Page 22 of Inglorious
“I’m Mase, and I’ve been coming here for two decades,” she said.
“That’s impossible. You don’t seem old enough,” I stated, my brow furrowing at Mase’s lie.
“Sorry, but it’s true. My parents were drunks, I was a drunk at thirteen and forced sober at sixteen when my twin died. I’m thirty-six and an alcoholic. Proudly, I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since I was sixteen and a half. Sera’s death scared me straight.”
“Shit, sorry to hear that,” I muttered.
Mase held my gaze. “Admitting you’ve a problem is the first step. Once you’ve achieved that, then the rest falls into place,” Mase said.
“For a man like me, that’s a difficulty.”
“And what makes you so special, Inglorious of the Unwanted Bastards? Yeah, I know your story, and it’s tragic. But no different from the lone survivor of a family car crash, or a soldier who lost his team. Or even the only person to walk away from a train wreck. Tragedy surrounds us. It’s how we manage it that counts. However, I suspect, for someone like you, who’s used to giving orders and being in charge, what happened to your club was something you’ve never experienced before. And you lacked the tools to handle it,” Mase lectured astutely.
I opened my mouth to argue that Mase knew nothing of my pain and closed it again. Mase had lost her twin, half her soul, yet stood in front of me strong and sober.
“Twenty years?”
“Yup. Sometimes I struggle with the urge to have an imbibe, but I know it’s bad. Instead, I surrounded myself with non-alcoholic options so I can party with company and stay teetotal. Honestly, twenty years on and I still have the cravings, but they’re not as sharp or painful as they used to be. I don’t even kidmyself I can have one drink, because that will lead to a slippery slope.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your head screwed on right.”
“You could have too if you admit what you are,” Mase replied.
“An addict? Addicts are weak,” I said, but the ire in my voice was aimed internally.
“Are you weak or strong, Inglorious? We’ll see.” Mase turned away from me and headed inside, leaving me alone.
That was a damn good question.
???
Mase smiled as I entered the room and spotted several other people milling around.
“Guess you answered your question,” she stated.
“Yeah, I’m a pussy.”
“No, you’re strong because only the strong recognise they’ve a problem and seek help. Glad to see a local hero knows his limits. Come on, drinks and doughnuts are free, and it’s a help yourself service,” Mase said and led me to a table.
“Hi, you’re new,” a guy interrupted with a mug of coffee in his hand.
“Hey,” I replied. That was lame, and I felt uneasy. This wasn’t comfortable. I was used to leading and not being judged. Was I being scrutinised? Who the fuck knew?
“Rick,” the guy introduced himself.
“Inglorious.”
“Is that your real name? We don’t usually go by nicknames here,” Rick said, and I stiffened as he continued. “People can hide behind a nickname, and that’s frowned upon.
“Then I shouldn’t be here. I’ve answered to Inglorious for too many years for me to answer to anything else.” I put the coffee down that Mase had just handed me.
“Inglorious, it’s fine. Rick is being pedantic. Rick, Inglorious is his club name, and they don’t go by birth names… so, we’ll address him by Inglorious,” Mase interrupted.
“That’s breaking the rules!” Rick exclaimed, outraged.
“This ain’t worth this shit. I’ll find somewhere else to attend a meeting,” I said as my temper rose. I stared at the puny little man causing trouble. “Thought these groups were supposed to be supportive. This was my first time attending one. Way to make someone welcome, asshole.”
With that, I turned and strode off. As I did, the clamouring inside of me, screeching for a drink, grew. My inner voice almost deafened me, telling me I was going to fail and to hit the local bar. As I reached the door, a hand snagged my arm and stopped me.
