Page 19 of Unloved

When the silence stretches for too long, I rear my head back and find Arlo’s gaze. Looking at me pointedly, he lobs the cell phone at me and I catch it. “Call me.”

It’s not a demand, but the tone in his voice says it might as well be. I nod, once again feeling both grateful for the support and ashamed I need it in the first place.

Trying my damndest to not get caught up, stewing and overthinking about every little interaction I have with someone, I nod at him, telling myself that his offer is genuine and if I need anything he’ll be there for me.

Every day, I’m determined to face the day with so much energy and positivity, but by the time I put my head down on the pillow for the night, I’m nothing but an anxious mess, desperate to sleep and hide from the world.

The whole cycle is on rinse and repeat, and as the days progress, my lack of sleep has impacted my mood, and I’ve become a diluted version of the man I want to be. I’m trying to keep my head above water, but some days it feels like I’ll forever be treading, trying to catch my breath and hold on, and failing.

Arlo’s voice interrupts my wayward thinking. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”

As if he read my mind and threw me a buoy when I needed it most, I grab his offer with both hands and a smile.

“I have a few things I need to finish up here, but I could meet you somewhere in an hour or so,” he says

“I don’t mind waiting here,” I tell him, worried that if I walk out of here, so will my resolve. “I can shower and wait.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

He leaves and I sit down on a nearby bench with my phone in hand before showering. Staring at my screen, I open every single social media app I have and mindlessly scroll through, feeling completely removed from the posing and the smiles and just the sheer joy that’s in every photo.

I know well enough it’s all a front, and for every photo where someone is smiling and living their very best lives, there is a version of them that is imperfect and sometimes struggling. I know that, but I still crave the normalcy of it all. I don’t want to stand out or be different; I want to blend in with the crowd any way I can.

Standing, I toss my cell into the locker with my bag, then grab a towel. Not wanting to make Arlo wait for me, I rush to the shower, washing my body and hair in record time.

I pick out the chinos and shirt I was wearing before I changed into my gym wear and hope they don’t look too creased to sport in public, now that they’ve been folded in my bag.

With a quick glance in the mirror, I flick my wet hair every which way, when an errant thought has me in a state of panic. I’ve been out of the dating game for a while—actually, dating is probably the most inaccurate term of any of my interactions with people I’m interested in—but Arlo didn’t ask me out on a date, did he? There would at least need to be interest from both parties or even an inkling of chemistry, right?

I’m not interested in Arlo, and I’m certain his friendship and niceties aren’t him being interested in me beyond our shared experiences.

I don’t think I would’ve gotten that wrong.

Giving up on my hair, I just run my fingers through it, ensuring the strands are brushed back enough so they’re off my face. I look at my reflection one last time, and I don’t miss the color in my cheeks and the small light in my eyes.

I can do this.

When I reach Arlo, I figure transparency is the best option, because whether I want to admit it or not, I need his friendship, and I don’t want a stupid misunderstanding to jeopardize that.

“This isn’t a date is it?” I blurt out.

Rendering him speechless, his mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water.

“I mean, you’re great and extremely attractive,” I tell him. “But I?—”

He raises a hand to interrupt me. “This isn’t a date.”

My shoulders relax almost immediately, and my relief makes Arlo laugh.

“Should I be offended by how relieved you are right now?”

“No. Shit. I’m sorry,” I say, worried underneath the bravado that I’ve really upset him.

“I’m kidding,” he assures me, a small smile on his face. “I know how it is when you’re first trying to get your life together. And for the record, I don’t do dating, or relationships, or really any kind of thing that distracts me from sobriety.”

I don’t know why this feels like a punch in the gut. Relationships are so far from my mind, but the idea of meeting someone, who makes you feel good, and having to push that away, makes me hate this journey just that little bit more.

“You think being with someone will ruin my sobriety?” I ask, the deflation in my voice impossible to hide.

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