The naked light bulb in the front of the room, over Natalie's head, hums and pops off with a flash. She startles and a guy in the front wheezes a chuckle as Leonard gets to his feet. Leonard is a tall guy with a long, gray ponytail and skin that sags off his cheeks, but his expression appears gentle, and God knows, I need somebody in this room to see my side of things right now.
"Welcome to the group," Leonard says. He cracks a smile. "That was one hell of an introduction."
The crowd breaks into laughter. Aidan rights my collapsed chair. I sit. I feel like I'm about to sink through the small opening at the back. I wish I could. Leonard deflects.
"The suggestion that Natalie is referring to," he looks back over the crowd and carefully avoids any eye contact with me, "is that for our first year of sobriety, we suggest you don't change anything in our current environments. We don't move out of our houses, we don't change jobs, we don't take on a new relationship. Opposite-sex sponsoring tends to present additional challenges that just aren't necessary. We want to focus all of our energy on recovery. We don't want to be sidetracked with stressors from other situations. Our addictions are stressful enough."
"My point exactly," Natalie says from somewhere at a front table. "I'm not trying to accuse, I am just trying to help."
Hell if she sounds helpful. Aidan weaves an arm around the back of my seat and lounges against his own. He latches an ankle over his knee.
"It's a helpful suggestion," he says with a dry grin. "I think we can all appreciate that the suggestions are actually guidelines, not laws."
"They're in place for a reason," a man says without turning his head around. "Men sponsor men, women with women. That's what works."
"What if I don't want that?" I say. I can't keep my mouth shut. Fuck this whole room. Aidan's gotten me this far and I owe him my loyalty, not these strangers. Would they have wiped the barf off me in the shower?
"Well, hell. I'm not going to beg anyone to be my sponsee." A woman with hair like metal shavings half-laughs as she turns her back to us. "You got to want help before I'll give it. But I think Natalie makes a good point. A sponsor's job is to help, not create a dependency."
"Thank you all for your concern," Aidan says. "It's taken under advisement."
Leonard resumes the talk, calling on someone from a table to the left, and the meeting goes along like a wagon on loose wheels for about an hour. At the end, the crowd breaks, the chairs are stacked against the wall, and a woman announces that there will be coffee and cookies available at the banquet table on the other side of the room.
"I'm think I'm ready to leave," I say, as soon as Aidan returns from dropping off our chairs.
"Yeah, I'm ready too," he says. We exit without holding hands. Climb the stairs to ground level in silence. I gulp down the air, wishing it was a drink. I'm afraid that the feeling will never go away. That I'm going to drag this rattling chain around with me every minute for the rest of my life, always waiting for the bottle at the end to catch up and clobber me.
"So what did you think?" Aidan asks.
"I thought they were a bunch of assholes," I say.
"What they're saying is actually right," he says, keeping his hands loose as we walk around the side of the church. I tuck mine in my pockets. "I want to be the one that you lean on, Lydia, but they're right. I'm not doing you any favors as a sponsor. I'm too invested."
"You don't have to worry about that. I don't think I'm going back."
Aidan stops walking and turns to me with an expression that is both stunned and deeply pained. It sinks into me and I know right then and there, he just snuffed out any other choice I have, other than returning to that shitty church basement.
"Hey!" A breathless shout comes from behind us. We both turn back to see who's yelling. Natalie is yanking on her lambskin jacket, pulling her hair from its collar as she runs toward us. "Wait up!"
She's almost to us, and I envision her face on a punching bag. I want to beat her down. She is the reason for the sudden proposal of change in my and Aidan's relationship. I wish I could slam a drink to calm down. The urge to escape down to the bar fires up as she works her way toward us, like a vampire's ripping thirst for blood.
"Hey Nat," Aidan says as she catches up. His tone is both friendly and guarded. I am mentally preparing to grab her by the hair and take her down if she says one more lousy thing to either of us.
"I wasn't trying to be a bitch in there." A little winded, Natalie's breath puffs out of her like a steam engine. The clean part in the center of her scalp is mussed from running. "I'm trying to help."
"Help was what he did," I snap at her, "by getting me to come here tonight."
"Help is not calling us out in front of the whole group," Aidan adds. "Especially not on her first night."
"I didn't mean it like that," she says. She puts her hand on my sleeve, since I've dug my hands into my pockets for her safety. "I know how hard it is for me and Shane. I know what it takes to get clean. It's so hard to focus on yourself when you have to juggle the needs of a relationship too. This time should be all about you and doing this for yourself."
"I don't see where it is any of your..." I begin, but Aidan cuts me off.
"She's right," he says. "You're right, Natalie, but this is between Lydia and me. I appreciate your concern, but we'll have to discuss it ourselves."
"I'm just trying to help," she says again. She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket and pushes it into my pocket. "Here's the sponsor list. I wrote my name at the bottom. I'd be honored to sponsor you."
Aidan grimaces. "You can't do that, Nat. You know you've got to have at least a year in before you sponsor."
"Those are suggestions, not laws," she says.
"And as you pointed out, the suggestions are there for a reason," he says.
"I'm just trying this whole meeting thing out, but no thanks," I tell her. "I don't think we'd be a good fit."
Natalie's eyebrows tent with genuine concern. "If you don't get help, you know what the alternative is, don't you?"
Damn it. She looks like she's going to cry and along with what she just said, she pokes a hole in me. My anger deflates, the blow-up-clown-punching-bag fantasy I had for her, wrinkling down into pitiful despair, deep in my soul. There is no alternative.
"So, what do you say?" Natalie says. I don't know what to say. I'm a girl with dreadlocks, piercings and an arm sleeve of tattoos. Natalie's wears a razor-sharp part splitting her head in half, sensible shoes, and a grudge about the way her husband greeted me the first time we met. Before I can turn her down again, Aidan intercedes.
"If we're following suggestions, I think Lydia would be better off with a veteran," he says. He steps close, knocking me with his elbow. "Want some time to think about it?"
"Yes," I say. Natalie's smile downgrades to a grin.
"Okay," she says with a hair flip. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She turns on her heel, kind of proving the point that she's not the girl that should be in my corner.
"Tomorrow?" I say to Aidan.
"In the beginning, you should attend meetings every day."
"That's a suggestion?"
"What's the alternative?" he says and I drop my chin to my chest with a cough. I watch the dusting of snow dance out of my path as we walk back to our apartment building. I don't even notice passing the liquor store. That's how much I've run out of choices.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHOOSE YOUR LOSER
I open the door to my apartment. I'm so used to Aidan walking into my apartment now, it strikes me how it's only been happening for about a week, but that it seems like he always has been here. He takes off his shoes, drops his coat on the pegs beside the door. I hang my trench beside his leather.
I'm antsy and it takes a few minutes to recognize the hole in my routine. I usually have a drink when I come in from wherever I've been. Especially when I come in with a guy.
We take a seat on our individual cushions at opposite ends of the couch
. There is an invisible line between them. A few times, I've crossed the line, but I've been shot down each time--friendly fire, but still. I'm not letting it discourage me.
"Tonight didn't go the way I hoped it would," he says.
"Are you referring to the guerilla attack by the group, Natalie, or are you talking about the way I blurted out our business?"
He laughs and I take the cue, laughing a little too as I scoot closer. Reclined a little, his legs are stretched out beneath the coffee table, one ankle over the other, his hands laced behind his head. He's watching the ceiling as if it's going to get up and leave.
"The more I think about it, the more I think they're right," he says. "You need to have a woman as your sponsor."
"Nope. If I have to have one, then I choose you," I say softly. Closer.
"No, there are things you can tell another woman that you couldn't tell me as easily. And there wouldn't be the temptation..." His eyes swing from the ceiling to me and he seems surprised with how close I am.
"Temptation?" The look on his face sends a shiver right through me. In one flash of desperation, I drop my lips on his. His shoulders relax. I close the space between us, climbing into his lap as my tongue rolls into his mouth. It takes a few seconds to realize his arms aren't around me. He's not even kissing me back. I pull my head away.
"I'm sorry," he says. He tries to scoot me off his lap, but I clamp my thighs around his legs. I need him. After a few futile attempts to politely remove me, he gives up. I don't. He drops the back of his head against the couch and I put my lips to his neck, brushing them softly over the skin until his flesh raises up in excited bumps. I feel other parts of him raising too.
"Please," I whimper. It's a new low. I've never begged a man to touch me before. Never had to.
"Lydia," he groans.
"Please," I plead again. I hunch back on his knees a little so I can reach his belt. As I try to unfasten it, his hands grasp my wrists.
"Stop," he says. "For the first year..."
"I can't wait a year. Besides, a year is just a suggestion, isn't it?" Desperate, I lean in and purr with my teeth on his ear. "It's not like we haven't done it already before. We can say we were together already."
"It's not about having to lie to anybody else," he says, but I don't want to hear him talk. Not unless he's telling me how good I feel against his skin. He's got my wrists, but it doesn't slow me down. I lean forward, rising up and down on his thighs as I press my crotch to his. I swoop in to capture his lower lip, but he turns his head to the side.
"It's the truth...it's not a new relationship," I argue in a soft tone. He turns his head back and I suddenly wish he hadn't. His eyes are somber.
"We didn't have a relationship, Lydia," he says. "You know that. We have what you and I always had. We were players back then, weren't we? All we had was sex."
I'm not about to give in. I need something to make me feel good tonight and he's it.
"That's all I am to you?" I pout. I hope my projected lip will entice him to chew it.
"Will you tell me something? Honestly?" he asks, hoisting an eyebrow. I decide to just stare at the part I want: his mouth. Drives guys wild.
"What?"
"Did you ever want more from me than just sex?"
God, this is starting to bore me a little. "Sure."
"How many partners did you usually have in a month?" The words just lie there, flat. They jar my eyes from his mouth. My thigh muscles stiffen as I rise, to move off his lap, but he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me in place. "I'm a sex addict too, Lydia, just like you. You know it's true. We were doing the same damn thing that night we met. We were both getting some and moving on. I was usually with a couple girls each week. More if I could manage it. How about you?"
"That's nothing like me."
"It's exactly like you, Lydia," he says. The growl in both of our voices rises. "I always gave out friend's names instead of mine, but you wouldn't give me your name at all. It's because you didn't want me to track you down either."
I give him an earnest shove, planting my feet on the floor. I stand.
"And I didn't track you down, Aidan. You're the one that moved next door to me. I would've never come looking. I didn't even remember you."
"But I couldn't stop remembering you," he says, staring up at me. His gaze moves from one of my eyes to the other and back again, as if he's hoping one will show some sign of recognition. "I knew what you were before I even got you back here. I knew I'd met my match."
I stand there with a shrug weighing down my shoulders. I can't seem to throw it off in front of him.
"So let's play with each other, instead of fighting," I say. "No harm done."
It comes out sounding a little harsh.
"We can't," he says softly. "I'm not that guy anymore. You changed me. That's what I keep trying to tell you. I used to take home whatever let me..."
"Thanks."
He grasps the sides of his head in frustration. "You did the same thing, Lydia! You're going to tell me you didn't?"
"I have standards."
He groans. Then, he reaches out to me, aligning his fingertips in the same places the bruises were on my throat. They're gone now, but those harsh fingertips still haunt my skin. It doesn't take much of a touch to pull them up and have them dancing goose bumps down to my collar bone. I draw away.
"Standards," he says. His gaze is so satisfied. So fucking satisfied.
"Fuck you," I say.
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Lydia. That's not what I'm trying to do."
"No, I get it. You're trying to help me to see what a drunken slut I've been."
His eyes drop as he shakes his head. "I only want you to see how you've been hurting yourself."
The tears are right there, stinging my eyes, but to hell if I'll let him see them. I put my fingers over my mouth.
"Ok, thanks," I tell him softly. I step away from him, brushing my fingers over my neck to scatter the ghosts. "Now get out."
<<<<>>>>
I expected more of a fight out of him, but the slam of my door is just as satisfying. Picking up the nearest thing to me, one of my fucked-up snowflakes, and I whip it at the door. It shatters on impact.
I could really use a drink.
I deserve it.
But there is nothing in my apartment but water glasses and the faucet.
"Fuck you, Aidan," I snarl as I pace the floor. He pretty much said everything Eric did, the only difference being that Aidan didn't strangle me after he said it. At least, not in ways that will leave bruises.
I pace and pace until I can't stand any more of it. Then, I go to my mirror and fix myself as best I can before I grab my keys, throw on my coat, and head out the door.
Aidan's not in the hall to stop me. I board the elevator and coast all the way down, landing with a soft bump at the ground floor. I step out and stride across the lobby to the front door, hanging onto my justification like a steel rod.
It's freezing outside, as if it's dropped ten more degrees in the last hour. I slip on the sidewalk, curse, but manage to keep myself upright. Once I'm drunk, slipping on ice will look about the same as staggering home. I plan on getting fully loaded tonight.
At first, my feet take me in the direction of Modo's, but I turn myself around. I won't chance another Eric. I head straight for the liquor store.
Trudging through the snow and slipping on stealthy patches of black ice doesn't detour me. I'm busy fantasizing over flavors. I can almost feel the warmth of the liquor spreading across my tongue, the heat snaking down my esophagus and lighting up my gut. Maybe tomorrow I'll regret this--I already know I will--but maybe I can give myself this one pass and act like it never happened.
Sure I can. Aidan's not here to shake a finger at me. Nobody's looking.
I walk until the neon sign of the store flickers from a few blocks away and conjures images of the shelves within. I think of the inside of the store as the portal to an adult, Christmas wonderland wit
h all the colored liquor novelties, all the different brands of whiskey, the fancy vessels of wine. I miss the whole ritual of drinking, like the sound of popping corks, the ingenuity of a stopper, the slender stem of a wine glass between my fingers. I love the sexy lip print my lipstick makes on the glass and the joy that comes from passing a bottle.
I cross the street, the neon sign reeling me in like kite string. Only about thirty more feet--
"Hey there, it's Lydia, isn't it?" a smoke-stained voice says. I blink back into reality, looking away from the liquor sign, turning my head to find the owner of the greeting.
I don't recognize the older woman in a burgundy knit cap and puffy coat with fur around the collar at first. The one thing that triggers my memory of her is the kinky, steel-wool hair poking out from beneath her hat.
"Oh hi," I say, instantly ashamed as her eyes dart across the bright advertisements papering the liquor store window. My hand on the rim of the cookie jar, I'm trying not to look.
"It's Edith, from the meeting?"
"I remember."
"Stopped off afterward for dinner. Never seems I can finish what I'm given though," she says. She hoists a Styrofoam box to chest level like proof. "What are you up to?"
"Just taking a walk."
"Lovely night for it," she grunts, her gaze taking in the quiver of my lower lip. She nods in the direction from which I came. "I'm headed home. Want to walk with me?"
She's not begging. She's not insisting. It's just an offer.
A man walks out of the liquor store, a brown bag tucked into his elbow. He's wearing a long wool coat, sleek leather gloves, shiny black shoes. He nods to us and smiles a hello as he passes. The bag is probably a gift or a bribe for a business associate, since his eyes don't have one hint of thirst in them.
Not like me.
I want a drink so bad, I've spent the whole walk here dreaming of what and when and how much I could get down my throat in the first gulp. I was contemplating the orgasmic quality of stemware, for Christ's sake.
My eyes on the ground, I trace the man's footsteps away from the door and down the sidewalk. It looks so easy. All I've got to do is walk away. That's it.
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