Relapse

by J. P. Nicholas

  Alyssa: Kill me now. Is it possible to die from utter mortification?

  Graham: Sweetie, if you haven’t yet, there’s no way your clumsy ass is going to now. What happened this time? Did you rip your pantyhose tripping into your job interview? Accidentally display your nipple? Flash your kitty? I need the deets.

  Alyssa: I RAN INTO MY EX!!!

  Graham: Omg! I’ll get Richard’s gun.

  I can’t help but laugh when I read Graham’s response. This past year, Graham has found himself a keeper. I only met his boyfriend, Richard, once, but I can already tell that those two have something special. Besides, Richard is a retired Marine turned fireman. Just the type of structure and discipline to keep someone like Graham from falling out of line.

  Alyssa: No need. I’m already dead.

  Graham: So…what happened when you saw him again?

  Alyssa: That depends. Are you referring to the first time when I spilled tea on his spiffy dress shirt? Or the second time when I headbutted his dick?

  Graham: You did what to his dick?! Oh, honey, do I need to teach you blowjob techniques? Never are you supposed to headbutt anyone’s anything.

  Alyssa: I wasn’t giving him a blowjob.

  Graham: 69? Reverse cowgirl? Backward missionary? Slutty school nurse? Jackhammer?

  Alyssa: What? NO!!! We were at the grocery store.

  Graham: Girl, it doesn’t matter where you did it. Was it good?

  Alyssa: We didn’t have sex of any kind, shape, or form. I slipped in the grocery store and fell head-first into his dick.

  Graham: HAHAHAHA! You’re shitting me, right?

  Alyssa: Afraid not.

  Graham: Damn. You’re screwed. I can’t help make this one better, Sweetie. I guess, just kiss it and make it feel better.

  Alyssa: Helpful as always, I see. Thanks anyway. Give my best to Richard.

  Graham: You know I will. Talk to you soon.

  Clicking the screen closed, I lay back on the sofa, toss my phone onto the coffee table, and groan at the ridiculousness that my life has become since I left New York. I tuck my hands behind my head and shut my eyes, hoping that I can somehow turn off my thoughts to find a moment of peace.

  The door creaks open as the sound of keys falling into a bowl cuts through the air. “Hey, honey. I thought you said you couldn’t pick up the groceries. And why did you leave them outside on the porch?”

  “What? I didn’t—” I pause when I sit up and open my eyes, spotting the grocery bag in my mother’s hands.

  Quickly, I pounce off the sofa and follow my mom into the kitchen. She huffs as she places the oversized bag onto the island. My mind is still trying to wrap itself around an explanation for this as I help her empty the bag’s contents.

  Sure as hell, these are the exact items I placed in my shopping cart. The one I left behind after…um, the incident. What the hell is going on here? Did Darren buy my groceries? And if so, why on Earth would he do that? This entire thing makes absolutely no sense at all.

  “What’s this?” My mom’s voice raises in inflection as the question rolls off her tongue. I glance up from examining the logo on the bag of flour I was holding and notice that my mother is holding up a card. She opens it and reads its contents, then she shrugs and hands it to me. “Maybe you can make sense of this.”

  I can’t help but smile when I see the plethora of little baby angels on the front of the card—cherubs to be exact. My stomach flips as anticipation surges inside of me. Unable to wait another second, I flip open the card.

  Cherub,

  And you said you didn’t bite.

  -UJ

  I try my best to hide the chuckle that rumbles in the back of my throat as the memory of our first date overcomes me. Despite his smooth exterior, I could tell he was nervous. Although, he hid it quite well. But his eyes have always been very telling. As soon as I looked into those gorgeous blue globes, I knew he was a ball of nerves on the inside. To calm him, I grabbed his hand and whispered into his ear: Relax, I don’t bite.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Hannah convinces me to attend my first town meeting since I arrived back home. Needless to say, I’ve never been a fan of town meetings, no matter how entertaining they can be. That’s mainly because Ms. Abney is the hostess supreme, standing behind her pineapple-engraved golden podium with a sense of pride and an oversized gavel.

  This time is no different. There she is, looking as manipulative as I remember as she rattles off tonight’s agenda. I instantly tune her out, amusing myself as I turn her words into a bad lip-reading in my mind. Hannah mumbles something about Jack fussing, but I’m too much in my own little world to catch what she says as she stands up and leaves.

  I narrow my eyes onto Abney’s lips, expertly replacing her sentences with much more comical versions. Sure, I’m a little rusty. But it’s just like riding a bike; you never truly forget how to do it. Soon enough, I’m back into the full swing of things. Just like I never stopped.

  Oh, jabberwocky. This flubber is gnawing on my foot.

  “I married a roast beef because he gave me free lemonade.” Goosebumps protrude from my skin as his hot breath tickles my ear. I gnaw on my bottom lip nervously, now fully aware that Darren has taken Hannah’s vacant seat next to me. I don’t turn to face him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his sentence was pure bad lip-reading gold. He continues to whisper ins my ear. “Why is it nobody wants my waffles?”

  “Cuz they’re dirty and gross. Horseradish cucumber inferno,” I whisper back through my giggle.

  “Poppycock. I’m not amused,” Darren quips back, making his voice high-pitched as he imitates a posh RP accent. “Now, Worthington, draw me a bath. I do fancy my bubbles.”

  Harshly, I clap my hand over my mouth, trying desperately to muffle the sound of my laughter. That accent always cracks me up, and he knows it. Still trying to catch my breath, I smack his shoulder, silently pleading for him to stop because my gut is screaming at me that it can’t take anymore.

  Pretty soon, we fall into a rhythm, whispering wacky sentences back and forth to each other. In this moment, it is easy to forget about our past. To fall into something that feels so natural. So unrehearsed. So us.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I am having the time of my life sitting here with him, mocking Abney and all her crazy antics. A lot more fun than I have had in years. He always did make me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever known. That’s when the realization dawns on me…I’ve missed him.

  SMACK! The gavel crashes against the podium, signaling the end of the town meeting. Without pause, Darren clasps my hand in his and tugs me in the opposite direction of the snack stand.

  “But I wanted a—”

  “No time for that, Cherub.”

  The sound of his pet name for me hits me hard. It’s been so damn long since I’ve heard it. My heart leaps in my chest at the sound of it falling from his lips, the traitorous bastard.

  My stomach gurgles in protest as I turn around and watch the donuts grow farther in the distance. We make it a few more feet down the street and turn the corner before I gather enough resolve to halt in my tracks. Catching him off-guard, Darren stumbles forward, quickly catching himself and regaining his balance. Why can’t I learn how to do that? All I seem to do is fall…HARD!

  “What the hell is going on?” I croak out, trying to subdue the frustration I feel building inside me.

  Darren turns around and steps forward, closing the distance between us in one massive stride. He reaches to rest his hand on my cheek, but I quickly turn away. He hasn’t earned that luxury back yet. Sensing my tension, Darren pats my shoulder.

  “I want to talk. We can’t keep going on like this, Alyssa.” His eyes gleam with the reflection of the streetlight as they stare into mine.

  “You want to talk, then talk,” I snap, stretching out my arms as I long for him to get to the point of this impromptu conversation.

  He looks around, his eyes roaming down
the street as if he’s searching for an undercover spy. “Not here. Somewhere more private.”

  Spitefully, I sit down in place on the pavement and cross my arms. “Here is as good a place as any.”

  “You clearly have forgotten that Abney has spies everywhere,” he scoffs, clears his throat, and then continues. “Well, everywhere except…”

  “The Joe,” I finish for him. It is a well-known secret that Mr. Jones’ coffee shop is the only place in this town that Abney avoids like the plague, partly because they hate each other, and also because Mr. Jones banned her from stepping inside his establishment. I don’t quite know what led to her banishment—it was before my time, but I’m sure whatever it was, she deserved it.

  I check my watch and roll my eyes at the time. “It’s past nine, Darren. It’s closed.”

  He smirks as if he knows a juicy secret that I don’t.

  “What?” I question, not masking the annoyance in my tone.

  “Let’s just say, he no longer owes me one. Now, c’mon, hurry up before Abney finds us.”

  He stretches out his hand to help me up, and I take it. As soon as I’m standing back on my feet, Darren whisks me away through the front door of Jones’ Joe—the unlocked front door.

  The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon donuts assaults my nose as I take in the space. It’s like I’ve stepped into a time machine and traveled back to the early two-thousands. This place hasn’t changed one bit. Twelve metallic silver stools still flank the side of the dark-brown counter. Tables of all different shapes, sizes, and colors are spread across the tile floor, the kind that’s styled to look just like natural wood panels. Just being here gives me a glorious feeling of nostalgia.

  Like the true gentleman he’s always been, Darren holds out a chair for me, waiting for me to take my seat before he slides me closer to the table, swings around the side, and joins me across the way. Already on the table are two mugs, one filled with coffee for me, and another with tea for him. Adjacent to both mugs in the middle of the table is a plate with two donuts resting peacefully side-by-side. A white-powdered one, his favorite, and a cinnamon one, my favorite.

  This nice gesture shouldn’t make me cry, but dammit, it does. I’m frantically swiping tears off my cheeks in the hopes that he won’t notice how emotional these frickin’ donuts are making me. It’s not the donuts, necessarily, but the whole package together. Him sitting in front of me, our two favorite donuts resting next to each other on a single plate. I know that I’m thinking way too much into this, but I can’t help that my mind is signifying that the donuts represent the relationship we used to have. The bond we used to share.

  Darren grabs my wrists, lowering my hands to rest on the table. Then, with the stroke of his thumb, he wipes away the last few teardrops.

  “Cherub, why are you crying?” The heavy, concerning hitch in his voice cuts me deep.

  “I-can’t-do-this. It’s too much.” I suck in a deep breath, allowing it to refuel both my mind and my body. I have a feeling that I’m going to need all my strength to get out of whatever the hell this is. It’s too much like old times. A fine line that is not meant to be crossed.

  I start to stand up, preparing myself for another speedy getaway.

  “Please, Alyssa? We need to talk. I’m not asking for much, just cordiality. Can you at least give me that?” His last sentence rushes out, sounding like a desperate plea. It’s almost as if he’s begging me to stay. Which, I guess in a way, he kinda is. I hate to admit this, but the neediness in his voice is a huge fucking turn-on.

  I sit back down, obliging to his request. Cordiality isn’t a high price to ask. Not considering that we used to be so much more than that. If that is what this talk is supposed to accomplish, I’m all for it. Avoiding him has proven to be both non-successful and devastatingly exhausting.

  I watch intently as his brow furrows, signaling that he is deep in thought. I presume he is trying to tread lightly, deciding where exactly this heavy-weighted conversation should start.

  Darren brings the ceramic mug to his lips and takes a swig. Then, he clears his throat and speaks into his tea, his voice echoing in his mug.

  “How are you?”

  His words bring me pause. It’s such a simple question, but one I didn’t expect him to ask right away. I figured he’d start with the information probing questions, like what have you been up to since graduation or how was life in New York? But he didn’t. And I think that’s what is throwing me off here.

  “I’m fine,” I drone, knowing that my answer is vague as hell and not very satisfying.

  Darren’s face falls at my response before he shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh? Then what did you mean?”

  A smirk forms in the corner of his mouth for a brief second, almost as if a precious memory was brought to the forefront of his mind. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving a stoic expression in its wake.

  “Emotionally. How are you feeling right now? One word to describe how you feel in this moment. Here, alone, with me,” he clarifies. After placing his mug back down on the table, he clasps my hand in both of his and cocks his head. His blue irises study me as if my eyes are about to reveal all my deep, dark secrets.

  I scrape my teeth along my bottom lip, searching my brain for an answer to a question I haven’t even considered myself. How do I feel about being here with him? A rush of emotions floods my brain. Happy. Sad. Confused. Nostalgic. But above all else, scared. Just the thought of having this conversation with him terrifies me. And that, in itself, frightens me.

  The truth of the matter is that I don’t know this man in front of me. I knew an earlier version of him—a beta version, a boyish version. I knew Darren the college boy, not Darren the grown-ass man. Despite that, however, he doesn’t feel like a stranger, nor a friend. But somewhere in-between.

  His grasp tightens around my hand in reassurance. “Take your time. Emotions can be tricky buggers, hard to decipher.”

  I gulp down the lump that forms in my throat before giving him my one-word answer. “Afraid.”

  Darren dips his head, removing one of his hands to rake it through his hair as he heaves a sigh. I can’t tell for sure because he is hiding his face from me, but I think his eyes are closed. Eventually, his remaining hand retreats to his side, causing mine to tingle from immediate the loss of contact. I’m not a gambling woman, but I’d bet anything that my answer disappointed him.

  We remain quiet. The deafening silence making me feel as uncomfortable as I do in a doctor’s waiting room. I can’t just say nothing, right? I have to say something. Making up my mind, I decide just to apologize, even though I’m not quite sure what I’m apologizing for.

  “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t!” he snaps, the sudden change in his volume making me jump. “Never apologize for being honest.”

  He’s talking to his lap, but his words are directed toward me. I can see the tension drain from his shoulders with each deep exhale as he recomposes himself. When he glances at me again, I die a little inside. His eyes are all-telling. In them, I see pain, sorrow, and regret—the trifecta of a person who’s hurting. Even if he doesn’t show it on the outside, it still lingers under the surface.

  “Help me understand something,” he takes a beat, waiting for my full attention. I nod, confirming that he has it.

  “What about me terrifies you?” His voice is hoarse as the words scratch in the back of his throat. He grimaces, almost as if the words are too painful to get out. The expression on his face makes me wish I chose any other emotion than the one I did. Why couldn’t I go with confused?

  Not sure how I should answer, I decide to flip the script on him. I straighten my back, hoping that my posture will falsely portray the confidence that I don’t feel.

  “Not so fast. I believe it’s my turn to ask you a question,” I cajole, attempting to lighten the mood that turned heavy and ominous too fast. When his lip twitches a tiny bit
upward, I take it as a successful attempt. Sure, it’s not a smirk or a smile, but it’s something. And I choose to believe that it was lined with a hint of amusement.

  Leaning back in his chair, Darren puts his arms behind his head and interlocks his fingers. I try not to stare at the muscles in his arms as they flex under the added pressure of supporting his head. Damn, those are some really nice arms. I bet they would feel fantastic wrapped tightly around my stomach as he plows into me from behind. Fuck, don’t wander down Sex Street, Aly. That’s not going to happen. And fantasizing about him will only make this whole situation worse.

  A pink hue forms on my cheeks when I snap myself out of my daydream and notice the beaming smile on Darren’s face. Busted! When my eyes lock on his, a deep chuckle fumbles from his lips. My nipples perk up at the delicious sound. A sound they definitely want to hear more of. My legs tremble—they fucking tremble—when his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip.

  “Okay, now you’re teasing me on purpose,” I jest, instantly clapping my hand over my mouth when I realize I said that aloud.

  Now, he’s fucking laughing. I’m talking about full-on red-faced, can’t breathe, clutching his side, belly laughing. His entire body is shaking with mirth, causing a drop of coffee to splash out of my mug and onto the table.

  “It’s not that funny,” I declare, not daring to hide the annoying cadence in my voice.

  “I beg to differ,” he scoffs. “That was fucking hilarious. Now, what’s your question for me, Cherub?”

  I’m still annoyed, but I’m also grateful that he steered this conversation back on track. The question rolls off my tongue with ease before I even had a chance to think about its ramifications. It’s as if my subconscious took over my body and asked the one question that I didn’t know I needed the answer to. “What do you want to come from this?”