Page 18 of In Every Lifetime
She pondered for a moment, biting her bottom lip as she thought back. It took a considerable amount of effort to keep myself from reaching over and gently pulling her lip free with my thumb.
“I think I did,” she said finally, her brow furrowed as she continued thinking deeply, “but I also think I lied to myself. Told myself I hadn't noticed the smell of alcohol on your breath, or the glassiness in your eyes when you came home. I wanted to believe you were okay for just a little longer."
The remorse settled into my bones the way it always did, heavy and constant. I carried guilt over many things, but the pain I had caused Sarah would always weigh the most.
“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so sorry. Truly. It wasn’t fair of me to put you through that time and time again. You didn’t sign up for it, and I’ll always be grateful that you stuck around as long as you did. Most would have given up on me far earlier.” I swallowed my emotion down, not wanting to break down in front of her. She deserved my strength, not my weakness. “Most did.”
“Goldie stuck around,” Sarah offered reassuringly.
A humorless chuckle fell from my lips. “I think it’s more that I showed up on her doorstep drunk as a skunk, and it was too pitiful to turn me away.”
“When did you do that?”
“Ummm… the day we signed the papers…” I confessed and kept my gaze on the road ahead.
I could see her sit up in my peripheral vision and turn fully towards me in her seat. “Your first day sober was the day we got divorced?”
“Technically it was the next day, because I did drink right after we signed the papers and for about an hour after that,” I explained. “It was rather pitiful, like I said.” I laughed, trying to make it seem less depressing than it really was. “I ended up on her doorstep asking her to help me get better. She packed me into her car and drove me to a meeting.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Sarah muttered under her breath.
“I barely remember those first few days,” I rambled on, not wanting to see her anger or disappointment knowing the timing of it all. “I even went to the hospital one night. I was hallucinating or some shit. At least, that’s what Goldie told me, and based on the medical bill I wasn’t there for long. I guessyears of alcohol abuse really does something to you when in withdrawals.”
I spared her a quick, cautionary glance. Sarah was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, her eyes wide with shock, her hands grasped around the armrest like it was a life preserver. “You were in the hospital?”
I nodded, reaching back through the fog of those weeks. The whole stretch after the divorce was hazy, my mind lost somewhere in the detox. “After you served me papers, my drinking was the worst it had ever been. I mean… it was rare that I was awake and sober during that time. Hell, I didn’t want to be either most of the time. I—I just couldn’t cope. Signing the papers was a wake-up call for me, but sobering up turned out to be its own problem. I puked all over Goldie and her house, and because of all the puking I was dehydrated. That’s what caused the hospital visit. They pumped me full of fluids and some anti-nausea medication and sent me home.”
“Shit, Faizal,” Sarah mumbled, sitting back into her chair, her eyes going glossy.
“It sounds a lot worse than it was. Don’t get me wrong, getting sober was hard, but I wasn’t ever in danger or anything like that in the process. It just sucked, which was my own fault,” I explained, downplaying the severity of that night.
She tried to turn away from me, tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall. A habit she’d had for as long as I had known her.
“Hey,” I said softly, bringing my hand up to cradle her cheek, dividing my focus between her and the road. “I’m okay. Just hit seven months sober too. I’m doing good.”
She took my hand in hers, holding it tightly. “I need you to clarify one thing.”
I nodded, urging her to continue.
“You said you were rarely awake and sober, and that you often didn’t want to be either. What does that mean?” Her voice was quiet, tentative even.
“Fuck,” I mumbled. I hadn’t meant to bethathonest. “Can we just forget about it and move on?”
She gave me a knowing look, one I should have anticipated.
I exhaled. “Look… things got dark, and I mean really dark, Sarah. I’m not proud of it, but I wondered how easy it would be to just…” I paused, taking a breath, and then another, “end it.”
“Faizal.” She spoke the word with more meaning than my name had, than it should have had.
“I’m not proud of it, but I’m okay now.” I turned to her briefly, squeezing her hand. “I promise.”
“Are you seeing someone for this? A professional?” she asked. “I know your sponsor—wait, youdohave a sponsor, right?” I nodded and smiled at her concern. She breathed a sigh of relief and continued, "Good. Because a sponsor can only do so much. If things were that dark, you need someone trained for it."
“I have a therapist. One of the first things I did when I sobered was make an appointment. They work at the clinic on Alpine Circle you volunteer at sometimes,” I explained. “It was twice a week for a couple months, but we meet every other week now.”
"Who is it?" She sat up a little straighter, curious.
“Shawn Morris. Older guy, white hair, glasses.” He was a complete hardass and called me out on all of my shit, which was exactly what I needed.
