Chapter 7 #3
“I c-can’t believe it’s y-you!” the girl shrieked. From her accent, she was Welsh, though I wasn’t sure how her vocal cords survived speaking at that frequency.
Bodhi raked a hand through his dark hair, and the girl swayed like she was having heart palpitations. The boy stared like he was memorising every movement.
“Are you guys here for the show?” Bodhi asked.
“Y-yeah, man!” the guy stammered, thrusting out a trembling hand. “I’m Rhys. W-we travelled from Cardiff just to see N-Noctis.”
Bodhi shook his hand. “I really appreciate that, man.”
“Are the rest of the band here?” the girl asked, whipping her head around like Mick might leap out from behind a potted plant.
Bodhi jerked his thumb at me. “Nah, we’re doing our own thing tonight.”
The girl turned to me, and her eyes went wide. “Ohmygod,” she breathed. “Did we interrupt your date?”
“No!” I yelped, far too loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, Bodhi looked like he was swallowing a laugh. “No, no date. Just two friends. Hanging out. Chillin’.”
I cringed at myself so hard I nearly pulled a muscle.
“Iggy’s the band’s new makeup artist,” Bodhi said smoothly. “I was showing him around Amsterdam.”
“We’re really sorry for interrupting.” Rhys held up his hands. “Can I get you guys a beer?” He looked between us. “I’ve got some Molly, if you’re into that?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
The fans didn’t notice, but Bodhi went rigid beside me, fist curling on the table. I mirrored him instinctively.
This was the first time either of us had been offered drugs straight to our faces since leaving rehab. And we both froze. The sensible answer was no. Obviously no. A big flashing neon, rehab-approved NO.
But neither of us were saying it. We just stared at the two blissfully oblivious fans, and my treacherous mouth was already beginning to form a sound suspiciously like “Ye—”
“No.”
I snapped my head towards Bodhi. He was smiling up at them, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was tight, strained. But he’d said it first. He’d said no before I could ruin everything with one syllable. Relief hit me so hard I felt hollow, like someone had cut all my strings at once.
“I’m not into that,” he said. “And I don’t like drinking the night before a show.”
Total lie. But he couldn’t exactly tell them the truth, and I didn’t blame him.
“No problem!” Rhys said quickly, cheeks red. “Sorry if that was inappropriate.”
Bodhi stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re all good. Did you guys want a photo?”
“Yes, please!” the girl squealed, rummaging for her phone before spinning to me. “Do you mind taking it?”
“Not at all,” I said, absurdly grateful to have something to focus on.
Several dozen photos later, the fans finally drifted away, and the moment they were gone, we both collapsed into our seats. My stomach twisted with leftover adrenaline.
“That was hard,” Bodhi whispered. He dropped his head into his hands.
“I almost said yes,” I admitted, my voice barely working. My throat closed up, and my eyes burned. “If you hadn’t stepped in, I would’ve . . . I-I would’ve . . .”
My breaths sped up. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked.
“Iggy,” Bodhi said gently.
I shook my head. I couldn’t look at him. If I looked at him, he’d see how ashamed I was. How close I’d come to screwing up not just my recovery, but possibly his too.
“You were the reason I said no.”
I jerked my head up. “What?”
“I was so close to saying yes.” He reached out and pried my fingers open, tracing shapes in my palm until my lungs stopped clawing for air. “But then I looked at you, scared out of your mind, and I just . . . couldn’t. Not to you. And not to me either.”
“Bodhi,” I breathed.
“I know we should be doing meetings, getting sponsors, all that recovery shit,” he went on, eyes fixed on our hands. “But it’s hard on tour. I’m sure virtual meetings help, but . . .”
“It feels weird,” I finished. “Like you’re on a work Zoom, not talking to other addicts.”
He nodded, letting go of my hand. He looked as defeated as I felt, and I hated it. This wasn’t the version of Bodhi I liked. I liked him teasing, laughing, making fun of me, like we weren’t always one bad decision away from self-destructing.
No. I wasn’t letting us spiral.
“We should help each other.”
Bodhi blinked. “Huh?”
“It might be the worst idea ever.” And wow, it truly, truly might. But I was committed now. “But we should help each other. Keep an eye out. Keep each other accountable.”
He frowned, but he was listening. “Like a pact?”
“Yep. A sober pact.”
“A sober pact,” he echoed.
“You and me. Responsible for ourselves and for each other. Sober pact.”
“Sober pact.”
“We’ve established the name,” I snapped. “Are you in?”
He hesitated. Reasonably. Sensibly. But reason wasn’t exactly running the show right now. The idea of someone who got it watching my back, and me watching theirs, felt like a lifeline.
“Is this a good idea?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly, taking both his hands. “But I care about you, Bodhi. You’re my friend. I want you to succeed. I want me to succeed. And with each other’s help . . . maybe we can.”
He didn’t answer at first. Long enough that I braced for him to back out.
Then he squeezed my hands.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m in.”
“You’re in?” I exhaled, tension melting from my shoulders.
“I’m in, Iggs.” He held out a hand to shake, and I took it in mine. “I solemnly swear—”
“Wait,” I cut in. “Are you making a fucking oath?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No. I just wanted it to feel meaningful.”
“You sounded like you were selling your soul to a sea witch for legs.”
“God forbid I lose my beautiful singing voice.”
I snorted. “You’re such a twat.”
Bodhi grinned and shook my hand once. “Sober pact.”
I grinned back. Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was stupid. But it felt right.
“Sober pact.”