Page 112 of Stalkers Anonymous

“You still look like shit,” he says finally, pulling his chair closer to mine. “When was the last time you showered?”

He showed up at my door a few hours ago, black coffee in hand and a sympathetic smile on his face. After thirty or so minutes of convincing, I finally agreed to attend tonight’s session. I don’t think it’ll help me get my job back.

It definitely won’t help me get Hailey back.

Rock bottom is a couple levels up from where I am. I feel like I’m drowning over and over again, stuck in a never-ending loop of self-destruction and self-pity.

So I’m here. Because what else do I have to lose?

“I still feel like shit.” My voice comes out rough, like I haven’t used it in days—which isn’t far from the truth. Since leaving Hailey’s apartment, I’ve barely spoken to anyone except Tyler when I called him during a moment of weakness, sobbing like a fucking child.

“Have you slept at all?”

“No.” I lift my head to meet his eyes. “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face when I told her. She looked at me like I was a stranger.”

“You were acting like one,” Tyler says, but his tone is gentle.

“I just keep playing it back. Everything I’d do differently.”

“That’s the job now. That’s the work. You play it back and you learn and you don’t do it again.”

I want to believe it’s that simple. The problem is, I’m not sure I’m capable of learning. I’m not sure I’m capable of a lot of things I thought I was capable of two weeks ago.

The other members start trickling in. None of them look surprised to see me.

Tracey enters with her clipboard, and her eyes immediately find mine. There’s no surprise in her expression either, just a calmness that makes me feel exposed. Naked.

“Cole,” she says before she takes her seat. “Let’s chat for a minute. Privately.”

Fuck.

“Okay,” I sigh, standing quickly to meet her across the room. Before she can start, I admit, “I can go, if you want. I wasn’t sure I belonged here anymore, but Tyler said—”

“This is exactly where you belong,” Tracey replies firmly. “You are always welcome here. I just wanted to let you know that even if you no longer have an employer requiring you to attend, there will always be a space for you. This group is an invaluable tool for you to utilize when you’re ready to face your addiction head-on.”

“Thank you,” is all I can manage. My throat is tight. My eyes burn with tears I don’t want her to see.

“Of course.” She gives me a genuine smile, something I didn’t know she was capable of, then points toward the circle of people waiting for us. None of them look up when we take our seats, but their silence is full of questions.

They know something’s wrong. It’s written all over my face, in my posture, in the way I can’t seem to sit still. They’re wondering where I’ve been for the past month.

“Before we begin our usual check-ins,” Tracey says, breaking the tension, “Cole, would you like to share what’s brought you back to us tonight?”

She’s dangling the invitation, and I know this is my moment. I can deflect, minimize, or give them a watered-down version of what I’ve done and the mess I’ve made. Or I can tell them the truth.

Most of it, anyway.

“I relapsed,” I say. “Completely.”

The room is silent except for the buzzing lights and the distant sounds of another meeting happening upstairs. Grant shifts in his chair while Tyler’s expression is pained but unsurprised. He already knows everything.

“Tell us what happened,” Tracey says gently.

So I do.

I start at the beginning. I tell them about Emma and her ex-boyfriend and how I tracked him with company resources for weeks after he put her in the hospital. And then how I beat the shit out of him when I found him, and how I subsequently lost my job. Then how Jack hired me on the condition that I do the group, and how I thought it was all bullshit, and how I convinced myself I was fine when I met Hailey.

Austen is nodding slowly, already seeing where this is going.