Afterward, he pulled me against his side on the couch. I fit against him like I belonged there, my head on his shoulder, his arm around my waist.
“Can I ask you something now?” Dusty said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“How many pills did you take today?”
The question cut through the post-orgasmic haze like a blade. “The usual amount.”
“Cord.”
“Fine. Three.” The lie came out before I could stop it, shaving one off the real number. “But I was active. Swimming, walking around… the doctor said as needed.”
“The doctor said four to six hours as needed. When did you take the last one?”
Heat rose in my face. “Before you got here. My shoulder was acting up.”
“That was maybe an hour ago. When was the one before that?”
“I don't know. Afternoon sometime.”
Dusty's expression grew serious. “Can I see the bottle?”
I wanted to refuse, but something in his voice made me get up and retrieve it from the bathroom. He read the label carefully, then counted the two remaining pills.
“How long have you had this prescription?”
“A week, maybe?”
“Cord, you should have at least ten pills left if you've been taking them as prescribed.”
I felt my defenses rise. “Look, I'm dealing with a lot of pain right now—”
“I know, man. But this isn't helping.” He set the bottle on the coffee table between us. “What matters is you're building up a tolerance. Taking them closer together, making up reasons for extra doses.”
“It's not like that.”
“Isn't it?”
The question hung in the air like an accusation. Part of me wanted to argue, to explain that I wasn't some addict looking for a high. I was an injured athlete managing legitimate pain. But another part of me, the part that had been watching my own behavior, knew he wasn't entirely wrong.
“So what are you suggesting?” I asked.
“Other stuff that actually helps. Meditation, yoga, massage. Things that work with your body's healing instead of just covering it up.”
“And if those don't work?”
“Then we figure something else out. But Cord...” He leaned forward, his expression serious. “What you're doing now? It's not sustainable, man. Those pills aren't fixing anything. They're just making it easier to ignore the real problem.”
“Which is?”
“You're grieving, man. Your career, your marriage, who you thought you were. That's heavy stuff. You gotta process it, not numb it out.”
I wanted to argue with him, but the marijuana and the emotional exhaustion from our session had left me too drained for a fight. Instead, I found myself nodding.
“Okay,” I said. “We'll try it your way.”
“Cool.” He stood, gathering his things. “See you tomorrow. And hey. Try to get through tonight without another pill. If the pain gets bad, just call me.”
