Page 25 of Addiction

“You too, Asher. You look well.”

When his hand makes contact with mine, a tingle races down my spine. His eyes flash back to me as if he’s secretly telling me he felt it too, and for the split second we hold each other’s gaze, I want to know what he’s thinking. I’ve always wanted to know what he’s thinking.

Like a recurring dream, I’m drawn back to the night I’ve never spoken of—the one where this man showed me a side to him that I believe is the core of all his problems; the night he was with me.

Even in his drunken state, and with me trying to console him, there had been moments between us that I can't forget.

That night, a single touch from him had changed everything for me.

As I park up outside my house, concern consumes me as I spot Asher sitting on the sidewalk, hunched up and holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Lord knows why or how long he’s been sat there, but he’s soaked through as the rain beats down. The weather turned a few hours ago, and a storm is due to hit soon.

Glancing at my cell, I’m in two minds whether or not to call Nora, but I hold off because she’s got enough on her plate. Losing Pete has left a massive hole in everyone’s lives, and I know the tension between her and Asher is high right now with his return.

Getting out of my car, I jog over to him, unsure of what response I’ll get and wondering why he is even on the opposite side of town.

“Asher. What are you doing out here? It’s pouring down.”

“Leave me.” He shrugs me off, his words slurred, but it’s clear in his tone that he’s upset.

“I can’t leave you out here. Come inside. I’ll get you some dry clothes.” Ignoring his protest, I stand behind him and lift him to his feet. His solid build is a lot stronger than I’d expected, and I have to hold myself steady. Hooking his arm around my neck, I make slow progress to my door, the rain turning our clothes into a second skin as Asher fires insults at me in between finishing his bottle of whiskey.

Once inside, he falls onto the couch in a heap. I stand with my hand in my hair just looking at him, wondering what to do next because our friendship isn’t by any means a happy one. But as I look down at this giant before me, I wonder what has made him so broken—how he’s become so dependent on alcohol and why he’s pushed everyone he loves away. This goes beyond him being a SEAL and his dad’s illness.

I’m sure of it.

With a heavy sigh, I begin doing the only thing I can to help him. After getting him some water, and quickly putting together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I help him to sit up, taking the bottle from him.

“Here. Eat. I’ll get you some dry clothes.” He does as I order, and I go about finding what I need. I’ll worry about myself after.

When I head back out, his bloodshot eyes find mine.

“What am I doing here?”

“I found you outside.”

“You should have left me.”

I place the clothes and towel on the coffee table and stand in front of him. “Well, I didn’t. There’s a storm coming.”

“I need a drink.” He goes to stand, but I push him back down. I don’t miss the verbal abuse muttered under his breath.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Asher?”

“The fuck do you care? I’m not one of your patients.”

“No, but you’re Nora’s brother, and I care about her,” I state, pulling off his boots.

“You don’t know shit. You don’t know anything. Nobody fucking knows anything.”

The water droplets from the rain run down his face and biceps and chills now cover his skin.

As I stand between his legs, he allows me to take the hem of his wet T-shirt and lift it over his head before it falls to the floor. I grab the towel and dry off his hair and back, running my eyes over the ink and scars of war that line his skin. Sadness fills my chest at the thought of what life must be like fighting for our country—what harrowing things a soldier must witness or overcome—and I wonder if my drunken acquaintance in front of me has witnessed such brutalization meaning this is the very reason why he drowns himself in liquor.

“You don’t have to silence your demons with booze, you know.” I say softly. “It’s only going to mask what you’re really fighting.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s never good bottling things up. Trust me, I know.”