes meeting mine which fucking guts me. “She’s . . .” She looks about two seconds from losing it, and I know this girl is on the edge. “I just can’t.”

  I nod my head at her, again not making a move closer to her. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” She grabs the door handle and pauses. I think she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t. She twists the knob and leaves.

  I lie back down on my bed and try to will away the memories dredged up by today.

  I want to forget, but no part of me craves going back to any substance to do that.

  I’ll never do that again.

  It’s been a couple days since I sat down and listened to Jase tell me his story. I still think he could be an addict, but he insists he isn’t. I haven’t brought it up again.

  We’re roommates.

  And that’s all we need to be.

  The last thing I want is to turn into my mother. But I do think Jase is a good guy. I think it’s admirable that he continues to go to meetings and he’s sponsoring a young addict. I just can’t be part of that world. I need to distance myself from it as much as I can.

  Keep my head down and get the hell out of here.

  “Hey!” Quinn places a drink in front of me on the bar with a great big grin. “So, you talked to Jase?”

  She must know I did with the way she’s asking. I nod. “I did.”

  “Good. And he told you everything?”

  Again I nod. “He did. I still think he could be an addict, but I get why you didn’t feel the need to warn me.”

  She smiles. “He’s a good guy.”

  “Who could have killed someone from his substance abuse.” I can’t completely let him off the hook. I just can’t.

  She takes a deep breath and then sighs. “Yes, which is awful. But he’s atoned for his sins. And none of us are totally innocent.”

  “I know.”

  “So how did you leave things?”

  “No more sex.” I’m adamant about that. She nods her head in agreement. “But we’re roommates . . . Maybe friends.”

  “Good. So you’ll be at Finn’s party tomorrow?”

  “Finn’s party?”

  She busies herself behind the bar now, grabbing more drinks as a crowd of people rush in. There was a concert tonight, and it must have just let out. “Yeah. His birthday is tomorrow. It’s at the loft, and Logan and I even got a babysitter.”

  “You guys are all fine with Jase drinking?”

  She looks like she’s searching for the right words now. “Yes. I’m telling you, Mya. He’s not an alcoholic. He’s really not. I’ve known him for a long time. I’ve been around him at parties and here. He never, ever gets out of control.”

  “Until he does.”

  “He doesn’t.” She seems so certain, but there’s a nagging feeling in my gut.

  “Well, you know him far better than I do.”

  “Just go to the party. I think it will be a lot of fun.”

  I nod my head and pick up the drinks to deliver them. When I get back, I see Jase and Finn sitting at the bar. “There’s my favorite waitress,” Finn exclaims, and I shake my head at him.

  “You guys don’t have to work?”

  “Just got off,” Jase says, picking up the beer Quinn just placed in front of him, but he hesitates as he brings it to his lips. He’s looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I don’t. He’s a grown man. If he thinks he can handle it, and all of his closest friends think he can, then that’s up to him.

  He finishes lifting it to his lips and takes a drink. I watch his throat as he swallows, and my eyes focus a little too long on his lips when he places the bottle back down on the bar. He eyes me, his eyebrow lifting with curiosity, and I look away.

  Trying to find a table that needs help, hoping for a reprieve because this man is far too tempting.

  I was doing just fine without sex. Then I had it twice with him. And now, I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. About how fucking good it felt when he filled me completely. About his soft lips against mine, his strong body wrapping around mine.

  Stop.

  I walk toward the door to greet some newcomers, following them to their booth and taking their order, trying like hell to forget about the way Jase made me feel.

  I know I seem crazy.

  Maybe I am.

  But I can’t go there again.

  “Well?”

  I walk into the loft after my shift. And of fucking course, Finn has already started the party. Logan and Quinn closed down for the night just for this asshole’s birthday.

  I grin at him. “What?”

  He punches me in the arm, a full bottle of tequila in his hand and people crammed into our apartment. “Happy birthday.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not my birthday.”

  He glares at me, and I love messing with this motherfucker. “Shithead.”

  “Happy birthday, fucker.” He hands me a beer that I gladly take and can’t help myself from scanning the room for Mya. Because I can’t stop thinking about her. She doesn’t want me, not for sex. She says she wants friendship, but we haven’t really talked since I told her about all my bullshit.

  I don’t get it. I’m really not an addict, although I still go to meetings to make damn sure I’m not. But she looked almost repulsed by me.

  I zone in on her, standing by the large window overlooking the street, talking to Quinn. I can’t take my eyes off her.

  “Dude, are you going to spend the whole night staring at our hot new roommate?”

  I still haven’t told Finn about anything that’s happened between Mya and me. Why? I’m not entirely sure. “I’m not.”

  “You are.” He takes a swig out of the massive vodka bottle in his hand and offers me a drink.

  I shake my head, but take it from him, placing it on the table. “I’m not.”

  “Are.”

  Finn may as well be my brother, but right now, I’m trying not to put the fucker in a headlock until he knocks it off. “Fine. I am.” And that’s exactly where my eyes are. Pinned to her in her peach dress that dips low enough to show a little cleavage but remains classy. Her hair
is swept up, and she’s fucking perfect, annoyingly so.

  “Man, she doesn’t want us. We tried.”

  I roll my eyes at him and take another drink. “She did.” I shrug, “I mean, for like a second.”

  “What? You’re saying she wants my dick?” He grins at me when I turn to look at him with a serious expression. He then laughs uncontrollably. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “If she’d have wanted you, you would have.”

  “I’m different. You’re the type to get all fucking attached.” His hand on my chin, turning me to look away from Mya and back at him alerts me to the fact that I was already watching her again. “Point made.”

  “I’m not attached. I’m pissed-off and confused.”

  He laughs, leaning against the wall, “Oh fuck, what happened? Blow your load a little too fast? I mean, that shit happens. She’s hot.”

  “That shit may happen to you. It didn’t happen to me.”

  He flips me off with a laugh. “So then, what did?”

  “She thinks I’m an addict.”

  Now he looks slightly more serious. My best friend will always have my back, no matter what. “Why does she think that?”

  “Because I told her I was going to an NA meeting.”

  “You tell her why?”

  He was there for all of it, every miserable second. I can tell he’s getting defensive on my behalf. “I did. Look, man. I think her mom was, or is, an addict. She won’t talk about it.” I run my fingers through my hair, taking another drink of beer and watch her out of the corner of my eye, watching her trying to avoid my presence. “She thinks I’m a junkie.”

  “Fuck. Her.” Yep, definitely defensive.

  “Finn, it’s a fine line.”

  “Nah, that’s bullshit. You paid your debt and then some. You’re flying right, and you haven’t fucked up in years. And then she comes here and makes you question yourself.” He walks over, grabbing the vodka bottle and taking another swig, eyeing Mya as he joins me again. “That’s fucked-up. Her pussy had better have been amazing.”

  My fists clench, and my jaw tightens. “Don’t talk about her pussy.”

  He rolls his eyes with irritation. “See? Fucking attached.”

  “She may not talk about her past, but we all know there was a tragedy there. Give her a break.”

  “And what about you?” His blue eyes meet mine, pissed the fuck off for me.

  “What about me? I did that shit. You were there, Finn. I fucked up. I could have killed Mandy and Bobby. They could be dead because of me.”

  “They’re not. They’re married and fucking happy.” He places the vodka back on the table and moves to stand in front of me. “You’re not a junkie.”

  “Maybe I’m an addict.”

  His hands grasp both sides of my head, and he forces me to look at him. “You’re not.”

  I look into his eyes, knowing how much pain I caused him that year, knowing how badly his mom fucked him up when she pulled all her junkie bullshit. And knowing exactly how serious he takes all of this.

  “If you two are going to fuck, we can give you pointers.” James is standing next to us with Tommy. They’re both laughing their asses off at us.

  Finn laughs, pulling me in for a quick bro hug, slapping my back and pushing me away before addressing James, “No pointers needed, motherfucker.”

  James laughs, wrapping an arm around him. “Please, I’ve heard those poor girls in your room, faking it to get it over with.”

  Finn flips him off and they all laugh. These assholes are my family.

  I’m laughing with them when I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, feeling her. I look to where she’s standing. Sure enough, her eyes are on me. Locked. But she quickly looks away.

  Because in her eyes, I’m a piece of shit.

  One she can’t trust.

  I put my beer down, tell Finn happy birthday and head to bed.

  Just me and my fucking demons tonight.

  He looked so sad when he left the living room. My whole body is on alert, and I want to go after him. What is that?

  We haven’t known each other long at all, but I hate seeing him look that broken.

  I excuse myself from Quinn and Logan. I wasn’t really into the conversation anyway. I was busy watching Jase.

  I decide to give up and just head to my room, but Finn blocks me. I smell alcohol on his breath, but he doesn’t seem all that drunk.

  “Mya. Where you going?” He does, however, seem awfully pissed-off.

  “To bed.”

  “Yours? Or Jase’s?”

  Oh my God. Jase told him about us? I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. I told Quinn. I cross my arms in a defensive pose. “Mine.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  What the hell is going on? Finn has been nothing but fun and flirty since I got here, but now he seems to be letting his dark side out as he glares at me. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You called him a fucking junkie?”

  “You all think he’s not an addict, but he told me what happened. Sounds like he sure lost control and was at the mercy of alcohol and pills.”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  His eyes are glued to mine, offering no escape. “He told me his story. He also told me he goes to a meeting every week.”

  “Because he’s that fucking good. There’s no one like Jase. No one. He went through some serious shit. And yeah, he fucked up but owned it. How many people do you know like that? He doesn’t have to go to those meetings, but he does. He doesn’t have to sponsor that little dickhead, but he fucking does. He could have served his time and said fuck it, but he didn’t.”

  Finn clearly cares a whole hell of a lot about Jase, but that could be his biggest problem. Addicts are master manipulators. And often, it’s the people closest to them who are the most blind to their addiction. “I know addicts, Finn.”

  “So. Do. I.” The way he says it, punctuating each word with intensity, and the way his eyes never waver from mine, making sure I get it sends the message clearly to me. He was close to an addict.

  “Yeah? So then, you know.”

  “I do. I know Jase is not a fucking addict. He was a pissed-off teenager, mad at the fucking world because his dad, who was incredible, died. His mom became a zombie-like shell of herself. He thought football was his way out of that hell, and then fate came for him. He was pissed, and he used the wrong things to cope.”

  “Isn’t that every single addict ever?”

  I should have more sympathy. Maybe I do, but it’s clouded by hatred for my mother. She let us down because she chose that life. We didn’t have a choice, but she did. And I will always hate her for that.

  “No. He’s not a fucking addict. I promise you that. He goes to meetings because he feels fucking guilty for that one year of his life.”

  His large body crowds mine. I don’t think he would hurt me, but honestly I don’t know him. Still, the room is crowded. Surely no one would let him do anything to me. “Look, I didn’t say I hate him and want nothing to do with him.” I lower my voice, feeling slightly weird about the next thing I know I need to say, but he already knows I slept with Jase, “I just can’t have sex with him.”

  “Right. Because he’s not fucking good enough to fuck you.” His hand moves forward as he grasps a piece of my hair that fell out of my ponytail. He lets it slide through his finger and thumb, snarling at me, “You can’t let him between your legs again because now you know he goes to NA meetings.”

  I bat his hand away furiously. “I don’t want him inside my body because I don’t want to fall for an addict.” I emphasize the word addict, and I watch his eyes flash with anger.

  “He’s not a fucking addict. I know addicts. And so does Jase.” He leans in closer, his lips curled in anger and his handsome face contorted with fury. “He was there when we had to drag my mom home in the middle of the fucking night from the bar when we were twelve. Right through Main Stre
et to my house because she could barely fucking walk and the bar was closed.” I close my eyes, pained from the image. But he doesn’t stop. “He was there when we came home from a grueling football practice, dirty and sweaty, and Mom was passed the fuck out on the couch, my two little sisters trying to wake her up when she had a needle hanging from her arm and all kinds of drug shit lying around everywhere. Thank God the girls knew not to touch Mommy’s stuff.”

  “Stop,” I choke out, hating the similarities between Finn’s mother and my own.

  “Or, how about the time I came home to some motherfucker on top of my ten-year-old sister, trying to pull her pants off?”

  “Stop, Finn.” I’m pleading with him, unable to take it anymore, a rogue tear escaping me. I wrap my arms around my waist and fight the sobs. “Why do people like that have kids?”

  “Because they’re too fucking high to remember birth control.” My eyes meet his, and I see some of his anger has dissipated. “He messed up, Mya. He was in pain and didn’t know how to cope. That can happen to anyone.”

  “So can addiction,” I breathe out quietly and sadly because I don’t want Jase to be an addict. I don’t want to push him away, but that’s all the more reason I should.

  “Look, he’s worked so fucking hard to right his wrongs. He’s one of the good ones, Mya. Don’t call him a junkie. Don’t call him an addict. And don’t pull him to you if you’re only going to push him away. He seems light and fun, I get that, but there’s a darkness under there.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “He’s not going to use again, but he will punish himself.” He eases back. “He doesn’t come from addicts. His father was a goddamn hero. His mother was a saint who missed her hero. It’s not in his DNA, so it’s not in his nature. And he wasn’t raised by addicts or abused. Maybe he was a little neglected, but still, it’s not nurture either. He has none of the hallmarks of addiction.”

  “He really just goes to those meetings out of guilt?”

  “And fear.” He seems to be thinking over it and nods his head. “Yeah, he’s afraid he could become that. I was fucking hard on him when he started drinking and mixing it with the pills. I was a fucking dick to him, unable to handle my best friend turning into anything close to my mother.”