Page 53 of The Darkness Within

His foot connects with my shin, but after he kicks me, he doesn’t pull back, just leaves his foot resting against my skin.

“I’m working on it, okay?”

“I think the steps are designed to help you with your spiritual journey. But remember, nobody gets to tell you who your higher power should be. That’s for you alone to figure out. Whatever works for you, keep working it.”

He flips to his back, and I miss the warmth of his foot.

“Right now, my higher power is the people around me with more experience than me at staying clean. That’s who I surrender to, who I ask for help. Their combined experience in recovery is a power greater than myself.”

“I think that makes a lot of sense.” If only my need to connect our feet again, to intertwine our legs, made sense.

“Can we get some sleep now?”

“Yes.” I chuckle, turning to my side. He does the same, mirroring my position, and we’re face-to-face.

Neither of us are in a rush to close our eyes. The intimacy sparking between us feels heavy, like a rope binding us together. Nash inches his hand closer to mine on the pillow, and then he’s touching my fingers without actually holding them. My heart beats loud and heavy in my chest and ears, and I swallow nervously. It would be so easy to kiss him again. I’ve thought of little else since I tasted his lips yesterday, the smallest, briefest taste, my new favorite flavor.

He rubs his pinky against mine and hooks them together. The gesture seems innocent enough, yet it’s loaded with possibility. He’s asking for more, and every couple of seconds he takes another inch. Soon it will be a mile, and his lips will be on mine again.

“Nash, about that kiss.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Brewer, just stop talking. Go to bed.”

Stubborn ass. “You have to hear it. I…shouldn’t have let that happen.”

“You didn’t, I did.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I’m your sponsor. I know better.”

“Better than what? To allow yourself something you wanted, that we both wanted? Why is that so terrible?”

“Because it breaks the rules.”

“What rules?”

“You know the rules, Nash. It’s strongly suggested that newcomers don’t get into relationships for the first year of their recovery.”

“A year?” He raises up on his elbow, peering down at me. “A year?” He repeats, sounding alarmed. “Ain’t no fucking way, Brewer. Ain’t. No. Way.”

Again, I laugh, because it’s so easy to do around him. For a man that feels no joy or light in his life, he sure brings so much laughter to others around him.

“It’s just strongly suggested, not a hard and fast rule. If we can get your broken dick to work again,” I tease, knowing it makes him blush, “it doesn’t mean you actually have to wait twelve months to use it again. Addicts tend to use sex as a crutch. It can become an addiction. Anything can become an addiction. Making money, spending money, food, exercise, gambling, and sex. Anything to fill that void in our chest.”

“And if it’s not sex that I’m looking for? If I just want to be close with someone that makes me feel good? What about that? How can that be terrible for my recovery?”

“Because if that person inadvertently hurts you, if things don’t work out between the two of you, you haven’t developed the tools yet to cope with the rejection and hurt. It’s easy to turn to drugs and alcohol to numb the pain.”

“I guess I can see the logic behind that thinking, but that’s what I have you for. And the meetings.”

He’s looking for loopholes, like any good addict would. “We don’t always tell on ourselves when we should, when we’re hurting the most. Sometimes, we crave the release of punishment and self-harm.”

He exhales loudly. “Brewer, I can’t do it. I can’t wait an entire year. I need—”

Me. He needs me. I’m sure that’s what he was going to say. If I’m being honest with myself, the idea of trying not to allow myself to touch him or kiss him again for twelve more months feels longer than a lifetime. I really don’t believe it’s possible.

“Brewer,” he pleads, turning back on his side again to face me.

I see it in his aquamarine eyes—the vulnerability, the need, the longing and heat—everything he feels for me, it’s all right there. My resolve crumbles to dust.

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