Page 8 of Carter

We’re all here for the same reason, bound by the trauma we’ve gone through and the confusion of still being alive.

It’s a stretch. I know.

Just go with it.

“As you know, I wasn’t here on Friday because I had to work.”

“Which is okay,” Tim adds. “You come when you can, and that’s all that matters.”

I nod, not sure how the guy is so positive all the time. I fight to get one positive thought a day, never mind a whole hour twice a week—and whatever he does when he’s not here. I can’t imagine he steps out this door and becomes a Negative Nancy.

“Well, I was at work at the library the other day, and I was putting away the returned books. I came acrossTuck Everlasting—” Emotion clogs my throat, and I take a moment to get myself together. Everyone is quiet, waiting for me to continue. I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and continue. “It was Ryan’s favorite book. He loved to read. Every chance he got, he mentioned thatTuck Everlastingwas the book that made him fall in love with reading. It was assigned to him when he was young. Elementary school. After that, he never put books down, even though his father pushed for him to get into more manly things—like wrestling.” I laugh, looking up at everyone.

There’s this thing that happens in group. People don’t stare. They look around at everything except the person talking. They listen, though. That’s what’s important.

“That’s funny, right? Wrestling is a manly sport? Where all the men wear tight underwear, oil themselves up, and hold on toeach other while they’re more than half naked?” I laugh again as a few people chuckle or smile.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat again. It’s always so hard to breathe in here. “I put it away where it belonged and told myself I wouldn’t let it get to me. I have his copy at home in one of the boxes. I know it’s there, even if I haven’t seen it in a while. But the situation did get to me, and after I left work, I went right to the bar. I don’t remember getting home.”

“Sounds like that book brought up a lot of bad memories.”

My heart squeezes in my chest.

“Yeah,” I grit out, folding my hands and pressing them together between my thighs.

“What stuck with you the most?” Tim asks gently.

My gaze goes to the floor again, my eyes burning.

“I don’t know. It just… reminded me of our conversations and how they were so easy, and how I didn’t walk around with the guilt of being alive because I was just happy to be alive because I was with him.”

A few people make sounds that tell me they understand. That they feel it too.

“He could talk about books for hours, and it never got old. I loved listening to him talk about things he loved. It soothed me, and now I feel like I don’t have anything to soothe me.”

“Except alcohol,” one of the new guys adds. Logan is his name. He’s been here a few times before. Doesn’t usually talk much.

My head snaps up, and I look at him, but not out of anger. Shock maybe.

“Yeah,” I agree. “But only during.”

“That’s how it is,” he says. “Trust me. I’ve lost a lot of stuff over alcohol, but it took for me to lose someone to let it go completely. That’s the problem. It’s a trick. It makes you think everything is great, and that’s why you always go back to it, but you have to be stronger than it.”

“And you are,” Tim says. “All of you are stronger than your vices. Look at you. You’re here. You’re working toward a more peaceful life.”

We all nod in agreement. Even if we don’t believe it for ourselves, we believe it for the others. It’s easier to see the good things in them than it is to see it in myself.

“Well, I drank way more than I should have. Woke up the next day hungover and feeling like shit, as usual. I keep telling myself I’m going to stop because it does nothing for me, yet I keep getting dragged back there by the ghost of my boyfriend.”

Losing him hurts. There is no other way to put it. He was all I had. Just him and me. So basically, when I lost him, I lost everything.

"What would Ryan think if he knew you were here tonight?" Tim asks, folding his hands together and leaning forward slightly.

The question hits harder than it should. Because if Ryan were capable of knowing I was here, I wouldn’t be. Because I’d be with him.

“He’d tell me to stop drinking,” I say.

A few people laugh.