He looks down and gives me a sympathetic smile. “I need you to meet with someone today.”
The change of topic catches me off guard. “Who?”
“My boss.”
Surprise colors my features and I swallow the lump in my throat. “Your boss?”
He nods.
“Why?” I can’t help but wonder if we’ve been caught. If this is some sort of test that I have to pass. My whole life I have struggled to hide my emotions; my face paints a picture that gives me away time and time again. Like when I broke my mother’s vase and Tess, in a rare moment of sibling solidarity, told me to say the cat did it. My mother took one look at my flushed face and my twitching hands and sent me to my room without dinner; for lying she said, not for breaking the vase. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I was such a good addict. The heroin dulled my senses, preventing me from reacting to situations in a normal way.
I flush at the thought of talking to Asher’s superior, knowing if he asks me the right questions I’ll crack and then I’ll not only be ruining my life, but Asher’s too.
“It’s nothing. He just likes to meet with my clients as they near the end of their work here. He asks them a few questions about what’s been beneficial, areas for improvement, stuff like that. Kind of like a survey. He takes the information and uses it to make changes, if necessary.”
“So this is normal?”
Asher sighs, his hands moving to his pockets and I can tell they’re fisted because the action ruins the line of his pants. “Well, he doesn’t see every patient, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s just taken an interest in your case.”
I wonder why that is and decide to ask Asher. If anyone will know, it’s him. “What’s so special about me?”
“Well I’m sure my answer to that and his are completely different.”
I blush, his compliment hitting me in all the right places. “But seriously . . . why me? Do other counselors have the same deal with their patients?” I ask. I know I’m being pushy but I really want to understand the motive behind this meeting.
“He’s particularly interested in my patients.” He pauses. He’s nervous talking about this with me, his body language gives that away, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. “I’m being considered for a promotion. He’s trying to get a read on the way I work with my patients and why they do so well.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay with this?”
I shrug. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be interested. It’s just work stuff.”
“I’m guessing it makes things a whole lot more stressful for you.”
He runs his hand through his hair and turns to look out the window, and for a minute it feels like I’m alone in the room because wherever Asher has gone, it’s someplace I can’t follow. I track his line of sight but all I can see are the gardens. There isn’t even anyone there for him to focus on. So I redirect my focus onto his profile. His hair is all out of place and his jaw muscles are tight, but that doesn’t even come close to spoiling what is, in all honesty, a beautiful man. I know it’s not common practice to describe a man as “beautiful” but the word fits him so well, inside and out. And even though I know he’s damaged, the he’s been where I am now, I wonder what it is he sees in me. Outside of this place, he lives a normal life, in a nice neighborhood, he drives a brand new motorcycle, and holds down a meaningful job. Even if you don’t take into account the fact that he is hot as hell, he wouldn’t have any problem finding a “normal” girl to spend his evenings with. And yet, for whatever reason, he’s chosen me to be the first woman he’s taken to bed since his recovery. He said himself that sex and drugs are linked for him, so for him to carry on with me is a big deal. But try as I might, I can’t see why me.
I’m staring off into space, all these thoughts racing around my head when I hear him say, “I just try not to think about the promotion too much because if I do, it’ll drive me crazy.”
I go to him, sliding my arms around his waist, resting my head against his shoulder blades and feel him exhale a long breath. “You’re risking so much, Asher.”
“I know.” He slides his arm over top of mine, his fingers linking with mine, and he holds them against his stomach. “But I’ve told you already—you’re worth it.”
I nod against his back before he spins around and takes me into his arms. My body sinks against his and every worry I have slowly melts away. I lift my chin, looking up at his face and smile. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You’re right, you don’t.” My heart feels as though it’s breaking again until he leans down and kisses my forehead softly before whispering against it, “You deserve more.”
I smile a secret smile to myself. I won’t argue with him but I know I’m getting the better end of the deal. Being here, with Asher . . . it makes me want all kinds of things for my future. For the first time I have a real reason to get clean. I want to be a better person. For him and for me.
“So when do I have this meeting?”
“Lunchtime. He wants to meet us in his office. Discuss your treatment over sandwiches and salad.”
“Sounds pretentious.” We both laugh.
“Yeah, you’re right, it does.” He leans down and kisses me. It’s undeniably soft, but this time I can feel the passion behind it. In a stealth attack that a ninja would be proud of, his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip and when I open my mouth it darts inside, teasing me, causing an instant ache low in my stomach. I moan lightly into his mouth and he pulls me tighter against him, his hand sliding under my shirt and finding its way to my breast, his thumb brushing over the fabric of my bra but the way it feels I may as well have nothing on. I press my hips into his and feel the hardness there, ready for me.
“Shouldn’t we lock the door,” I say, my voice ragged, my breath coming in short pants. He ignores my question and slowly guides me to the couch. His hand slides down my stomach, flicks the button of my pants open and dips inside, his fingers finding their way to the place I need him most.
“Need you.”
“Asher, the door,” I remind him, lifting my hips off the couch to give him better access even as I protest.
“Don’t give a fuck about the door,” he said, dropping his head and kissing the sensitive skin at my neck over and over until I’m lost to all cohesive thought and could only think about what he’s doing to my body. What he’s doing to me.
Then there, on a ratty, floral pattern couch in his office, we make love like nothing else in the world matters.
And right now, it doesn’t.
BY THE TIME we finish it’s time for lunch. I dress myself slowly, my fingers shaking as I fuss with my pants, desperately trying to make it look like we haven’t been doing exactly what we have been doing. Nerves settle deep in the pit of my stomach. I still feel uneasy about this whole thing, but it doesn’t seem like I really have a choice in the matter. Besides, if I can do something to help Asher get a promotion then I should do it, right? I just have to think about what I say and I’ll be fine.
I use the mirror on the back of his office door to smooth out my hair, gathering it into a ponytail on the top of my head, pulling strands around my face, hoping it’ll disguise the telltale flush of my cheeks. I barely notice him behind me until his arms snake around my waist and lock me in close so he can kiss me gently on my neck.
“You are so beautiful.”
I’m still not used to being complimented. My cheeks redden even more and as I look at our reflection in the mirror I feel . . . happy. My cheeks, though flushed, have color; my eyes are bright; my smile is genuine. I look like a girl who is falling in love with a boy. I stop looking in the mirror before I say something stupid, choosing instead to focus my eyes on the wood floor.
“It’s true, Tegan.” He spins me around in his arms so that I’m facing him and when I avoid his gaze he uses his knuckle to lift my chin, holding me captive with his intense stare. “Beautiful.”
“I believe that you think it. But it’s hard for me to hear.”
“Would it help if I started complimenting you in Yoda speak? Beautiful you are,” he says in a gruff, odd voice. I laugh at his foolishness.
“Guess it works.” With a look of accomplishment on his face, he gives my hand one final squeeze before dropping it and heading toward the door. “Lets go get this over with, shall we?” He holds the door open and I duck under his arm and out into the corridor, waiting for him to lock the door behind him before we walk side by side, making sure to keep an appropriate amount of space between our bodies. I miss his touch, and my smile falls as I realize this is how it will be between us. As long as I remain in here, we will never be able to be out in the open. His hand will always leave mine in public. Everything between us will always be behind closed doors, or under the cloak of darkness.
My mind spins as we walk through areas I have never seen before. Asher has to punch in codes to some of the doors so I can only assume they’re areas that only those who work here can access. Asher forces a smile as we stop in front of an office. Surrounded by floor to ceiling glass walls, the office is tucked at the end of the hallway, the desk, the chairs, the lights, even the pens, everything in the office visible to anyone walking past. Everyone who is anyone can see anyone and everything that goes in inside that room. It’s all open. Honest. And knowing that everything about my relationship with Asher, and the time that I’ve spent with him during my recovery has been anything but honest—in professional terms—makes my gut churn.
As if I’m not nervous enough already.
I look around us and spy a nameplate on the wall that reads, Simon Wood, President. Asher knocks on the glass, his knuckles leaving a smudge that I half expect someone to come and clean off immediately, before he opens it and walks through. I’m about to whisper that it’s rude but remember that we’re expected so it’s probably okay. He strides into the room, shoulders back, spine straight, radiating confidence. I follow closely behind him.
“Ah, good afternoon, Asher. Tegan.” The voice that greets us is deep and somewhat menacing, but I can’t see whom it belongs to from my position behind Asher. I hear the clasping of hands before Asher steps to the side and he comes into my line of sight. I give him a quick once over. Standing in front of me is a man in his late twenties, possibly thirties. He’s slightly shorter than Asher and not as built, but definitely in good shape. He’s attractive and I can’t help but admire his smile. He’s definitely not what I expected but given that nothing about this is what I expected, I get over it quickly. He extends his hand toward me and I take it, praying that my palms aren’t sweaty. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says giving my hand a firm shake and releasing.
“I’d say the same thing, but I didn’t even know who you were until a few hours ago.”
He laughs at my brutal honesty. “Well let’s rectify that, shall we. I’m Simon Wood, president of this fine ol’ facility.” He looks left. “You were right, Asher. She is fiery.”
Curious, I look to Asher who is nodding his head, his eyes alight, a grin playing at the edges of his lips. They’ve obviously discussed me. This knowledge fills me with unease, feeding the creature coiled somewhere deep in my abdomen. Simon speaks again, snapping me from my train of thought. “Come, sit down and let’s discuss your progress over lunch.”
He steps to the side and sweeps his hand toward the back of the room, revealing a large table set for three. There is a simple spread of sandwiches and drinks, as well as a large bowl of salad. The chairs surrounding the table are high-backed and made of what looks like fake leather. The whole place looks like it’s straight out of someone’s dining room; made to make you feel comfortable and at ease. I move toward the seat closest to me, while Asher sits opposite. Simon follows me and pulls out the chair. I oblige, taking my seat quickly before he scoots me in and takes his spot at the head of the table.
“Help yourselves, please.” He gestures to the food and I quickly choose a couple of tuna finger sandwiches and dish out some salad as well. I keep my head down, unsure of what or who to look at. While Asher and Simon talk about things I have no understanding of, I take small bites of my lunch. I don’t want to end up spraying food everywhere if I’m called upon.
“We’ve had to extend our waitlist,” Simon says, very matter-of-factly. “I’m hoping we can get the board to sign off on an expansion sometime within the next month or so. By this time next year we should have double the patient capacity.”
“That’s great,” Asher says, taking a bite of his salad, casting a sideways glance in my direction.
As if suddenly remembering I’m there, Simon clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “How rude of me,” he says, leaning over his plate of food, covering his mouth with his fingers, watching me over the top of them. He eyes me for a beat and then smiles, dropping his hands to pick up his cutlery, spearing a tomato as he asks, “So, Tegan, tell me about your time here.”
I swallow before answering, speaking slowly and clearly, thinking carefully about each word that passes my lips. “Well, I’d be lying if I said it’s all been unicorns and rainbows.”
He laughs, his mouth full of food, and points at me with his fork. “I love your honesty. It’s refreshing.”
“I’ve never been one to mince words, Mr. Wood. The first few weeks here were a blur. I felt sick more than I didn’t, so that made it harder for me to really start my recovery.”
“Please, call me Simon, and you’re not alone in your thoughts. That’s what I hear from a lot of our patients. We ease the symptoms as much as we can with the medicine, but if we were to give any more then we wouldn’t really be running a detox. We’d just be replacing one drug with another.”
“I understand that now. But at the time I didn’t and I hated it. Then, as I slowly started to come to the realization that this was my new life, it made the work with Asher a little easier.”
“I’ll be honest,” Asher chimes in, “our first few sessions together were not the greatest.”
I almost shoot him a glare but luckily catch myself in time. “At that time, I wasn’t sold on being sober, and by that I mean I knew I had to be here, my family made that crystal clear, but that early in the process I was still doing it for them—not for me.”
Simon nods his head, reaching for his drink and watching me closely as he says, “That’s a normal reaction. What I’d really like to know is, what was the turning point for you? How’d you come to realize that you were ready for sober living?”
It was the question I’d been afraid he would ask and I kicked myself for not talking it through with Asher earlier. He could have helped me think of an appropriate response because, right now, I have none. Asher has always been my reason and then slowly he infected my soul, like a drug. Asher is my new drug of choice. I stall for time, mimicking Simon by picking up my glass of water and taking a swig before I go with a very innocuous, “I’m not sure I know the answer to that.”
Simon turns his head to the side, eyeing me with curiosity. “You haven’t had your moment?” He looks to Asher, who just shrugs. I let out a low exhale through my nose, confident that Simon remains unaware of the fact that I have had my moment many times, lying underneath his trusted drug counselor.
“I can’t pinpoint when or what changed for me,” I went on. “One day I just realized that I could do it.” My voice trails off toward the end of my statement and I’m not sure whether I’ve said enough to placate Simon. I pick at the skin around my fingernails, hoping he’ll move the conversation on.
“I think,” Asher clears his throat across the table, coming to my rescue, “what Tegan is trying to say is that she is just living day by day.”
“Ah,” Simon says, nodding his head enthusiastically. “The day by day approach.”
Asher nods and continues to eat, flicking his eyes in my direction and giving a small nod, letting me know I’m doing okay. Or at least, that’s what I think he’s doing.
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“So do you feel like you’ve addressed the real root of your addiction, Tegan?” Simon continues. I look in his direction, noting the clock on the wall behind him reads half past the hour. Surely this won’t last too much longer. Or is that just wishful thinking?
I nod once, determined to do right by Asher and ace this. “Yes, I do. In fact, this is the first time I’ve talked to anyone about all the demons that live in my closet.”
“It’s amazing what a little communication can do for you, isn’t it?”
I didn’t expect him to ask another question so soon, so my mouth is full of salad. I cover it with the back of my hand, nodding my head and grunting in agreement. I don’t really feel like talking about any of this, especially not with him. But what no one knows is there is still a small part of me, buried deep within, that doesn’t know if I’ve really dealt with it or not. Sure I’ve talked about it and it’s out in the open now, but I don’t really know if it still rules me. Will there come a day where all the secrets will come back and wreak havoc? Of that, I can’t be sure.
“Well, as your program here starts to wind down, we like to make sure that all the issues that contributed to your addiction have been dealt with adequately.”
“I think they have,” I add, mostly to reassure myself.
“Good. I don’t know if Asher here has mentioned it to you but family visitation is coming up soon. I hope that you will take that opportunity to further address any issues that may have surfaced during your sessions. That is, after all, one of the purposes of such an occasion.”
A lump forms in my throat and I look to Asher, my eyes so wide that I know the whites are visible but he studiously avoids my gaze, focusing instead on his meal.
“I didn’t know families were involved in the program.”
“Absolutely—especially if the counselor believes that there are unsolved issues that need to be resolved within the family dynamic. Asher discussed it with me and we both feel that it would be beneficial for you to have a visit with your family before you reintegrate into society. Do you agree, Tegan?”
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