Page 2 of Addiction

I’ve counted down the days to being able to leave this place, and now I’m on the opposite side of the door, I’m too scared to fucking move.

There are too many consequences to this part of my life. Too many choices. Too many temptations. And now that I’m out in this big wide world once again, I fear those cravings that have perished in the last nineteen months will come back thick and fast when shit gets tough, ruining everything I’ve fought to restore.

I’m not the man I remember.

I fought for my country and thrived. I lived, breathed, loved, and honored every part of being a Navy SEAL. But now… Now, I’m a nobody where my stupidity cost me the lives of many and almost the death of my sister.

I lost everything.

My team.

My father.

Myself.

I'm a mess. A liability. A failure at everything I touch with a title I’m not worthy of.

I am a disgrace. A liar. A coward.

An alcoholic.

I’m a fucking-alcoholic.

I’ve been sober for five hundred and seventy-seven days. I loathe the man I used to be, yet I’m terrified of the one I still hide behind. I may have built some bridges, but I’m a long way from walking down that yellow brick road to redemption. I know I have to rectify the things I've shattered because of a poison that did nothing to drown my pain, and I’m still hiding the very secret I’ve been running from for years. The one I can’t seem to voice. The one I believe made me pick up the bottle. And the thought of admitting that creates a whole new level of fear.

But I made a promise to her.

Nora.

My baby sister, who I love more than anything and would do anything for. I promised her I would try and for that alone, I have to fight. I have to push back all these tainted thoughts that battle with my mind.

I have to try, if not for myself then for her.

“Hey, jailbird. Are you going to stand there all day because I’ve got shit to be getting on with?”

I grin and turn my head in the direction of his voice. Looking casual as hell, Mark Dixon rests against his car hood, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles. We go back many years and have both seen the advantages and disadvantages that war provides.

Picking up my backpack, I shrug it over my shoulder and head down the steps toward him. "Twilight. How are you feeling? You've aged this past year. Is that another grey hair I see?"

"I can still throw a fucking punch like I’m twenty-one so don’t tempt me."

"Go ahead.” I tilt my head toward the building. “My jail bed has just become vacant. I'm sure the big boys on the second floor will love you."

"I'm too pretty for prison." He grins, holding his arms out. "Now shut up and come here, man."

He wraps his arms around me, in a tight hug, slapping me on the back as I return the gesture. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed everyone because there is only so much conversation you can have with limited contact visits and phone calls.

“It’s good to be out, right?”

“Yeah.”

He grips my biceps. “Look at you. You’re like a fucking tank. You’ve been working out hard.”

“I had to keep myself busy somehow.”

Staring at the same four walls is enough to make your mind spiral. The gym and my regular therapy sessions were what got me through, and even that was a struggle at times. “Thanks for being here.”

“No problem. But answer me something: why did I have the pleasure of collecting your sorry ass and not Grayson? Have I been replaced as your new best friend now? Because as much as I'm honored you love my fabulous personality, I'm not going to be clearing up after your shit should you get into trouble.”