Page 52 of The Darkness Within

Nash:

It’s 2 am. Is everything OK?

Couldn’t sleep. I had a dream about my buddy.

Three dots dance in the corner of the screen and then pause, and then dance again, and then pause, and then he knocks at my door. The soft light from the TV illuminates my path as I shuffle across the apartment to answer it.

“I figured if we’re both awake…” His grin is lopsided, a lot like his rationalization. I can’t say no to either one.

I step aside to let him in, and Nash makes a beeline for my bed. I didn’t invite him into it, but does he really need an invitation? I didn’t ask when I got into his bed. Either time. I just knew he needed me, probably the way he knows I need him right now.

When we’re both tucked under the covers, our legs just inches apart from each other, Nash turns on his side to face me. “Tell me about your dream.”

“I’d rather not relive it again. I fell back to sleep for a little while but then I dreamt about getting high. It’s been a hell of a night.”

“How did you surrender?” His voice is a soft whisper in the darkness, making me feel as if we’re the only two people on Earth.

Twisting my upper half, I reach for the blue book sitting on my nightstand. My Narcotics Anonymous book. “I read a couple of the stories, personal accounts from recovering addicts. You should read some. It’s a lot like attending a meeting, but by yourself.”

His face lights up. “Oohh, is that an option?”

“No, asshat, it’s not a replacement for meetings, just something to help when you’re alone. I read the first chapter again, about surrendering. It helps to let go of everything in my head, all the toxic thoughts and memories.”

“And who did you surrender to?”

“My higher power. God. Have you worked that out yet for yourself?”

“Who my higher power is?” He thinks for a moment. “You?”

“I can’t be your higher power.” I laugh.

“It might as well be a chair or a coffee pot for all I care.”

“You saying you don’t believe in God? Did you ever?”

“Sure, before He proved to me He didn’t exist.”

“If He doesn’t exist, how could He prove it?”

“Okay, asshat,” he repeats. “I meant before the universe proved it.”

“And how did the universe prove to you that God doesn’t exist?”

“Because if He were real, He wouldn’t have let my best friend die so terribly.”

My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach. I can’t refute the unfairness of that. “God took my best friend as well. It doesn’t mean He doesn’t exist.”

“Then why would He do that to me and to Violet and her now deceased husband? Why does He hurt innocent people? Good people? For what purpose?”

“I can’t answer that for Him. But I do know that He has a purpose for everything. Then again, you don’t have to believe in God as your higher power. Many recovering addicts don’t. You just have to believe in something greater than yourself, some force or entity, or something spiritual, just so that you know you’re not in control of your own destiny.”

“Who says I’m not?” Even in the darkness, I can see his eyes twinkling. He’s fucking with me.

“Let go and let God, that’s my motto.”

“How quaint. My motto is fuck the fucking fuckers before the fucking fuckers fuck you.”

“How…quaint.” I can’t say it with a straight face.

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