I don’t know how long I stayed crumpled there on the floor, or how long I cried before my tears dried up along with my voice and I just laid there. My phone rang in the other room, but I didn’t move. I soaked in my regret, in the horrific pain that only comes with a relapse, and I paid my penance.
I’d never hated myself more than in that moment.
• • •
I was still sore from Whiskey the night Brad and I finalized our wedding song.
And three months later, on the date that had been crumpled on an invitation between Jamie’s hands in my apartment, I married Bradley Neil. I wore the white dress, he wore the black tux, we danced and ate cake and I smiled through it all. But it was a dead smile, a smile that never reached the corners of my lips, and I wondered if I’d ever smile again.
I wondered a lot of things.
I wondered if it was Jamie I saw escaping the back of the church when the priest asked him to speak now or forever hold his peace. Was that him, or had I just imagined it?
I wondered if the gaping hole where Jamie’s warm buzz used to exist would ever close, if I’d ever get that part of myself back, or if it’d always belong to him.
I wondered if there would ever be a day, a single day in my entire life, where I would truly shake my addiction.
When I closed my eyes on my wedding night as Brad slipped between my thighs and thought of Jamie instead, I knew I never would. No matter what I said, no matter what I did, my addiction to Whiskey would always live on.
Whether I fed it or not.
SO NOW, WE’RE ALL caught up.
It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.
I opened my door and felt tipsy just at the sight of him, eyes blurring and legs shaking. It used to take me at least a shot to get to this point, but my tolerance level had been weakened by distance and time, and just seeing him warmed my blood. I gripped the knob tighter, as if that’d help, but it was like trying to chug water after passing the point of no return.
Whiskey stood there, on my doorstep, just like he had one year before. Except this time, there was no rain, no anger, no wedding invitation – it was just us.
It was just him – the old friend, the easy smile, the twisted solace wrapped in a glittering bottle.
It was just me – the alcoholic, pretending like I didn’t want to taste him, realizing too quickly that months of being clean didn’t make me crave him any less.
I told you we couldn’t start here.
And we can’t end here, either.
It didn’t really hurt to see him, didn’t really heal, either. I had become so numb since my wedding day, so completely void of emotion. Jenna was worried about me, she wanted me to go talk to someone, and my mom was slowly shifting over to her side, too. I guessed I couldn’t really blame them, not when I had self-destructed yet again, ending my marriage after less than five months. The truth was after Jamie left, I’d never been the same. I’d never recovered. I couldn’t love Brad because I only had room to love Jamie, and I couldn’t love Jamie because it hurt to do so. It was a mess, and I didn’t know how to clean it, so I just walked away from it.
I’d moved out of Brad’s place over a month ago, and yet boxes still sat stacked in my apartment, and wedding rings still glittered on my finger. I couldn’t unpack, I couldn’t move on, I couldn’t admit to the fact that I’d ruined everything in my life. Work was the only place I wasn’t struggling, and it was only because reading and writing and working were my escapes. I turned off my emotions there, and that’s when I thrived.
“Can I come in?” Jamie asked. He looked nice, dressed in slacks and a salmon button up that was cuffed at his elbows. His hair was short again, face cleanly shaven, and I swore he’d aged ten years in the twelve months since I’d seen him.
I nodded, backing up and letting him inside. I wondered how he’d found me, if it had been Jenna or if he’d just tried my old apartment hoping I’d be there. I was lucky it was open when I moved out of Brad’s. It felt like home, and at the same time, it was tainted with memories — especially of the last night I spent with Jamie.
I wish I could accurately describe what it felt like that day with him, but I was so numb. I had reached my all-time low, and I had no one to blame but myself. It was the moment before I could do anything to change it, the moment when the only thing I was capable of was breathing, and even that was just barely doable.
Jamie had his hands in his pockets, and he looked around my apartment, almost exactly how it had been the last time he’d seen it. When his soft eyes found mine, he offered a sad attempt at a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I whispered back.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said, and it wasn’t a compliment. I’d always been thin, and I knew I didn’t look healthy at the moment. But this was the game we played, wasn’t it? We always commented on what had changed since the last time we’d seen each other, always ignoring what hadn’t changed — which was the way we felt.
“And you’ve shaved.”
Jamie rubbed at his jaw before tucking his hand back in his pocket. “I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I had a work conference down at the Omni and I just… I just wanted to see you.”
I swallowed, crossing my arms in the large sweater I was donning. “You want something to drink?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen. I almost reached for a bottle of whiskey, but shifted and grabbed a water from the fridge instead.
“I’m okay.”
It was awkward, and it reminded me of when I’d ridden beside him in his Jeep the weekend he was supposed to marry Angel. We hadn’t talked since he’d left, since I’d chosen Brad over him. I was mindlessly playing with the wedding rings still on my finger, rings I’d yet to take off even though I knew I should, and Jamie caught the motion with his eyes. His jaw clenched as he leaned against my kitchen island.
“So how are you?”
I almost laughed. How was I? Was it appropriate to tell him I was crazy, that I was depressed and broken and crippled by anxiety and what ifs? I knew it wasn’t, I knew he didn’t need my bullshit nor did he deserve it, so I forced a smile.
“I’m okay.”
He nodded, and I took a moment to really study him — the edge of his jaw, the bulge of his biceps against the fabric of his shirt, the hint of sadness in his eyes as they fell to my wedding rings again. “Are you happy?”
I looked away, toward the window, where the city was cast in an orange glow with the setting sun. I couldn’t answer that question without lying to him, so I changed the subject.
“Why are you here?”
Jamie followed my gaze, and we both looked out the window together. It felt like an eternity passed, like we watched the sun set and rise again before he spoke.
“It’s been a long year.”
His voice echoed in my empty apartment, gravelly and low.
I simply nodded.
“I had a lot of time to think about everything you said, and it killed me that I left the way I did without saying everything I wanted to say to you.”
I closed my eyes, sucking my lips between my teeth and bracing myself. I wasn’t ready to hear more from him, I wasn’t prepared emotionally to do whatever it was he was about to ask me. But he wasn’t there to ask for anything, he was there to end it. And in a way, that was worse.