Page 103 of The Darkness Within

She laughs, accepting the compliment with a smile. “It’s your special day, so you deserved a special meal.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

Every time I come over, she cooks for me. We sit in this beautiful garden we’ve created together, and spend time talking, laughing, and just connecting with each other. She’s the mother I always wanted. Violet Gutierrez is the very definition of unconditional love and support. She’s one of my favorite people, hands-down.

“The potting shed is finished, and I’ve stocked it with that organic compost you love.”

“Thank you, mijo.”

Mijo, my son. It’s more than a word, more than a label, or a term of endearment. It’s a sense of belonging, a sense of family, of rightness and completeness. I’ve found a place in her heart, and she’s earned one in mine. It’s a connection, a bond forged under the toughest conditions, and now it’s unbreakable.

“You come back again tomorrow and show me that special medallion you’ve earned. I’ll have some pastelitos ready for you to celebrate.”

“I will, I promise.” I clear the plates from the little wrought iron café table on her patio and bring them to the kitchen, depositing them in the sink.

Last week, she had me and Brewer over for dinner. The week before that, I brought Mandy with me, and he helped me begin construction on her potting shed. Violet immediately adopted him and fed us until we were too stuffed to work. It’s just her way, food is her love language. She opens her arms and her home to everyone she meets. This place has become a second home to me, after Serenity House.

Yes, I still live there. Will I ever move out? Not as long as Brewer wants to remain on site to look after the guys. His little flock of recovering ducklings. Miles and Nacho have moved out, and now have their own places to live. Tex still remains, for now, and doesn’t seem to ever want to leave. There will always be a turnover of vets coming and going from Serenity House. That’s the point of it, to help as many recovering addicts as possible, but just because they move out doesn’t mean they move on. Nacho and Miles come over for dinner a couple times a month. I still meet up with them all the time, and we often go to meetings together. My circle just keeps growing larger and larger.

I still have bad days among the good, but definitely more good than bad. It’s been a while though, since I’ve had the kind of flashback that takes me out of the present, the kind where I lose time. My anxiety and blood pressure have lowered significantly, which has reduced a lot of my symptoms like acid reflux and indigestion, and I was able to stop taking my blood pressure medicine, which has made a huge impact on my ED. I still have nightmares almost every night, where I wake up in a cold sweat, or I flail and yell out, but Brewer is always beside me when I open my eyes, pulling me back to the present.

Leif is huge. I swear he’s growing like a weed, not a plant. I had to replant him in a much larger pot that now sits by the window in the living room. Tex threatens almost weekly that one day when I come home, Leif will be planted in a shady spot in the backyard, but I know he’s just bluffing. I could never plant him outside because, you know… The acid rain, and the hailstorms, and God only knows what else. I just can’t risk it.

My ever-present shadow, Valor, is no longer a kitten. He’s a full grown cat, he just doesn’t know it. He still expects to be carted along everywhere I go, strapped to my chest. If he’s not in the sling, he sits there anyway, like a chest warmer, purring away like a motorboat and licking my face. He’s become a master at cock blocking. If he wants attention while I’m getting it from Brewer, he’ll do something ridiculous, like knock over a glass of water or a picture frame from my dresser. He refuses to be ignored or come in second place.

I still meet with the Bitches twice a week, and we always go for wings afterward and catch up. I also see them throughout the week, because I’ve never met a bigger bunch of stalkers in my life. Nosey-ass meddling man-babies is what they are. I can’t fart without them commenting on it in our group chat message thread. They have an opinion about everything.

Brewer and I are taking life one day at a time. I know without a doubt I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him, but we’re not in any rush to make it official. There’s really no need because when you know you know, and when it comes to Brewer, I know.

“Get your legs up on my shoulders.”

Brewer hooks his ankles over my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around his thighs and pound deeper into his ass. I love this position because I can see everything, the ecstasy on his face, his balls bouncing every time I bottom out, and my cock sliding in and out of his stretched hole. He loves when I go hard, when I nail his prostate with each thrust. The sounds he makes are pure filth and nonsense, and it turns me on that I can reduce him to such an incoherent mess.

His head bangs against the wooden headboard.

“Push against it so you don’t keep hitting your head, ‘cause I’m not slowing down and I’m not going softer.”

He clenches around my cock, squeezing the blood from it, enveloping my shaft in the tightest heat, and the pleasure pushes me over the edge. My balls draw up tight against my body. A wave of adrenaline spikes, making my heart beat faster, giving me a surge of strength, and I push hard into his body, burying myself balls deep as the spasms start in my stomach and radiate down through my thighs. Every muscle in my body tightens, and I freeze up as my orgasm rolls through me. Brewer clenches again when I start to fill his ass. It sets off his own orgasm, and I watch, mesmerized as thick white ropes pulse from his cock, painting his stomach and chest with seed.

Out of breath and sweating, I collapse between his parted thighs, landing right on top of the sticky mess. Brushing my lips over his, I slide my tongue inside and kiss him until I steal the breath from his lungs and he’s panting like me.

He laughs into the kiss, and I finally pull away.

“That was an amazing anniversary present. You know how hot watching you use that bullet gets me.”

Just watching him fuck himself with that rifle cartridge dildo drives me insane. The way he teases his hole and then pulls it out, making his ass clench like it’s hungry for more. Watching his body writhe in pleasure and listening to the filthy sounds he makes. Yeah, walking in on him and finding him playing with that toy sent me over the edge. I tore his ass up.

“Happy one-year anniversary, my love. Are you going to let me up so we can shower? Otherwise, we’re gonna be late.”

“I guess, if I have to. But I’m not promising I won’t take you again when we get home.”

One whole year clean and sober. Three hundred and sixty-five fucking days without a pill or a drop of alcohol. No one ever could have convinced me this was possible twelve months ago, when I was lying in a hospital bed with Liza on my ass, wondering if I was going to live or die. I didn’t even care at that point, I was feeling so low. And now, just a year later, my life is drastically different and I definitely want to live. It’s totally fucking crazy. I’m the last person who would have believed it was possible to recover.

My cheering squad takes up an entire row in the back of the meeting. Miles, Nacho and Tex, Riggs, Stiles and McCormick, Brandt and West, Mandy, Jax, and Pharo sitting at the opposite end—they’re all here to support me, to celebrate with me. It’s a Saturday night meeting, so it’s packed full with recovering addicts, and when the last addict finishes sharing, they go straight to the celebration of clean time. After handing out the plastic poker chips that denote the months leading up to the first year, it’s Brewer’s turn. He squeezes my hand and then makes his way to the front of the room.

“Hi, I’m Brewer and I’m a recovering addict. One year ago today, I met a man that changed my life. Even though I didn’t know him, I knew within minutes of meeting him that he would become someone special to me. He was a disaster at first, much like we all are in the beginning.” He pauses while everyone laughs with him. “He used to sit in the back of the room, where he’s sitting right now,” his eyes find me, and he smiles, “with his arms folded across his chest and a pissed off look on his face, completely in denial, and bitch about the coffee.”

Again, everyone laughs. The shitty coffee is a well-known fact, not an opinion.

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