by Unknown
“Let's go grab some coffee at the diner next door,” Law suggests yet it doesn't leave room for denying.
Together the three of us exit and relocate to the same place I typically connect with Law at least once outside of the meetings. Over the past few months we've discussed many topics besides how rough it is to stay clean. In a way he's crossed over from being just the voice of reason as a sponsor, to a trustworthy friend. He's listened to me bitch about everything from my brother to my overworking girlfriend. He's been the faithful ear through the contemplation of returning to school and getting a second job. This spot, this very booth, is home to many conversations about the dangers and gains from having any sort of relationship with Kara. For some reason now more than ever it feels crucial we continue the routine.
“It is nice to see more than a picture,” Law says to Presley after informing the waitress he just wants coffee.
Doing the only thing I can think of to honor Kara I order a stack of pancakes for Pres and I to share.
She says in return, “It's nice to meet you.”
Law's eyes bounce back and forth before he declares. “Whose choice was it?”
“Ours,” I clarify. “We're....we're working on...that.”
“That.” Law nods understanding my vagueness. “Good. Presley, do you have any questions about what you heard in the meeting or life with a recovering addict?”
Like most meetings past horrors were shared except this time I witnessed the reaction of someone who's not indifferent. Someone who hasn't experienced the terrors first hand, the torments of temptation, the unforgiving misery the outside world doesn't usually see. Seeing the sorrow for others filled in her eyes bridged another gap between us.
“How long have you been clean?”
I stretch my arm behind her on the booth seat at the same time he answers. “10 years. 10 years on the wagon and I still can't spend more than twenty minutes in a bar without being too tempted.”
His confession lifts her eyebrows.
“Some people pretend the cravings vanish completely. That they're never lured by the idea to have that one shot or that one hit. Personally, I feel those people are full of shit. Depending on what you're battling there's a chemical dependency that factors in on top of the mental anguish. Endless support and understanding from loved ones are the armor in the war. Motivation is the shield. Determination is the weapon. Knowing what you're battling so hard for is what keeps you swinging.”
Presley tilts her head up at me. “What are you fighting for Ryder?”
“You.” I answer without missing a beat. Her eyes soften and I continue, “Me. Shelby. Noah. A future that doesn't have to just be theoretical.”
Her body scoots in closer to mine. The pride she's feeling is radiating off her to intoxicating levels. Who knew having her proud could be such a fucking turn on?
Law shifts the conversation. “How are you dealing with Kara's death?”
I shrug.
“You don't seem surprised.”
“It's because I'm not.”
“Did you know she had started using again?”
Shaking my head I say, “She said when I picked her up someone slipped something into her drink. I believed her then.”
Law's large hands fold. “You don't believe her now?”
“No.” Clearing away the urge not to continue I add, “I think it was a cry for help I missed. I think she needed a life line and asked the only way she knew how.”
“Do you blame yourself?”
“You can't possibly blame yourself,” Presley defends.
“I don't,” I firmly insists. “Everyone is responsible for their own choices. Doc taught me that in rehab. You've drilled that into me from day one. I blame myself for not trying to help more. For not being the shoulder she desperately needed. For not....having fucking pancakes with her.”
The waitress places the stack in front of us with three plates. In silence I cut into the breakfast food as atonement. Delivering each one of us a piece is my attempt at apologizing.
“You did what was best for you, Ryder.” Law's reassurance doesn't satisfy the redemption my brain is seeking. “Risking your sobriety for hers would've easily killed you both.”
The logic doesn't completely exempt me from the guilt but subsides an adequate amount. Law starts to speak to Presley again encouraging her to express concerns she may have. As she describes hating the way I've kept these things from, remorse and regret return to my system. While Law does his best to express how hard it is for an addict to rejoin society, he doesn't excuse my choices. He forces me to own them. By the end of the conversation it's decided a new level of openness needs to be established on both our parts. Topics transfer after his wife calls, so he can tell their youngest child good night. At that point he tells stories about his kids, painting a portrait of Presley and I both want some day. Providing us with evidence a recovering addict can stay clean, move forward, and have a beautiful life.
My phone begins to vibrate in my pocket. Noah's face on the screen and the time of night he's calling leaves a distaste in my mouth. Quickly I answer, “Everything okay?”
There's a short pause but he answers, “Dad's um....dad passed away.”
The new line of information affects me more than I expected. “When.”
He struggles to still his voice. “About an hour ago.”
I readjust myself in the booth, silence the only reply I have.
“I just thought you should know in case...” His own speech is suffocated again. “If you need to talk-”
“Do you?”
“I'll be fine,” he insists with a sniffle. “Shelly's here. Liz is flying in on Monday....I just....”
“Thanks for calling, Noah,” I help the conversation we're both ready to end. “I'll come by tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” There's another sniffle before the line goes dead.
As I lower the phone Law lifts his eyebrows. “Something important?”
The expression on my face remains unmoved. “My father just died.”
Presley gasps, both hands flying over her mouth.
Law leans back in the booth and nods slowly. “I guess I'll grab another cup of coffee....”
Presley
After another thirty minutes with Law doing his best to get Ryder to discuss how he was feeling about the news of his father's death, he suggested we go home, and try to discuss it among the two of us. Law exclaimed it would be the perfect opportunity to reestablish trust and an open line of emotional support. Although Ryder explained he didn't care because his father had been dead to him for years, Law expressed and explained the danger of burying emotions. The instant triggers that can be touched in doing so. It seemed to be useless information to Ryder, which scares the hell out of me. What if Law's right? What if he snaps in the middle of the night under the weight of the deaths surrounding him? What if his desperation for an escape overwhelms him to the point nothing can turn him around?
“Ryder,” I whisper from the doorway of my bedroom.
He looks up from the edge of my bed. “Yeah?”
“Are you....are you having any cravings?”
The annoyance in his eyes prevalent. “No.”
“You sure?”
“I am.”
“But-”
“Stop worrying, Pres.”
“I'm gonna worry because I love and care about you.”
His jaw ticks in response.
I fold my arms. “What was it like to be high?”
My question presents perplexity on his face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...why was that your go to when things like this happened? When the stress was too much?”
“Because I didn't have you,” his answer feels false. “Because you were the high I was chasing.”
“And?”
“And I wanted my mind quiet. Free,” he mumbles to himself. “Just a fucking minute to shut everything the fuck up. When I was with you, your love had this way of taking to m
e to a place where nothing else mattered. It was so purely europhic. It still is. But now it's like an even stronger strain.”
Hearing his description moves my feet forward. “You haven't had a real good hit of me in days.”
A deep groan comes from his throat. “I haven't.”
“Tell me, do you need one now more than ever?”
Weakly he argues, “His death doesn't bother me...”
“Maybe not his death alone. But maybe the timing of it and Kara's makes you uneasy. Maybe you need something to calm and quiet your mind.” With my body directly in front of him I whisper, “Maybe for just a moment?” When he groans again I submit myself. “Use me, Ryder. Let my love fill your veins. Let me creep into your bloodstream. Take everything you need from me.”
There's a harsh breath.
“Right. Now.”
In a swift motion he yanks my body to his lips. Savagely his teeth scrape against my stomach like he's searching for a vein to attach too. Ryder's hands frantically undo my jeans, toss me onto the bed, and continue to undress me. Having been naked for what feels like a breath, I instantly shudder at his mouth on my pussy. The feasting is assertive yet feverish. Brazen, he devours blindly past my first orgasm. His hands are latched on my legs in what feels like a refusal to share with anyone else. He grips hard as they begin to quake from another building climax. Shuddering through the second, which is typically where I stop and he bursts, I'm stunned when his mouth doesn't falter. Relentlessly Ryder continues his consumption until he's reached a level of intoxication that suits him. Without bothering to get naked, he unbuckles his jeans, frees his cock and roughly enters my throbbing pussy. More mewls escape as I claw at the sheets for support. Like an uncaged animal, he pounds ferociously until a warm burst is flooding me. Once more this doesn't cease his efforts. It spurs them. Ryder pulls back just long enough to shed his clothes, roll us over, and slide inside me again. Impetuously his cock carves another orgasm out of me while his hands wind around my hair, exposing my neck for the needles of his teeth. For hours my love sucks me lifeless, rips orgasm after orgasm out of me, and takes us to new levels of ecstasy I'm not sure existed before.
When the point of complacent is finally achieved my muscles have managed to surpass depletion. Impressed my hoarse voice is still willing to work with me, I ask, “How do you feel?”
Ryder's scruffy face nudges the crook of my neck where he collapsed. “Sated. Relaxed. Safe...”
The last word pushes me to smile. “I want you to always feel safe with me.”
“And I want you to always feel safe with me.”
After another long breath I ask, “Do you wanna talk about your father's death?”
He stuns me with his response. “I saw him right before I picked Kara up.”
I push down the initial instinct to be bothered over the fact he didn't mention the information sooner. “Why? Why'd you go see him?”
“Noah told me if I called Law and took his advice about the situation regardless of if it was going to see my father or not, he'd give me my car. No more payments. The idea of the extra cash to....take you somewhere, hell to take you a place that requires me to wear the suit I've only worn for interviews, twisted my arm. Law suggested I go and say my peace to his face rather than his grave.”
In a careful tone I question, “And?”
Ryder groans, body now stirring as if about to need another dose. Lightly his tongue trails up to my ear. “And it was like looking at myself in the mirror.” Unsure what he means I simply allow him to further his teasing between his revelation. “He was broken. He was haunted.” More kisses travel down to my shoulder. “He was in a prison of regret with no key in his vision. He was seeking redemption.” Resisting the heavenly sensation of his mouth seems impossible even when I have no energy left. “I saw someone I used to be.” Ryder's legs nudge mine apart from on top of me. “I saw someone I never wanna be again. And even though I had no intention of ever forgiving him for what he's done to me, I did. For me. For my future. For my sanity.” His hard cock stretches the sore muscles slowly, pleading for their acceptance rather than demanding it. “His death is just one more reminder of where I came from and to not stop until I get where I wanna go.”
A long moan escapes as he continues to stroke, his mouth now whispering sweet promises of a better, more peaceful future. And I believe him.
Ryder
“There's no reason I should be going to this,” I mumble behind Noah as I follow him around the corner to the private room where the reading of our father's will is occurring. “I don't need to hear in a room full of people he left me nothing.”
Noah slows his tracks and slides his hands in his pockets. “How do you know he left you nothing?”
A sarcastic look leaves me.
“Come on, Ryder. You saw him in his final days. He wasn't the same man we grew up with. What if his will reflects that?”
“What if it doesn't?”
My big brother rolls his eyes as we take a seat at the round table beside each other. To his left is Liz and to her side my mother. While Liz and I spent a little time together when she first flew in two weeks ago, it didn't take long to see her disgust for me hasn't disappeared. The way she clutched her bag when I was in the room. The instinct to stay behind if I would be going somewhere with them. Hell, she even bailed during the weekly dinners pretending she had old friends in town who were desperate to see her. I did my best to not let it bother me. Between Law and Presley I manage to accept that to her I will always be the worthless addict. Apparently no matter how hard you want second chances you don't always get them. People aren't always forgiving. The anxiety surrounding that truth, is soothed by more hits from my soul mate. They're not always sexual. Sometimes it's a head rub. A back massage. Sometimes it's feeding her bites of dinner. It's really the emotional connection we're both addicted to.
“Your suit is nice, Ryder,” my mother compliments quietly.
“Probably stole it,” Liz mutters.
“Stop,” Noah hushes her.
“And it was nice to see you with Presley again.”
Unlike my dying father she has yet to reach out. At the funeral between fake tears she couldn't manage to muster up, she didn't bother a wave or show an expression of remorse my direction.
Suddenly, a thin man with a briefcase enters the room. “Thank you for joining me. I'm Peter Crosby, Mr. Collins's estate attorney. While it is unusual for a reading of the will to still occur, Mr. Collins had specific instructions to be followed in order for you to collect your entitlements. This started with the intimate burial.”
That's exactly what it was. Just the family, our significant others, and Mary, the nurse who I found out had been personally tending to him for longer than even Noah was aware.
“We shall continue with a brief reading. Let me thank you for abiding by a dead man's wishes and let me assure you that you will all be receiving legal copies of this document.” The man slides a pair of silver glasses onto his face. “To my family, thank you for following by my final wishes and keeping this meeting between you and Peter. I know you all have lives you're in a rush to get back to, so let me proceed quickly after encouraging you to take a lesson from my life. Slow down. Appreciate one another, because at the end of it all money isn't what you take away from this life.”
His cliché speech slides me down in the chair.
“Sit up,” Noah fusses in a brotherly yet parental tone that scrunches my face.
I don't move. It's enough I have to be here because he demanded it. I don't have to sit the way he commands too.
“To Mary, my nurse who Marcy probably insisted not be in the room.”
I smirk because that's exactly what happened.
“You will be receiving one year of salary to be paid out as it normally would be if I were still alive. You will also be transferred the title of my car to your name and paid insurance for a year. I hope this helps make your own son’s care easier.”
“That's
ludicrous,” my mother shouts. “He couldn't have been competent when this was created if he left her that.”
“Mom,” Noah snaps.
Peter looks up over the rim of his glasses. “Mr. Collins received medical competency before creating this Last Will and Testament. There will be an attachment of it with your copies.”
She huffs and waves her hand for him to continue.
“To Marcy, the woman I once loved,” he begins again. “To you I leave the photos of the children and grandchildren. May you finally realize their priceless value.”