Page 164 of Taste of Addiction

“Woman, you are going to be the death of me.”

“What a great way to go.”

“That we can agree on,” he chuckles. “Now, let’s get dressed.”

Inside my closet, I find a nice pair of gold-tone tights and a gold sparkling dress. I don’t remember it being here before, but my memory is also not the best, so I don’t even question it. I pair my ensemble with a matching pair of heels.

“You look nice,” I say, admiring my man. He has on a black suit and matching black tie. His stark white shirt makes him look polished and sophisticated.

“You look radiant. And all mine.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay…” I watch as he rummages through his drawers until he finds what he is looking for.

“Will you wear this?” he asks, holding up a dark strip of fabric that looks like a tie.

I nod hesitantly. We have come so far together in our relationship that the level at which I trust this man is at full capacity. I know he would lay down his life for me. I know that he is my beginning and my ending.

Standing behind me, he gathers my hair to one side, bending down to kiss the skin below my ear. I moan over his gentleness. He can be so sweet. But I also love when he is impassioned and urgent and a bit rough. The sash covers my eyes, and within seconds it is tied securely behind my head.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes. I think so. Although, I have no clue as to where that is.”

“Patience, sweetheart. Just trust me.”

“I do, Graham.”

He scoops me up into his arms and carries me through several rooms and into the elevator. My other senses are heightened, and I am able to map out the path we follow into the parking garage.

Graham carefully sets me on the seat, adjusts my outfit, and straps me into the belt. After a kiss on the forehead and a kiss to each concealed eyelid, I hear the sound of the door closing. Based on the amount of leg space and my knee being able to bump into plastic, I know I am in the front passenger seat, not the back.

After several seconds, I feel Graham’s presence from the driver’s side.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

I twist my fingers in my lap. “Yes. Just excited.”

I lose track of time in the car and am unable to predict our route once we get out of the city. Or maybe we are still in the city and we are just hitting every green light at the right time.

I am disoriented and relax my mind of trying to think about where he is taking me. Instead, I think back to all of our good memories this year—and a few of the wild and crazy ones too. This is what I do almost every year as it approaches the end.

What has gone right this year?

What has gone wrong?

In the years since James has died, there were a lot of days where I just focused on my basic needs. I would eat. I would drink. I would shower. I would live for the sake of not actually wanting to die. I had a will to live, but not a will to actually do something with my life.

It was survivor’s guilt, like I learned from my numerous and ongoing therapy sessions.

But now? I want to do more than just live, because my life is full of a happiness I used to fear. A happiness I didn’t think I deserved or should experience. That’s what guilt will do to a person. That’s what depression does. It seeps into the cracks left in the heart after it has been broken.

I am a different person today than I was yesterday. Tomorrow I will be changed as well. Each day I move forward is a day to do better, be better.

I have so much to be thankful for, and I attribute it all to Graham and his determination to see me as someone other than a broken weakling.

---