Edge of Recovery (Love on the Edge) (5 page)

Thomas punched my shoulder so hard it seared. “You’re not broken, Justin.”

I scoffed and punched him back.

“You’re not broken,” he repeated. “You couldn’t tell me this story, with the perspective you have on it now, if you were. The first step in recovering from anything—addiction or possessiveness or anger issues—is recognizing that you
have
them. And you’re absolutely aware, now that you’ve had distance, what you did was wrong.”

“Yeah, I knew then, but I kept doing it, stuck to my ways under the delusion that that’s how the world worked. I had my place, and she had hers.” I ground my teeth together to stop the words coming out of my mouth. Fuck, once I opened up I couldn’t stop.

“Well, I’m here to help you. You can come back from this, Justin. And without the drink.”

“Fat fucking chance. Nothing else works. Unless you want to prescribe me some pills that turn me into a zombie?”

“You don’t need medication. You need education.”

“Fuck you,” I said, shooting to my feet. “I may have never completed high school, but I’ve learned enough to know education has nothing to do with what I am. It’s genetic, or God lost a bet when making me. I’ve got more of the devil in me than anyone I know, and the only thing that soothes the ache is his poison of choice.”

Thomas shook his head, rising to my position. “You have to
want
my help, Justin. I won’t just give it to you. So if you’re going to meet my every attempt with a smart ass, you-know-better-than-me comment…you’re up shit creek. One that leads straight back to prison.” He shoved me this time, not bothering to swing.

I pushed him back, sending his ass into the ropes behind him. He came back fast, cracking me across the cheek so hard my head snapped to the side. I retaliated instantly, a hard jab to the side followed by a blissfully landed hit to his jaw.
Fucking finally.

“You Gaslighted that girl!” He snapped, three jabs to my gut.

I dropped my fists and took a wide step back, sucking in sharp breaths. “What?”

“Gaslighting. It’s a new term in the world of abuse, but it basically means you attempted to destroy her perception of reality.
That’s
what happened. You cut her down and made her believe there was nothing outside of the world
you
defined for her. And you did it as a form of control. To keep her.”

I fell back onto the mat my head between my gloves.

“Now you have a name for the demon, just like alcohol. Things with names are easier to conquer, overcome.” He slipped his gloves off and let them fall to the mat beside me. “The question is, was it really out of love or was it out of a malicious intent because you enjoyed seeing her in pain?” Thomas’ eyes locked with mine, never blinking as he waited for my answer.

“I never wanted to hurt her.” I ripped off my gloves, curling my fists and stopping the tear that was about to roll down my cheek.

“You just didn’t want her to leave.”

I nodded.

“But you thought she would because you didn’t feel good enough for her.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not. Never will be. That was the problem. I wasn’t stupid. I just wanted
her
to be.”

Thomas sighed and leaned back against the ropes.

The sour sting in my gut both amplified and lessened at the same time—if that was fucking possible. I tried to catch my breath as my body seared in various places all over my body. My muscles ached, but they weren’t itching for a fight like normal.

Thomas only had a sliver of my dirty laundry, but it felt like a tiny weight had lifted off my chest. I didn’t realize that was possible without a shot glass and a bottle, but it had to be a fluke. A survival instinct to keep me out of prison or a combination of the thrill of the fight and the need to give him what he wanted.

“I’m going to ask you again, are you ready for my help?”

I licked my lips really ready for a fucking drink, but I nodded. “Yes…”

“But...”

“There is no help for me, Doc. How can there be?”

“First step is trusting me. I know that will be hard for you, given your background, but you’ve already made a huge stride today in telling me this.”

“You had to beat it out of me. Next time won’t be so easy.”

“You think that was easy?” He chuckled, still catching his breath as well. “We’ve found the root. Now we just need to dig around it.”

I snorted. “You make it
sound
easy.”

“It’s not. I won’t lie to you. You have to
want
this. You have to want to be the better man, the one I know is in there. I can’t do it alone. But you know what?”

“What?”

“You won’t have to either.”

“Great.” Mr. Rodgers was going to fix me and make unicorns jump around and clean the house I no longer had all while making alcohol taste like shit to me. “I think you have your hands full,” I said, but I had over two months left here. Maybe he could help me and maybe he couldn’t. Either way, I couldn’t get kicked out of this place. I couldn’t go back to prison, back to where Devlin called every move of my life. I liked him where he was, behind bars. Sure, I still pedaled his shit, but that was for the money now, not protection.

“That’s why I’ve called in help,” Thomas said, drawing my attention as he hopped out of the ring.

“Oh yeah?” I asked as I followed him, hands shoved in my pockets to hide my trembling fingers. “Who’s that?”

“Your sponsor is on vacation now but will be here in a couple weeks.” He held the gym door open for me. Conner waited at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall.

“A sponsor? Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked, returning my attention to Thomas.

He shrugged, an easy smile on his lips. “Mine is the only reason I’ve remained sober for as long as I have.”

I raised my chin to him, wondering what kind of drunk he’d been. With his neighborly attitude and sweaters, I constantly forgot he had once been in a similar situation as me. Well, not exactly, but close.

I shook my head and made my way to Conner.

“You need a smoke, man?” He asked instead of asking me why the fuck my lip was bleeding or why I held my side.

“Bad.”

He nodded, and we walked silently toward the back of the facility.

I wanted the nicotine buzz to be enough to quell the urge pulsing in the back of my throat for the one thing that would help suppress all the buried shit I’d just dug up, but if I was being honest, it was the seed of hope I just felt planted with a punch in my gut that terrified me more.

T
he celebrity
—if you could call him that, more like a glorified reality star who got paid to be an idiot on screen—was more than grateful to fund Devlin’s business endeavors. I’d just left my best customer’s room, a suite twice the size of mine that came complete with a welcomed entourage of his three closest “people”, and was on the hunt for Conner and his never ending supply of smokes.

It wasn’t like I couldn’t get them—the facility was all about supporting the replacement of one evil for a lesser one—but it was simply easier to bum one off him. And, I liked hanging around the dude. He didn’t push for information too much, and he sure as hell didn’t try to write my problem off as lesser than his because it was liquor and not meth.

Plus, there was the whole, not-ratting-me-out thing that worked in his favor. I’d spent more time than I’d like recently wondering what I’d do if he asked me for the drugs I’d offered to sell him weeks ago. Now that I’d known him longer, and understood his desire to do better, this time, I really didn’t
want
to sell to him. He may have been the only person in the whole place who I could say that about.

There was Thomas, though, the good doctor. He’d moved our “sessions” to the ring after the first time had worked so well. My face and gut sported bruises that shone like badges of how well he was doing in his efforts to crack me open and tinker around. The talking sucked and did nothing but reawaken the nightmares that played in high definition without the alcohol-hazed sleep I’d become accustomed to over the last year, but, I loved the
fight
. The crunch of skin and bone, despite the gloves, released me in ways nothing else had. I could still
feel
it, enjoy it. There was nothing like a proper brawl to release the pent up anger that accompanied me everywhere just below my skin.

“You have an anger management problem,”
Thomas had said after our second fight where he’d beat out an instance where I’d taken pleasure in crushing one of Blake’s high school guy friends for saying something smart to me. Looking back, and through this new and extremely-stranger like set of eyes, I knew how senseless it was. But I couldn’t take it back any more than I could take back any other terrible thing I’d done.

And, I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but I truly didn’t want to live like that anymore.

The event that scripted my reoccurring nightmare—that last night with Blake—was when the switch flipped. When I realized just what I’d become. The doc had helped me figure that out, not that I’d let him know about it. I hadn’t uttered a word about that night to anyone—outside of that tool Dash, who had gotten a mouthful from me before we brawled when he’d showed up at my place unannounced the day after.

The memory of taking his hits, letting him work out his rage and giving back just a fraction of my own, smacked me like a bag of hammers. I’d known he was well within his right to act out like he had. Hell, I would’ve done worse to myself—
had
done worse to myself since that night—and I still didn’t feel like I would ever rid myself of the dirt that clung to my soul from my actions.

Thomas said he could help me—despite not knowing all the details—and I kind of believed him, neighborly as he was. Though, I was trying not to set my expectations too high—I was excellent at disappointing myself.

“Fuck you!” The curse word sounded way too elegant coming out of the girl’s mouth as I came around the corner, heading toward Conner and my designated smoke spot. The scene I happened upon immediately set me on edge—a petite girl with short dark-blue hair cut at a sharp angle, looked up at Brad—a blond douche who talked too much in group, who also happened to be the size of a house. She pushed against his massive chest, but he didn’t budge. “You are the worst!”

Before I blinked, I was between them, shoving at him with the force of a freight train. “Back the fuck up, man,” I said as I sent him slamming against the next wall.

“What the hell, Justin?” he asked, catching his balance.

“Think you’re bothering her, Brad.” I raised my chin at him.

My arm jerked backward, tiny delicate fingers painted black yanking me to the side. “Pop the brakes there, hero. Brad’s a friend.”

I tilted my head, my lips opening to speak but shutting from lack of words. It could be because she called me hero, that she’d said the guy she had just shoved was her friend, or it could be the fact that she had the most gorgeous green eyes I’d ever seen in my life. They were sharp, full, and the look she gave me? It was a no bull-shit glare that was both sexy and adorable at the same time. She had to arch her neck to hold my gaze, she couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four, but something about her—maybe the hair or the tight ripped leggings she wore that looked like shredded newspaper—screamed she wasn’t a girl to take shit lying down.

“You sure about that?” I asked when I remembered how to speak.

“Yeah, pretty sure.” She glanced at Brad over my shoulder. “I’ll stop by later. I want to see pictures of the girls.”

“You got it, Charlie.” Brad shook his head at me and walked toward the gym.

“Now, you,” she said, pointing that perfectly black-polished finger at me. “Where do you get off?”

“Not much of that these days,” I said, glancing around the facility. Figured a good, dirty quip would send her in the opposite direction, which is exactly where she needed to go because my senses were aching with
want—
something that hadn’t happened since Blake.

She
laughed
, her eyes zeroing in on my dick before trailing back up to me. “Maybe you’re doing it wrong?”

My mouth popped into the shape of an O.
Who the hell was this chick?

I slipped my hands into my pockets and leaned against the wall. “You just check in?” I asked instead of telling her to fuck off. This girl was setting off every piece of hope I had left in my soul—right there next to desire—and I couldn’t take it. I wouldn’t. I wasn’t good for anyone, ever.

“Something like that.” She tucked her midnight-blue hair behind her ears, exposing two scripted tattoos on the soft flesh of her wrists.

I licked my lips. “Bulimia?”

She arched a dark eyebrow at me. “What makes you think that?”

I shrugged. “Your skin is flawless, so not meth. Your eyes are clear, and you’re not twitching, so not coke. You’ve got wicked curves, so not anorexia.”

She laughed again, the sound vibrating in my core. Damn. Everything I said that she should take offense to, she found amusing.

Taking a step closer to me, she tilted her head back, locking onto my gaze as if she could read me like an opened book. She trailed her fingers over my jaw, turning my head back and forth, before tracing the lines of my chest, and lower over my hips, right over my pockets. She stepped back, shaking her head. “Liquor.”

“What? How?” My blood still hummed from her light and innocent touch, making the whole speech thing tough.

She bit her bottom lip which was full and pink.

“I’m psychic,” she said. “Not bulimic.”

“Shit. Sorry.” I shifted on my feet, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you here for?”

“Why should I tell you?” Her tone was light, teasing.

“Only fair. You know mine.”

“Ah, but I know everything. And it’s way more fun watching you guess.”

I chuckled, the sensation so rare I almost forgot what it felt like. That realization sent up more red flags. If I wasn’t careful I’d end up liking this girl, and that would only lead to her destroyed and me having further evidence of what a monster I was.

“I don’t like games,” I said, pushing off the wall and walking past her.

“Who doesn’t like games?” She asked, immediately blocking my path, stopping my momentum.

The question triggered a memory—one of Blake asking how I couldn’t have fun at a concert. There were so many instances, so many questions or tears or fights with Blake I didn’t realize were as bad as they were…not until
that
night. The night I showed up in one of my most drunken stupors, ready to force her to love me again, by forcing myself on her. Since then, it was like I’d woken up from a nightmare, only to realize every single scene had been penned by my own hand.

I’m sure the doc would have his way with
that
piece of information, and have a diagnosis and how to work toward fixing it, but I wasn’t ever giving that one up. He could beat the hell out of me every day for the next two months. I’d never tell.

“So you’re not used to being pushed. Good to know,” she said, her tiny frame still holding me hostage in the hallway. “And from the look of those bruises, any real way to get words out of you is to beat you.”

I slitted my eyes at her, now she was hitting the mark too close for comfort. Not that I was comfortable. Part of me wanted to bolt. The other part wanted to do anything to keep this chick talking. Something about her, maybe her no bullshit attitude, or the fact that she wasn’t terrified of me like she should be, drew me to her.

“Should I keep going?” she asked, not at all phased by my silence.

“By all means,” I said, jaw clenched to keep from smiling at her.

She stared at me again like she had moments before as if she were reaching into my soul and plucking out all the intimate details. I froze, her intense gaze shredding me of my defenses with the sincerity in her eyes.

“You’re in pain.”

I scoffed. “Wrong.”

She stepped so close I could smell the strawberry gloss on her lips. It made my mouth water, and my heart pounded against my chest as she continued to appraise me.

“And you use the liquor to push it down. Bury it. But it never really leaves you. In fact, you’ve become dependent on it. You need it to torture yourself, because if you lost it, let go of whatever is eating you, you wouldn’t know who you were anymore.”

I swallowed hard, my arms falling from my chest to hang loosely at my sides. Had I been hit over the head? I glanced around, checking to see if there was a camera crew somewhere ready to jump out and scream that I’d gotten owned, or some shit like that. There was no way she could be that perceptive in the all of five minutes I’d known her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” She stepped away from me, and I instantly missed her scent.

Shut it down, man.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You don’t share. I don’t share.” I challenged her.

She pursed those full lips, drawing my attention to them, and I couldn’t stop the thoughts that gave me a blissful reprieve from my normal rotation—I wanted to see if she tasted like strawberries, to see if she would be as insightful underneath me.

Blake’s cries echoed through my mind, and I sucked in a sharp breath, clenching my eyes shut. Fuck, the sound was
always
there. Ready to remind me of what I’d done. What I tried
every
night since to undo.

Warm, silky fingers tugged my hands down from where I’d raked them over my hair.

“E,” she said when I’d finally looked at her.

“What?” I pulled my hands out of her grasp, not at all noticing the heat that pulsed in my blood from her touch. Was she flirting with me? Touching me like we were familiar with each other as opposed to the strangers we were?

“Ecstasy?” She said it like a question. Like she was asking if I had any on me. I instinctively touched the pocket in which my baggie was tucked. There were two hits of E left, but I didn’t offer them to her. I didn’t push for the sale I knew Devlin would want me to. The thought of this girl abusing the little white pills that ate holes through the brain had my stomach plummeting. Shit, how could I care about someone I’d just met?

“That’s my piece of darkness,” she continued when I hadn’t said anything.

I nodded, realization clicking through my brain. “How long?”

She turned her green eyes upward like she was mentally counting. “Started when I was sixteen.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, I’m
that
girl.”

I smiled despite trying not to. “The kind who went to raves? Danced to trance music?”

She chuckled. “Glow sticks and all, bitch.” She threw her hands up, twisting them in a swirling motion and swaying her hips at the same time. The move should’ve looked ridiculous in the bright fluorescent light of the hallway, but it didn’t—it was sexy as hell—as was her laughing at herself as she shook her head.

“How long are you here for?” I asked, suddenly aware I wanted it to be for months, long enough for me to stay as close to her as possible.

Something crossed over her eyes, something playful. “As long as it takes.”

“You sound committed.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” A piece of her hair fell in front of her face, and I had to resist the urge to tuck it back behind her ear.

What the fuck was wrong with me? What was it about her that had me flicking off every asshole switch I’d had firmly in place since that night with Blake? Since before her, if I was being honest, but fuck, I hadn’t realized until it was too late. I would
never
do that again. It didn’t mean I knew how to fix myself, fuck no, but I wouldn’t ever let another person get burned from the fire I always started wherever I went.

So why wasn’t I pushing her away? Why wasn’t I doing every dick thing I could to keep her safe?

The silence was full and heavy and suddenly the weight of emotions—wanting her, wanting to
know
her, caring about her addiction and wanting her to overcome it—became too much. I’d known her for a blink of time. This was ridiculous. I opened my mouth to offer up an excuse to leave, but she stopped me by craning her neck around my shoulder, peering down the hallway behind me.

“Justin?” She asked.

“Yeah?” I swear the girl had me hanging by the tip of her tongue. I would do whatever she asked. I knew that, without knowing what she wanted.

“Two things you need to know,” she said. “One, full disclosure? I hate liars more than I hate anything else in this world. I’d rather you be straight with me and tell me you killed kittens for funsies than lie about it and I find out later, understand?” She tilted her head, and I shook mine.

“Okay?” I said, but it sounded like a question.