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Kleptomania is a bitch, and I’ve worked hard to kick her—and all my other addictions—and now a broken window, a scared barista, a cursed Sunday, and a sweating frappuccino are the only things standing between me and my recovery.
It’s been eight months and six days since I got out of rehab for the seventh time, and I’m finally feeling really good about my sobriety.
I’m a pill popper, but an addict is an addict, and I’ll take whatever I can get.
By the time I get halfway through the iced drink, I remember every fucking reason why I’m an addict. What a Sunday.
There’s no spark, no love, no gratitude. There isn’t anything negative either. I’m just empty and numb, and maybe that’s the status quo I need to get used to living in.
Because, yeah, that’s me: Gage Loser Rossum, addicted to… everything.
Who knows how I’ll react when faced with anything that tempts me? My track record for willpower isn’t strong, but my shame for going to rehab eight fucking times is at an all-time high.
He laughs like it’s a joke, but it’s just something addicts do. We downplay all our terrible decisions like it will somehow make our current selves feel better.
Dresses goth, but he’s got platinum blond hair that’s slightly tinted a pale blue, his septum is pierced, and his face is scowling. Bright and dark together, and moody about something, it would seem. He looks like that Lucky Blue model I creep on sometimes, but more rockstar-esque. Edgy and tough, but a bit awkward and unreadable.
I’m kicking stones and watching my feet, but I can feel Gage’s dark brown eyes on me, and I haven’t yet decided how I feel about him studying me.
I’m not an easy friend to have, which is why the only one I have is deaf and chooses not to read my lips most of the time.
This is awkward, and I love it. Gage has no idea how to have a friend, and I don’t know if that’s a normal thing for him or a since-sober thing.
“We don’t have to be friends. We can just be neighbours or something.” I shrug. “Takes the pressure off. Pretty sure my dad was just pimping me out because he thinks I’m lonely.” “Are you?” Gage asks, sitting down on the window seat. I sit on the other side, leaving Slash between us. “Kind of. Sometimes. Yes. Not all the time. I’m not friend material. I’m weird and proud of it.” Gage points at himself. “And you think I’m friend material? I’ve literally pushed away everyone good in my life because I’m selfish and a bit of a dick.”
“Neurotic, intense, gay, and rambly. I like it.”
And a recovering addict. A sex addict. My dad’s sponsee. My neighbour. My new friend. And you look incredible in sunset orange.
When I get inside the house, my mouth is smiling, my confidence is high, my head is buzzing, and my dick is hard. Nice morning.
Like, ‘Hey, your son told me he was gay, and I suddenly wanted to bend him over my window seat.’ Or, ‘No, I’m not jonesing for anything except your son’s lips.’
Lucky number eight.
Why am I grinning at my phone like a tween? Jesus.
Maybe coming back here was a mistake. Maybe I’m too damaged to live with Nick and Cole without dragging them down or scaring them.
“Are you shy?” “No.” “You sure?” “I’m selfish, impulsive, short-tempered, and full of self-doubt, but I don’t think I’m shy. You just make me feel weird things. I’m still getting used to it.” “What weird things?” “Things I shouldn’t feel, so I’m trying to be a good friend and talk about literally anything else.”
Basically, no. I’ve never been sober and had any sort of sex. Not even in high school.”
“We’re opposites, Gage. I have way too much control over my impulses, and you have none. We might be a good match. For friendship.”
“A neurotic rambler and a neurodivergent recovering addict walk into friendship…”
My heart gives a little thwack in my chest. It’s not really an increase in speed or a flutter or anything, just an off beat that could mean I’m about to go into cardiac arrhythmia, or it could also just mean that Alexei is here and making my heart thwack.
“And okay, I kind of want to have sex with you.” “Jesus, Alexei! No. Bad idea. We’re friends, remember?
“And you? Where will you be in this hypothetical future?” “Dead, strung out, or in rehab for the ninth time.”
“I told you I wanted an old-fashioned romance. Love leading to death is about as old-fashioned as it gets. Real Romeo and Juliet style. You’re just attracting me more.”
You think you’re greedy.” “I am greedy.” “Yes, but you’re aware of it. You just turned me down for selfless reasons. You’re protecting me and my dad.” “And myself.” “That’s responsible. Not greedy.”
“I trust you, Alex. It’s Gage who is… still a bit unstable. You shouldn’t have to live through what I already put you through again.” “You make it sound like he’s going to relapse.” I finish my breakfast. “I hope he’s not, but there’s always… just…” Awkwardness.
And since I’m not the type to get embarrassed by my own thoughts, I’ll mentally admit it. It’s soulmate material. I feel it.
Gage Rossum is my soulmate. I just need to be patient until he figures it out.
“It’s my old soul.” I smile at him. “That was created for the single purpose of belonging to Gage’s soul. And vice versa.” He smiles, eye-rolls, laughs, and nods all at once. “He’s the one, eh?” “Just need him to figure it out.”
“You’re worth everything I have to give, Alexei.” I’m swooning. And mad about it.
“Coincidences are exciting, and compliments are a turn-on. Sue me.”
“Don’t let me hurt you, Alexei.” “Give me more credit, Gage.” “Alexei.” “Gage.”
I don’t want to push him, and he doesn’t want to ruin me. We need to learn to trust each other first. Luckily, I’m awesome at pretending I’m patient.
His blue eyes blink at me, and fuck me, now my concealable boner is turning into an unconcealable one. Blink some more, Alexei. It’s fucking adorable.
“So, you’re saying I’m basically like a silky but sturdy foundation?” “That. Yes. I love when you read my mind. What am I thinking now?”
“Those heathens who eat burritos while driving, right?” “Yes! The goddamn audacity. No responsibility. There are children on the road!” He’s heated, and holy shit, it’s cute. He huffs. “Do we have a deal?”
Alexei makes me feel alight. Humming with currents of electricity. Lit up like a fucking heart monitor. Loud and beeping and obvious as fuck. Haven’t even thought about a cigarette in hours. Bad, Gage. Do not replace one addiction with an Alexei addiction.
Marian knows what’s up. Quilting night comes with tea, tea biscuits, a fruit platter with awesome cream cheese and marshmallow dip, and a bowl of raisins. Never been a raisins guy, but something about the quilting vibe has me plucking them out of the bowl.
“So, sweetheart, what’s this buzz I hear about you and the Kopacek boy?” Pearl asks. “He’s cute, right?” I gossip, throwing more raisins into my mouth. “I’m making this quilt for him,” Nancy says. She holds it up. Baby blue and black. “So him.”
They all laugh and talk around me like I’m not even here. Meanwhile, I’m just having a mental breakdown because… people know good stories about me? Here? Some of those are even from my bad teen years.
I’m more than an addict. Holy shit.
Black pants with a black button-up might come across as effort, but the black zip-up hoodie I layer on top gives it a casual mood. I feel classy; Gage will see casual. It’s the perfect illusion. I feel masculine and confident and awkward and it’s great.
Because I understand addiction now.
“Yeah, but first, I’m gonna go take a pee in the upstairs bathroom. The one right inside Alexei’s room…” Nathan pins me with a hard look. “Hurt him, I’ll end you.” “I’m trying to be platonic.” “How’s that working?”
“I’m putting a barrier between us. I just want to watch you, Alexei. I want you to watch me. To see me.”
He’s a thrill-seeker, but he’s not seeking a thrill right now. His vulnerability is seeking validation. I love it.
