Page 72 of Sweet Caroline
And, well, I was a fucking fool.
Alcoholics are incapable ofmoderationwhen it comes to booze, and I’m more likely to sprout a tail than develop the ability to control my drinking. It took breaking my arm after stumbling down the fucking interstate to make me realize I could never touch another drop of liquor for the rest of my life. That next morning in the hospital, my addiction had slugged me in the face. I couldn’t deny it any longer: I was powerless over alcohol and, unless I found a way to take that power back, it was gonna kill me.
As I listen to Trevor read, I realize honesty has been the game-changer for me this time. Being honest with myself and with my friends and family has kept me accountable. Kept me on track, in check. Sober. I guess I’ve managed—or, more accurately,ammanaging—to adopt that whole “manner of living” thing, even if it did take me a while to get here.
Fuck.There’s something else I need to be honest about—another uncomfortable truth I need to face.
I like Caroline. Ireallylike Caroline.
That’s… not great. I can’t be in a relationship right now, full stop, and she doesn’t want one either. Ours is fake and it ends after the election, whether Senator Shithead wins or not.
Maybe it’s for the best. Caroline and her family are obviously complicated. I’m not looking to stress-test my sobriety by tying myself to someone with a family under constant public scrutiny—anda manipulative prickstain of a father on top of that. The guy’sblackmailing me, for Christ’s sake! Between the addiction and the ADHD, I don’t need any help living life onhard mode.
Doesn’t matter if I like her. That I haven’t felt a connection like this in… ever. I can’t have her.
Butfuck, curling up with her pressed against me last night had felt as natural as if we’d done it a hundred times before. She’d fit in my arms like she’d always been there.
Reminding myself not to get carried away, I straighten in my seat.
Trevor finishes reading, and Russell invites a woman named Tiffany to share about herself.
I blink a few times, rubbing my thighs.
Focus. Be present.
“Hey, everyone,” she says. “I’m Tiffany, and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Tiffany,” we all chorus together, the familiar call-and-response of it almost automatic to me now.
She starts to talk about her life, sharing a little about her recovery journey—and something about her new boyfriend, I think.
No matter how hard I try to stay present, Tiffany’s soft voice takes a backseat to the way my memories of Caroline are screaming to get front and center.
I make a mental note to call Barry on my way home from the meeting. Maybe he can help me get my head in the game so I can stick to my priorities.
But Caroline in that lacy red lingerie… The image flickers into focus. Her long legs in those fucking thigh-high stockings, her mess of blonde curls, and those nervous, whimpered sounds she made when I had her under me on my bed… Then the louder ones she made when she…
Shit, I can’t shake this off.
Maybe I’m just touch-starved? Keeping to my little routine, I don’t have a lot of physical touch in my life. Jude shoving me in theshoulder for being a dumbass probably doesn’t count. The most physical affection I get these days is probably cuddling up with Lumpy on Gus’ couch. He’s like a weighted blanket. A heavy one.
Which reminds me, I need to figure out what kind of unhinged Halloween costume to get for Lumpy. That lobster getup was hilarious, but I gotta get him something for spooky season…
Fuck, focus on Tiffany, you ass.
I straighten in my seat, willing myself to pay attention—as if that’s ever worked.
“Anyway,” she’s saying, “I think maybe it’s, like, infatuation? I dunno. I’m not sure, but… I’m working so hard to control one addiction, so I don’t wanna just replace that with a new one, like being addicted tohim, right?”
It takes a moment for Tiffany’s words to land.
Is that what’s happening here?
No, it can’t be. At first, I’d thought my interest in Caroline was just my ADHD seeking a dopamine hit, but there’s something real between us. I can feel in my bones it’s more than thehighof attraction or novelty or even mind-blowing sex.
Then again, that’s all thiscanbe. So I’ll have to keep a lid on it and power through. Yeah, maybe it’ll suck when this fake relationship ends, but at least I can go back to keeping my head down.
Gym, work, home, repeat.
