Obsessed- The Complete Addiction Duet

by Vivian Wood

  Sean sighed and pulled the chair beside her bed. “You know, I’m still counting the days since my relapse,” he said. “I try not to talk about it much, and think about it even less. But the day will come when you just stop counting and can’t remember off the top of your head how many days you’ve been sober. That’s kind of a small sign for me. But that day is still a ways out.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t fathom what that’s like.”

  “Sure you can,” he said. “You’re still in rehab. It might be for something totally different, but there are similarities. Alcohol’s one kind of addiction, eating, or lack thereof, is kind of another.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” she said.

  “With alcohol, the goal is to avoid it,” he said. “In some ways, that’s a little easier. But with you, with the eating disorder, it’s about tackling it head-on every single day. You’re so much stronger than I could be.”

  “Don’t say that,” she said. Harper squeezed his arm. “They’re just different, but both monsters.” She began to cry, slow and steady.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “I know you’re right,” she said. “About everything, about the timing. About being relieved. But it still hurts. You know?”

  “I know,” he said. “Trust me, I know. And when we’re ready, really ready, we’ll try again. Okay? We can have ten kids if that’s what you want.”

  “You mean it?” she asked.

  “Here,” he said and stretched out his hand. “Pinky swear.”

  “I’m not pinky swearing on ten kids. You’re going to have to give my vagina some kind of break.”

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll just swear on trying. And waiting until we’re ready.”

  “Deal,” she said and wound her finger around his.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “You want me to go check out the café? I saw some of the food delivered to the room and it’s not very impressive.”

  “Can we just sit here for a moment? Just, you know … observe the loss? I think, after that, I can start to put this behind us.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Anything you want.”

  Sean eased back into the seat, and it finally gave. He’d conformed to it, or maybe it was the other way around. But he felt cradled, and Harper’s hand in his anchored him. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathe. Sean thought about how close they’d come to diving right into the deep end. It would have been scary, was scary, but also exhilarating.

  You’ll have another chance, a voice inside him whispered. Maybe it was his, maybe it wasn’t. It was too quiet to tell.

  When Harper squeezed his hand, he opened his eyes and looked at her. An open smile stretched across her face.

  Sean stood up, leaned down and kissed her.

  Harper wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks and nodded at him.

  They didn’t need words or any more explanations. He knew intuitively what that meant. They were ready, bound together by all they’d had and all they’d lost. Now, without reservations, they could move on—together—into the luminous.

  26

  Harper

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Sean asked. “You don’t have to go in today if you don’t want to.”

  She smiled over at him as the engine idled and purred below. She’d only been home a few days, but the cabin fever had enveloped her fast. Harper had been surprised when the first place she wanted to go was rehab, but it kind of did make sense. What she needed now was healthy support more than anything else. “I’m sure,” she said.

  “Okay,” Sean said. “But if you want to leave early today, just give me a call. This is a lot, a full day after what you just went through.”

  “It’ll be good for me,” she said. “Promise.”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. Harper’s mouth opened, receptive. There were no hesitations, which she’d worried about in the hospital. Instead, since the day he’d brought her home, it was as if they were closer than ever.

  “Good luck, sweetheart,” Sean called after her. She gave him an exaggerated eye roll over her shoulder and blew back a kiss.

  “Harper!” the receptionist said. “So good to see you! We weren’t sure you’d make it back in this week.”

  “Hi,” Harper said. “I did. I’m here. It feels good to be back.”

  “It’s good to have you back. The group’s just settling in,” she said.

  As Harper made her way down the hall, one of her favorite doctors—a resident psychologist—turned the corner. “Harper, you’re here,” she said warmly. The young doctor always looked like she was playing dress-up in her lab coat. She had the smooth-skinned young face of a high schooler who had somehow escaped the curse of acne. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Surprisingly good,” Harper said.

  “The staff has been updated on the past week’s occurrences. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” This was one of the things Harper had been afraid of. How would she react to sympathies and condolences? She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it, but hearing someone offer their wishes in earnest made the baby feel more like he’d been part of this world.

  Harper ducked into the group room as the doctor gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “—go over the foundational—Harper! You made it to group, that’s fantastic.”

  She blushed slightly as she made her way into the circle. Billy reached behind him, his willowy figure bending at fantastic angles, and pulled up a chair beside him. He patted it as the rest of the group members smiled at her. “Sit here,” he said.

  As she looked around the room, she realized nobody but the medical staff knew why she’d been gone. It wasn’t odd to have someone disappear for a few days, or even for good. There was no telling what might happen. Harper had heard stories of some people leaving forever, only for an obituary to be stumbled across the following week. It was usually a sudden heart attack or a hip fracture. Starvation usually made your body consume its heart first after all the fat had been gobbled up. The bones were nearly hollow as a bird’s and delicate as a soufflé.

  Only the group leader offered Harper a smile of camaraderie that let her know she knew about the baby. “Harper, since it’s your first day back, you get the choice of when you’d like to share today. If at all, of course.”

  Harper looked around the room at the motley crew of misfits. She drew in her breath. “I’m … okay, I guess. Not great, not terrible.”

  “Why were you gone?” Billy asked. He leaned toward her, his eyes hungry for drama.

  “Billy, you know we don’t ask that,” the group leader said.

  “Too late,” he said with an unapologetic shrug.

  Harper laughed. His countenance reminded her of P. “It’s okay,” she said. “If I’m not going to share here, then where? I was in the hospital,” she said.

  Everyone nodded. They’d assumed that.

  “I … I miscarried. Everyone there said it’s really common for women with eating disorders. Well, I mean, we all know that.”

  “I’ve had four,” one of the girls said. Her oily hair hung in tired strands down her face.

  “No competition,” the group leader said. “This is about Harper right now.”

  “It was my first,” Harper said. “The good thing, I think, is that the doctors and nurses weren’t really adamant that it was because of my weight. They basically said it could happen for a million reasons.”

  “And how do you feel about the pregnancy ending?” the group leader asked.

  “Sad,” Harper said simply. She gave a short laugh. “That sounds juvenile, I know, but it’s true. I … I really love the man who was the father. But, we talked about it. He’s in recovery, too.” The group leader raised her brow. “Alcohol, not an eating disorder. We both know it wasn’t the right time or circumstances for a baby, so in a way I’m kind of glad I don’t have to be pushed into
being a mom right now. I know that sounds terrible. And selfish.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being selfish sometimes,” the group leader said. “Our society reveres self-deprecation, false modesty, sarcasm—but there’s nothing good in them most of the time. For a lot of us, that rewires our inner voice, or self-talk. We face enough negativity in the world. If our inner voice doesn’t talk kindly to us, we start to believe it.”

  “Yeah,” Harper said. “I know. But doesn’t that make me a bad person? For being partly grateful to not have a baby right now? Even though it’s a small part?”

  “Nothing’s black and white,” Billy said.

  “That’s right,” the group leader said. “Or at least, very few things are.”

  “I don’t know,” Harper said. She began to tear up. “I read some things? About the importance of thought and will during a pregnancy? What if … what if the baby somehow knew he wasn’t totally wanted?”

  “Harper, I can promise you that a lot of women aren’t one hundred percent sure about being a mother. Even the people who plan, who get IVF, who spent years and life savings on getting pregnant will have their doubts. If having doubts caused miscarriages, our species would be in serious trouble.”

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I guess you’re right. I—this sounds stupid, I know—but I know Sean and I are meant to be together. And to have a family …”

  “That doesn’t sound stupid,” the session leader said. “It sounds brave. And like you’re looking toward a happy, healthier future.”

  “But it seems selfish, you know? To be so certain of him and our future together, but at the same time feel like it’s not time to start a family. Let’s be honest, we’re both kind of a hot mess right now.”

  “You’ve talked about Sean before. You’ve known him, what, a couple of months?” the group leader asked.

  “Yeah,” she said softly. She knew how unbelievable it sounded, to be so sure of a soulmate you’d barely known for a few weeks.

  “You’ve certainly gone through a lot in a short amount of time. That can either drive a new couple apart or bond them closer together. It sounds like you’re heading down the latter path.”

  Harper gave her an appreciative smile. “How did Sean take it?” Billy asked.

  “Perfectly,” she said. “I was kind of out of it, with the drugs at the hospital and all. I mean, he was sad, too, but also relieved.”

  “My last miscarriage was just last year,” the mousy girl said. “I know! I know, it’s not about me,” she said before the group leader could reel her in. “I just wanted to tell you, if you ever want to talk? Like, one-on-one? I’m here. Sorry if I sounded like I was trying to lessen what you went through.”

  “Thanks,” Harper said. “I might take you up on that sometime.”

  “Well, Harper, it’s great to have you back,” the group leader said. “Why don’t we take a short break from sharing and let’s open our food journals.”

  Harper watched everyone else as they dug out their tattered Moleskines and composition books. Some of them had decorated their journals with sketches and stickers from favorite coffee shops, or outlines of their home state. Others had chosen nondescript journals that wouldn’t encourage anyone to pry.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t really keep a journal in the hospital. But I can guarantee you that I ate all my jello.”

  “Ugh,” Billy said. “If there’s anything that’s going to inspire a relapse into anorexia, it’s hospital food. They should market that as the ultimate diet.”

  As she surveyed the room with everyone busily bookmarking pages and comparing cheat meals, a warmth settled inside her. This room, these people, it felt good. Everyone was right—therapy wasn’t easy. It was hard, sometimes almost impossible. Relearning how to think about her body, herself, and food was going to take a lifetime of management. But so far, it was worth it.

  “How many calories do you think is in a fried egg made with just, like, a tiny bit of Pam spray?” somebody asked. “Like, the calories on the Pam can say zero, but it’s for a tiny amount. How can it be olive oil and no calories? And how can an egg gain calories just by being cooked? That’s so weird, and totally not fair. Raw eggs are gross. I never got that—”

  “You know food journal shares aren’t for talking about calories or assigning a number to the food,” the group leader said. “We need to learn to look at, talk about, and think about food differently.”

  “I know that,” the girl said huffily. “I was just wondering. It’s, like, a science question.”

  “Honey, do we look like scientists?” Billy asked.

  27

  Sean

  Sean stared at his phone. His thumb had hovered over Ashton’s name for the past twenty minutes. He probably won’t even answer, he thought. It was the first day Harper had driven herself to therapy since the hospital. She’d be gone the entire day. He’d tried to hype himself up for the call, but every time he went to press the green call button something inside him froze.

  Don’t be such a pussy, he told himself. It’ll just go to voicemail anyway.

  Finally, Sean pressed the call button. His heart began to race as he listened to the rings.

  “What do you want?” Ashton asked coldly. “You know it’s dangerous—for you—to talk to me rather than have your attorney call mine.”

  “Can we talk?” Sean asked. He forced out the question before he could second-guess himself.

  “I believe that’s what we’re doing.”

  “I mean in person. Can we meet up?”

  Ashton gave a short, mean laugh. “What for?”

  “Look, I just really think we need to talk. If you’re still mad at me afterward, you can kick my ass.”

  “I don’t need your permission for that,” Ashton said.

  “Maybe not, but can we at least be civil beforehand?”

  Ashton sighed. “You’re lucky you caught me after my PT. I’m in a generous mood. Okay, I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

  “Great, thanks,” Sean said. He hated himself for thanking Ashton, but it had been such a surprising win that he couldn’t find his right bearings. “How about Blackwood?”

  “Blackwood?” He thought he heard Ashton take a long draw on a cigarette. “Didn’t know you were some basic bitch now. But alright. I can be there in an hour.”

  Sean faced the windows of the coffee shop. He couldn’t stop his right leg from shaking violently under the table, a nervous habit from his childhood he’d never been able to get rid of. Finally, he saw Ashton make his way across the street. He had a bad limp, but that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was just how fucked up Ashton looked in the middle of the day.

  Ashton barreled into the coffee shop. The dark vintage Ray-Bans couldn’t hide the manic high he was on. The temperature hovered near seventy-five, but Ashton was sweating like it was a sauna. His skin looked pale and pocked, and as Sean stood up to greet him he caught a strong whiff of bourbon. “Hey,” Sean said. “Thank you for meeting me.”

  Sean reached his hand out to Ashton, and when his old friend took it out of habit, he noticed fresh track marks on his arm. The cuticles had been chewed until they’d bled. Rusty, dried red streaks nestled into the fingernails. “Well?” Ashton said. His voice sounded strange, high and frantic. “Gimme your speech. I know you have one prepared.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sean said. “That’s not much of a speech, I know, but it’s honest and it’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry for it all. For that night, for—”

  “Sorry for fucking around with my girl? What about that, huh?” Ashton’s voice was tinged with anger, but his gaze flew around the shop like a madman.

  “What?”

  “She fucking left me, man. She—”

  “Wait, are you still hung up on her?” Sean hadn’t expected that. The so-called girlfriend had been a booty call for Ashton at best, and one of many. She’d been Sean’s girlfriend first, though he’d been more than happy to pass he
r along to Ashton. He shook his head at the memories. To think that’s what you used to think a relationship was.

  “Of course I am! Fuck, man, what did you think?”

  “Have you … have you seen her? Since, you know …”

  “No. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. Not that you’d give a damn. Does that make you happy? Hold up, are you with her? Is that what this is all about?” Ashton slammed his palms down on the table and leaned toward Sean.

  “What? No. I’m with—well, never mind. Why won’t she talk to you?”

  “Because she’s fucking sober,” Ashton said. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Getting sober is hard work. A lot of people will tell you not to get into any kind of romantic relationship when you’re—”

  “I offered to get sober, too. For her,” Ashton said.

  “Really?” Sean wished he could take back the surprise in his voice. He didn’t know how serious Ashton was about that, but simply saying it seemed like a big step. Of course, it was never a good idea to try and get sober for somebody else, but it was a common first step a lot of addicts in recovery took.

  “You think I’m making this bullshit up?”

  “Why don’t you sit down, Ashton?” Sean asked gently.

  “I don’t want to fucking sit down! She said—she said even if I was sober, she didn’t want me back. Because she, you know, her and I got together while she was with someone else. Said it didn’t comment well on my character, or some shit.”

  “Okay,” Sean said. “It doesn’t really reflect well on her, either. But … what if I call her? Put in a good word for you? I mean, you’d have to get clean—”

  “You wouldn’t do that for me,” Ashton said.

  “I would, if it meant that you were really going to call off this whole lawsuit.” Is that really what this whole thing has been about? Some girl, one that Sean could hardly remember? And if he could hardly remember her, and he’d been her alleged boyfriend, how much stock could Ashton really have in her? He’d always been more fucked up than Sean was.