Page 54 of The Intimacy of Finding You

I closed my eyes again, taking a deep breath in through my nose. I didn’t know how else to keep myself from panicking first thing in the morning. I tried not to focus on the memory of his casket being lowered into the ground or how much I’d wished Tobi was there with me. I’d had to remind myself that he was getting help so he could be more present, but it still stung. I still wanted him there. My first instinct was still to go to him when I was hurting, no matter how long I’d been hurting without him.

And now he was just across the hall, sleeping in my guest room. Not in my bed where he belonged, but in the bed I had for random guests, like our souls weren’t intertwined or some shit.

I wanted him in my bed. Right beside me. I wanted to feel his warmth again. I wanted him to be the first person to ever sleep in it aside from me because I’d never so much as had a hookup in it. I’d never had a hookup, period.

I’d been secretly waiting for Tobi to come back without even knowing if he would. Did that make me stupid? Or did that make me a hopeless romantic? I’d never found another person interesting enough to get Tobi out of my head, so I never tried.

I’d been waiting for him.

It was always supposed to be him.

After wasting far too much time in bed, I finally threw my legs over the edge and got up to let Fishy outside. He heard me walking down the stairs, and I could hear his claws hitting the hardwood floor as he came to greet me. He was always so excited to see me, acting like I’d abandoned him for seven years and not seven hours to get some sleep.

I was smart, though. I knew the minute I let him sleep in my bed, he’d never sleep without me again. So, downstairs on his dog bed was the best option.

The first thing I noticed, aside from Fishy’s obvious excitement, was the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. As I got closer, I could hear the sound of something sizzling in a pan on the stove.

Fishy followed me to the sliding door, taking off in a running jump into the backyard. I looked to the side and spotted Tobi standing at the stove, cooking breakfast. “Good morning. I thought you were in bed.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” He sighed, moving the pan off the burner. “I, uh, had a rough night. I may or may not have cleaned your entire downstairs while you were sleeping as well.”

Behind me, the living room looked spotless. The carpeted hallway and stairs were also a hell of a lot cleaner than I remembered. The more I looked, the more I realized that the only things not clean were the kitchen countertops and the cookware he was currently using. “I’m sorry you had a rough night. Feel free to clean anytime, though. Wanna share what kept you up?”

He slid a perfectly runny egg onto a plate, surrounded it with bacon, and plopped a slice of toasted bread onto it. “Alcohol. Cravings. My new normal, I guess.”

“Have you thought more about what you’d like to try? We could go over those pamphlets together if you want.” I followed him to the dinner table, taking a seat where he’d placed the plate of food. It looked fucking delicious.

“I don’t know. I still don’t think AA is for me, but I guess I could try old-fashioned therapy like Crew and Price. I don’t want to.” He shrugged. “But there’s a list of therapists with addiction counseling backgrounds, and the hospital’s program will pay for the first few individual and group sessions if I do those. I’d just need to get a job pretty quickly once that ran out.”

I pointed at the table in front of him. “You not gonna eat?”

“Nah. I feel a little queasy, honestly. Cooking felt good, though. I ain’t done that in a long time.”

Smiling, I cut a piece of the egg, letting the yolk run. “Feel free to cook as much as you want, too. But I think therapy is a good place to start. At the very least, they could give you options or insight into different supports. I know Crew has mentioned before that his therapist has recommended a few groups where sexual assault survivors just have meetings and show up to support each other.”

“Yeah, I guess I can take their resources and run with ‘em.”

“Go ahead and grab the list of therapists and stuff. We can go over it together. Look them up and see who might be best.”

Tobi slid the door open for Fishy to come back inside, his paws skittering across the floor in all his excited glory. “Hi, Fishy. Did you go potty like a good Fishbowl?” Fishy’s response was to run around in circles and wiggle his entire body. How fucking adorable was that?

I pushed my chair back, tapping my leg. “Come here, little boy. Come see me.”

Fishy ran toward me, all jumps and hops and adorable huffs. His ears were flopping with every movement, and I honestly just found him so adorable, I wanted to squeeze him. Cute aggression, I think they called it?

Tobi had left and come back with some papers, laying them on the table as he took a seat beside me. “This is everything they gave me at the hospital. Anna, the addictions counselor, told me I could call her if I needed anything or had any questions, too. I mean, the only issue is that I don’t have a phone number, but I’m sure we could use your phone if we needed her.” He pulled a card out from between the pages of the brochure, which had Anna’s phone number and name on it.

I shoveled another bite of egg and toast into my mouth while he opened it up, showing me all the information on different resources. There were even links to recovery podcasts he could listen to, which I hadn’t known existed.

One paper off to the side had a list of different therapists’ names. Each name had their pronouns, specialties, years licensed, and links to their individual websites or profiles. “Well, this is cool. There are a few that specialize in PTSD, sexual trauma, and domestic violence along with addiction here. Do you want to start with them? Look up their information?”

He shrugged, never taking his eyes off the paper. “I guess so.”

I tilted my head, taking him in. It was like the entire world was weighing him down, and all I wanted was to bear some of it for him. If I could take it all away—if I could make it all perfect for him, I would. I’d shoulder whatever I had to shoulder as long as it meant he was happy again. “What’s making you hesitate?”

Dark purple rings had started to form beneath his eyes, the veins there prominent. Dehydrated. Starving, almost. “I’m startin’ to realize just how fucked up my life is. I’m almost thirty-three, and I have no job, no money, barely any clothes, no working phone, no—” He shook his head, pausing before taking a deep breath. “Nothin’ to write home about. Aside from you. You’ve always been something to write home about. What I’m most proud of in my life.”

Jesus Christ. Could he get any more perfect? Could I fall anymore in love with him? Sighing, I reached for his hands, rubbing my thumb over his skin. “Baby, your life isn’t fucked up. You’ve gone through some really horrific shit. Of course you don’t have those things. You needed time to find value in them again. Now that you do, you’re realizing that and wanting them. One thing at a time, and you aren’t alone, okay? Not anymore.”