Worse than taking my first drink.
I survey the camper around me. The broken dinette, the flooded bedroom, and the sunken couch—and possibly even more surprises I haven’t found yet. Maybe this is what I look like inside, slowly falling apart with each bad decision I make. I try to ignore the damaged pieces, but then one problem causes another.
Why am I not getting better? Almost two years of sobriety and I still haven’t figured it out. Am I stuck in a failure loop I can’t seem to escape?
Maybe I have no control over my life after all.
My head jerks up at the warmth in my chest, the pressure that’s been pestering me since Des prayed over me at the hospital. Something was missing... a hole I couldn’t fill. One that I used to fill with alcohol, but now, it’s just an ache.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper to the empty room. “Help me.”
The crackling of fire sounds from outside, luring me to the window.
Tris.
Two folding chairs sit by the campsite’s fire pit. He doesn’t move in his seat as I head outside, his eyes trained on the dancing flames. I slide into the other chair, dashing the tears from my cheeks. The air is warm and toasty, the opposite of the chill I feel inside. Smoky plumes drift skyward, reminding me of bonfires at Des’s new house.
“Come out to apologize again?” heasks without turning.
“Yes.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. You can’t help the way you feel... or don’t feel.”
“Right now, I feel sick inside. I shouldn’t have yelled that at you. I didn’t mean it.”
“You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t think it.”
“I thought I was doing what was best. I’ve been feeling out of sorts since... well...”
He pokes a stick into the red embers, releasing a cloud of smoke. “Since our kiss, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why didn’t you say something when I asked you about it? I care about your feelings, Reese. I would have slowed down if you gave me the opportunity.”
“The problem is I don’t want to go slow. I like you.” His head whips toward me. “A lot. It’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you. I make stupid decisions?—”
“Like telling me to just be friends?”
“Friendship is better than you being ripped out of my life completely when I do something wrong. There’s bound to be something I’ll do or say.”
His eyes slowly rove over my face, his brow lifted in worry like he’s already thinking of ways to fix me. “I could never rip you out of my life—ever. You mean too much to me to do that.”
I let out a shaky sigh. “You say that now...”
“Why are you so sure we are going to fail?”
“When I’m around you, my mood swings are more frequent. It’s overwhelming and exhausting. I lose control, and I can’t drink again, Tristen. I don’t know if I’ll survive it if I do.”
Sitting up, he grabs the armrest of the chair and walks it next to me, plopping himself back in the seat. He rests his hand over mine, threading his fingers between mine.
“You are allowed to feel emotions. That doesn’t mean you’re going to relapse, it means you are normal. Bottling your feelings inside is like shaking a can of soda—it never ends well. You need to live, Reese.”
“I’m scared. Big emotions are triggers for me, and when I’m around you, that’s all I feel.”
“Triggers for drinking?”
“Yeah.”
