What the hell was I thinking, going back to a stranger’s house for a random fuck? That impulsiveness belonged to a younger version of me who existed before I’d descended into the madness of drugs. That person was long gone, and I intended to keep it that way.
Last night didn’t feel like I was living that story again. I’d seen a possibility to not have to be stuck living with the same routine for the rest of my life.
I turned the cold water on as high as it would go and splashed my hot skin until it cooled off. The collar of my shirt was soaked, along with a good chunk of my hair, so I reached for a towel to scrub the dripping water out of my hair. With one last look in the mirror, I counted the bruises Micah had left behind.
Five. Five marks left by his teeth and tongue. Five bits of evidence of how Micah shook my core.
I shook my head hard. There wasn’t any time for me to stand in my bathroom staring like a fool and having a freak-out over something that would never happen again. Even though I didn’t have a lot of personal experience with this, I knew how it worked; the hookup’s number went into the phone number graveyard, long forgotten.
After getting dressed, I headed to the small dining room. This house was the first place I’d ever had by myself and was a bit sparse, but everything belonged to me. I sat down at the dining room table—one of the handmade gifts from Chance’s woodworking studio—and opened my computer.
Closing my eyes, I worked to rid my mind of my earlier thoughts about Micah. Last night’s adventure was no longer at the forefront of my mind as I dialed into the operator line.
Today, I took a couple more calls before an email hit my inbox. I finished a call before dialing a regular that I kept in touch with weekly.
Caleb and I had hit it off the first time he called the hotline. By the end of the call, he asked if he could email me his number and keep in touch. It’d been almost a year, and he hadn’t missed a single Sunday.
He talked about random events that happened in his life—about a trip to the grocery store when he could manage to get there, and his obsession with instant ramen. He talked about his job in middle management and talked about how the next quarter at work was going to be stressful. He told me how much he missed the beaches where he grew up.
He never said anything about his family or any past relationships. I didn’t know his age or if he had any friends he hung out with. I did know that Caleb became addicted to painkillers after nearly dying in a car accident, and a year later he still suffered from the pain.
Caleb became chattier when his Oxy and Xanax cocktail finally kicked in. I kinda liked the predictability of it, as dark as it sounded.
“Do you have any pets?” Caleb asked, his voice slowed and slurred. The pills had kicked in.
“Nope,” I said, running my finger in a circle on my dining room table. “Thought about getting a cat a few times but never made the jump.”
“How come?”
I considered his question. There were plenty of excuses I’d made over the last couple of years, but there was a real reason that I kept hidden away from everyone I was close to. Caleb was mostly a stranger, but he also felt like a friend in a weird way. With Caleb. there were no boundaries because he understood. I didn’t have to worry about making a total ass of myself.
“Mostly out of fear of commitment,” I said, curling my fingers into a fist. I hooked my index finger over my thumb’s knuckle and squeezed.
“I had a dog once. Not anymore, though,” Caleb said. “Gave it up to my ex. It’s better that way, though, because I didn’t take care of him. I didn’t take care of my ex either. I loved him, I really did, but I knew I wasn’t making him happy, and that’s why I wasn’t nearly as upset as I should’ve been when he left me.”
Caleb talked about this a lot, too. A man he loved a lot. His voice changed when he talked about the man who left him. He talked about that man in absolutes, of before and after.
He drifted off a bit, but eventually he let me go, telling me he’d talk to me next week. I took a few more calls after letting Caleb go. A woman from Michigan who’d left rehab for three days before she bought heroin. A sophomore in college who snorted Adderall and needed someone to talk to when the shakes got too bad. A mother of three who scored another hit of meth.
There was the reminder to always hide their gear. Make sure they kept their Narcan nearby if they had it. Each time I talked to them, I told them how I’d been there.
I’d talked to people from all over on the hotline. People who wanted to be free from their addiction. They’d put themselves up in rehab and get clean, but then the itch would come back, and they couldn’t ignore it. Helping anyone toward sobriety was out of my hands, but the one thing I gave them was time. I gave time to keep going, to make another decision, to survive another day.
Maybe if survival were more fun, everyone would make it out of addiction’s hell alive.
Once I was done with the calls, I straightened up the house for when Chance and Duncan came over for dinner. Sometimes one of us cooked, or else we ordered in. It began when I was just out of rehab after my overdose and over the years it turned into a ritual.
My phone pinged with a notification. I was expecting Chance telling me they were about ready to head over, but when I looked at my screen, it wasn’t Chance.
It was Micah.
Hey, wanted to reach out and see if maybe you’d be down to meet up again.
Heat tingled my face and into my arms and fingertips. I looked over my shoulder as if a camera crew would jump out of one of the closets, yell Surprise! and laugh at my embarrassment for getting my hopes up about a round two.
There were no cameras and no one hiding in my closet. It didn’t make Micah’s text any less alluring, though.
I tossed the phone on the couch and cupped the back of my neck. As enticing as the offer was, fear jabbed its sharp edges into my side. I sent a text to the group chat with Duncan and Chance, letting them know that the front door was unlocked, then turned my phone on silent, refusing to let Micah’s invitation haunt me.
When the guys showed up, they both had their arms full of stuff to cook. Duncan had a habit of making one meal big enough to feed a whole ass family reunion, but when I started living out on my own, I figured out his reason for doing it was because he wanted to make sure I didn’t go hungry. Even still, tonight was a bit over the top.
While Duncan worked in the kitchen, Chance and I stayed away in the living room while I put on a movie for background noise. We watched it for a bit, the scent of Duncan’s cooking making my stomach rumble.
As if on cue, Duncan yelled, “Five more minutes and we can eat. I got a few things I need to keep an eye on, though.”
I looked toward the kitchen with suspicion, slowly turning toward Chance. “Okay, be for real. Y’all comin’ in my house with food like you’re making my last meal. Should I be worried?”
Chance shook his head as he adjusted on the couch so that his back sat against the armrest. His fingers played along the couch cushion, the deep circles under his eyes darker in the dull living room light.
“Duncan wants to go out of town next week to reset.” Chance flicked his dark eyes toward the kitchen with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Over the years they’d been together, Duncan learned that when Chance had rough times like this, it was good for him to go somewhere quiet and rest. It wasn’t gonna fix the fact that these dips would stick with Chance forever, but it did help him come back to himself a bit.
“When do you leave?”
Chance turned his attention back to me and rubbed a knuckle over the seam of his mouth and said, “Next Friday. We get back Monday.”
My blood ran cold. For five years, we’d never missed Sunday dinner. If one of us was sick, there’d be an extra body to play backup nurse. When my brother was in town to visit me, Duncan practically made a three-course meal. Hell, not even a snowpocalypse stopped Duncan and Chance from coming over so we could spend the Sunday together.
