Page 32 of Addiction

I wave them off and shut the door, smiling to myself.

I love my job and everything that comes with it, and it’s days like today that make all the struggles I went through even more worthwhile.

“You are so good with kids,” Amanda says, packing up her journals. “Do you have any of your own?”

I chuckle. “Erm. No.”

“You’re too dedicated to your career—you put in so many long hours.” It’s said as a statement of fact and my stomach twists with recognition. I hide my discomfort by packing up the equipment. Amanda has been an intern for the clinic for a few months now and rotates her learning process between all the therapists who work here. Personal lives are not regularly discussed, but if we ever do divulge, I am careful to tell them only what they need to know about mine. I’ve not even told them I’m gay. Her words sting like a band-aid has been ripped off the subject I’ve been hiding behind for some time.

I’m nothing like my father but, of late, my around-the-clock hours make me more like him by the second. But it’s the distraction I need. It’s always the same this time of year. I purposefully sleep, eat, work, and repeat every day to avoid any feelings that try to creep in.

I haven’t been at the clinic that long. The beauty of what I do is that I can go anywhere I want with it. For the majority of my career, I’ve dedicated my time to working with patients in their own homes—an environment they feel comfortable in. I’ve used my skills and knowledge and got them on the road to recovery. But that all changed some time ago. Working at this clinic gives me great patients like Jessica who see me through the day, but my heart isn’t in this place.

“Wade?”

Amanda waves her hand in front of me to get my attention.

“What?”

“I said I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right. Of course.”

“I’ve not got to head home for a while. Do you want to grab something to eat?”

“Oh. I… Erm. I can’t tonight. I’ve got some paperwork to catch up with. Another time maybe?”

“Sure. Have a good night.”

I nod and wave her off. The second she is out of the door I turn off the lights to the treatment room and head next door to my small office. Sitting down at the desk, I look at the stack of files, but Amanda’s comment is still stuck in my head.

You’re too dedicated to your work—you put in so many long hours.

She’s absolutely right. My thoughts go back to my parents—particularly my dad. Growing up, my brother and me had hardly seen them. We come from a family that has more money than it knows what to do with it. We hadn’t been raised by our parents but by a selection of nannies who came and went over the years. Work had always come before anything, and Jonny—my brother—had certainly come before I did.

He is the son they’d always wanted—the first born who has followed the career path that they’d planned out for him. The great thing about that, though, is Jonny had wanted it as much as they did.

I on the other hand had been a problem, from the moment I could make my own choices. When I was an early teen, I began suffering from anxiety and panic attacks. Something which my dad used to make fun of. I never knew what triggered them, but Jonny was the one who stood beside me and guided me through them. And now he’s gone.

And it’s been a very long and agonizing road.

Looking down at the tattoo on my arm, I think about him. The black ink is of the mountains, the word adventure underneath. Even as close as we had been, we were also very different. The one thing we’d had in common was wanting to travel the world, have adventures, and we’d been due to embark on our fifth one when everything changed. From then on, I’ve been exploring them solo.

Puerto Rico was my latest—a simple adventure brought together with closed eyes and a spin of my globe. Wherever my finger lands, I head out to explore that place.

I haven’t travelled much these past few years, but this trip had been a welcome distraction.

Now, here I sit at twenty-eight doing the one thing I said I never would: behaving like a man I’d promised I’d never become and working my way through fucking paperwork.

I do it because I don’t know how else to avoid the gut-wrenching pain I have to live with each day.

The shame I brought upon them.

The reason I feel so alone.

The devastation that rocked their world.

I do all of that because I don’t know what else to do.