Chapter 25 Diem
Diem
Diem
AA had a way of making me feel both melancholic and rejuvenated.
It shone a light on my worst flaws while also inspiring me to keep going.
I imagined it was how Jesus-loving churchgoers felt after a Sunday service.
Forgiven for their sins and determined to be good Christians for the rest of the week.
“You’re quiet,” Aslan said as we crossed the parking lot after the meeting ended.
“I’m always quiet.”
Like the previous time, I passed when it was my turn to share. Shame that I couldn’t go one fucking week without slipping was not something I was ready to admit. Talking about feelings and emotions was a practice I exercised with my therapist, not strangers.
“Am I your sponsor, Krause?” Aslan asked.
“I thought so.”
“Me too. How many days have you got? Be honest.”
I inhaled sharply through my nose as I scanned the other members, chatting amicably as they left. “Less than twenty-four hours.”
“I figured. Call it a hunch, but when I got your text, I knew.”
“Congratulations. You’re a savant.”
“No. I’m a fellow addict who hears everything you don’t say.”
“Great.”
“Did you message me before or after that drink?”
“Does it matter?”
Aslan sighed, and I regretted my stubborn attitude.
“I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself, Diem.”
“I know.” Hadn’t Tallus said something similar about Darcy earlier?
Christ, was I no different than a punk-ass nineteen-year-old?
“When I’m stressed, it’s hard to remember why I want to be sober because all I want to be is numb.
Making that phone call goes against the grain.
I know you’re going to try to talk me out of it, but I don’t want anyone to change my mind at that point. I just want the drink. The escape.”
“I’ve been there. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s lonely as fuck because the guilt and shame make you want to hide the truth from the people you love.”
I thought of Tallus and the pitying look in his eyes when I’d walked into the office. The way he already knew when I came clean.
“All my motivation goes out the window when I’m stressed, and I’m stressed all the time.”
That wasn’t true. I had been better lately. Stress ebbed and flowed, but it wasn’t a permanent state like it used to be.
Aslan leaned against his SUV and crossed his arms with a contemplative look on his face. “You go to the gym, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Daily?”
I shrugged. “About six times a week. It’s good for my mental health. Helps me not kill people, and I wish that was a joke, but it’s not.”
Aslan chuckled.
What I didn’t say was that without some form of release, I was bound to turn into my father, and if that happened, I would kill myself.
“What do you do on the days when you don’t want to go to the gym?”
“Never happens.”
Aslan laughed. “Bullshit. As a fellow strength trainer, I know there are days you just aren’t motivated to get your ass out of bed. What then?”
“I go anyway. Can’t wait for motivation to show up.
If I don’t punch a bag or lift something heavy in the morning, my temper will surface with every stupid thing throughout the day.
The energy I didn’t expend bench-pressing or squatting will build inside me.
I get reactive. Easily angered. I have trouble thinking, working, and talking. Someone will get hurt.”
“Sounds like you’ve done some deep analysis on your sweat sessions.”
When you saw a therapist a few times a month, it was par for the course. They fucking analyzed the shit out of everything.
I didn’t say that and shrugged instead. “Punching a bag instead of some jackass’s face keeps me out of jail.”
“Fair enough, but what if you’re tired, or maybe your boyfriend is looking especially sexy and you’d rather spend your morning naked and fucking.”
I narrowed my eyes at the smug detective.
“Come on, Krause. You’ve been there. We all have.”
More than a million times. Had he looked at Tallus? Did he know how hard it was to leave his naked body every morning? It was hell choosing the gym over lazy morning sex, but I did it because I had to.
The prick’s smile grew. “What do you do? Sex or gym?”
“Both if I can swing it.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I go to the gym.”
He nodded as though he already expected the answer. “Why?”
For fuck’s sake. Was he listening? We were going around and around, and I hated redundant conversations. “Because of all the reasons I already listed. Can you get to the point?”
He held up his hands in supplication. “What drives you to the gym each morning if not motivation?”
“Dedication. Determination. I may not want to go, but I have to go because if I don’t, I become someone I don’t want to be.”
“You go to ensure your days run smoothly.”
“Yes.”
“To give yourself inner peace.”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s good for your mental health.”
“Yes, for fuck’s sake.”
Aslan nodded. “What if you were as dedicated and determined to stay sober and attend AA meetings as you were to going to the gym? You won’t always want to.
There will be days when motivation is gone and a sexy bottle of Jim Beam, or whatever your poison, is within reach, promising pleasures beyond belief.
It would be easier to get tanked and forget the world and your troubles, but it would be better for your mental health and well-being if you followed a plan and not your mood. Am I right?”
I snorted, and he smirked.
“Do you ever walk out of the gym and regret that you went?” he asked.
“Never.”
“I promise you. When you fight the craving and say no to the bottle, the next day you will not wake up and regret your decision. It gets easier. I promise.”
It was a bunch of words. Aslan meant well, but the application sounded impossible. Drinking was not the same as working out. Dedication and determination and discipline wouldn’t matter when the itch got under my skin and burned me from the inside out. When my father’s voice wouldn’t leave me alone.
“Think about it. You don’t let yourself give up on the gym, so why do you let yourself give up on this?”
Aslan shoved away from his vehicle and slapped my shoulder. “I can’t do it for you, big guy, but I’m a phone call away when those cravings hit. Reach out next time. Maybe we can pump some iron together until the urge passes.”
Aslan got in his SUV and started the engine. He didn’t pull away. Lowering the window, he added, “There’s another meeting here on Monday night. Text me if you want to go.”
Without waiting for an answer, he drove off.
In the Jeep, I thought about what he said, but couldn’t see the connection he was trying to make. The two didn’t seem related. The concept was not transferable. He was wrong.
The dash clock read ten fifteen. The meeting had run late. I needed to get home and be sure Darcy and Tallus hadn’t killed each other.
I reached for the phone in the cupholder to text my boyfriend and tell him I was on my way, only to discover it wasn’t my phone.
It was Darcy’s burner. He must have put it there on the way home from the hospital the previous night.
The empty pack of cigarettes occupied the second holder, and Christ, I wanted a smoke.
I patted the inside pocket of my trench coat and located my phone.
Instead of putting Darcy’s back, I used his password to unlock it and wasn’t at all shocked to find a text waiting from none other than Lukyan Andrich.
You’d better hope I don’t find you.
I stared at the message, bubbles of rage forming in my gut as the pitiful image of Darcy in a cast, Darcy curled into a ball on the couch, and Darcy whimpering in pain came to mind.
I tossed the phone on the seat beside me. “Same to you, asshole.”
Using my own device, I shot a text to Tallus.
Heading home. Should I grab you a latte and a cookie?
After a short hesitation, I added a winky face.
Emojis weren’t really my thing, but Tallus used them all the time.
I’d been trying them out lately and felt stupid every time I did, but I couldn’t deny that they added a certain levity to the conversation, no matter how irritable my mood.
When he didn’t respond—odd since Tallus’s phone was attached to his hip—I connected a call.
“Hi, Diem. It’s me.” Darcy’s chipper tone stalled my response. First, why was he answering Tallus’s phone? Second, why did he sound excited? After leaving the two alone for the past two hours, I expected blood and tears and torn throats.
“Where the fuck is Tallus?” I figured if they were going to kill each other, Darcy wouldn’t stand a chance. Maybe I’d underestimated the kid.
“He’s driving. We’re tailing Luke. Isn’t it awesome? We’re totally going all 007 on him.”
“You’re what?”
“We were doing recon at his properties and—” The audio changed, and Darcy yelled from a distance, “Hey! I was talking.”
“Hey, D,” Tallus cooed. “Before you freak out—”
“I told you to fucking wait for me. What are you doing?”
“How was your meeting?”
“Tallus,” I growled.
“Okay. Relax. It wasn’t planned, and we aren’t 007ing him. We were scoping out Lukyan’s properties and happened to spot him pulling out of a U-Stor down the road. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to follow him. Can you do me a favor?”
A low rumble started inside my chest. “Do not divert this conversation elsewhere. Where. Are you?” I said from between clamped teeth.
“Um… Best guess? I think we’re headed for Brampton. I need your magic tongue and a bit of role-playing in my life right now. Can you deliver? I’ll reward you handsomely.”
“Gross,” Darcy said in the background.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Lukyan must rent a storage unit at the U-Stor down the street from his property in Mississauga. I don’t know the address, but I need you to look it up and go there. Pay attention. Are you paying attention?”
“Tallus.”