Sober Dope & Sundays (Weekday Weirdos)

by Nordika Night

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.

I’ve never been good in a crisis. I’ve never been sober in a crisis. High me would have been quicker on his feet, but this slow version—a mix of doubt, fried brain cells, a completely lost way of life, and zero good traits—doesn’t know how to handle a situation that requires me to focus on anyone but myself.

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.

By the time I get halfway through the iced drink, I remember every fucking reason why I’m an addict. What a Sunday.

All I know is that it’s Sunday. One year, almost to the day of that Sunday. The frappé and glitter Sunday.

Because, yeah, that’s me: Gage Loser Rossum, addicted to… everything.

“But your life is here,” Paul says. “Your friends.” “What friends?” I laugh. “A junkie has no friends except his vices and the ones he’s pushed away for trying to help. Honestly, I’m surprised you stayed with me this long.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough, Gage,” he says. And I hate it because he is enough. It’s me who is the problem. “Thank you.” For setting him free.

My track record for willpower isn’t strong, but my shame for going to rehab eight fucking times is at an all-time high. Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not bring me here a ninth time.

“There’s… how many boxes did you buy?” Big boxes. Like, twenty-pound boxes of cookies. My god. “We have a four-hour drive, Gage. I thought you might be hungry.” “For ten thousand cookies?” I laugh. “You know, sugar is an addiction, too.” Her face falls, and I immediately feel like shit. “Shit, that was a terrible joke. I’m joking, Mom. Sorry. Thank you for ten thousand cookies.” I smile at her.

My family moved out of the house we grew up in after I had my third overdose in it. This house is a little bigger, but a little older and more dire. I’m making a silent promise to myself right now not to overdose and ruin another home for them.

I can’t wait for you to try the tart things the neighbours make. Flaky, chewy pastry with this custard stuff inside. To. Die. For. Gage. I’m not even joking.” Hope I don’t get addicted.

Port Baylon, this town—which is more of a small city—is full of my original fuck ups.

I have made some major fuck ups, almost accidentally killed myself five times, tried to kill myself on purpose once, and lost more than I’ve ever gained.

Like, yeah, I’ve got it bad, but other people have got it worse, and I need to remember that. Sometimes it’s good for me to get a reality check.

I’ve been to rehab eight times, this is only the second time I’ve received a one-year chip.

Nathan looks like your typical hot young dad,

Nothing ever felt good, so I kept looking for what did.”

I fucked so hard and so often I wore my dick out, got a few STIs. Fortunately, they were the curable kind.

“On the one-year anniversary, it felt like I’d hit a milestone, right? Like, okay, I proved I could make it. That’s all I needed to know.” “You used that day?” Nathan asks. “Yep.

“And now you’re here?” “Yep. Fresh out of a whole year in rehab. Recovering drug and alcohol addict, klepto, sex addict, and adrenaline addict.” I hold up the mug. “And apparently addicted to coffee and cigarettes now.”

I’m twenty-seven and have nothing to show for it except wasted time and a bunch of ruined relationships with the people I love.

“Gage, this is Alexei. My son.”

the very top of his hand says ‘right’ in bold font. When I take a peek at his left hand, it also says ‘right.’

Already obsessed with him

“Have you eaten today?” “Oh my god, Dad,” Alexei groans, covering his face. “Would you stop?” Alexei looks right at me through his fingers, nails painted light blue. “He’s trying to make you ask me out to breakfast.”

“Sorry. My dad is… he’s never been a sponsor before, and I hate you a little bit for reminding him of all his darker days, and I’m just stressed and hating on you. That’s all.”

“He’s eight years sober,” I remind him. “Yes. And for seventeen years of my life, he wasn’t.”

“I’m still gonna hate on you for the rest of breakfast, if that’s okay? I’ve already committed.”

Maybe if I buy you breakfast as some sort of consolation, we can be friends after I pay the bill?” “You paying the bill signifies a power imbalance that my neurotic mind won’t tolerate. You pay for yours and I’ll pay for mine, and then we can try to be friends after.”

He's literally another Atticus and I'm in love

ALEXEI

YAY I was worried it would be all Gage's POV

He’ll either catch up and accept my personality, or he won’t be my friend.

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.

Lmaoooo

This is awkward, and I love it.

I fear I'm going to highlight all Alexei's lines

If it were mine, I’d turn it into one of those rooms from detective shows with a murder board and yarn on the wall, whiteboards everywhere, and coffee mug rings on every surface.

Alexei, please

“I’m just neurotic and, according to my dad, too intense.” When Gage smiles at that, I blurt out something that has no business being said. “I’m gay.” “Okay.” He laughs. “Neurotic, intense, and gay. Got it.”

I’m also a Pisces and don’t believe in astrology, but sometimes I look at horoscopes anyway.

He looks at me, grinning because he left out the sexuality part. “We have a lot in common.” “Like being gay?” I blurt. Gage laughs, and again, I like the sound. It isn’t as reserved as before. “No. Not like being gay.” Dammit. Probably for the best, though. “I’m bi.”

And a recovering addict. A sex addict. My dad’s sponsee. My neighbour. My new friend. And you look incredible in sunset orange.

I want to meet someone the old-fashioned way, even though I never go anywhere to meet people.”

LMFAO ME

He hands me his phone, so I put my number in and add a blue heart to my name.

Adorable

“Nice meeting you, Alexei Kopacek. Text me.” He backs away slowly, laughing as he goes. I watch him long enough to catch him looking back, and we both smile pathetically.

ADORABLE

I’m already gearing up to lie to my sponsor. I don’t even know why. 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.’

I can’t even trust my own thoughts anymore. I don’t know if they’re mine or if they belong to my addictions.

:(

“Fine. Do you have a number I can call for that other person?” He knows what other person I mean, and his face hardens at the timing of my question. Yeah, I just had breakfast with Alexei, showed him my room like we were thirteen, and then thought filthy, filthy things about him.

I missed a lot while I was high. Important things. Things I regret, and my new motto in life is that I don’t want to live with regrets.

Alexei <3: If you must know, I’m washing my whites. Gage: You have whites? Alexei <3: A few. Mostly wear them under my blacks.

“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.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll, I don’t know, corrupt you or something?” “Nope. You won’t ever have that kind of control over me.” And I’ve never been more sure of anything. “Because I value myself and never want the life my parents lived.”

Maybe we shouldn’t be friends.” I want to agree with that because I don’t think we should be friends. We should be boyfriends.

Sirrrrrr it's been less than a day lmao

“I have a therapy appointment on Monday,” Gage says. “With someone who specializes in sex addictions.” “I have a dentist appointment on Monday,” I say. “With someone who specializes in nervous patients.”