“What?” I stammered, holding up the bottle. “No. It’s just...” I glanced at the label, chuckling dryly. “This is the reason we’re married.”
Charlie stepped closer, her eyes flickering over the bottle in my hand.
“It helps with the physical symptoms,” I explained, “the shakes...” I lifted my hand to show her the tremors. “And it quiets the cravings. I also take an antidepressant, but usually at night.”
“Oh,” she said flatly, turning away. “Cool.”
She grabbed her purse from the counter, then pointed to a jar nearby. “I baked some cookies from last night’s dough. They turned out pretty well.”
I glanced in the direction she’d pointed, and by the time I looked, she was already by the door.
“Charlie,” I called out.
She stopped, hesitated, and then turned around. “Yeah?”
“I think we should?—”
She held up a hand. “No. We don’t need to.”
I nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile, but the mood felt heavy today. It was awkward...
“Stop,” she laughed. “We’re both adults. I can practically see your mind reeling.”
She walked toward me, and when she was close, she lifted her hand and rested it on my arm. “Are you feeling okay?”
I swallowed hard, feeling as if the ground beneath me might open up and swallow me whole. Five years ago, I could have counted on one hand the people who bothered to ask if I was okay. And back then, I would have lied—wouldn’t have cared ifI was okay, because the only thing that mattered was chasing a high I could never reach.
The truth was complicated. No, I wasn’t okay. I was living a life that felt borrowed, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. It felt like reading a story where the villain somehow ended up with the girl—the person he didn’t deserve, the one who saw light in him that he’d never found in himself. The villain never really changed; he just kept dragging his past with him, too scarred and broken to see himself as worthy of redemption.
I didn’t deserve this chance at a life that felt real and whole. Maybe that was part of the journey—to face the darkness and fight, to want redemption enough to carve it out of the ashes of my past. To learn that even villains, if they’re willing to change, can be worth saving.
“I wanted to make sure we were okay,” I said, the half-truth spilling out easily.
Charlie narrowed her eyes at me. “Thank you for checking on me.” She looked down, but kept her arm on mine. “I was... It’ll be okay.”
“It’ll be okay,” I repeated. Because it might not be okay in the moment, but it would be in the future.
“We just need to focus on our friendship. You were right and last night... I think it shouldn’t happen again.”
I furrowed my brows. “You didn’t like it? Did I do something wrong?”
She traced gentle circles on my shoulder as she shook her head, letting out a soft giggle. “No. I... I loved it, but I didn’t love being alone... afterward.”
A thousand words ran through my mind—stay with me,orI’m scared of what will happen.But my past, my trauma, screamed at me to leave. Staying would mean I hadn’t changed, that I was still the person I used to be, still an addict using her for my own needs.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. That was fucked up of me. I don’t know why I did that. I think I freaked out that we’d crossed this boundary and?—”
“I think I freaked out too, but when I get scared, I run to get comfort...”
“And when I get scared, I run away from it.” I sighed.
“We just have to work on communicating better then, I guess.”
I grabbed her hand and felt her fingers flex beneath mine. “Where are you headed?”
“It’s Sunday.” She took a step away from me like that was somehow the answer to the question I’d asked.
“Yes. It is Sunday.”
