A circle of chairs had been set up in the centre of the hall and as the clock ticked closer to the mark, they soon began to fill. I caught sight of Adele running through the door, her cheeks red and her red hair flying every which way. I grinned, waved and patted the plastic chair beside me. Huffing, she hurried across and squeezed into the circle, reaching over to give me a hug. I hugged her back, smelling the sweet vanilla perfume she always wore.
“You been running?” I asked as she pulled away, rummaging through her bag.
“Have I ever.” She rolled her eyes. “Had to take the kids to football practice and then I hit some bad traffic. I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
I did think about suggesting that maybe she could take them earlier or not at all, but I knew the area was a no-go. Adele’s children had suffered for a long time while she was in the chaos and now that she had her life back under control, her kids kept her sane. Plus, now that she was allowed to have them back in her life she didn’t want to mess up again and I had to say I couldn’t blame her.
“I think it’s time we got this meeting started,” Mila clapped her hands gently. Conversations were politely finished and the sound died down around the circle, all eyes coming to rest on the twelve o’clock where she sat.
I was always amazed at how that worked. A bunch of alcoholics all sitting in a circle. Hell if we were drinking anything other than coffee, there would be complete disarray. But in sobriety, we all returned to the normal, polite members of society that we had been brought up to be and should have always been.
“Welcome to our meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. My name is Mila and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Mila,” the group chorused together as an automated drone. At first I had felt uncomfortable with the whole thing but now I had been doing it for a month it was just extra warmth and a welcome to the group.
And so the circular routine began. Each member announced their name, that they were an alcoholic and the rest of the group responded. There were no new faces today and that was always both good and bad. Good because it meant there weren’t extra people in the room that I didn’t know but bad because I knew somewhere, that there was someone struggling with alcohol who hadn’t managed to get here yet.
Adele was next, greeting the group like an old friend and smiling firmly. Then all eyes fell to me. I felt my cheeks flare with heat but I ignored it and opened my mouth. “Hi, I’m Peyton, and I’m an alcoholic.” I still struggled with that every damn time. Having the whole group looking at me felt like I was on a pedestal and I was being watched—scrutinised—and it made me more uncomfortable than I had been my whole life.
“Hi, Peyton.”
Two more people and then were we back to Mila. “Okay. So just for the sake of any newcomers, we at Alcoholics Anonymous are here to support those suffering with alcohol addiction. This is a confidential space and anything shared should remain here. Please do not disclose the names or any discussions we have to anyone outside of this group.” She smiled. “Now, let’s all get a coffee before we get started.”
A sudden shuffle of chairs scraped across the floor as everyone left their seats. People wavered through the chairs and hurried to the table, all in a rush to grab a cup and get their fix of caffeine. Not that I could say anything as I joined the queue around halfway through with Adele at my side. It always made me laugh that I wasn’t the only one who had swapped one addiction for another. Either way I wasn’t going to think on it too much, after all, better a shot of caffeine than anything alcoholic that would send us spiralling back onto the path of destruction.
“So how are you?” Adele asked, nudging me and bringing me back to the present.
“I’m okay. Good.” I nodded.
“You sure? You don’t seem yourself today.”
I bit the inside of my lip as I looked at my friend. She was right. I wasn’t myself and of course I knew why. Finding out that seeing and hearing ghosts was a normality that I could embrace and that I could even get rid of the gift, as Sylvia had called it, had been teasing my mind ever since I found out. It was like a whole new wedge of knowledge—about the size of a Trivial Pursuit counter—had been stuffed into my brain and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know whether it was better to act or to forget about it. I hadn’t told Adele about my ability. I knew Adele loved me, but I was scared she might mistake my sightings for the delusions of someone who was withdrawing from alcohol. If only that was the case.
“Yeah I’m okay.” I nodded, pressing a smile onto my face. “Just a bit tired.”
She nodded and sighed, shifting her weight onto her right hip. “Tell me about it. Those two have me run ragged.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” She grinned, showing a perfect set of pearly whites. Luckily Adele recognised and dealt with her addiction after a few years, before the real rot began to set in.
“So how are Peter and John?”
“Good.” She nodded. “Enjoying football and getting on well at the minute.”
I laughed. “For twins they sure fight a lot.”
“Tell me about it. They asked if you wanted to come around for tea one night.”
“Really?” I felt the grin grow on my face. “That’s so sweet.”
She shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. At their age, anything sweet will not last more than a couple of hours.”
“I can imagine.”
“The amount of dirty socks I’ve found stuffed at the bottom of the bed just this week alone is enough to make a mother sick.”
I grimaced. “Ew!”
“Sure you don’t want any of your own?” She raised her brow and took a step forward as the line moved.
My jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? I’ve just about got my life together and started looking after myself. There’s no way I’d be able to look after a kid. Besides, I’d need a partner first.”
Jim, the tall middle-aged man standing in front of us turned around and stared down at me. “And you don’t want one of those until you’re on the straight and narrow.” He pointed his finger in my face and I nodded, careful not to poke myself in the eye. Jim had been coming to the meetings for years. He’d been six years sober and still going strong.
“No need to worry, Jim,” I told him. “I’m in no position and no hurry to get myself a boyfriend.”
Jim pasted on a grim smile and nodded. “Good. A partner is for life, not just during sobriety.” Jim was always full of useful quotes, most of them self-made. His wife threatened to leave him one night after a particularly bad stretch of binge drinking and coming to the meetings and getting off the booze was his only option. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t looked back since.
The line moved again and I watched as Jim made his coffee, taking care to make sure he had it like he wanted before moving on. Then it was finally our turn. Adele and I were a little quicker, well aware of the queue behind us. As soon as I had the mug in my hand I was satisfied and took a sip of the bitter liquid, feeling it hit my stomach with a jet of warmth. The first sip was always the best—it had been when I was drinking—and this was no exception.
“So how’s Olivia?” Adele asked. She met my best friend the first time I came to the meeting. Olivia waited for me outside. I hadn’t asked her to come and if I’m honest I was a little irritated because I thought she was checking up on me. She walked me home and made me a coffee and told me how proud she was of how far I’d come.
“She’s good, thanks. Sick of her job at the minute I think. She’s overworked and underpaid.”
“What does she do again?” Adele asked, taking her seat.
“Receptionist at Stubbs and Oakley solicitors. She does okay mostly but she’s a smart woman and she could be doing a lot more, you know?”
She nodded. “Has she mentioned doing anything else?”
I shook my head. “Not as such. I think it’s easier to stay there because she’s been there so long but I’
d like to see her move to some place new.”
“Maybe one day, when the time is right.”
I nodded. I sure hoped Adele was right. Olivia was lost in that solicitor’s firm, typing letters and answering phone calls all day every day. Hell there were days she came home and told me she’d spent the majority of her time making coffee for stuck up clients. I still maintain she could have been anything she wanted but of course she always told me not to be stupid but it was about time I started lifting her confidence after all the believing in me she had done.
“Okay,” Mila started again, her soft voice calling a natural order to the room. “It looks like we’re all back and about ready to start. Over the weeks all of you have shared your stories with us and each one of you has taken something away from it. Sharing means coming to terms with your experience and learning to be happy in yourself.” She smiled. “So with that in mind, I would like to call Peyton up to speak this evening.”
My heart thudded in my chest and my stomach dropped as I heard my name. She wanted me to go up there, to tell my story, to share with the group. I stared at the cup in my hands, watched the dark liquid shake, ripples flowing out from the centre. I felt my cheeks heat and I so desperately wanted to say no but I knew I couldn’t. Of course I couldn’t. I had been there all this time listening to other people and I knew that I would have my moment one day.
“Do you want to come up, Peyton?”
Not really. “Of course.” I smiled and nodded, setting my cup on the floor and hoping I seemed as calm as I wanted.
I pushed myself up from the seat, my hand digging into the plastic, and came to shaking legs. I made my way to the space in the circle next to Mila, intentionally left so the speaker could address the rest of the group, with knees that wobbled and spikes ramming into my stomach. Mila caught my eye and smiled and I reciprocated but I didn’t know how it looked. Weak I supposed. Faltering. I felt the eyes of everyone in the room on me as I reached the front of the circle, took a deep breath and turned around to face everyone. Just as I suspected, everyone was silent, watching and waiting for me. No pressure.
I took another deep breath, glanced at the floor to take stock and then forced myself to look up. “My name is Peyton and I’m an alcoholic,” I began in that same monotone voice.
“Hi, Peyton,” the group chorused. The sound died quickly and I was left in a silent hall and I knew it was time to tell my story.
“I started drinking at a young age. Of course I told myself then that it was a normal thing to do. I was a teenager and I was rebelling against my parents,” I paused as an image of them surfaced in my mind. That was a lie for a start. I wasn’t rebelling against my parents, just the voices of the dead people that spoke to me. “I had an odd sort of upbringing. Our house was above a funeral parlour ran by my parents and so death was all around me. I could argue it was the reason why, after all, seeing so much death at such a young age could be hard to bear, but that would just be an excuse. I drank because I’m an alcoholic.” I paused and took a breath. I didn’t dare look at anyone.
“When my parents died in an accident, a fire in our home, I was left on my own. My drinking got worse. I would spend days and days binge drinking on my own, having a pity party. Things got worse when I started going out and drinking, doing things I couldn’t remember and getting into trouble with the police.” I paused again taking a breath. Telling my story, however impartial it was, was becoming draining. All of these people listening to me and though judgement is left at the door at the meetings, I couldn’t help but wonder what some of these people were thinking about the life I had been living since being a teenager.
“I had one friend through it all, one friend who stuck by me and encouraged me to seek the help I need and that’s the reason I’m here today. I am now one month sober.”
A polite round of applause broke out around the group and I smiled at the encouragement. “Thank you. I am Peyton and I’m an alcoholic but I’m currently thirty days sober.”
“Congratulations, Peyton,” Mila stood beside me, taking me in for the second hug of the evening. “And to commemorate your achievement here is your month chip.” She handed the small coin-shaped object to me, pressing it into my palm. I smiled down at the chip. I’d made it a month. I once thought I would never stop drinking and here I was, a month completely sober without relapse.
“Thank you,” I told her, my fingers curling around the chip. Nodding, I made my way back to my seat, trying to avoid any glances. As I sat down I let out a deep, shaky breath and smiled. I had done it. I stood in front of everyone and told my story. I was accepted into the fold and I had my month-long chip. I was well on the road to my recovery.
“Well done,” Adele whispered, leaning in as she patted my leg. “But I’m not taken in. There’s something you’re not telling.”
My stomach seized as my head snapped towards my friend. She stared me down with hard eyes and I knew she knew. She could tell I was lying—I preferred to think of it as withholding information— but she was determined to find out what it was.
“I told everything,” I stammered, forcing on another smile but she wasn’t fooled.
Adele shook her head and pressed her lips together in a tight line, a sure sign she was disappointed. “You didn’t.” That’s all she said, then she turned away, her focus somewhere else.
Discontent curled in my chest, foetal and painful as it lodged there and I knew that I had been rumbled. Adele was right. There was something I wasn’t telling but I had good reason. Telling a room full of people that I drank because I saw the death that surrounded me would do nothing but secure a spell in a psych ward.
I glanced at Adele, the woman who had taken me under her wing and sat with me meeting through meeting. The woman was stronger than anyone I knew and loyal to boot and hell if I couldn’t tell her the truth, what sort of friend did that make me?
I leaned in, my hand grasping her shoulder gently. “Tea at yours, tomorrow?”
Turning to me she nodded and her lips curled into a smile. She got my meaning. I took a deep breath and my stomach began to settle. I wouldn’t tell everyone—I couldn’t. A girl has to have secrets but I could trust Adele and it was time to stop shying away from my ability.
I woke late with the urge to drink. It hadn’t hit me so bad in a long time but as I shoved the covers aside and the cold bolted through my bare skin, I groaned. Every fibre of my being craved alcohol I could almost taste it in my mouth, my neurons were firing ready to go and my whole body sagged with the need. Rubbing my head in my hands, I left the bedroom and made my way downstairs. I switched the coffee machine on and in the meantime, gulped a glass of cool water. It settled in my stomach, thick and heavy.
I knew what it was. I knew why I wanted to partake. Telling Adele. I’d promised myself that at tea tonight I would tell her the real story. It’s what she deserved after all, but the thought of revealing the deepest, darkest part of myself to another person was terrifying. I already felt like I’d been stripped naked and torn to shreds and it hadn’t even passed noon. What would I be like in a few hours?
The coffee began to brew, the sweet aroma of the beans drifting across the air as the water dripped through the filter and into the pot. I leaned back against the sink and sighed heavily, closing my eyes. I had no idea how I was going to get through the day.
I poured a cup and took a sip, ignoring the fact that I wished for something stronger. Every minute of every hour dragged. I busied myself as much as I could but in the back of my mind there was always this little nagging voice that told me to go to the shop. It told me to buy a bottle, or a can. Just one. Every time the thought surfaced in my mind I shoved it away with such force I felt like I might make myself dizzy. I had come so far and there was no way I was giving in now. I had proven it to those around me, now it was time to prove it to myself. Yes I was an alcoholic but no, I didn’t need to drink anymore. It was my instant reaction when put in a stressful situation and I had to find new coping
methods. It wasn’t healthy to keep drinking and it burned my relationships. Olivia was the exception to the rule.
Stopping midway through my frantic cleaning session, I found my phone where it had lodged between two sofa cushions and unlocked it.
For a brief second, I considered calling her and then the thought of being assaulted with a barrage of abuse made me change my mind. Olivia was working when she was working and didn’t like to be disturbed. Instead, I typed out a text.
It’s hitting me hard today. Sorry to put this on you. Hope work is okay.
Sighing, I shoved it back into my pocket, poured another coffee and carried on with the cleaning. I had to keep myself busy if I was going to get through this and it had only just gone lunch time. Wrenching my eyes away from the clock in the kitchen, I decided to set myself a real task; pulling everything out of the cupboards to scrub them clean. That would take a lot of my time up. I hoped.
I was around mid-way through, surrounded in plates and cups in every available space on the floor when my phone beeped. Pulling my gloves off and dumping them on the floor in front of me, I fumbled for my phone and read the message.
I’ll come over tonight so get the good coffee out.
I smiled and typed back.
Thanks. But about eight please because I’m going for tea. Time to be honest with Adele.
Somehow, just chatting to Olivia helped me feel that little bit lighter. She was a rock in my hard place and had always been there, no matter the hour. The woman was a god send and I truly owed her much more than I thought I could ever repay.
By the time I was finished with the kitchen and the bathroom as well as making myself another pot of coffee, it was about time to go. My eyes were back on the clock and my stomach was clenching again. I knew I was doing the right thing—absolutely positive—so why did it feel so nerve wracking?
The Darkness Within Page 4