Page 193 of Dance of Defiance

“I…” He swallows heavily, breathing against my chest. “I know this is just the first step…the last few days, I mean. I need therapy. Or AA. Something. Anything.”

I nod. “Whatever you need, baby. I’ll be there.”

I don’t realize he’s crying until I feel the wet heat of his tears against my shirt.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he chokes.

“I know, wreckage,” I murmur softly as I wrap him in my arms. “I know.”

36

ROMAN

I hadmy first drink when I was twelve—from my father, of course.

Vodka, of course.

Papa used to give me a little half glass of the stuff every night with dinner, to “toughen me up”. He said it was the Russian way, end of story.

I know if my mom had still been around, she wouldn’t have allowed it. But she was gone, and with her, any sense of comfort or peace in our house.

After she died, there was just Papa, his temper, and vodka.

By high school, I was having a drink before I sat down for my nightly one at the dinner table, and sometimes another after that too. High school is also when I discovered cocaine, ecstasy, Xanax, Adderall, lorazepam, Percocet, oxycodone, and anything else I could get my hands on.

But alcohol has always been my numbing agent of choice.

My one great love.

At Knightsblood, all bets were off. I mean, it’scollege: drinking and debauchery are expected. So I partied, and then partied some more. Then kept on partying even after everyone else had gone home.

Somehow, that never really stopped. And now here I am, twenty-nine years old, looking down the barrel of the hell I just shook and cried and puked through.

I wasn’t being dramatic when I told him I was pretty sure he saved my life.

Because without specificallyhimasking me to stop, I doubt I ever would have. And there’s no end to the story I was writing before other than winding up dead before the age of forty.

I also know that this the fight doesn’t stop just because I’ve made it nine days without drinking.

This is just the beginning of beating that demon inside me, and that might be an even harder pill to swallow than the shakes and the puking a few days ago.

Wheldon

So what do you think?

I stare at the phone screen.

I think I fucking hate this and I want a goddamn drink.

But I’m not having one. Because I’m not weak. I’m not pathetic.

I am not controlled by the darkness inside me.

Me

Yeah, I’ll be there. 8 tonight at Assumption Church on West 33rd?

Wheldon