by Jack Fisher
Mary remained skeptical, but still took comfort in Sister Angela’s kind words. She didn’t brush the nun off when she patted her shoulder again. Sister didn’t even ask her to congratulate Susan. Sister was okay with Mary keeping to herself and staying on her own path, even though it left her so conflicted.
Sister Angela gave Mary one more reassuring smile before getting up to lend Susan her support. The nun’s understanding came as a relief, but it only went so far. It still didn’t feel like any part of her—body or soul—had been healed by this program. Mary was still so empty. Even after all this time, she still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling.
She watched Sister Angela give Susan a hug while others continued to offer their support and congratulations. It went on way too long, but much to Mary’s relief, the meeting was almost over. Susan may not have been a former model who’d once stopped traffic while crossing the street in a bikini, but she definitely looked more radiant now than Mary had in years.
Mary ended up looking away again, turning her attention to the glossy floor of the community center. In her reflection, she couldn’t see the beautiful young woman Sister Angela had just mentioned.
“You have a great head on your shoulders and a beautiful body. How can you possibly be this miserable?” she asked herself.
Mary had once taken so much pride in her body. Whenever she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see some girl next door or some silicone-laden porn star. She saw someone who had worked long and hard to refine the natural beauty she’d been blessed with.
The woman she’d been had spent hours a day in front of that same mirror, smothering herself with overpriced makeup and fixing her hair so that it had a perfect, wavy sheen. And after she’d finished refining her complexion, she would have scoured her vast wardrobe for the perfect attire to complement her looks.
That attire had often included undersized tank tops, shorts that barely qualified as shorts and every kind of thong underwear in existence. If it hadn’t shown an obscene amount of skin, then she hadn’t bothered wearing it. No matter how revealing it had been, that version of Mary Ann Scott had worn it with pride. Because of this confidence, she’d seemed destined to be the hottest thing to ever come out of Hartman County. However, that woman didn’t exist anymore.
“Maybe a better question is…how the hell did I let my problems ruin me so completely?” Mary said, still talking to her reflection.
She gazed at herself with bitter disappointment. Mary no longer saw the sexy, stunning woman once destined to grace the cover of every fitness magazine. She saw a woman who’d lied to herself about her problems and had come dangerously close to letting them destroy her.
Being an aspiring fitness model had come with a long list of perks. The world went out of its way to cater to the whims of a beautiful young woman. Men had lined up to impress her, buying her drinks and offering her every comfort imaginable. Sure, it was shallow and unfair, but Mary hadn’t cared. She’d taken advantage of it at every turn and made damn sure she’d enjoyed it. She’d just taken it way further than she should have.
Now the woman she saw in the mirror bore all the burdens that Mary had ignored for too long. This version of Mary Ann Scott didn’t spend hours getting ready for her day. She didn’t spend a good chunk of her paycheck on overpriced makeup and hair conditioner. Instead, she only used eye-liner and lipstick that she bought from Walmart. On top of that, her clothes might as well have come from a second-hand store.
Nothing about her was overt anymore. Everything that had once made her so passionate and outgoing had collapsed under the weight of her reckless indulgences. Sex addict or not, she had to live with those choices.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, Mary closed her eyes and turned away from her reflection. She didn’t come to these meetings to lament how far she had fallen. She came here in hopes of overcoming the addiction that had consumed her life. Those hopes were fragile, but she’d hung in for nearly a year now. She promised herself she would remain dedicated. She even believed on some level that she could find a way to fill the emptiness inside her, although that seemed increasingly unlikely with each miserable day that passed.
Accepting that she wouldn’t find what she sought tonight, Mary stopped talking to herself and focused on the meeting. She might as well try to make something of it, even if it meant envying those who had.
“Thank you, Susan. And a special thanks to everybody who stood by her. Never forget that this is a collective effort. Addiction can overwhelm an individual, but it can never overwhelm a community bound by faith and emboldened by our Lord,” said Sister Angela, who had returned to the front of the room.
“Amen, Sister!” said Susan, still basking in her accomplishment.
“It’s also important to remember that you’re never alone. We’re here to support each other—to help one another. Addiction leaves many scars and addiction to sex, in particular, tends to leave unseen scars. Some don’t always heal, but everyone can find the strength to endure. That is the power of faith.”
“Amen!” said several other addicts who had been supporting Susan.
This was the part of the meeting where Sister Angela reaffirmed the values and philosophy of CHAOP. She did it near the end of every meeting, so much so that Mary had memorized these mini-sermons to the letter. She still listened, but these moral lectures still didn’t strike her as much as they’d obviously struck the Susan Michaels of the program. Mary began to wonder if the power of faith was enough for her.
“Now, before we leave for tonight, I want to open the floor to newcomers,” said Sister Angela, continuing with the usual formalities. “We have a few new entrants to CHAOP, and it’s still my policy to not require them to speak. I understand that the first meeting can be difficult, but for those who wish to share their story or just introduce themselves, this is your time to speak.”
Sister Angela stepped aside and sat down, allowing anyone else to stand who dared to confess their addiction to a group of strangers. This was the part of the meeting where awkward silence slowed things down. Sometimes nobody did, ending the meeting on a mixed note. Mary would’ve preferred that. Then, much to her dismay, a tall man wearing a sweatshirt and a baseball cap stood and spoke.
“Hello. My name is Peter Robert Rogers,” said the man.
“Hi, Peter,” replied the crowd in perfect unison.
Mary immediately perked up at hearing that name. She rarely took an interest in newcomers to the program, but this name sparked one that went beyond her many problems.
“No. It can’t be!” Mary said in disbelief.
She gazed at the man standing before a crowd of fellow addicts, scrutinizing every detail of his appearance. Her eyes told her one thing, but her brain told her something else. Mary kept listening, refusing to believe that fate would be this cunning.
“Um…I don’t really know what to say here, so I guess I’ll keep it simple,” he said. “I was born right here in Hartman County. I left when I was fifteen. I just moved back this past weekend, and… Well, I am a sex addict.”
Mary had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping in amazement. There might have been thousands of men named Peter Rogers in this world, but she knew of only one who had been born in this county, left at age fifteen and wore tattered baseball caps that any rational person would’ve thrown away years before. Eventually, she accepted what her brain told her, even if she didn’t like the implications.
“My God…it’s really him,” Mary said under her breath.
She shook her head in disbelief. This was big. This posed more than a few questions about a part of her life that she barely remembered anymore. However, it might be worth recalling. If he was the same Peter Rogers, then her addiction had affected her even more than she’d thought.
Chapter Two
#xa0;
“Thank you for sharing your story with us tonight, Peter. It was very brave of you,” said Sister Angela after hugging the program’s latest entrant.
“Don’t thank me yet, Sister. I’m…not in a good place right now. Don’t expect me to be much braver than this—at least for the time being,” Peter said.
“It’s okay. Just being here and sharing your story is brave enough.”
“Does that mean it gets easier?”
“Yes, but only to a point,” said Sister Angela.
The nun rarely made such bold claims, a strange quality for such a pious woman. She told all newcomers that the Chapman Hill Addiction Outreach Program had high expectations but even higher commitments. Mary remembered Sister Angela describing those expectations and commitments after she’d joined. She imagined that Peter felt as overwhelmed as she had that first day.
“Overcoming an addiction requires more than just bravery,” Sister Angela continued. “Given your situation, it may require more than most, but don’t be discouraged. This program can help you. I’ll see to it personally. I’ll even pray, for good measure.”
“Um…thanks,” Peter said.
Sister Angela gave him one of the beaming smiles that made her so hard to argue with. She then stepped aside so she could talk to a few more people. The meeting had just ended and almost everyone had left already. There were always a few who lingered to chat or talk to Sister Angela about issues they couldn’t share with the group. Mary was rarely among those who stayed, but she’d made an exception tonight.
She’d kept her distance while Peter had talked to Sister Angela, but she had heard most of the conversation. She still couldn’t believe it. The quirky, pudgy boy from a simpler time in her life had returned. However, he didn’t look anything like she remembered.
He had changed a lot since the last time she’d seen him. She couldn’t say the same about herself, but that only made her more eager to approach him after Sister Angela walked away.
“She rarely tells you what you want to hear, but she’s honest in a way that grows on you…to a point,” Mary said.
Peter turned around and looked at her strangely. He was taken aback at first, but then his demeanor shifted. He seemed to recognize her but apparently still needed a reminder.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” he asked. “You look…familiar.”
“Fourth grade, Ms. Stintson’s art class—the last day before the holiday break,” replied Mary. “We were all painting posters, complete with sparkles and non-toxic paint. You set a tray of paint down on a chair to tie your shoe. Then Ms. Stintson sat down in the chair, ruined her special Christmas dress and pitched an epic fit. But before you raised your hand to confess, someone pulled you back and took the blame. If I recall, that same person had a nasty habit of borrowing your ChapStick and never giving it back.”
He had to remember that story. They’d laughed about it for weeks after. Unless he’d completely purged his memories of his life in Hartman County, he had to realize who was standing in front of him. Peter blinked a few times in disbelief. Mary then stepped a little closer so he could confirm what she sensed he suspected.
“My God…Mary Ann Scott!” Peter said.
“Yes, Peter Robert Rogers. It’s me,” Mary said curtly.
“Wow. I, uh… You look… I’m sorry. I’m going to need a minute here,” he stammered.
“Take all the time you need. It’s not every day you meet an old friend in a sex addiction treatment program.”
Just saying it out loud added to the awkwardness, but Peter still laughed. Addiction hadn’t destroyed his sense of humor, it seemed. He also showed that he still had the winning smile that had made him such a lovable kid, but it was the only physical feature about him that remained unchanged.
“You’re obviously not surprised by my looks, but I’m definitely surprised by yours,” Mary said. “Are you really the same dorky kid I grew up with or did you undergo some radical body transplant?”
“There’s nothing radical about it. I left before puberty did its thing. I guess you could say the growth spurt did wonders for my body and self-esteem,” Peter said.
Mary took a step closer to get a better look at this growth. The Peter Rogers she’d known before and the Peter Rogers standing in front of her now might as well be two different people. In her memory, she still saw the pudgy, undersized boy that had grown up just a few houses down from her. He’d always had messy hair that he’d tried to cover with hats. He’d also had a pasty complexion that made every blemish stand out. He’d been physically unremarkable, but he’d never used it as an excuse to be the life of a party.
Now Peter needed no excuses. He had grown into a strong, fit and downright imposing young man. He stood nearly a foot taller than her and had a broad chest and well-developed arms. He didn’t have the physique of a body builder, but he could easily be mistaken for an athlete, not unlike the ones she’d worked with during her days as a fitness model.
He even had the face to go with it, his pale complexion covered by a light beard surrounded by a layer of stubble. It was an undeniably masculine look from someone she’d never considered that masculine to begin with. Maybe she should have, because the boy she’d once known had become quite a man.
“Wonders indeed,” Mary said as she reached out and touched his toned arms, “but puberty can’t be the only reason for such a remarkable transformation.”
“It’s not. You should know, because you’re one of those reasons—or did you forget your first success story as an aspiring fitness guru?”
“Not for a moment,” Mary said. “Too bad neither of us could handle the success.”
“So, you were listening to my confessions,” Peter said.
“Among other things,” she replied.
It got a bit awkward again, but Mary gave him a reassuring smile to salvage what remained of his ego. She didn’t care about the details that had led him to this program. She was just content to talk to an old friend who’d known her before she’d screwed up her life so badly.
“Now I’m glad I chose my words carefully. There’s…a lot I didn’t say when I introduced myself,” Peter said.
“That’s okay. I didn’t tell anyone my last name until my third meeting,” Mary said.
“To be honest, I was tempted to spill my guts tonight. I’ve been through a lot of shit these past few months…to say nothing of everything that led up to it.”
“I can imagine,” Mary said.
“Between realizing that I’m a full-blown sex addict and finding out that I suck at treating myself, I’m not sure you can. I’ve dug myself into quite a hole. I’m also sure there are more than a few women who would love to bury me in that hole.”
“I take it back. I can’t imagine it anymore.”
“Then I guess we’re partially even. I can easily imagine you getting addicted to sex, even before I left. I just can’t imagine you letting it become a problem,” Peter said.
“Thanks…I think.”
It remained awkward, but not enough to stop Mary from smiling. She had confronted some harsh realities since joining the program, just as she had confronted numerous ones after realizing she was a sex addict. There was something refreshing about Peter’s honesty. She needed that at a time like this.
By now, almost everyone had left. Sister Angela had said her goodbyes to the remaining participants. Mary still had a lot of questions, and for once, few of them pertained to sex addiction.
“Mind if I get serious for a moment?” she asked him.
“You’re welcome to try. I don’t know how much more serious we can get in an addiction program,” Peter said.
“I’ll give it a shot. You see, I didn’t come here expecting to reconnect with someone I haven’t seen in a decade. To be brutally honest, lately I’ve been coming to these meetings mainly out of desperation.”
“Desperation is usually a bad sign for a sex addict.”
“That goes without saying,” Mary said. “I’ve been with this program for almost a year now. Don’t get me wrong. It’s done a lot of good, getting me through some really dark moments. But over the past few months, I feel like
I’ve…stagnated.”
“That’s not too encouraging for a newbie like me. You sure you wouldn’t rather talk to someone who’s licensed to handle this?” Peter said.
“Believe me, I’ve talked to those people…more times than I care to recall. Right now, I need to talk to someone who knows me as something other than a recovering sex addict.”
Now it was Mary’s turn to feel awkward. She used to never feel that way around men. A year ago, she could have just shown some cleavage to get what she wanted. This time, she sought something that cleavage alone couldn’t get her. And right now, Peter Rogers was the only man who could give it to her.
“Tell me, Peter. Did you have any plans after this meeting?” Mary asked, probably doing a poor job of hiding her anxiety.
“Well, my original plan was to endure my first meeting, go home and recover with the help of a six-pack and Netflix,” Peter said. “Are you asking me to change those plans?”
“Only if you don’t need to recover that badly,” Mary said. “That pizza place we used to hang out in is still open. I was hoping we could catch up over a slice and a—”
Peter raised his hand and cut her off. Now he looked just as anxious she felt.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Mary?” he questioned. “Doesn’t this program have a policy against that sort of thing?”
“What kind of thing are you talking about?” Mary asked.
“You know what I mean. A pretty young woman and a vulnerable young man, who just happen to be a couple of recovering sex addicts… Do I need to go any further?”
He gave her a strange look that allowed Mary to fill in the blanks. She tensed at the implications, fighting the urge to slap him for assuming such a motive. She ended up sticking both hands into her pockets to hide her dismay.
He’d made a valid point. While a part of her still saw the same dorky boy she’d grown up with, she also couldn’t deny that the man standing before her was very attractive. Had she not known him, she would’ve been tempted to flirt with him, letting some of those old, addictive habits of hers re-emerge. However, that exact reason might be why she needed this.
