I shake my head in denial. “Easier said than done, Devon.”
He grabs up his clothes, redresses himself, and leaves my room. Again, that empty feeling is all that’s left behind.
Chapter27
Gracie
Istand behind the podium, gripping the edge of it. The group is smaller tonight, fewer people. But it’s enough to have a meeting. Even if only two others were sitting in the wooden chairs, the meeting would still happen. I’m glad there are people, though. Because talking to air would just honestly be depressing.
“Hi, I’m Gracie, and I’m a junkie.”
“Hi, Gracie,” they greet in unison.
Somebody coughs, but I stare at the back wall instead of the people. I might like the audience because it’s good to have people to talk to, but I’m still nervous about talking to people in general. I’ve never been good at it, and my ramblings in these AA meetings have proven I don’t do well talking in front of people.
“So, the other day, I almost had sex with one of my exes. A good guy, not one of the crappy exes I’ve got. Though, I don’t really know if I should even call the crappy ones exes. They were in it for sex and drugs. This good one, he’s a really good one, and it’s my fault I lost him. It felt really good to almost be with him again.” I draw in a sharp breath, trying to hold back the tears that have wanted to flood over ever since I refused Devon access to my body. “But he’s with somebody else right now, and I know that if he had gone through with it, he would’ve regretted it and hated himself. I don’t want that for him.”
I pause for a moment. The person coughs again. It sounds wet, like they’re about to hack up a lungful of mucus or something. Maybe they chew. I don’t know, but it sets me on edge anyway.
I push myself to continue. “I also think I’m falling for this other guy. I don’t know. Maybe I just really like him. It’s really confusing that I like him and two of my exes. I think I like them all. I know it sounds ridiculous, and the exes are taken, so I probably have no chance. But I can’t figure it out. I hate it. My mind feels so crowded right now. I don’t know exactly what I want. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m trying to figure things out, figure my life out.” I rub my forehead. “I never really had a chance to figure it out. I see people who have started businesses, families, are engaged to be married, whatever. And I’m literally just… here. I feel like I’ve wasted my life. I have nothing to show for it. I know people say that being sober is a big accomplishment, but if I ever go to my high school reunion and say, ‘Hey, I’m sober’ as my accomplishment, my peers are just going to roll their eyes at me. Especially since I was always high or drunk or something, it won’t really be a surprise, I guess, for them to find out I’m an addict.” I trace my fingers along the wooden panel. “I want to do something with my life, but I really don’t know what. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t want to end up serving tables for life.”
I wipe my eyes and find that the tears have spilled over. I rub those away as well, blinking profusely to keep another torrent of them off my face.
“Sobriety makes you think of everything you’ve missed, everything you have to catch up on. My dad pays for everything because… I don’t know. I am apparently a lousy adult. I am a moocher, and I know it. I don’t like it, but I really don’t know how to change it. My dad insists on paying for everything, and I hate it. People think that I love mooching from my dad, and I really don’t. I want to be an adult by myself, but I really don’t know how to do it.”
I fall into silence for a long moment and simply stare at the back wall. I hear the coughing again, and the wooden chairs creak as the listeners shift in their seats.
“Being sober kind of sucks sometimes,” I say honestly. “It really does, but I like it too. Even if I don’t understand how to be me.” I hesitate before forcing the words out. “I went to a family BBQ last weekend. Little bottles of whiskey were in my purse. I don’t know how. They weren’t mine. I swear somebody put them in there to try and give me a bad name. But no one believes me, not that I can blame them. I did a lot of stupid shit when I was high or drunk or both. I lied, stole, kept secrets. Everything in the book. But I swear, I’m trying so hard. I want to be sober; I want to stay sober. But barely anybody believes that those bottles weren’t mine.”
I’m done now, and I step back from the podium. I linger for a moment, then step down and make my way to one of the empty chairs. Trish isn’t here at this meeting. Something to do with her eldest having to be hospitalized with her pregnancy. It probably helps that her husband is a doctor.
Someone else takes the podium and starts talking, but I instantly lose track. I barely even greet them along with the others, their name slipping out of memory right after it comes off my lips. I don’t care. They aren’t my concern. We’re supposed to listen and not judge. Not judging means forgetting whatever it is they’re going to say.
“We have refreshments and cookies in the back,” the leader tells us at the end, finally grabbing my attention.
My mind has wandered so far that I didn’t even realize that time slipped away so quickly. I feel like I just walked in and sat down. I still feel empty, desperate to fill the hole. So, I get up and make my way to the table pushed against the back wall. I pour myself a cup of red fruit punch juice and grab a handful of cookies, wrapping a napkin around them. I take a second napkin and repeat the action. I have to fill the hole, and I can’t do that with drugs or booze. I can’t make them fade away by any substance. It’ll just have to be juice and cookies for now. It’ll have to do.
I take a back chair and sit back down. I’m alone today. The guys had to work, so they aren’t here to morally support me. Without Trish, I don’t really have anyone else to talk to. Marcy is my only friend, and I’m okay with that. Having too many friends is asking for trouble. Still, at moments like this, I sometimes wish I had even just one more person to sit with and talk to.
I wish Trish was here to hear me talk about those little bottles. To hear me practically beg for somebody to believe me. I wish my father or mother was here to hear me begging to be believed. They’re the ones I want to believe me the most. Not Trish or even one of the guys. Not even Marcy or my therapist. I do want them to believe me, yes, but it’s my parents who I want to stand by my side no matter what. Because I can’t remember the last time they did that. All I remember is disappointing them, again and again.
I shove cookies in my mouth and chew until they’re so mushy I can finally swallow. I repeat the action until the cookies in my hands are all gone, and then I down the juice. People are talking around me, a few laughing, gossiping. I ignore them as I get back to my feet and approach the table again. With fewer people in this meeting, there are more cookies than normal leftover. I grab another two handfuls and sit down again, shoving the cookies into my mouth all over again. I do it a third time, but after that one, I feel eyes on me and look up. The leader is watching me in earnest, an eyebrow cocked. He’s leaning against a chair, lips pursed, corners twitching as he tries to obviously keep a smile or laugh off his face. I’m on my fourth round, but these ones I drop back to the plate upon the table.
“Hungry, are we?” His teasing voice tells me he’s approached.
I recognize it from when he’d been talking up front, not looking at him. I proceed to ignore him and pour myself another cup of juice.
“It’s a form of poly, by the way,” he tells me.
I choke on my juice and gasp for a breath of air as I pull the cup away from my lips, turning to face him. “Wh-what?” I sputter, trying to pull oxygen back into my lungs.
He doesn’t blink. “Poly. The relationship thing you’re trying to figure out. I’m poly. I have a boyfriend and a girlfriend. All of us together, knowingly.”
I start to shake my head. “I don’t think so. I mean, isn’t poly like… multiple?”
He nods. “Yes. The three guys you want. Typically, I suppose. Depending on the genders of the relationship, like in your situation, it could be referred to as a harem in a way.”
I stare at him, baffled. “There is no relationship except for me and this new guy. The other two are—”