‘That’s the other half of the step.’ My voice is low. ‘It says you should make amends, except where doing so would hurt the person you’ve wronged.’
‘Quite right.’ She puts down the teapot, removes the strainer and slides the cup towards me. ‘Here you go.’
‘Elle…’
‘Let me be very clear. I have no interest in being a box for you to tick off on your nice little list. We’re way past that. Okay? I meant what I said that first day at the studios. I’ll do this job with you, but I’m not interested in delving into the past. Here.’ She dumps a tiny pot of honey down in front of me. ‘It’s better with honey.’
‘I understand. But if you ever decide you want an explanation, then I’m here, and I would’—I swallow—‘welcome the chance to talk about what happened.’
‘I will neverwantan explanation, Josh. Nor do I need one. The way you treated me, that was solely on you. I sleep just fine at night without understanding what makes you do the things you do. And my sense of self-worth is perfectly solid without needing any belated closure from you. And honestly, your bringing it up just pisses me off, so do me the courtesy of letting things lie.Please.’
‘I will, I promise. And I’m really sorry for earlier. I just want to say—don’t rip into me for this—but whatever fucked-up shit I did in the past, I think it legit worked for us today. We were onfire.’
I know, I know. I’m pandering pathetically, but it’s also true. We were. The chemistry between Dominic and Georgiana was off the charts. Alyssa and Abigail were fucking thrilled afterwards, and Abigail showed me a few seconds of the rushes from the close-up profile roll. My fingers trailing down her pale neck. Her lips parting. Our mouths joining. Holy fuck. They werehot.Wewere hot.
She frowns at me, and I wish to God I could press the pad of my thumb against that creased brow and ease away those lines. Lines I’ve put there.
‘Yeah, well.’ She cracks open her pot of honey and dips her teaspoon in, lowering it into her cup. ‘Georgiana thinks Dominic’s a narcissistic, entitled twat, so it was easy to find that energy for the scene. Are you not trying the honey?’
‘I’m not eating any sugar at the moment.’
‘Seriously?’ She picks up her cup and holds it to her lips, blowing gently. Looks up at me. ‘Since when?’
‘Since rehab. I’ve been on a dopamine fast most of the time since then, so… eight, nine months, I guess?’
‘What the fuck is a dopamine fast?’
‘Are you sure you wanna know?’
‘I asked, didn’t I?’ She takes a sip of her tea and I do the same. It’s pretty good.
‘Okay. So… you know how our bodies are built for only tiny, occasional sugar hits, but we all consume far too much?’
She nods.
‘Well, it’s kinda the same with dopamine. Everything we do in this culture: video games, social media likes, porn, uh—gambling, online shopping, sugar, liquor, meds: it’s all available to us in a crazy, constant supply, and our nervous systems can’t handle it. We are all fucking wired all the time. I heard smartphones described as a kind of hypodermic needle, right? Just delivering dopamine to us twenty-four-seven.’
‘Makes sense.’
‘The problem is, pleasure and pain act like a balancing system. If my body is taking all these constant hits of pleasure at a way higher level than it needs, it’s gonna recalibrate itself to a far higher base level of pain, just to balance things out. So you need more and more hits just to offset that baseline. And when you’re not getting your hits—like when you’re not scrolling or counting your likes or getting high, everything sucks. Life feels flat, and you can’t feel happy naturally.’
‘So that’s what you’re trying to do? Take all that stuff away so you feel happier? Or are you trying to punish yourself?’
Man, she’s sharp. And brutal. I wince and laugh.
‘There’s definitely an element of both. But self-punishment doesn’t really work, no matter how much some people may think I deserve it.’ I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘At the end of the day, to be a mentally healthy person, you need a good dose of self-compassion.
‘So it’s not about punishing or denying myself so much as saving myself from myself—if that makes sense. Stripping away the artificial stimuli that were bad for me, and made me do bad shit, and trying to find a base equilibrium that will bring me peace.’
‘And is it working?’
I have her attention. She’s twisted her body towards me and has folded one leg up on the couch, resting her cup and saucer on her thigh. I check her face for snark and see only interest.
I nod my head slowly. ‘It is, I guess. It’s allowed me to be a lot more present. A lot. And it’s meant I have to feel—the good stuff and the bad. That’s what we uncovered at rehab. I was fucking terrified of allowing myself to feel anything but good. But there are no shortcuts. You gotta brave it out, feel that shit, to make any progress.’
She tilts her head. ‘So… no sugar for nine months? Or booze, or drugs?’
‘Nope.’
