Edge of Recovery (Love on the Edge)

by Molly Lee

  She laughed, her eyes zeroing in on my dick before trailing back up to me. “Maybe you’re doing it wrong?”

  My mouth popped into the shape of an O. Who the hell was this chick?

  I slipped my hands into my pockets and leaned against the wall. “You just check in?” I asked instead of telling her to fuck off. This girl was setting off every piece of hope I had left in my soul—right there next to desire—and I couldn’t take it. I wouldn’t. I wasn’t good for anyone, ever.

  “Something like that.” She tucked her midnight-blue hair behind her ears, exposing two scripted tattoos on the soft flesh of her wrists.

  I licked my lips. “Bulimia?”

  She arched a dark eyebrow at me. “What makes you think that?”

  I shrugged. “Your skin is flawless, so not meth. Your eyes are clear, and you’re not twitching, so not coke. You’ve got wicked curves, so not anorexia.”

  She laughed again, the sound vibrating in my core. Damn. Everything I said that she should take offense to, she found amusing.

  Taking a step closer to me, she tilted her head back, locking onto my gaze as if she could read me like an opened book. She trailed her fingers over my jaw, turning my head back and forth, before tracing the lines of my chest, and lower over my hips, right over my pockets. She stepped back, shaking her head. “Liquor.”

  “What? How?” My blood still hummed from her light and innocent touch, making the whole speech thing tough.

  She bit her bottom lip which was full and pink.

  “I’m psychic,” she said. “Not bulimic.”

  “Shit. Sorry.” I shifted on my feet, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you here for?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Her tone was light, teasing.

  “Only fair. You know mine.”

  “Ah, but I know everything. And it’s way more fun watching you guess.”

  I chuckled, the sensation so rare I almost forgot what it felt like. That realization sent up more red flags. If I wasn’t careful I’d end up liking this girl, and that would only lead to her destroyed and me having further evidence of what a monster I was.

  “I don’t like games,” I said, pushing off the wall and walking past her.

  “Who doesn’t like games?” She asked, immediately blocking my path, stopping my momentum.

  The question triggered a memory—one of Blake asking how I couldn’t have fun at a concert. There were so many instances, so many questions or tears or fights with Blake I didn’t realize were as bad as they were…not until that night. The night I showed up in one of my most drunken stupors, ready to force her to love me again, by forcing myself on her. Since then, it was like I’d woken up from a nightmare, only to realize every single scene had been penned by my own hand.

  I’m sure the doc would have his way with that piece of information, and have a diagnosis and how to work toward fixing it, but I wasn’t ever giving that one up. He could beat the hell out of me every day for the next two months. I’d never tell.

  “So you’re not used to being pushed. Good to know,” she said, her tiny frame still holding me hostage in the hallway. “And from the look of those bruises, any real way to get words out of you is to beat you.”

  I slitted my eyes at her, now she was hitting the mark too close for comfort. Not that I was comfortable. Part of me wanted to bolt. The other part wanted to do anything to keep this chick talking. Something about her, maybe her no bullshit attitude, or the fact that she wasn’t terrified of me like she should be, drew me to her.

  “Should I keep going?” she asked, not at all phased by my silence.

  “By all means,” I said, jaw clenched to keep from smiling at her.

  She stared at me again like she had moments before as if she were reaching into my soul and plucking out all the intimate details. I froze, her intense gaze shredding me of my defenses with the sincerity in her eyes.

  “You’re in pain.”

  I scoffed. “Wrong.”

  She stepped so close I could smell the strawberry gloss on her lips. It made my mouth water, and my heart pounded against my chest as she continued to appraise me.

  “And you use the liquor to push it down. Bury it. But it never really leaves you. In fact, you’ve become dependent on it. You need it to torture yourself, because if you lost it, let go of whatever is eating you, you wouldn’t know who you were anymore.”

  I swallowed hard, my arms falling from my chest to hang loosely at my sides. Had I been hit over the head? I glanced around, checking to see if there was a camera crew somewhere ready to jump out and scream that I’d gotten owned, or some shit like that. There was no way she could be that perceptive in the all of five minutes I’d known her.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” She stepped away from me, and I instantly missed her scent.

  Shut it down, man.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You don’t share. I don’t share.” I challenged her.

  She pursed those full lips, drawing my attention to them, and I couldn’t stop the thoughts that gave me a blissful reprieve from my normal rotation—I wanted to see if she tasted like strawberries, to see if she would be as insightful underneath me.

  Blake’s cries echoed through my mind, and I sucked in a sharp breath, clenching my eyes shut. Fuck, the sound was always there. Ready to remind me of what I’d done. What I tried every night since to undo.

  Warm, silky fingers tugged my hands down from where I’d raked them over my hair.

  “E,” she said when I’d finally looked at her.

  “What?” I pulled my hands out of her grasp, not at all noticing the heat that pulsed in my blood from her touch. Was she flirting with me? Touching me like we were familiar with each other as opposed to the strangers we were?

  “Ecstasy?” She said it like a question. Like she was asking if I had any on me. I instinctively touched the pocket in which my baggie was tucked. There were two hits of E left, but I didn’t offer them to her. I didn’t push for the sale I knew Devlin would want me to. The thought of this girl abusing the little white pills that ate holes through the brain had my stomach plummeting. Shit, how could I care about someone I’d just met?

  “That’s my piece of darkness,” she continued when I hadn’t said anything.

  I nodded, realization clicking through my brain. “How long?”

  She turned her green eyes upward like she was mentally counting. “Started when I was sixteen.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, I’m that girl.”

  I smiled despite trying not to. “The kind who went to raves? Danced to trance music?”

  She chuckled. “Glow sticks and all, bitch.” She threw her hands up, twisting them in a swirling motion and swaying her hips at the same time. The move should’ve looked ridiculous in the bright fluorescent light of the hallway, but it didn’t—it was sexy as hell—as was her laughing at herself as she shook her head.

  “How long are you here for?” I asked, suddenly aware I wanted it to be for months, long enough for me to stay as close to her as possible.

  Something crossed over her eyes, something playful. “As long as it takes.”

  “You sound committed.”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” A piece of her hair fell in front of her face, and I had to resist the urge to tuck it back behind her ear.

  What the fuck was wrong with me? What was it about her that had me flicking off every asshole switch I’d had firmly in place since that night with Blake? Since before her, if I was being honest, but fuck, I hadn’t realized until it was too late. I would never do that again. It didn’t mean I knew how to fix myself, fuck no, but I wouldn’t ever let another person get burned from the fire I always started wherever I went.

  So why wasn’t I pushing her away? Why wasn’t I doing every dick thing I could to keep her safe?

  The silence was full and heavy and suddenly the weight of emotions—wanting her, wanting to know her, caring about her addiction and wanting her to overcome it—became too mu
ch. I’d known her for a blink of time. This was ridiculous. I opened my mouth to offer up an excuse to leave, but she stopped me by craning her neck around my shoulder, peering down the hallway behind me.

  “Justin?” She asked.

  “Yeah?” I swear the girl had me hanging by the tip of her tongue. I would do whatever she asked. I knew that, without knowing what she wanted.

  “Two things you need to know,” she said. “One, full disclosure? I hate liars more than I hate anything else in this world. I’d rather you be straight with me and tell me you killed kittens for funsies than lie about it and I find out later, understand?” She tilted her head, and I shook mine.

  “Okay?” I said, but it sounded like a question.

  She smiled. “Good. No lies. Ever. Or this can never work.”

  I stood there gaping at her, having no clue what to say.

  “And two,” she said and tapped the pocket of my jeans—the same pocket I had a baggie of pills nestled in. “They’re doing a surprise room check today. You might want to run.”

  My eyes widened as her words sunk in. Fuck. Devlin’s most recent delivery was hidden in several different places in my room, and not all of them were brilliant spots. If I was caught, it’d be straight back to prison, and right back into Devlin’s control.

  Fuck that. “How---“

  “Don’t ask,” she cut me off. “Just hurry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

  “Thank you,” I said and took off in the opposite direction.

  “I’ll see you soon!” She hollered from the end of the hallway, just as I’d made it to my door. Orderlies were just rounding the corner, hitting the room three doors down from mine.

  I bolted past Conner who casually leaned outside his room next to mine, and I quickly rearranged some things, cursing myself for being so lazy with the pills Devlin wanted me to push in the first place. After a quick scan of the room, I decided the least obvious hiding place was inside the wrought-iron bed frame holding up my mattress. The poles connected to the decorative ornaments at the head were hollow inside. It wasn’t exactly easy to get the tops off, but it would do.

  I hadn’t realized sporadic room searches would be a thing—not like it had been at the prison where Devlin paid off the guards, so they skipped our room or simply pretended to hunt. Now that it was so close, and the possibility of going back to prison only one clever orderly away, I felt like an idiot for ever agreeing to this.

  Sure, I needed the cash but the stakes were so high. Not to mention Devlin was a pain in the ass with his threats. Problem was, I knew he could make good on them even behind bars, and if I went back there? Fuck, it’d be hell.

  After the orderlies had deemed my room clean, I stepped back into the hallways where Conner hung out with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his eyes locked onto Charlie who still stood where I’d left her. He cracked a smirk, nodding at me.

  “See you’ve finally met your sponsor,” he said, bringing his gaze to me.

  My head snapped back to her, and it was like a sledgehammer hit me in my chest. “What?”

  “Charlie? She’s awesome. I’ve seen her work magic on people in way worse shape than you.”

  I closed my mouth, which had come unhinged with the feeling of loss that trembled through my core. She was never a possibility anyway.

  But damn I’d wanted her to be.

  As my sponsor, she was absolutely off limits. Not only would she be attempting to tear information from me at every turn, she was the one I was supposed to go to for help when I felt myself slipping. Romantic relationships were completely against the rules because it complicated the process of recovery.

  It’s a good thing you weren’t looking to be with anyone anyway.

  I repeated this to myself three times, but it still didn’t do a damn thing about the vacuum like feeling sucking the glimmer of light that had sparked in my chest when she’d spoken.

  “Wait,” I said, something donning on me. “She said her darkness was E.”

  Conner shrugged. “Yeah, so? Not all of us have one vice, bro. If I remember right, her drink was Gin.”

  I shook my head. “Damn.”

  “Oh, no, man. You didn’t realize who she was?”

  “Nope.”

  “Sorry, bro.”

  “For what?”

  “Crushing your dreams. I get it. She’s wicked hot. You just don’t want to tangle the beast that is sponsor and the beast that is girlfriend.

  I scoffed. “Come on. Do I look like boyfriend material?” I joked to hide my panic on the inside. I had been once before I’d become what I was. Before I grew to resent Blake and all the possibilities in life she had that I didn’t, knowing full well I’d never be good enough for her. So I stopped trying. I know it wasn’t her fault, but I also knew I hated myself more when she’d been in my life.

  Conner pulled his pack of smokes out and nodded toward the door that would lead to our designated smoking spot. “Yeah?”

  I shook my head, still reeling from nearly getting caught holding.

  “Look at you changing.” He smirked and headed outside while I turned back into my room sinking onto my bed, the springs creaking under my weight. That was too close. If Charlie hadn’t---

  The thought stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Charlie warned me about the search like she knew I was holding. Had she felt the pills in my pocket?

  I tore my fingers through my hair. My sponsor—a former drug addict and alcoholic, the one person I was supposed to turn myself over to completely and let her guide me to sobriety—knew I was pushing drugs in rehab. Oh, Conner was right, everything was changing.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  4

  Fearless moral inventory of myself

  “This all you got?” The guy—God, what was his name again? I tried to remember but came up blank. Huh, so much for sobriety making you sharper. The only thing I could remember about him was that he made money playing guitar for some emo band I would never listen to even if someone paid me…then again, Blake would probably love them.

  I shook off the familiar jolt of pain every time I thought about her outside the context of what I’d done to her. When I only thought about her as the person she was, the friends we used to be—instead of the possession I’d treated her like toward the end—it was like looking at two different people, the man I’d wanted to be, and the one I had been. And now? Well, now I hoped I was reinventing myself, but the jury was literally still out on that one.

  “For now,” I finally answered him.

  He sank back into his oversized leather armchair, his hands smacking the armrests like a toddler at the beginning of a tantrum. “I’ve got plenty of cash.”

  “That’s nice for you.” I pocketed the wad of twenties he’d given for a few pills of valium. The dude was lush in the finance department, his band doing everything—including throwing money at him—to keep his situation quiet. That’s why they’d chosen a rehab center in the middle of Oklahoma City as opposed to a fancier one in L.A., or so he’d told me fourteen times already. Guess druggie guitarists for a new band climbing the charts was out this year.

  “Fuck, man. What will it take? You gave me three. I said I wanted twelve.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Exactly. And how do you think it would look if the orderlies found you in here, sprawled out on your bed, dead from oding on the drugs that you’re here to get over?”

  He huffed, rolling a guitar pick back and forth between his fingers. “Thanks for the faith.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not in the business of killing off my customers. Three will be plenty until Thursday. Unless, of course, overdosing is your goal.”

  “Of course, it isn’t. Shit, I just don’t want to see you that much.”

  I laughed. “You and me both, man.” I loved that we could be honest about our true dislike of each other but still do good business. “Same time in three days?”

  He jerked his head in what I took to be a n
od, and I walked toward the door, my hand pausing on the knob. “I don’t have to come back, you know?”

  He cut his black eyes to me.

  “Not being a dick,” I said quickly. “I meant if the program is working for you, or you plan to make it work for you, just say the word and I’ll disappear.”

  “You would?” He put the pick between his teeth.

  “Yes.” I wouldn’t have said that during week one. I would’ve kept pushing the hard sell until I’d convinced him he needed me to deliver pills every week. Now, five weeks in, sober for thirty-four days, I could honestly say I didn’t wish addiction on anyone. Not that I was free from it. Hell no, I craved vodka like I craved water. The need was constantly there, tapping on my shoulder, whispering how good we used to have it.

  “I’ll see you on Thursday,” he said, dismissing me.

  I nodded and shut the door quietly behind me.

  “Making friends, I see.” Charlie’s voice boomed in the quiet hallway, and I jumped.

  “Fuck, make a noise. You’re like a cat.” Yes, that was accurate—a very sexy cat in today’s choice of leggings which looked like the galaxy, the sections of deep blues matching her hair.

  “Meow,” she said, curling her fingers into claws. She flashed that smile of hers, the one I only ever saw her give me, and I again wondered if she felt the connection I did…or if I was delusional and just wishing for something more when there was nothing but professional concern.

  I chuckled and shook my head—laughing more at myself than her adorable cat impersonation. I walked down the hallway, and she fell into step beside me.

  Charlie had shown up at random times, every day since I found out she was my sponsor. She’d tried several times, unsuccessfully, to get me to open up about the past that led me here, but she was much more laid back than I’d ever expected. Especially after the knowledge of my drug sales. She never asked about it again, so I assumed we were operating under a need-to-know relationship.

  “I have plans for today,” she said, the long black shirt she wore fanning behind her as we moved down the hallway.