Page 21 of Last Love

The pale man behind the podium continues to ramble on about one of his lowest points as a user. To no surprise, it resembles quite a number of my sinking ones.

Almost word for fucking word.

He’s describing the first time he was willing to exchange sexual favors for a key bump.

The desperation that tore apart his morals.

The inability to fight the monster inside of you.

Giving up and in to feel good for just a fucking fraction of a moment.

I know that shit all too well.

Truth is when you need to reach a high bad enough, nothing shy of death will stop you.

I don’t miss that shit.

And I don’t have any fucking plans to go back to it.

Adjusting the toothpick from one side of my mouth to the other is followed by Kara’s voice appearing over my shoulder near my ear. “You look grumpy.”

And she looks thirsty in her black bra that’s pretending to be a shirt.

“We could always ditch this shit and do something more fun.”

We do not have the same definition of fun.

She wants to go to pool halls and pretend she’s just there for the game or dive bars and pretend she’s just there for the karaoke not the Kamikazes.

I wanna have a hot shower and do laundry.

Is it fun?

No.

But “fun” – like hanging out – isn’t shit I’m ready for.

Having a routine.

A schedule.

That’s the shit I need.

Spontaneity isn’t an ally.

It’s an enemy.

Instead of responding, I simply fold my arms across my dirty polo and slink further down into the metal chair.

It’s cold.

Hard.

Unforgiving.

The intended resemblance to a life of addiction isn’t lost on me even if it is others.

“Okay, goodie two shoes,” she sighs, hot breath assaulting my ear. “We’ll do what you wanna do and stay.”

Denying the urge to smile isn’t easy; however, it’s successfully done.

“But you gotta admit that you aren’t really listening to his sob story so much as wishing you could grab a pair of scissors and cut off the potential rattail growing from his head.”

This time her comment causes my lips to noticeably twitch.

“Like did his ass miss the trailer park exit, or are those things coming back? Fucking tell me that they’re not coming back.”

Chuckles claw up the back of my throat in spite my best efforts to shove them down. Thankfully, his time is finished and the requirement to clap for his bravery in sharing his tale redirects all the inappropriate laughs.

Chick’s trouble.

Cute.

Clever.

Even compassionate when she thinks no one can trace it back to her.

She denies the shit, but I know it was her who had pizza delivered to my job for lunch the day after she found out that sometimes things get so crazy that I don’t even get to eat until I’m home for the night, let alone text.

She was the only one I confessed that shit to.

So, who the fuck else could it be?

My fairy fucking godmother?

Fuck off.

The recovering individual leaves the area allowing Jan to take his place for closing.

Our dismissal for the post meeting refreshments acts as Kara’s segue to climbing over the empty chair beside me and flopping her thin frame into it. “So, Grumpy Old Man, what’s the reason you won’t be having pancakes with me tonight? Shuffleboard tournament? Murder She Wrote marathon calling your name? Need to get your dentures soaking before your nurse’s early shift in the morning?”

“I’m not old.”

“You damn sure fucking act like it.”

“Just because I don’t like to go out-”

“You don’t like to go do anything.”

“Not true.”

Her expression tilts in a sarcastic fashion.

“I like to have dinner with my family.”

“Yawn.”

“I also like to thumb through my roommate’s car mags.”

Kara pretends to dose off on an exaggerated snore.

“You’re being a cunt.”

“And you’re being the literal definition of fucking boring.” We exchange small chuckles that follows with an actual question. “Why can’t we actually hang out tonight?”

“Got an early morning.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Job.”

Her lips deviously curve. “But still no girlfriend?”

I need her to understand that what we haveis just friendship.

And it’s truthfully barely fucking that.

But it’s damn sure all that it’ll ever be.

The sooner she grasps that shit, the better.

For both of us.

“Think about meeting me for salsa night this weekend.” Her body flounces out of the seat as easy as it flounced into it. “It’s just dancing, Collins. No alcohol required…”

In typical Kara fashion, she shoots me a sultry wink and saunters away, leaving me momentarily left alone with my own thoughts.

The only type of salsa I’m interested in requires tortilla chips.

“You know, there are perks to dating another recovering addict,” Law’s voice unexpectedly states from the opposite direction she left. “They understand the struggle you face daily on a deeper level.”

My frame rotates to face him as he sits down into the empty chair beside me.

“You can have empathetic discussions. You can have co-existing lifestyles with the same boundaries and barriers. For many, engaging in a relationship with someone who is also on the same sobriety warpath lacks the ‘embarrassment’ or ‘shame’ of having to admit that they are an addict to begin with.”

I merely fold my arms across my chest.

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