Page 3 of Addiction

Not only did I get Mark to collect me, but I’m also out a couple of weeks early and I told him to keep that on the down-low, too.

“I just didn’t want to take the chance of Gray bringing Nora; I’m not ready for that right now. But he’s still my best bud.”

“So you’re exploiting my friendship,” he states, causing me to chuckle, but his next question terminates the few seconds of simplicity I’ve just felt. “Are you wanting to go home right now?”

My stomach grips and I exhale a heavy breath.

Home.

I no longer have my own home. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man about to return to live with my mother: a place of security and love and two factors I’ve taken for granted and abused more than I should have. Wanting to go home and returning are two very different matters right now, and ones I can’t get my head around.

Don’t get me wrong, I want normality. I want home-cooked meals and those I love supporting me as I support them, but I’m not ready to make that important step.

I need to come to terms with today, the last twelve months, everything I’ve said, done and need to resolve.

I rub my hand on the back of my neck. “Can we drive for a bit first?”

He studies me for a second, and I’m waiting for the questions to start firing out of his mouth. Thankfully, he holds off on the interrogation.

“All right. Your ride awaits, princess. What do you want first? Some candy? A popsicle for being a good boy? A hooker to blow your load?”

I grin. “Shut the fuck up and drive.”

“I see you’ve not lost your attitude.”

“And you’ve not lost your charm,” I reply, getting into his car.

“My charm is what makes me Mark Dixon.”

“No. What makes you him is having a wife that stands her ground and puts up with your shit. How is Charlie by the way?”

“She still has hold of my balls regularly.”

“Exactly my point.” I grin.

He laughs before putting the car in reverse and getting us the hell out of this shithole.

As we head toward Virginia Beach, I rest my head back and look out the window. Taking in the environment, I absorb the life that I’ve missed: the smells, the buildings, how things have changed in a short space of time where other things haven’t changed at all. The boardwalk is decorated with people of all shapes and sizes. A three-mile stretch of energizing life and color. To me, it’s nothing but black and white now. No filters. No spark. So many good times had filled my childhood at Oceanfront, yet with the number of bars, the temptation of the liquor and the never-ending PTSD, it has become a death trap of bad memories and lies.

It has become my ruin.

And now I’m half the man I used to be and find no light in this one place I used to love.

As we get out of the car and head down to the beach, I keep my head low, not wanting to interact or potentially come into contact with anyone I may know. Everyone knows who I am around here. Everyone knows what I did. And while I’m not looking for their forgiveness, I’m not wanting to be forced to remember.

Sitting on the sand, I push my ball cap further over my eyes, rest my arms on my knees, and look out across the water, breathing in the sea air. However, I’m all too aware that Mark is watching me like a bird of prey.

“Can you stop with the visual interrogation and just ask me already?”

“All right. So how was life on the inside?”

“Bland. Sweaty and a shit-ton of testosterone.”

He laughs. “Sounds like hell.”

Don’t I know it?

You don’t know hell until you wake each day and wish you didn’t. You don’t know hell until you’re praying for the devil to take you rather than praying to God that he doesn’t.