Relapse

by J. P. Nicholas

  Kelsie nibbles on her bottom lip, a confused expression knitted in her brow. Her eyes have the just-been-fucked glaze over them, only confirming my original assumption. She breaks her silence. "Here we go again. You guys are just rambling off words that I swear you are making up on the spot because they don't make sense."

  I rub my hand over the back of my head and decide to be the bigger chap here—in all aspects if you catch my drift.

  "I don't want to get into this. I have more pressing matters to discuss." I shift my gaze toward my best mate. "Can I talk to you in private?"

  "Sure," he drawls out hesitantly. He probably thinks that I'm going to punch him out. An assumption I'm not wanting to correct, so I remain silent as we walk into my bedroom.

  The smell of sex lingers in the air. That settles it; I'm making this arsehole buy me a whole new mattress before he leaves. He can keep this one.

  Thud! The bedroom door slams closed. Declan props up a leg and leans himself against it. He quirks his brow as he folds his arms across his chest. "What's weighing on your mind, mate?"

  "You'll never guess who bumped into me this morning."

  His forehead rises, lifting both his brows as he speaks. "Was it that old hag, Mrs. Hatchet from primary school?"

  I shake my head. "No, you twit. Why would you think I'd run into her?"

  He shrugs. "I don't know. You said I'd never guess it, so I thought of the most ridiculous person it could be."

  "Well, you succeeded at that," I say on a laugh. Declan joins in, his chuckle reverberating in the confined space.

  "So, if it's not Hatchet, who is it then?"

  "Alyssa."

  His smile drops as his playful demeanor shifts to exude a more serious manner. "Are you taking a piss right now?"

  I shake my head. "No, I'm blatantly serious."

  "Oh, bugger," he murmurs under his breath. Declan uses his forefinger to massage his temple. "And let me guess, you want to get back together with her and pretend that none of that crap ever happened, yeah?"

  I'm not appreciating the annoyance in his tone, but I can't entirely fault him for that. He was the sole person I leaned on when my life imploded. He knows just how hard I hit rock-bottom, and I was just now beginning to see the light at the end of the Tube. But alas, my freighter decided to take a detour to Alyville instead.

  "Ideally, yeah. I would."

  "Don't be daft," he chides. "You can't possibly forget the wrecked state you were in after she left you the last time. What makes you think she won't do it again? She can't be trusted. I'm sorry, but I cannot condone such stupidity."

  What he is saying is both logical and deserved, but that doesn't mean I like it. I was a pitiful bloke when she left me. Declan had to pick up all the pieces and glue me back together again. Needless to say, he is not a big fan of my ex-girlfriend. But fuck it, I am. Despite how she left, I understand why. I wasn't feeling like myself the last few weeks of our relationship, and she noticed. I was dealing with a massive heap of shite back home and let it affect me. I couldn't blame her for leaving, no matter how much it pained me because she was right. I barely recognized my own reflection even though it stared back at me. I didn't know that man, so how could she have known him well enough to stay?

  "I'm not asking for your bloody permission! Just your advice," I spit out, clenching my teeth to control my frustration.

  "Well, I would advise against it." Declan places his hands on my shoulders, his sage gaze meeting my blue one. "Look, mate. You never got over her. Even after five years, she still holds a piece of your heart. And that's fucking terrifying."

  "But life is giving me a second chance. Who am I to ignore it?" I clear my throat before I continue. "Besides, it doesn't have to start out serious. What if it starts out as just sex? Better than me wanking at night, isn't it?"

  "That's not who you are, Darren. You've never been the kind of man just to have sex. That's not how you're wired. Your mum raised you to be a gentleman. Mine didn't." He pauses for a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "You aren't capable of just having sex. You're not like me in that regard. You love too damn much for that to even be in the realm of possibilities for you. If you wanted to get your dick wet again, there are other women for that, mate. But that's not what you want. You are drawn to her. And you probably always will be. So, you can mask this conversation and say you are asking for my advice. But we both know that no matter what I say, you are going to go after her anyway. Therefore, all I can say is…best of luck to you."

  Chapter Eleven

  Aly

  Aly: I’m leaving the Joe, want me to pick anything up from the grocery store before I head home?

  Mom: That would be fantastic! Here’s a picture of this week’s list.

  I pause on the sidewalk to take a much-needed caffeinated sip as I wait for my phone to receive the picture. It takes a few more seconds, but eventually, my phone chimes with the alert.

  Holy shit! This is one helluva list. Usually, we can get away with the express under ten items lane, but not this week, I guess.

  Aly: Damn! Why so many items this week?

  Mom: Sorry, hun. I volunteered to bake cupcakes for the elementary school’s bake sale. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll stop by sometime tomorrow.

  Aly: Don’t be ridiculous. I’m right down the street. See you in a week ;)

  Mom: Don’t be so dramatic, that’s what Logan is for.

  I burst into laughter reading my mother’s latest text. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?

  Aly: I couldn’t agree more!!! He is a big drama queen, isn’t he?

  Mom: Drama queen? What are you talking about? He’s the actor of the family.

  And just like that, my mother loses all her cool Mom brownie points. In fact, she’s in the negative zone now.

  Aly: Never mind. See you soon.

  After I double-check that my last text went through, I press the power button and slide it into my back pocket. The door’s bell chimes as I swing open the door to Farm Fresh Groceries. After I grab a shopping cart, I let my eyes roam, scanning for any sign of the man I am avoiding. It’s been a couple of days since our encounter at the university, and I’ve managed to keep my distance. Living in a small town, I know I’m bound to run into him again eventually, but don’t rain on my parade, okay? I’ll take each day that I can.

  I stroll down each aisle, browsing the shelves for all the necessary items to bake delicious cupcakes. Fudge and buttercream icing, check. Flour, check. Eggs, check. Milk, check. Vanilla and almond extract, check. Sugar and salt, check and check. And finally, the cocoa powder, check.

  Now it’s time for my favorite aisle—the ice-cream aisle. My mouth almost waters as I see the wall of freezers that acts as a barricade between me and my precious treat.

  “Mmmmmm,” I hum with anticipation as I grab the pint of Rocky Road. I can’t wait to dig into this tub later. Yummy!

  I’m not gonna lie; I almost drool as I stare at the cartoon cow mascot. Hey, don’t judge me, Mrs. Moovy has helped me get through some rough patches in my life. So, who cares that a cartoon cow on an ice-cream container brings me joy? Not me, that’s for sure.

  I must’ve been staring at the carton a little too intently because the next thing I know, I lose my footing. My arms flail all over the place as I slide down the aisle. I probably look like the biggest lunatic in the world as I try to balance myself. It’s no use. I’m going down. There’s no stopping it now; I’m already too far gone.

  The only thing to decide now is…do I fall forward or backward? Since I don’t have much time to make a proper decision, I decide just to fall forward. At least that way I have a better chance of catching myself. If I fall backward, I’ll get a concussion for sure. I close my eyes as I brace for impact.

  Any second now. One, two, thr—

  “Oof, fuck!” A voice hollers as my head collides into something. It takes me a minute longer than it should before I realize that the sound didn’t come from me. Surprisingly,
I feel perfectly fine.

  Heat rushes to my cheeks as soon as I open my eyes. Why does this shit always happen to me? Why can’t I just be a normal person who isn’t prone to tripping? I’m not even wearing heels this time, just flats.

  I swallow down the lump in my throat as I stand up and muster up enough strength to ask the question I think I already know the answer to. “Did I just headbutt your-um…dick?”

  “Uh-huh,” Darren replies through gritted teeth. His face is grimaced tightly in pain as both his hands cup his unsuspecting balls.

  I know I should apologize. Truly, I do. But I can’t get myself to say the words: I’m sorry I headbutted your dick. Does that make me a bad person?

  Of all the fucking people in this town, why did it have to be Darren? Is this punishment for something? Because, if so, what did I possibly do to deserve this level of humiliation?

  Darren’s breathing grows shallow as it quickens. With the sounds he’s making, you’d think he was giving birth. It sounds like a frickin’ Lamaze class in here—not like I’ve been to one, but I watched Jane the Virgin. So naturally, that makes me a self-taught expert.

  He lies there for a few more minutes. And just when I was about to accuse him of milking this thing, he stands on his feet and brushes off his jeans.

  “Christ, Alyssa. Spilling my tea, headbutting my dick, I’m terrified to see what you to do to me next week.” I’m frozen in place against the cold freezer doors as his blue eyes pin me in place. His mouth is slack-jawed as he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. “You sure do have a funny way of avoiding me.”

  I don’t know what to say. Or do. Having him this close to me is dangerous. I can easily touch him with no effort on my part. And I’m not sure whether I like or hate that fact yet.

  I avert my gaze from him, knowing far too well what those eyes are capable of. “I’m sorry for the—well, you know.”

  He places his fingers on my chin and guides my line of sight back to him. “All is forgiven.”

  What the hell does that mean? By all, does he really mean all? As in, including our breakup. Is that forgiven? Does it even matter at this point? It’s not like I’m getting back together with him.

  Darren rubs his thumb against my cheek, and it feels so damn good. Not in a sexual way, but more of a soothing way. “Hey, stop that.”

  “Stop what?” I ask hesitantly, nervous that he will tease me with some lewd dick joke. I mean, I definitely warrant one for smacking into his…you know what. I shudder at the absurdity of it all. Actually, that word describes my life pretty well. Absurd.

  With his other hand, he gently bops the center of my forehead. “Overthinking everything.”

  This catches me off guard. Even after all these years, he can still read me like a book. How is that even possible?

  The thumb that was rubbing my cheek makes its greedy way to my bottom lip, brushing against it ever so softly. It doesn’t matter though; tingles already start coursing through my body. This is starting to get out of hand. If I don’t stop this now, I know my body will betray me. She’s not as strong as I am. Instinctively, I bite down on the soft skin between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Ow!” His hand retreats, and he takes a step back. “What the bloody hell was that for?”

  “Bye,” I bite out before I dash down the aisle—careful to avoid the water puddle and the caution wet sign I missed earlier—and out the door.

  I sure am getting my fair share of cardio workouts since I moved back here. I don’t stop to catch my breath until I’m about a mile down the road and away from Darren.

  Phew! That was a close one.

  Chapter Twelve

  Darren

  What the actual fuck? First, the spilt tea, then she tries to literally give me blue balls by attempting to bruise them…with her head. Christ, if this is how she avoids me, I’d hate to see what she does to me when she is actually looking for me. Oh, and let’s not forget that she bit me. With teeth marks and everything! I mean, if she wanted to bite me, I’d happily give her a few suggestions on the locale—you know, to make it more efficient.

  I just don’t get it. One minute she likes my touch—I can see it in her eyes—and the next, she panics. How the hell am I supposed to strike up a real and meaningful conversation with her if she keeps running away? It’s like in that Julia Roberts movie, Runaway Bride—not that I’ve seen it or anything. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve fucking seen it. There, are you happy now? You got me to admit that I’ve watched a Julia Roberts flick.

  With my thumb, I stroke my battle scar with pride, much like a Spartan would a spear gash on his brow. I can’t help but wish this war wound was located somewhere further south. Like my arse, perhaps. That wasn’t the first time she has bitten me, however. In an instant, I’m transported back to the good old days. When she was mine and I was hers. Inseparable. Just two young college kids who thought they knew the definition of forever.

  “What was that?” I ask, using the momentum of my body weight to lunge toward her and scoop her up from behind. She squeals from my surprise attack. God, a man could get used to a sound like that. It’s riveting.

  “Darren, put me down!” she commands as she starts to flail her arms rapidly. This only makes my grip on her tighten. Right now, I’m a boa constrictor, and she is my prey.

  “Not until you tell me what you just murmured under your breath.”

  Alyssa bows her head, her arms falling still at her sides for a moment, only to flail more fiercely when she realizes that I’m about to toss her in the pool.

  “Darren, don’t you dare. I mean it. Or I’ll…I’ll…I’ll…”

  “You’ll what?” I tease, bringing my feet to the edge of the deck. “Punish me?”

  I swing her back and forth. Once. Twice. Thrice.

  “Fine!” she caves on a fearful yell, the truth on the tip of her tongue. I hold her body still, making sure she is hovering over the body of cold water.

  “Any day now, Cherub,” I taunt. Alyssa screams as I toss her into the air and catch her in my arms.

  Despite the scare tactic I just used against her, she still manages to question me. She turns her neck to better position herself to look up into my eyes and arches her brow. “Cherub?”

  “I’m trying out a new pet name for you. What? Do you not like it?”

  She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth and begins to chew it, a classic sign that she is deep in her own thoughts. I’ve learned that it’s best not to interrupt her when she gets like this.

  She shrugs. “That depends.”

  Now, I’m the one who’s intrigued.

  “On what?”

  She clears her throat. It appears that we are both so caught up in this conversation that we both forget that I’m dangling her over the pool, fully-clothed.

  “On why you picked Cherub.”

  I shrug my broad shoulders, hoping it will give me a little more time to rack my brain for the answer I’m in desperate need of. The truth is, I’m not quite sure why I chose Cherub over all other pet names. It just kind of flew out of my mouth. Off my tongue with such ease, like cutting through warm butter with a knife.

  “I guess because you’re like my own little angel. So beautiful and so perfect. It just seemed fitting.”

  By the way her adorable green eyes look up at me, I can tell that she approves of my explanation. I may have finally done it. Completed the impossible. I came up with the perfect pet name for my perfect woman. After racking my brain for months on end, I finally have one. And I wasn’t even trying. I guess it’s true what they say, when it’s meant to be, it’ll be.

  Her green eyes beckon me, practically begging me for me to steal a kiss from her lips. Honestly, they don’t have to try too hard. I’ll never tire of kissing her. Her taste is like a fucking drug. And consider me a junkie. As soon as I lean forward, we both regret it. The shift in my weight causes us both to topple over into the pool.

  All I hear is the sound of my splash br
eaking the water before my head is submerged and everything is muffled. We both come up for air. I’m laughing hysterically, but Alyssa doesn’t look amused in the slightest. Still craving her lips on mine, I swim toward her, my soaked jeans weigh me down and make my movements less fluid, but I don’t care. I need her sweet taste on my tongue as much as I need my next breath. Her hand finds mine underwater, and our fingers interlock. Water trickles down my arm as she brings the back of my hand to her mouth and bites it.

  “Ouch! What the hell was that for?”

  “For throwing me in the pool, dumbass.”

  “Is this yours, Darren?” Wednesday asks. Her voice drags me back from that wonderful memory. It takes me a few seconds before I realize she’s pointing to the abandoned cart in the ice-cream aisle.

  “Oh, no, that’s—” I stop myself mid-sentence as an ingenious idea pelts my brain. “Yes. Would you mind starting to ring it up while I go grab one last item?”

  Wednesday eyes me suspiciously. I know she’s not one to do favors…for anybody, but I’m hoping I can convince her to make one itty-bitty exception to her fuck everybody rule.

  She obnoxiously rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

  I flash her an appreciative smile as she rolls the cart to her register on the other side of the store. Not wanting to waste any more time, I run to the card section and find exactly what I’m looking for.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aly

  Right after I shoot my mom a text saying that I didn’t get a chance to pick up the groceries after all, I find the text thread of my bestie in New York, Graham Cracker, and send him a message. No, that’s not his real name, but that is the one he assigned to himself in the contact section of my phone. Well, Graham is his real name, but his surname is definitely not Cracker; it’s Carter.

  I met Graham when I first moved to New York after graduation. He was a coworker that I immediately felt comfortable around and opened up to. He, along with my two brothers, helped me get through my post-Darren depression. The only downside to our friendship is that he goes out with more guys than I do. But I learned to live with it because he happens to be worse at picking men than me…and that’s saying something.