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“What happened to your parents?” Tyson asked calmly.
I shot him a pained look, but he wasn’t backing down. With a sigh, I replied, “They died in a car accident, coming to pick me up from a party. They had a rule that if me or any of my siblings got into trouble, we could call them and they’d come, no questions asked. I was messing around with my friends, drinking and smoking weed, and the combination didn’t sit well. It freaked me out. So I called home, and my parents came to get me. Only, they never made it to my friend's house. A drunk driver hit them head on, going the wrong way on the road.”
“How the fuck is that your fault?”
Clink sounded outraged, which was reassuring. I lifted a shoulder. “They never would’ve been out there if it wasn’t for me. I was sixteen. I wasn’t supposed to be drinking or doing drugs. My sister says that because I was such a bad kid, God punished me by taking away our parents. That’s why she doesn’t speak to me anymore. She doesn’t want to be punished for knowing me.”
I finally let my eyes drift over the group, taking in the understanding nods and soft smiles. When I looked at Clink, he was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his mouth. I could hear the jingle of the chain on his belt, signaling he was feeling twitchy either from being pissed on my behalf or because he was getting sober. I pushed through, willing myself to finish.
“I don’t normally answer when my family calls. It doesn’t do us any good and we always fight. I was stupid to pick it up, but I guess a small part of me always hopes they’ll change their minds. Or at least acknowledge that I didn't mean for it to happen. But I really need to stop answering their calls. Every time I do, I end up getting really depressed and it’s hard for me to live my life and do my job.” I bit my lip, bouncing on my toes a little. “I might not go for drugs, but I definitely spiraled. I used to punish myself for what happened and the urge pops up now and then to fall into old habits. I had to call Tyson to help me. He’s always helped me. And he’ll help you too, if you give him the chance. So uh… I’m still not an addict. But thanks for listening.”
My face burned as the group clapped and cheered. I hated public speaking. Tyson clapped my shoulder, a proud look on his face as he stepped past me to take over.
“Good job, Sammy.” He turned back to the group. “I know Sam isn’t an addict, but I wanted you to hear her story. Sometimes, no matter how much we want them to, our family isn’t going to ever see past what they want to see. Their toxicity will only drag you down and make it harder to achieve your goals. I want to encourage you to really look at the relationships in your life and how they affect your sobriety. If your family isn’t willing to support you through the hard parts and the good parts, then maybe it’s best to take a step back from that relationship and focus on those who have your back.”
While he went on to talk about how the struggle to stay sober was a lifelong battle, and finding your support system was important, I sat back in my seat, staring at my hands. I couldn’t even say how much I longed to have my family back when I was younger. Even after they cast me out, I was almost desperate to have them back. I pleaded with them, wanting to prove to them and to myself that I wasn’t at fault.
I’d never get my family back. That much was clear years later. They weren’t interested in being part of my life. Tyson was, though. He treated me like a person, and didn’t sugarcoat when I was being an ass. He gave it to me straight, and I felt like I was flying every time he said he was proud of me. Tyson wasn’t the family I was born with. He was the family I chose, and I’d do a thousand public speeches if it made him happy.
“So when I asked you if someone was screwing with you, you were lying, right?”
I jumped, surprised. Clink had been sitting in the back but had somehow snuck around until he was sitting behind me, leaning close to whisper to me. I shot him a look over my shoulder, shushing him.
“Pay attention.”
The pissed off look he came in here with lifted a little and he smirked at me. He listened, though, and leaned back in his seat with his arms over his chest, feigning paying attention. I knew he was faking because I could feel his gaze burning the back of my neck. This wasn’t a good idea, having him here. He knew too much already, and that would make it harder to keep him at a distance. I’d need to figure out some way to get him to find a new spot. There had to be another meeting closer to the clubhouse. The convenience would sway him, surely.
The rest of the meeting passed with no interruption from Clink. A few other people said their peace, and we wrapped things up with a prayer. Given my history with the church, I didn’t participate in that part, but it didn’t hurt to say the words even if I wasn’t certain I believed. I believed in the message and that was all that mattered.
A few people approached me afterwards, hugging me and telling me it wasn’t my fault. I felt like I was choking on the lump in my throat by the time the room cleared out and I took a minute to take some deep breaths while Tyson said his goodbyes at the door. I was gathering my things when I felt a presence at my back. I sighed, turning to face Clink. He studied me curiously, like he was trying to read me. It made me uncomfortable, and I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, glaring at him.
“What?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Are you gonna let Tyson help you? I’m pretty sure there’s an NA charter closer to you, if it’d be easier. Getting sober isn’t something you can do on your own.” I’d volunteered long enough to see many people try. It was easier when you had people to rely on.
He lifted a shoulder, only to be smacked in the back of his head by his friend. He flinched and ducked, glowering at the man over his shoulder.
“Dammit, Reaper. I–”
“Keep pretending this isn’t a big deal, and I’ll knock your ass out. Again.”
Now that I wasn’t reeling from his arrival, I could see the bruises on his face and the way he favored his left side. I tipped my head with a frown.
“Wait. Did you really kick his ass?”
Reaper nodded. “Asshole thought he could take me on while high off his ass. Idiot can’t even fight me sober.”
Clink scowled, shifting not so subtly away from his friend. “I would’ve done more damage if I wasn’t on a bad trip.”
Reaper rolled his eyes, clearly not believing a word Clink was saying. I didn’t doubt his prowess. Reaper seemed to exude dangerous energy, where Clink more reminded me of a golden retriever. I couldn’t see him fighting. Their dynamic was interesting, though. Even though they were talking about fighting each other, it was obvious Reaper cared. He brought Clink here, after all, and stayed for the whole meeting. Most family members didn’t do that.
Their banter benefited me because it drew Clink’s attention off me while he snapped at Reaper about how it was an unfair fight. They followed me towards the door where Tyson was waiting, offering his support and words of advice to people as they left. He beamed at me when I approached, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m proud of you. I know speaking like that isn’t easy. It helped though, I promise. A few people mentioned on their way out that they were going to think about their relationships more and how it affected them. Thank you.”
Squeezing his middle tightly, I stepped back and smiled. “Glad my misery could be of some use.”
