Page 67 of The Intimacy of Finding You

I was fine.

I had been fine during my session.

I had been fine last night.

I had been fine, and suddenly I wasn’t, and this was the true test. Of how badly I wanted to be sober, and so far, I felt like I was failing. Fucking failing. A goddamn failure.

And I said nothing. I kept quiet as I slipped into bed right beside Callum, giving him a kiss on the lips before closing my eyes so he’d close his and leave me alone while still being right in front of me. I wanted to be alone. To fight this alone.

The thought scared me. Terrified me. I was so easily reverting to the way I’d thought before, taking the loneliness in my heart and transforming it into truth in my mind.

I want to drink.

God, did I want to. It would make everything better. It’d make it all okay. It’d make it all numb, and there’d be no issues, and I’d wake up in the morning, take another sip, and life would be great because I’d be regulated. Easy to deal with. Life would be easy beneath the haze of a drink no less great than my first.

When had I become like this? Addicted and dependent on poison to match what was in my veins. Had Thompson put it there?

I lay awake as Callum slept, my mind and body at war with each other. The solutions were simple. Two opposing sides. Drink, or don’t drink. Suffer, or don’t suffer. Commit or don’t.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up the app Kathleen had told me about. I hadn’t gone to a single meeting. Not because I thought I was better than others, but because I didn’t know if I could handle the shame. How could I admit to complete strangers what I’d done? Of how I’d abandoned my life only to seek out a life far worse than I’d had.

The major issue with meetings was that there wasn’t always one available. It was eleven at night, and the next one was at six in the morning on the other side of the city. I didn’t know if I’d make it that far. I didn’t know if I had the willpower. The urges were so strong.

I imagined myself getting out of bed, sneaking around the house as I put clothes on, sliding my feet into my shoes, and walking. I’d walk to the subway and meet up with Kenny, who always had the best vodka a man could trade for. I’d give him something. Anything. Then he’d bless me with a full bottle. It’d be warm, but I wouldn’t care.

I’d savor it. I knew I would. I’d savor the way it coated my insides with a shield of protection from all the bad and the scary. I knew all too well how easy it’d be to forget, too. If done right, I could forget the things that’d happened with a bottle and a half. I’d wake up the next morning, covered in blood and bruises, and not remember how they’d gotten there.

So easy. It’d be so easy.

I opened my eyes again, having abandoned my phone to daydream about sneaking a drink. I could just make out the ceiling, staring at it as I thought. I thought about that night when I’d packed my shit and left.

The day I’d called my mom, and she’d told me the news that’d started it all.

The first night when I was fourteen.

The first time Thompson had touched me.

My first drink mixed with my last, and the way Callum’s face had looked when he’d first found me at Driftwood. For the first time since leaving the hospital, loving Callum wasn’t enough to keep me sober, and that rocked my entire fucking world in the worst way possible.

It started as a small pain in my chest, gradually getting bigger until it was a burning in my eyes. I clutched the sheets beneath me with my fists. I was spiraling.

I was crying. I was shaking the bed with how hard I was crying. I couldn’t make my legs move. I couldn’t get myself to stop. I was so overwhelmed and consumed with pain.

“Tobi?” Callum’s voice was thick and deep, laced with sleep. “Baby doll, you okay?”

No. No. No. No.

No, I wasn’t okay. No, I wasn’t a good person. No, I wasn’t strong, and I wasn’t even feeling guilty, and that was the most dangerous part of it all.

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay.” Callum scooted closer, not touching me, but almost. “I’m right here. What’s going on?”

I gasped between soft cries, my throat and chest convulsing. I couldn’t get a deep breath in.

“I’m going to touch your arm, okay? Just stick with me.” His palm covered my upper arm, rubbing gently over my skin. “You’re okay. I’m here. You’re not alone. Talk to me.”

Not alone. I wasn’t alone. Did I not deserve to be alone, though?

Through a sniffle and a whimper, I did just as he’d said. I wasn’t prepared for what came out of my mouth, but there was no stopping it. “I-I have a brother.”