4. Chapter Four
Chapter four
Carter
“Who would like to start today?”
The same six words spoken at six o’clock on the dot every Tuesday and Friday.
You ever wonder what’s going on in the world at the exact moment as you? It’s more than you think. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Great stuff. Terrible stuff. And everything in between.
People are being born. Getting promotions. Graduating. Sleeping. Working. Fucking.
Dying.
“I will,” I say, lifting a hand but keeping my gaze on the tiled floor that looks dirty no matter how many times it's cleaned.
There are sixteen of us tonight, mostly the usuals, but a few new people.
“Thank you, Carter,” Tim says.
He’s the group leader, which has always sounded a bit culty to me, but I guess that’s what we are, right?
Cult; a group or sect bound together by veneration of the same thing, person, ideal, etc.
We’re all here for the same reason, bound by the trauma we’ve gone through and the confusion of still being alive.
It’s a stretch. I know.
Just go with it.
“As you know, I wasn’t here on Friday because I had to work.”
“Which is okay,” Tim adds. “You come when you can, and that’s all that matters.”
I nod, not sure how the guy is so positive all the time. I fight to get one positive thought a day, never mind a whole hour twice a week—and whatever he does when he’s not here. I can’t imagine he steps out this door and becomes a Negative Nancy.
“Well, I was at work at the library the other day, and I was putting away the returned books. I came across Tuck Everlasting—” Emotion clogs my throat, and I take a moment to get myself together.
Everyone is quiet, waiting for me to continue.
I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and continue.
“It was Ryan’s favorite book. He loved to read.
Every chance he got, he mentioned that Tuck Everlasting was the book that made him fall in love with reading.
It was assigned to him when he was young.
Elementary school. After that, he never put books down, even though his father pushed for him to get into more manly things—like wrestling. ” I laugh, looking up at everyone.
There’s this thing that happens in group. People don’t stare. They look around at everything except the person talking. They listen, though. That’s what’s important.
“That’s funny, right? Wrestling is a manly sport? Where all the men wear tight underwear, oil themselves up, and hold on to each other while they’re more than half naked?” I laugh again as a few people chuckle or smile.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat again.
It’s always so hard to breathe in here. “I put it away where it belonged and told myself I wouldn’t let it get to me.
I have his copy at home in one of the boxes.
I know it’s there, even if I haven’t seen it in a while.
But the situation did get to me, and after I left work, I went right to the bar. I don’t remember getting home.”
“Sounds like that book brought up a lot of bad memories.”
My heart squeezes in my chest.
“Yeah,” I grit out, folding my hands and pressing them together between my thighs.
“What stuck with you the most?” Tim asks gently.
My gaze goes to the floor again, my eyes burning.
“I don’t know. It just… reminded me of our conversations and how they were so easy, and how I didn’t walk around with the guilt of being alive because I was just happy to be alive because I was with him.”
A few people make sounds that tell me they understand. That they feel it too.
“He could talk about books for hours, and it never got old. I loved listening to him talk about things he loved. It soothed me, and now I feel like I don’t have anything to soothe me.”
“Except alcohol,” one of the new guys adds. Logan is his name. He’s been here a few times before. Doesn’t usually talk much.
My head snaps up, and I look at him, but not out of anger. Shock maybe.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But only during.”
“That’s how it is,” he says. “Trust me. I’ve lost a lot of stuff over alcohol, but it took for me to lose someone to let it go completely. That’s the problem. It’s a trick. It makes you think everything is great, and that’s why you always go back to it, but you have to be stronger than it.”
“And you are,” Tim says. “All of you are stronger than your vices. Look at you. You’re here. You’re working toward a more peaceful life.”
We all nod in agreement. Even if we don’t believe it for ourselves, we believe it for the others. It’s easier to see the good things in them than it is to see it in myself.
“Well, I drank way more than I should have. Woke up the next day hungover and feeling like shit, as usual. I keep telling myself I’m going to stop because it does nothing for me, yet I keep getting dragged back there by the ghost of my boyfriend.”
Losing him hurts. There is no other way to put it. He was all I had. Just him and me. So basically, when I lost him, I lost everything.
"What would Ryan think if he knew you were here tonight?" Tim asks, folding his hands together and leaning forward slightly.
The question hits harder than it should. Because if Ryan were capable of knowing I was here, I wouldn’t be. Because I’d be with him.
“He’d tell me to stop drinking,” I say.
A few people laugh.
I smile despite myself.
“And?” Tim asks.
I swallow.
“He’d tell me to keep trying.”
It’s silent for a moment, and some of the tension lifts from my shoulders. I know that if I can’t move on for myself, I need to do it for him. Because he wouldn’t like seeing me like this.
“Thank you for sharing, Carter. Does anyone else have anything they’d like to share?” Tim guides the conversation to someone else. Elena. She’s an older woman. A survivor of domestic abuse. She’s strong, so she’s going to be okay. That’s all it takes. Strength.
The chill in the air is a reprieve from the stuffiness of the support group building, but not for long.
By the time I reach the subway, I’m frozen.
Kane walks with me, like he always does, though he never takes it.
Says he lives in the area but wants to make sure I’m okay.
He started doing it from the first day we met, when he learned my story.
It’s like he knew I was scared without me admitting it.
Because I hate admitting that I’m scared to be alone, especially out on these streets.
He’s a big guy; taller than me with a big beard and a lot of tattoos. The kind of guy others may be afraid of, so yeah, it makes me feel better walking with him.
It isn’t much warmer while I wait for the subway to come, or while I’m on it, but it’s better than standing outside. I still have four blocks to walk when I get off before I’m home.
It’s dark and the streets aren’t too busy, especially not around this way. Problem is, when you run into someone, you know they aren’t a good person. Not around here.
Most of the time I’m anxious when I’m walking home, but sometimes it feels like it’s the safest I’ll ever be. How could it happen to me twice?
I enter my building, stopping at the wall of mailboxes on the left and getting my mail before heading up the steps.
The elevator can take someone else as prisoner.
I won’t get stuck in that thing again. Once is good enough for me.
Four flights are my workout for the day. I don’t get much exercise otherwise.
I unlock my door, using my shoulder to shove it open because it gets stuck sometimes, though I can’t figure out why.
I’ve tried to fix it more than once, and maintenance has come too, always saying it’s all set.
Then it’s fine for a few days until it starts acting up again.
I gave up on it. It’s just part of my routine now.
My living room and kitchen are one room; barely big enough to be called a room.
There is a small island separating the two, which is good because I don’t have room for a table.
The best way to describe this place is drab.
Dark brown carpets, cream walls. The tile in the kitchen was white once upon a time, but turned a garish yellow long before I moved in.
It’s barely big enough for two people to stand in.
I have exactly five cabinets, three on the walls for food and two beneath the sink for cleaning supplies and paper supplies. I do have a dishwasher though, which is a perk. The sink is porcelain and stained, but it’s big, which allows the dishes to pile up.
The short hallway ahead of me has a door on either side.
Bedroom on the left. Bathroom on the right.
It should hardly be called a hallway, but I don’t know what else to call it, so it gets the upgrade.
The bedroom is the biggest room in the apartment at least, but there is no closet.
Nowhere to hide the boxes that taunt me every time I’m in here.
If only I had the strength to go through them.
I hang my jacket on the coat rack in the corner of my bedroom since there isn’t space out in the living room, then head to my fridge to see what there is to eat.
I haven’t eaten since about eleven, when I took a trip to the cafe around the corner for Eileen and I.
She’s the manager at the library, and so very nice.
She paid for the coffee and donuts today like she does every other time she sends me over.
“You fly, I’ll buy,” she says. Every time. It makes me laugh.
Eileen knows something is up with me, she’s asked exactly two times.
Said she could tell I was dealing with something.
First, was the day I started. Then again about a month later when I was settled in.
When I told her I was fine, she said she wouldn’t ask again but if I ever wanted to talk to her, I could.
I haven’t. And I won’t. Easier that way.
I eat leftover chicken and rice for dinner, then shower and put on sweatpants. I drop onto the couch and search through the free channels for something to watch, settling on a movie I’ve never heard of because it’s new and won’t remind me of Ryan.
This is my life now. Doing things to avoid his memory.
He’d hate it.
It’s not that I don’t want to think about him. It just hurts too much.
I’m halfway through the movie when there’s a knock on my door. It startles me and my heart jumps into my throat.
Strange. No one ever knocks on my door. Maybe the neighbor needs to borrow a cup of sugar? Joke’s on them. I don’t have any.
I pause the movie and get up to look through the peephole.
“What the…”
I pull open the door.
Standing on the other side is the cop from the bar.
He’s exactly as I remember. Tall. Broad. Dark hair with just enough wave that it looks naturally messy, neatly trimmed beard, and eyes that somehow look serious and kind at the same time.
And judging by the look on his face…
Something’s wrong.