Page 3 of Love Fire

"Erin!" she says with a bright smile.

"Gloria!" I say, trying to match her enthusiasm and almost succeeding.

There are a lot of depressed and morose people in rehab, and it wears on some of the people working with them, but Gloria somehow manages to always maintain a sunny disposition.

"How are the kids?" I ask.

"Bella just got engaged. I have a sneaking suspicion I might be a grandma soon. But he's a good guy, so I think it'll work out. Simon is almost ready to graduate high school."

I blink at her.

"When did your kids grow up? Like, Bella was just graduating when I first got here, and Simon was still in middle school," I say.

"I know, right? It's like if you blink, you'll miss it. Four years in an instant. But I wouldn't trade it in for the world."

"And how about you?" I ask.

"Oh, same thing, different day. Though it's been a little more hectic since you were here last week."

I come here every week to chair a Paranormal Narcotics Anonymous meeting once a week. As much as I like Gloria and most of the staff here, I'm looking forward to being done with that level of responsibility -- and hypocrisy. It's part of paying it forward, but living this double life is killing parts of me slowly.

I don't think I'll stop coming to meetings because I can't afford to slip back into my old ways. But overseeing them just feels like such a farce, considering the role I play in making it possible for people to get hooked on this shit in the first place.

The desk phone rings, and Gloria nods at me before picking it up. I wave and head to the conference room where the meeting is held. I make sure the coffee is brewing and welcome the people as they come in. Then I see Maria, my sponsee, walk in, and I give her a hug.

Pulling away from her, I raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Yep. Still clean," she says with a smile.

"Congratulations on six months."

"I couldn't have done it without your help. I owe you for this."

I'm proud of her, but her words feel like a knife blade in my gut. I may very well have processed the dragon scales that got her hooked and nearly destroyed her life.

Biting back tears and hoping it looks like tears of joy, I respond. "I'm just here to support you. You're still the one doing all the work."

"Don't sell yourself short. I feel like I have to repay you somehow."

"That's not how this works." But I can see that look in her eyes, like she wants to argue with me. "If you feel like you have to repay a debt, just pay it forward. There are going to be other people who need help, and you can use what you learned in recovery to help them on their journey."

She gives me another squeeze. "Okay, but can I at least buy you a cup of coffee sometime or something? Make some cookies?"

I don't want to discourage her, especially when she's still so new to recovery, so I make a show of weighing it in my head before answering. "I wouldn't say no to cookies."

The rest of the group files in. There are some new faces and some absent. I hope those that didn't make it just had conflicts, but I know that for some folks, part of recovery is relapse. More heart wrenching still is that some might not make it at all.

And I'm helping kill them.

I take a seat and look around at all the damage I've done. Some of the people here are balls of nervous energy, chatting, trying to distract themselves. Others have vacant expressions. Then there's the missing teeth, welts on their faces, fingers picking at their skin, hair falling out in clumps. All because I can't figure out how to escape my father. All because I'm too scared to die.

I shove all that guilt and conflict down and box it away. This is my penance. My way of undoing some of the damage I've done.

Smacking my hand on the table, I begin the meeting. "Good evening." The chatter in the room dies down, and I continue. "My name is Erin, and I'm an addict."

The group chimes back. "Hi, Erin."

I take a deep breath, ready to launch into the meeting when something in the doorway catches my eye. My words die on my lips, and my jaw drops.

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