The Tragedy of Felix and Jake

by J. Daniels

Yes, he sends me heart emojis. Old school ones. You know: <3 And no, I’m not sending them back. Or acknowledging I’ve received any. So, you see? I’m fine. Nothing else is happening. No one needs to worry. I’ve got this. Keep reading to find out how much of a liar I am.

“We can’t do this again.” “I know.” “I wish we could.” He simply nods with his eyes downcast, and I don’t think he’s going to respond. But then he kills me. “We’d be so good together. I just know we would.”

I just realized how much I like Felix’s varying moods. When he’s being a smartass and playful, making me laugh over texts or donuts in a diner. When he becomes keenly confident and larger than life and fucking owns his sexuality. He’d turn me curious even if I wasn’t into guys. When he’s cute and pouts, and when he flirts so easily, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Or right now: When he’s serious and sensitive and so fucking appreciative of the smallest thing.

And if holding your hand like you’re my boyfriend wasn’t a hint; I’ll spell it out for you—I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Hi, Jake!” He’s bright-eyed and his usual shade of pale, and so damn excited to see me. He always is. He’s like coming home to a golden retriever.

“How do you feel?” I ask. “Horny.” I smirk. “Be straight with me.” “No can do, bro. The only straight I am is straight up gay.”

Today, I am eight hundred and twenty-seven days sober. My name is Jake Tully and I’m an addict. And I’ll always be an addict. I’ll never beat this. But I’ll keep going to meetings, and I’ll talk to my sponsor (who I’m going to ask to marry me), and I’ll fight this until I win. We are going to win.