Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“I’m not old.”
“You damn sure fucking act like it.”
“Just because I don’t like to go out-”
“You don’t like to go do anything.”
“Not true.”
Her expression tilts in a sarcastic fashion.
“I like to have dinner with my family.”
“Yawn.”
“I also like to thumb through my roommate’s car mags.”
Kara pretends to dose off on an exaggerated snore.
“You’re being a cunt.”
“And you’re being the literal definition of fucking boring.” We exchange small chuckles that follows with an actual question. “Why can’t we actually hang out tonight?”
“Got an early morning.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Job.”
Her lips deviously curve. “But still no girlfriend?”
I need her to understand that what we have is just friendship.
And it’s truthfully barely fucking that.
But it’s damn sure all that it’ll ever be.
The sooner she grasps that shit, the better.
For both of us.
“Think about meeting me for salsa night this weekend.” Her body flounces out of the seat as easy as it flounced into it. “It’s just dancing, Collins. No alcohol required…”
In typical Kara fashion, she shoots me a sultry wink and saunters away, leaving me momentarily left alone with my own thoughts.
The only type of salsa I’m interested in requires tortilla chips.
“You know, there are perks to dating another recovering addict,” Law’s voice unexpectedly states from the opposite direction she left. “They understand the struggle you face daily on a deeper level.”
My frame rotates to face him as he sits down into the empty chair beside me.
“You can have empathetic discussions. You can have co-existing lifestyles with the same boundaries and barriers. For many, engaging in a relationship with someone who is also on the same sobriety warpath lacks the ‘embarrassment’ or ‘shame’ of having to admit that they are an addict to begin with.”
I merely fold my arms across my chest.
“However-”
“Fuck me, there’s more to this shit?”
“However,” Law emphasizes on a scolding glare, “there are major drawbacks as well with the main one being that if they lose a battle with restraint, it severely increases the chances of you doing the same, which then turns this person you love from an ally to adversary in a sense.”
Yeah, I can see both sides.
The advantages and disadvantages.
What he can’t see is that I have no fucking interest in dating.
Anyone.
“Just like everything else, Collins, the choice of who you spend your time with is a choice. Your choice.”
“And I choose to spend most of my non-work time alone.”
“You don’t have any friends?”
“No.”
“What’s Kara?”
“A work in fucking progress.”
“Fair enough.” Law doesn’t bother hiding his laughter. “What about at work? You haven’t made any friends there?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They wanna fucking drink when they get off, and I’d rather not be around that shit if I can help it. Fuck, my sister-in-law won’t even serve wine at our weekly dinners anymore because she’s trying to be supportive of the decision.”
He hums while nodding his understanding. “It’s good to not only see that you have boundaries but that you enforce them.”
Pride threatens to make me grin.
“What about McCoy? You live together, so you spend time together-”
“You’re a quick one, Law.”
“-but do you spend time together outside of the apartment?”
“No.”
“He offer?”
I begrudgingly answer. “Repeatedly.”
“Is he pushy?”
“Persuasive.”
“Just not persuasive enough,” Law offhandedly comments prior to smirking. “Recovery is all about change, Collins. Moving forward. Doing things differently than you have in the past-”
“I. Am.”
“You are, yet you aren’t.”
The glare he’s given is deadly.
“There is a vast fucking difference between existing and living, Collins. And you fucking know that. And you have spent a significant amount of time doing the former, therefore, it is time to explore the latter, otherwise, despite your new sober position, you really aren’t doing anything different. You aren’t corrupting a cycle that needs corrupting You aren’t gathering new materials to further build the second chance you’ve been given. You aren’t acquiring new ammunition to protect this opportunity that you continuously fight so hard to fucking have.”
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat is mindlessly done.
“Here’s your homework before our next face to face.”
It’s impossible not to sneer at the word homework.
Like who the fuck wants homework assignments this close to thirty.
“It’s nice and simple.”
Doubtful.
“The next time McCoy offers for you to do something with him and his friends or him and his girlfriend, go do it.”
He thinks that’s simple?
Ha.
The fuck it is.
No.
Nothing about that shit is simple.
Nothing about any of this shit is simple.
Even fucking peeing in a goddamn cup and letting them take my blood once a month isn’t simple. Having to figure out how to fast on a fuck early shift, get my ass across town to the private clinic, and back to work in thirty minutes or less like I’m fucking Dominos is not fucking simple!
And these fucking annoying and constant discussions about dating…
About having friends…
About fucking socializing…
None of these are easy, either.
Add in the nagging pressure to be more involved, to be more invested in my own life, to be more invested in other’s lives and the temptation to alleviate the pressure with the aid of little nicotine or a good bong hit increases exponentially.