Danielle

A s the early morning sun sneaks in through the sliver of space between the blackout curtains, we lie together trading lazy kisses. We are both exhausted after being up for most of the night. Mike pauses to take a shaky breath. He touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes when he speaks. “We still need to talk about it.”

I know he’s not talking about last night. That was wild, fun, and it unlocked a part of me that I did not know existed, a part with no inhibitions that could ask for what I want and take charge of my own pleasure. I’ve never felt more like myself or more completely accepted by anyone. But that is not what we need to say.

He means our first fight and all of my questions and accusations that are still hanging in the air. It’s true. We need to talk. If this addiction is something he still struggles with, I need to know what I can do to help him in those situations. And I need to know I can talk to him about my own fears. Would he steal medicine from Honey if she gets sick? I don’t know how to trust him unless we can both be honest about this.

“You’re right. We do. If you’re ready to share it, I’d really like to know your whole story.”

Mike swallows and nods. When he speaks, it’s in a quiet voice, just barely above a whisper.

“I think I already told you, but when I was using, my dad wanted nothing to do with me. My mom and my sisters kept in touch. They would let me into the house when my dad wasn’t home. He didn’t want me around unless I got clean, and I just couldn’t do it. I was couch surfing at friends’ houses and doing whatever I could to find pills. I stole a lot of money from my mom while she was trying to support me. It caused a ton of issues in my parents’ marriage.”

When he looks into my eyes, shame radiates off of him. I nod and silently bring my hand to his chest to encourage him to keep going.

“The thing is, outside of my house, it was so easy to hide the fact that I had a problem. The pills made me feel good. I had a lot of energy. I was actually doing well in school, I showed up for the team, and I had friends. My professors didn’t notice. My friends just thought I liked to party. Some of them even bought pills from me on the weekends. No one, including me, realized things were getting worse.”

“Weren’t you worried about drug tests?” I thought that was a big thing in college sports.

“Not really,” he admits. “The NCAA allows exceptions for prescription narcotics. I figured it would be easy enough to claim a medical reason if I got caught, but I never did. Not until the crash.”

Mike rubs both of his hands on his face then folds them on his stomach. He swallows hard and looks away from me.

“Mike?” I reach out and touch the same spot on his cheek he was rubbing. “Tell me what happened. You said there was an accident.” I didn’t let him get to that part of the story the first time we talked about this, but I know it must still weigh on him because of the way he stresses over everyone’s safety.

When he finally looks back at me, his eyes are glistening.

“I was with my friend, John.” Mike’s voice breaks and he clears his throat. After one long blink, he continues. “We were on the baseball team together, but he was a few years older. It was a Saturday night and we were getting ready to go to a party. John was about to graduate, so he and his friends were partying pretty hard. I brought out some of my stash and took a few, and John asked if he could have some. I didn’t realize how much he had already been drinking. I gave him the pills, and then he drove us to the party.”

“He drove after you gave him the pills?”

Mike nods solemnly. “We never made it to the party. John passed out and crashed into a tree. I woke up in the hospital with a few nasty bruises and a concussion, but other than the fact that I have a bit of a hang-up about people I care about driving at night now, I was fine.” He looks at me. I stroke his cheek and snuggle closer into him while he continues his story. “Thankfully we didn’t hurt anyone else, but John did break a few bones, and he also got arrested for driving under the influence. He didn’t rat me out, but he never spoke to me again. My parents were so upset after learning about the accident and the results of my blood tests that Mom went to my coach. My dad wanted me kicked off the team, but my mom and my coach thought it was a better plan to get professional help. They worked with the hospital to get me into a treatment program. The first two times it didn’t stick, but the third time it did.”

“So, you don’t feel like you need pills anymore?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Danielle. I’m always going to be an addict. It’s really hard to be in situations where I have to be around narcotics, like if I’m visiting someone in a hospital. Or I might be tempted to sneak into the medicine cabinet at someone’s house. But I’ve been in recovery for years, and so far I’ve been able to work through those moments. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It just means I know from experience the pain caused by doing it is worse than the pain of not doing it.” He pauses as if he’s trying to figure out the best way to explain what he wants to say. I hold his hand and give it a light squeeze.

He sighs. “I wake up and choose the lesser pain. It’s still hard, and I’m still worried I’ll fail and disappoint you and myself. But I’m not afraid of hard work, and I will do everything I can to avoid that. I did not take Jordan’s pills. I drove him to the pharmacy, and then he stashed them in the glove box when we went out to dinner. He forgot they were there. I swear that’s the truth.”

“I know. I trust you,” I reassure him, running my hand lightly over his chest. “You’ve always been honest with me. It took a lot of courage for you to share all of that,” I say because it’s true and I don’t know how else to respond to the weight of what he just hung in the air between us. He’s waiting to see what I’m going to do with all of this heavy new information.

“It didn’t feel like I had a choice. I need you to know.” There’s a long pause before he sighs, resigned. “I love you,” he confesses, but the words are laced with sadness. He’s still carrying so much shame, and the surprise of hearing those words in this context steals the air right out of my lungs. “Don’t say anything,” he tells me quickly, and I can tell he’s terrified of what my response might be.

In truth, so am I, because I know what I need to do now and it’s scary.

“Take some time. Being with me is always going to mean being with an addict. You need to know that.”

“I don’t need more time to know I love you, too.”

His mouth turns up in half of a sad smile before it meets mine for another tender kiss.