Page 26 of Addicted

Now he understood why people did drugs. The media and his high school’s anti-drug program had talked about the side effects and the repercussions. They had addressed things like cocaine, heroin, LSD, and methamphetamine but barely talked about opiates, Molly, or Adderall; their curriculum was outdated and it showed. Liam had done a lot of online research the night he brought home the pills and the websites only spoke of proper use and the potential for addiction.

It was a lot of cons, a lot of shame, but no one had ever addressed the positives. Of course, people in movies and on television usually felt good for a little while but there were always serious consequences. Consequences Liam now knew were exaggerated; he wasn’t going to end up addicted, penniless, and in jail. This was something he could use for short-term functionality, for a boost to get through the next few months, and once he started the process he was shocked at what a difference it made and how those differences rippled out.

Liam had energy now. Life was no longer exhausting, a slog where every thought, every movement, every conversation was work. He didn’t have to psych himself up to go to The Pointe and he didn’t come home from it and fall into bed, unable to move. On his days off he didn’t lie wrapped in blankets on the mattress or the floor. In fact, he’d spent the last few hours cleaning his place and watching shows on his laptop, relaxing like a regular person under the softness of the pills.

He did not expect his phone to buzz. He’d been so wrapped up in Netflix that he’d forgotten to put it in airplane mode. Bracing himself, he swiped his thumb across the screen and blinked.

Owen had sent him a joke. A very bad joke. Liam bit his lip, holding back a small smile. He thought that Owen had lost his ridiculous sense of humor; they’d been working together for a week and there hadn’t been any sign of it, until now. With his divorce and everything else, it was no surprise that Owen had taken a little while to warm up.

But Liam didn’t know what to do. Flipping the phone over and over in his hand, Liam stared at it, then put it down and tried to go back to his show; however, the text wouldn’t leave him alone. It flashed in the forefront of his brain like a neon light, dancing around until Liam gave in, letting out a deep sigh as he grabbed his cell and typed back.

Please don’t say gummy bear.

Within a minute his phone vibrated again.

A horse walked into a bar and said “Ow!”

Liam laughed aloud, probably for the first time in that apartment. Without even thinking he replied.

Why are you like this?

Texting Owen was far easier than talking to him in person. Liam didn’t have to worry about looking sad, or high, and he didn’t get all flustered and distracted by his ex-neighbor’s hotness.

It’s part of my charm.

Liam snorted, his thumbs tapping the screen.

Uh-huh.He added a raised-eyebrow emoji for good measure.

I know you laughed. I heard it.

That was a groan. Your jokes are harassment and I’m complaining to HR.

Liam wasn’t normally this brazen. He could be a sarcastic brat when he was a teenager but that had been another time, another life. These days, Liam didn’t know what his personality was outside of morbid and sad but Owen seemed to have a way of bringing parts of Liam back to life. Or maybe it was the pills.

Talk to them all you want but these jokes are part of the benefits package.Three laughing emojis followed the text. Before Liam had a chance to retort, Owen added,I hope you’re having a good weekend.

Warmth spread through Liam’s chest. It had been a long time since someone cared enough to ask.

I am. And I hope yours is good too.

Suddenly, Liam shook himself. He was not supposed to be feeling giddy and texting Owen like a lovestruck teenager. He was supposed to be maintaining distance and should end this conversation no matter how much he was enjoying it. But it was extremely difficult when Owen was being, well…Owen.

It is. Especially since I got to torture you with my wonderful sense of humor.

Liam giggled despite himself.See? Harassment.But he needed to wrap this up.And I won’t stand for it anymore. I’m going to sleep.He added his own laughing emoji, along with three jumping sheep.

Owen sent back a thumbs up.Good night, Liam. Sleep well.

Liam stared at that sentence for far too long and then cradled the phone to his chest.

Over the next few weeks that one conversation blossomed into a litany of jokes, peppered with good mornings, good nights, and work-related questions as the texting floodgates opened. It couldn’t be helped. Liam was weak to Owen’s persistence and it turned out that the walls he was trying to build were too flimsy to hold up, especially in the face of someone who cared. He knew he was only adding to the danger but what was he supposed to do? Ignore Owen? That was impossible while they worked together. At least he was able to keepsomedistance. Texting replaced a lot of their in-person conversations which Liam had been managing to avoid since his original plan was working.

Because Liam had been right. Owen did want to reorganize everything and, as he got a hold on the day-to-day office duties, Liam was free to work on The Pile and gather files from wherever he could find them. That meant he was rarely in the office except for lunch when they would eat in silence, both trying to wind down from the workload. Between assisting Owen and serving, Liam was a bit overloaded but Vicodin helped with that.

In fact, the pills gave Liam so much more than he’d expected. Sure, he knew he’d gain the ability to smile at Marci each morning and meander through piles of paperwork and minefields of small talk with Owen - he’d heard of drugs being referred to as a crutch and they certainly were - but Liam was also developing a social life. He only felt comfortable meeting Zach at Bar None. It was safer there than a place of Zach’s choosing, although safe was a relative term. Liam still had to negotiate around his co-workers and meet with Zach in the bathroom or outside in the alley. But he still went out with those co-workers once a week and they began to look forward to his presence, and he was able to have short conversations with them, which surprised Liam and made him feel unexpectedly good.

Therefore, Liam was also happier. Or at least he assumed he was since this was the first time in three years that he’d gone more than a week without a crying spell. He wasn’t constantly thinking about his parents and how much he missed them because the pills didn’t allow him to dwell. They held him aloft, in the cradle of their fluffy chemical hands, keeping him above his memories, above his grief. Sometimes he felt like the sails of a ship, buffeted about by the wind, letting himself be carried from day to day and event to event. Happy families at weddings didn’t feel like a spike through the chest anymore and he could now work without having to take sobbing breaks in the storage room.

---