Page 13 of My Sweetest Obsession
Every last bit of it.
I don’t deserve forgiveness for this from her or Ivy.
And I won’t ever ask for it.
I’ll take this moment to fall apart, and then I’ll let her leave like I’m sure she wants to. But when she finally pulls away, she looks up at me not with hatred, but with so much love in her gaze that it steals my breath.
She swipes at her eyes, then wipes away my tears and takes a step back. “Go shower and get cleaned up.”
“What? Why?”
A long, heavy sigh falls from her lips, and she forces a tight smile. “Because I’m taking you to a meeting.”
4
CAM
My hand trembles as I flip my one-year medallion between my fingers, the chain that normally hangs it around my neck now dangling below it, tinkling in the quiet room. Holding it used to help settle me. It gave me something physical to remind myself of what I had accomplished. That’s why I wore it—to always have it touching my skin and connecting me to something tangible that represented my success.
But today, it feels more like a reminder of my failure.
Because I did fail even if I’m technically clean today.
I failed Ivy.
I failed Mom.
I failed Drew.
And I failed myself.
Over and over again, I gave into that part of me that only saw what I wanted, zeroed in on what I craved, and ignored the consequences to myself and anyone else.
Envisioning the look on Ivy’s face last night confirms I hurt her in the worst way possible. And standing here in front of a room filled with unfamiliar faces—except the one sitting in the back row—all those wrongs I’ve done to myself somehow seem unimportant compared to the damage I did to them.
Mom gives me a reassuring smile, but seeing the tears streaming down her cheeks and her swollen eyes, knowing what she’s suffering right now, it’s impossible to return it.
It’s hard enough to stay upright on my shaking legs.
I shove my free hand through my hair, inhale a deep breath, and let it out slowly, gathering myself the best I can to say what I need to today. Because there are so many things to say, only the people I really want to say them to are gone forever. “Hi, my name is Camden, and I’m an addict.”
The chorus of “Hello, Camden” comes back at me, and clutching my medallion in my hand, I rub at my neck.
“I’ve been clean for 427 days, and I had been sober for that long, too…until yesterday.” I swallow as the taste of whiskey fills my mouth again, and my stomach churns violently, reminding me of just how much I drank. “And I’d like to say I’ve been sober for at least today, but frankly, I think I’m probably still a little drunk.”
I glance out at the people watching me speak, but none of them look on in judgment.
All I get are sympathetic gazes.
“This isn’t my usual meeting, and maybe that’s a good thing because none of you know me. And somehow, it seems easier to come here today and tell this to people I don’t know…”
That’s a lie.
It’s hard to say this to these strangers, too.
And especially with Mom here.
Because I genuinely never thought I’d be back in this place again.
