Recovery (The Addictive Trilogy Book 3)

by Ashley Love

  “No, it’s not Lex,” I lie. “I mean, it is, but…I don’t know. It’s a lot of stuff.”

  “What did he do this time?”

  Aimee’s fork clatters to her plate and she sighs, exhausted. “Mom, do we have to do this?” she says lowly between her teeth, almost sympathetically.

  “Leala?” my mother asks expectantly, ignoring her. I feel her eyes trained on me with marksmen’s accuracy. My cheeks begin to flush and I’m thirteen again, her brow beating all too familiar, her high and mighty aura filling the room enough to suffocate me in a few excruciating seconds should she let me feel her wrath. No, she’d rather watch me suffer, dangle me like her wounded prey, my mother the hunter.

  “He’s just…not around as much…”

  She laughs, but not out of humor. “And this is a bad thing?”

  “Camille…” Dad says sternly.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s fine,” I answer his concern quickly, shaking my head to myself. I’m not surprised in the least that she’s acting this way.

  “You need to focus on other things. Are you looking for another job? Are you going to go back to school?”

  “I’ve thought about it, yeah,” I snap, finally looking at her, cutting her off mid-tirade to which I can see she isn’t pleased.

  “Well you need to do something. Or what, are you going to sit around and wait for him now? Maybe you can look at state schools…smaller ones, you know, to keep you out of trouble.”

  Aimee gasps quietly. “Mom…”

  “I’m sorry honey, you just have to be realistic,” she says, her apologetic word the only utterance of actual sympathy. Her tone is anything but. Part of me hates her, hates her in that childish way where I just want to lock her in the house for about ten years. There’s a normal transition in a parent-child relationship that I must have missed. Somewhere along the way we’re all supposed to grow up and realize that our parents aren’t as embarrassing and overbearing as they seemed when we were twelve. We’re supposed to realize that they’re kind of cool.

  My mother is not cool.

  I would argue with her if I could, but I know all she remembers are those nights that I lied, hell those years that I lied, telling her I was doing fine in school up until the day I dropped out. I realize it’s going to take more than just talking the talk to win her trust back.

  “I’ll look into it,” I offer quietly, defeated, looking back down at my plate.

  The rest of the meal is relatively quiet. My father chews silently, his lips pursed, his brows a knitted bow over his eyes, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It won’t be until Aimee and I are gone that he’ll quietly say something to my mother in passing about what she said to me, and he won’t bring it up again once she shoots him down into his place. Aimee and my mother make small wedding talk and I nod occasionally where I’m needed about colors and place settings but I don’t speak another word. I only eat a few more bites of my food.

  My father and I are in the kitchen shortly after, rinsing plates and arranging them in the dishwasher, a silent team effort until he speaks up finally.

  “You hanging in there, kiddo?”

  Somehow I will always be fifteen to him.

  “Yeah…great to be home…as always.”

  He doesn’t miss the sarcasm in my voice. “She has your best interest at heart. You know your mom, she’s always wanted the best for you.”

  “She wants me to do the right thing, and do it her way,” I correct him, harsher than intended, and he’s looking at me sympathetically when I meet his eyes. I sigh, the tautness sliding from my features before I continue, softly, “I don’t know if she really gets it, you know, that doing it her way…” I trail, looking away. I almost let the words slip out before I realize I’ve never told my father that I feel this way. I feel my cheeks heat slightly.

  “What? You can say it.”

  I stare at my hands in the sink, some of my fingers coated slightly with soapy residue. They’re slick as I slide them together slowly, absently, staring at them. “Having to do it her way my whole life is what made me want to get away as soon as I could…no matter what the consequences.”

  When my eyes finally meet his timidly I’m surprised by the look there. He speaks in a tone that I’ve rarely heard from him.

  “Don’t you blame this on her. Don’t you do that, to her, or to me.” His voice shakes but he’s trying to be stern, and I know somehow what I said to him has slightly broken his spirit, to think that all of my mistakes were a result of something that he felt powerless to stop, the wrath of my mother. “You did this to yourself. Whatever the reasons were, it was your choice. You did what you wanted, and you paid for it.”

  I answer bitterly before I can stop myself, “I know that. Trust me.” And I do know, but as an afterthought I wonder if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping, and I pull my hands from the sink, wiping them on a dish towel as he comes to stand closer to me. “You sure everything’s okay…with you and Lex?” he asks, stuttering to get the name out and I tense slightly, turning to him. “Is he any better?”

  I don’t know what it is about my dad that makes him have a soft spot for Lex. Common sense would say that as a father he would want me as far away from him as humanly possible, but I wonder if he can see what no one else seems to…that I really love him.

  “He’s…in rehab,” I answer, wringing my hands and I look down at them nervously and then look up at him again. “He’s trying.”

  “Well, good for him.” He smiles politely, neither faking it or being too encouraging, just genuinely backing up his answer. I’m sure he thinks that it truly is good for him. “Honey, you don’t think that…I know you care for him a lot, but…” he trails, shaking his head, slightly frustrated for the words.

  “What?”

  “Do you think he’s worth all of this? Really? Is he the one?”

  “You mean am I going to marry him?”

  “I just mean…is he someone you can’t live without? Is it really worth all of this trouble for the both of you? Do you feel that strongly that in the end it will be what you want…or is it maybe time to let this go?” His voice softens as he reaches the end of his question and tears spring into my eyes at the thought. He sees them immediately and reaches out to put his hands on my shoulders. “I know it’s hard. I’m sure it’s been so long that you can’t imagine yourself with someone else. But you deserve so much more than this, you have to know that in your heart.”

  Sure, I’ve thought of all of this, but it’s harder to hear coming from someone who I know genuinely has my best interest at heart. My mother is another case, she wants me to do the right thing among all else, but I know my dad, and I know he just wants me to live a life that makes me truly happy. To know that he’s concerned about my relationship with Lex makes me emotional. To hear him question it makes me scared. I feel tears slide down my cheeks and he hugs me gently against his chest.

  “I just don’t want you to get to the end of this whole ordeal and realize you were chasing him down a dead end street. It will hurt so much more that way, I promise you.”

  “I love him.” I cough quietly against his shoulder.

  “I don’t doubt you do, baby,” he says into my hair. “And I’m sure you think you’re doing the right thing, being there for him right now. I’m sure it’s tough on him. But you can’t lose yourself in all of this…not again.” He pushes me back slightly to look at me, his eyes pleading me. “Your life can’t be about trying to complete him. That’s his job. And if he’s not there yet, there’s nothing you can do or say, otherwise things would have changed a long time ago, I’m sure.”

  I sniffle, wiping at my eyes. “So what do I do then?”

  “You’ve got to figure out what you want…and let him do the same. And if those things are the same, then perfect, so be it, you can go from there. But if they’re no
t…they just aren’t. And you have to be smart enough to see that and know it’s not going to be what you want.”

  I look at him for a long moment, knowing he’s right but not really knowing how to process his honesty right now. I don’t know if Lex and I are those kind of people, the kind who can take a break to figure out what we want and then be together again. I’m scared to think that we might figure out what we want for ourselves, and not see each other as part of that.

  “What’s going on?” my mother’s voice breaks harshly into the room.

  “We’re just talking,” Dad says, moving so that he’s standing beside me. He slides an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me gently and I try to discreetly wipe at my eyes.

  “About what? What did you say, why is she so upset?”

  I sigh. “It’s nothing, Mom.”

  “Well it’s something,” she demands, looking at each of us expectantly.

  “We were just talking about Lex,” my dad says simply and she scoffs with disgust.

  “God, the day that no one speaks his name again I will be so relieved.” She shakes her head, starting to cross the kitchen with determination in her stride.

  “Because God forbid that I’m happy, right?” I say as she brushes past me and she stops stock still in her tracks.

  “I don’t know what planet you live on that this is happy…” She gestures to me almost violently. “This…and what you’ve been doing for the past five years! And with him! That’s what you call happy?”

  “I love him!” I shout and she throws her hands up, turning on her heel.

  “Oh, this is absurd. I will take no part. Talk until you’re blue in the face, Paul. The day she gets rid of that leech is the day she might actually listen.” Her voice echoes in the foyer as she storms back into the living room, her heels clicking against the tiles until they hit the carpet. I watch the doorway even after she’s gone, my eyes burning into the ghost of her standing there. I hate her. I hate her.

  “Don’t say it,” my dad says before the words can even leave my mouth, his arm tightening around my shoulders, pulling me toward him. “Look at me.”

  I look toward him with a sigh, defeated once again in that simple exchange. He simply shakes his head at me, his silent gesture to not worry about her for the time being.

  “Figure out what you want…what you want, okay? I’m ready for you to be happy for a change. It’s been long enough.”

  “Okay,” I mutter, looking down to the floor.

  “Okay?” he asks as he tucks his finger under my chin and I look at him. His eyes search mine and I nod reassuringly. “I love you. Do what makes you happy.”

  I nod again. “I love you, too.”

  3

  The smell of food court pizza tugs at my stomach and when I glance at my watch—a simple gray sporty-looking Timex I bought at Target two days ago—I realize it’s almost two in the afternoon and I’ve totally missed lunch. The watch was an impulse buy once I noticed how inconvenient a habit it can be to always pull out my cell phone to check the time. Don’t important people wear watches? Always glancing down at their wrists, keeping themselves on schedule, no time to dabble with phones? I need to start considering myself an important person. I need things to do, places to go, schedules. I used to be important. Maybe a watch is a good first step. I check the time again proudly, but my fleeting conceit is quickly squashed when my stomach growls and I realize again that I’m already behind.

  A trip to The Grove seemed like a good idea today for some reason. I’m not big on malls or shopping but something about being here amongst strangers makes me feel good, normal even, like one of the crowd. I remember coming here with my mother when I was in high school, and all morning as I passed stores like J. Crew and Coach I couldn’t stop that nagging feeling of the absurdity of it all, me being here as a teenager, concerned with brands and money, the underlying pressure. I feel like my childhood should’ve been so much simpler. I feel like I took it for granted. In fact, I know I did. If I had ever just told my mother that I didn’t care, that I didn’t care what clothes I wore or how much they cost or what I looked like, I just wanted to be smart and have fun and have friends and learn and grow up feeling like I was enough just the way I was. Growing up, I missed that feeling more than anything. Some days I still miss it.

  I step into Barnes and Noble, distracted by my eyes more than my hunger. I should read more. My gaze pours over the categories printed high over the shelves. Nonfiction, Reference, Travel, Religion, Art. I feel overwhelmed in an instant, like there’s so much I don’t know about this world. I wind my way through the shelves, some tall and others short enough to see over. Business, Philosophy…Romance and Relationships, and on the opposite shelf is “Self-Improvement” which I always thought was called Self-Help but I suppose Improvement is more empowering.

  I linger here for a minute before I stop completely, my eyes scanning the titles. How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow, something referred to as The Secret—the secret to what I’m not really sure—How to Win Friends and Influence People. I mull over title after title and I pass lots of books on addiction that I’m not sure I could sit down with right now without having a small breakdown. Don’t they just have a book for when you’re fresh out of rehab, and your boyfriend is also your dealer and now he’s in rehab, and you’re trying to mend your relationship with your parents and figure out what you’re supposed to do with your life when you’re 24 and have no friends who aren’t druggies? I glance at that Secret book again but look up when I hear a sneeze from across the shelf. Holy shit. Yeah, I’m gonna need a book for all of the above, plus just seeing your childhood ex-best friend in the book store and needing to make a quick getaway.

  It’s Sam. In the fucking flesh. Samantha Halett, my best friend since fourth grade when Drew Lorez broke her colored pencils and she was too scared to tell the teacher so I had no choice but to intervene. My best friend since fourth grade who I left behind for Lex and the drugs. She looks different but the same. Her hair is now back to it’s natural light brown—I guess she gave up on those days of wanting to be a blond—and its swept back in a clean side-part and secured at the nape of her neck. She still has those same high cheekbones and narrow chin, her nose still turns up just barely at the end. I want to have a longer look at her but I know she’ll feel me staring—she could always tell shit like that. My heart starts to race; she can’t see me. I need to get away; I’m not ready for this yet.

  I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously and duck my head, making my way down the row of books towards the café, the smell of coffee making my stomach rumble a bit but it’s overshadowed by the nerves which are almost enough to make my hands shake. I want to glance back to see if she’s seen me but I can’t risk it. I slip into line at the coffee counter.

  Three dollars and eighty-nine cents later, coffee in hand, I turn and head toward the magazine racks, but as I pass down the line of people waiting at the café, the sight of her again right there makes me catch my breath.

  Apparently coffee wasn’t the most original idea of the afternoon.

  “Hey,” I say softly, giving her a weak smile, that weak smile that you give to strangers when you look at each other a second longer than the socially accepted once-over glance. You stare for that second longer and then you’re obligated to smile for some reason, an acknowledgment of your social awkwardness.

  “Hey,” she answers back, more mouthing it than saying it, with a polite nod and I know she doesn’t even recognize me until she looks at me for a second longer and I see it click behind her eyes and just as I’m about to pass her I see her jaw drop open. “Hi! Oh my God.”

  I turn to her immediately, something not allowing me to just pass her and walk right out the door, something pulling me back. “Hey,” I say again, nervously.

  “Oh my God…how are you?” Her hand moves up to her mouth in shock and a few people turn to look at us. She looks at them apologetically and steps out of line, cl
oser to me. I step back nervously.

  “Good. I’m good,” I stutter, and I want to ask her a million questions, but I can’t think of anything. “You?”

  “I’m great…oh my God. I already said that. I keep saying that.” She shakes her head, laughing nervously, situating her bag on her shoulder more, and she stares at me with a look that I can only explain away as utter shock. She finally blinks. “Wow. This is so crazy.”

  “I know. I didn’t know you were around.”

  “Well, I wasn’t. I actually just moved back. I didn’t know you were around, I had…I had no idea.”

  “Didn’t know I was around or didn’t know I was alive?” I laugh and she doesn’t laugh with me, her smile pulling tight, tensely across her lips. I guess it wasn’t really meant to be a joke anyway.

  “Leala…” she starts awkwardly but gives up with a sigh, and I know she has so much to say but can’t find the words. “All I heard was—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine now,” I answer before she can explain and relief washes over her. She nods, moving her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear even though no strands have fallen out of place, and I know it’s just a nervous habit, but the light reflecting off of her finger makes me gasp. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She looks at her hand nervously, perplexed for only a moment before a smile breaks across her face. “Yeah.” She holds her hand at a better angle so I can have a proper look. An engagement ring sits proudly on her finger.

  “Sam! Oh my God! Who is it?”

  “No one we grew up with. His name’s Michael, I met him at school.”

  “And you’re just…marrying him?” I ask dumbly, mostly because if you’d asked both of us five years ago where we saw ourselves at this very moment, married would be the last word out of Sam’s mouth. I guess everything really does change.

  “Well, it’s not like I met him yesterday.” She laughs. “We’ve been together for a while. Well, you know how it is…” She shrugs, stuttering slightly, and I can sense her reluctance to bring up Lex. I’m sure a reference to him was painful enough.