Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
My fingers nervously tap on the plastic of my seat as I hear my name called. Guess I caught his attention, after all.
“Bailey, would you like to share anything?”
Carter squeezes my hand. I stand and focus on the piece of lint by my feet, kicking it around as I find the courage to speak. “Hi, most of you know me, but for anyone who doesn’t, my name is Bailey, and I’m an addict.”
“Hi, Bailey,” echoes through the room.
“I’ve been sober for two years. It feels really good to be clean, but some days are harder than others. Some days, I don’t feel the pain at all, and other days, I hurt everywhere, and it feels like only a pill will fix it. I just started a new job, and it comes with a lot of temptation. I remind myself every day how far I have come and how much I have to lose. Even though I sometimes hurt so bad, I remind myself I can’t go back to the person I was before. I did a lot of bad things. I almost died, so I think about how lucky I am to be alive, and that’s enough to help. But I’m afraid one of these days, it won’t be enough.”
I sit down, my shoulders falling forward with the weight of my confession. Reflecting on my past helps me remember why I need to be here more often. The reminder of the things I did when I was addicted to pain pills will haunt me forever . . . I can’t go back there. I won’t.
“Thank you for sharing, Bailey. How about you? Feel like talking today?” He directs to Carter.
My eyes meet his, and I smile, giving him courage. He needs to speak for this meeting to truly work. I watch his eyes twitch and the way his body trembles, and I know how bad he’s itching to use—or run. I feel for him. The memory of those first months of sobriety will always be burned into my mind. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone—especially not my friend.
“H-Hi,” he stammers. “My name’s Carter.”
“Hi, Carter,” I say, along with everyone else in the room.
“Where do I even start?” He smiles, but it’s forced, and eventually, he looks at the ground. “I first started drinking when I was fifteen, and it wasn’t much later that it escalated. My mom . . . she had this boyfriend who used to beat her in front of me. One night, it got bad, and I gave him a taste of his own medicine. Afterward, my mom kicked me out.”
My stomach turns at Carter’s story. It’s horrifying that a kid had to witness such a thing. Then when he acts to defend his mom, she turns her back on him. Heartbreaking.
“Anyway,” he continues. “I went to this senior’s party, and that’s the first night I used. I was drunk, but it wasn’t enough. It was only—it was pills to start,” he amends, knowing that pills are the gateway to the harder stuff. “I recently had a rough night, and a friend came to my rescue. I know it’s time for me to get help, so I’m here.”
When he doesn’t say anything else, Bill, the NA lead, takes things back over.
“Thanks for sharing, Carter. We’re glad you’re here.”
I reach my hand over and place it on top of Carter’s in reassurance. I know that was hard for him, and the truth is, I’m proud. The challenging part will be getting him back here and keeping him on the straight and narrow. If he wants the job, he’ll have to make it happen.
18
Drew
Something is going on with Cal.
I’m not sure what, but the man has basically disappeared. Normally, I’d be happy about that, but right now, I’m anything but.
The papers for the sale of the property should have been in my hands weeks ago. But they aren’t. We made a deal, and he needs to hold up his end.
If not having the paperwork isn’t bad enough, the fact the deadbeat is missing in action takes the cake.
I’ve tried to call.
Nothing.
One: He’s too busy to speak to me, which is doubtful. The man is a lazy piece of shit who rides the coattails of his father. If not for his father’s legacy, he’d be broke.
Two: He’s dead.
He better hope, for his sake, it’s option two because I’m losing my patience.
I grab the phone one more time, but I don’t call. Instead, I shoot over a text.
Drew: What’s taking so long with the papers?
I place my cell back down on the counter, not expecting an answer. I’m pleasantly surprised when a second later, it pings. I’m even more surprised when I see it is, in fact, Cal’s worthless ass.
Cal: There was a little hiccup, but don’t worry, everything is okay.
Finally, a damn response. Not that it does much to ease my worry. What fucking hiccups could he have run into? His word that everything is okay doesn’t settle my unease.