Page 4 of Last Love

Another bite of the bread is had, crumbs littering his beard like brightly colored confetti. “You need to understand that this is going to be a war, Collins. Rehab was boot camp shit. A fucking spa week in Beverly Hills compared to what’s coming for you. Every moment from the second you open your eyes ‘til you close them again is a fresh fucking war. There is no true end. Just momentary peace accords. Failure is on every front and temptation around every goddamn corner.”

The statement is followed by Kara strutting past us making sure to gently touch my arm in the process. Her feathery caress has me muttering under my breath, “You have no fuckin’ idea…”

Law offers me a crooked grin and a heavy pat on my shoulder with the non-dessert holding hand. “We’ll get you some tools and shit to help fight the good fight.” Once it’s evident he has my complete focus again, he adds, “First thing you’re gonna do is take my number, Collins. The next thing you’re gonna do is use it. Day. Night. Middle of fucking blowjob. Doesn’t matter. Use it. I’m always available.”

“You don’t have a family?”

“Three kids and an old lady.” He drops his hand and shoves the last of the bread in his mouth. “They more or less understand. My trikes think I’m a superhero – which I fucking love – and my old lady never fails to remind me how my sponsor was and is still there for me when or if I ever need him.”

An impressed grunt thoughtlessly tumbles from me.

“Like the name says, I work in the field. I’m a divorce attorney. My clients consist of mainly women whose husbands are trying to fuck them out of everything because they can’t afford better representation – enter me.” His hands dust away the crumbs on them prior to sliding themselves into his suit pocket. “They’re given a similar all-access pass to my time, so my phone – unless required otherwise by the court or mediation – is always within reach. On the rare occasions where you call or text and I do not answer or cannot answer immediately, I’ll return your call as soon possible.”

I nod my comprehension.

“You’ll also be sharing a calendar with me. This is for your benefit more than mine. It’ll allow you to see what activities may interfere or intervene with an attempt of communication you may make. It’ll also allow me to track your progress across the board. Groups. Interviews. Milestones.”

The idea of the last two shift me uncomfortably around in the new tennis shoes Shelly had waiting for me in my closet on my first day in their home.

“You’re at a crucial crossroads in life. You need to understand that. You need to accept that. And need to have as many allies on your side as possible. Recovery starts in rehab, Collins, but the reality is, this shit is a lifetime commitment.”

No one tells you that when you take your first hit.

It’s not on any fucking warning label.

It’s not a passed around secret that everyone knows yet doesn’t talk about.

No one fucking lectures you about the built-in lifetime responsibility that comes even once you stop fucking with the drug until it’s much too late.

There’s no heads up that your relationship with nicotine or morphine or amphetamines is ‘til death do you part after a certain point in your connection.

That even once you stop loving it, you’re still bound together for fucking forever.

There’s only one decision I hate myself more for making than the pledge to permanently share part of my life with poison, and that’s living without the one person I know my soul will always be devoted to.

Maybe learning to manage one will give me the strength I need to finally learn to heal from the other.

---