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“What? No!” I nearly shouted. “I love you more than anything.”
“Then?”
“I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m holding your hand, and you’re holding mine. We’re going to walk through this together. You and me.”
I was overwhelmed by his words. By his love.
“Finish your water and call your sponsor.” Reed gave me a kiss on the cheek and stood up. “I’m going to make us something to eat.”
Reed headed off to the kitchen.
My phone was sitting on the coffee table, but I looked at it like it was a bomb about to detonate.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for it and tapped on the home screen, realizing that Reed had silenced the notifications. Thank fuck. There were more than forty text messages, but I ignored all of them.
I tapped on a number I knew by heart and waited for a response.
“Tate, I saw the news and I just messaged you. Are you all right?”
My sponsor, Dare, answered in his rumbling voice.
“I’m not sure how I’m doing to be honest. I finally told Reed that I love him. We’re together. For real. And now I’m out. Part of me still can’t believe it,” I sighed. “On the other, I just had a massive panic attack, a flashback from my childhood. Well, you know all about that. It was so bad, I puked my guts out. And you know my history with anxiety, that’s when my urge to get high goes into overdrive.”
“I know all too well,” Dare replied. “But drugs are just a band-aid, they’re not going to heal your wounds.”
I sighed. The lure of being high was that I didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought of me. And it dimmed the memories that haunted me.
If only for a little while.
“Coke gave me the kind of confidence I’ve never had on my own. It made me forget the past and worries about the future.”
“You know that’s not true,” Dare implored. “Coke, booze, pills—none of them give you confidence. All they do is temporarily numb the pain and fool you into thinking you’re invincible. But none of us are. That’s why we gotta talk about what’s going on inside us. Hiding our fears, our pain, just makes the urge to use that much stronger. And numbing yourself isn’t a long-term solution.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not going to be judged by millions of people.”
“No, I’m not. But like you, I know what’s it like to struggle with identity. I grew up in an ultra-conservative household and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t know that being gay was not acceptable. Being disowned by my family is a trauma I carry to this day. And for most of my adult life, alcohol was my solution to dealing with that pain. I used it for everything—to numb the devastation at losing my family, to deal with bad relationships, you name it. Because I didn’t want to talk about what I’d been through. It was easier to get drunk and forget, even if for a little while.”
“Exactly. And I’m so fucking scared I’m going to slip up again. The last thing I want to do now is hurt Reed. I think that’s why my craving is hitting hard. I have so much more to lose now if things between us don’t work out. I’ve never… I’ve never loved anyone like this. He’s everything to me.”
“It’s a heady thing. All you can do is talk it out with him. You told me he’s got his own battle with alcohol.”
“He does.”
“Then he understands exactly what you’re going through. Be honest and tell him what’s going on in your mind. And reach out to me whenever you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Dare,” I replied. “I feel calmer now.”
The need was still there, whispering to me, but I felt like I could manage it.
“No thanks necessary. Talking to you helps me as much as it helps you.”
“I’ll probably call again later, if that’s okay?” I asked.
“I’ll be here.”
I tapped end and placed the phone back on the table.
