This week’s meeting couldn’t come fast enough for me. With all the stress that I’ve been going through lately, I’ve been craving a stiff drink, but I’ve stopped myself each time. It hasn’t been easy, but my sobriety is worth it because I’ve come to realize that my life is better without the alcohol—and all the random men.

I went through a phase for a couple of years where I couldn’t commit to a relationship. Nobody could ever compare to Lucas or fill his shoes, so I had a lot of casual sex. None of them mattered, but they were a distraction and they made me feel good about myself for a minute.

It almost became a contest. I’d get myself all psyched up as I painted my face and straightened my hair just before I squeezed into the tightest pair of jeans that would go over my round, bubbly ass. I’d always ask myself, “Is Toni going to nail it or strike out tonight?”

Normally, I nailed it, but it’s not hard to do when you spend your weekends at various clubs and bars. That’s where men flock to on the weekends, hoping to find some desperate drunk chick with an easy pussy. The only difference is that I went to the bar willing before I had a drop of alcohol. The liquor just helped me forget that I was a complete whore.

I didn’t hit rock bottom until I woke up in a strange guy’s house. My clothes were in a pile on the floor next to me when I opened my eyes and I was in a room by myself. I had no clue exactly where I was or who I’d gone home with, but I started freaking out when I couldn’t pull the bedroom door open. I kept trying to figure out why I’d be alone in what looked like a spare bedroom. Where was the guy and why did he leave me alone?

After working on the door for about ten minutes, it finally opened. How I mustered the strength, I have no idea because I was hungover as usual, but my body felt weird. It was like I’d been drugged—and I probably was. I’d never felt like that a day in my life before that night and have never felt like it since. I was so disoriented and even though I could watch my body move, such as my arms or legs, I couldn’t feel my body move.

Stepping out into the hallway, I see that I’m in some sort of mansion. That’s what it appeared to be like, anyway. The hallway was long and wide, with a set of spiraling staircases on each end of it that led to the downstairs. The black wrought iron railing looked like a refinished antique, perfectly polished. My guess is that he had a housekeeper or maid.

I don’t know why, maybe call it intuition, I began tiptoeing out into the hall and started to make my way down the staircase that was closest to me. When I was within 15 feet of the front door, I heard a man speaking from sounded like the area behind the staircase.

I was very quiet and tried to listen. What I heard scared the shit out of me. I was crouched down, trying my best to hide behind the steps that offered what little shelter they could, and I saw a group of men. The one who was talking appeared to be the leader—and the owner of the house that I was in.

I heard him say, “The least I’ll take for her is a million, and that’s because I’m feeling generous. I sampled the goods last night after I got her home, and she’s well worth three mill, but I’m offering you a discount to take her off my hands.”

Bolting for the door, I practically leapt through it and fell down the front steps as I scrambled to run away. That was when I decided to get my ass to the first AA meeting that I could find and get some help.

When I pull up in front of the big brick building, I take a moment to think about how far I’ve come before getting out of the car and going inside. I still remember my first time coming to a meeting. I wasn’t sure if I belonged here, or even how long I’d last. Everyone talked about the 12 steps, and I thought it was complete bullshit until I got serious about getting my head on straight.

Sitting in the meetings listening to everyone else’s rock bottom showed me that I was no different from anyone sitting in the group. We all had our own struggles and problems, some worse than others, but there was a commonality: we all needed help.

Once I realized how badly I needed help and committed myself to becoming sober, I started working the first step. I had no clue how much harder each step would be, but when there’s a will, there’s a way.

I grab my bag off the seat next to me and make my way inside the building and feel the biting cold nipping at my heels as the thick, heavy door shuts behind me. The warmth of the building feels so good, especially because the heater core in my car is going out so the heat’s sporadic at best—if it works at all.

This building used to be a church, but they sold it when they built a bigger, better facility just outside of the city limits. You can still smell the holy water and scented candles, though, and the maroon carpet could definitely use an upgrade.

Sliding the strap of my bag onto my shoulder, I take a deep breath and walk down the empty hallway until I hear the familiar voices from my AA meetings. Most of them have already gathered in our room.

Like clockwork, everyone’s huddled around the coffee area. Mark, who heads our AA meetings, found an old table in the basement and carried it up here so we could have a coffee station. We all take turns bringing a can of coffee and help with buying creamer, sugar, and sometimes donuts. I try to stay away from them, though. Just because I quit drinking, it doesn’t mean I want to gain an extra 30 pounds, so I stick to coffee with two sugars and one creamer.

“Toni!” Monica says.

She’s been coming to these meetings since they started holding them here. I admire her and her strength; she was actually my sponsor for the longest time, and that’s how we became very close friends. It’s been a long four years, but we’re going strong.

“Hey Mon,” I say, giving her a hug. “How’ve you been?”

She smiles at me, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You know how it is, taking one day at a time.”

“Same here,” I say, grabbing a styrofoam cup to pour myself some coffee. “Trying anyway.”

Trying is an understatement, but I know we’ve all got our own problems and that’s why we’re here. She wraps her hand around my arm and in her soft, sweet voice she says, “Tell us at the meeting. We’re here to support you. I’m so proud of you.”

Knowing that Monica is proud of me makes me smile. She met me at my lowest, not too long after everything happened and I hit rock bottom. It was about two years after I’d last seen Lucas and we ended things. God, I still remember it all. No amount of booze could ever make me forget. There’s plenty that I don’t remember while I spent those two years in a drunken stupor, but I remember how our relationship deteriorated, how it became broken, and inevitably, irreparable.

I’d rather have a knife stabbed into my back and twisted in a thousand directions rather than re-live the beginning of the end.

I was so scared, and didn’t know how to tell him. We were at my apartment, sitting on the couch as we watched TV. He knew something was up and wouldn’t let up until I told him what was bothering me.

“Lucas, I’m pregnant,” I said.

It was my second year of college, and I knew there was no way that I could keep it. Money was too tight and I was barely making ends meet. Having a baby was out of the question.

“You’re what?” he said, sitting up. He was so excited; his eyes lit right up.

“Pregnant.”

Saying those words sounded foreign to me, like they weren’t right. They didn’t belong on my lips. I wasn’t sure how Lucas would take it or what he would want me to do, but I already knew what needed to be done. It wouldn’t be fair for an innocent baby to be brought into this world by someone who couldn’t care for it. I could barely take care of myself.

“Are you sure? Did you take a test?”

I nodded, biting my lip. He wrapped his strong hands around my petite fingers and squeezed. “When did you find out?”

“About a week ago,” I said, my voice low and cracking. We’d been together since the summer I graduated high school, and I knew he’d want me to keep it. We loved each other so much, and I thought our love could withstand anything.

“Have you made a doctor’s appointment or anything? I’m not really sure what pregnant ladies do,” he laughed.

He noticed that I wasn’t smiling. I didn’t share the same excitement that he did, not at all.

“I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood,” I said quietly. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Planned Parenthood? I didn’t know you could go there. I thought you’d have to go to a doctor.”

He didn’t know what I was saying, and it killed me to know that I was going to have to say it out loud to the man I loved.

“Do you know what Planned Parenthood is, or what they do there?” I asked.

“No. They give out condoms and stuff, right? Like, you can go there for birth control?”

I looked into his big brown eyes. They were so soft and sweet; loving and caring. We could party our asses off, but he was always so loving toward me.

“They do those things,” I slowed my words and spoke very carefully. “And they also do abortions.”

His smile quickly disappeared and his grip on my hand relaxed. “An abortion? Is that what you want to do?”

It was never what I wanted to do, but it was what I needed to do. After a long talk with many shed tears, he agreed to go with me to the clinic the next day for my consult.

“Is everyone almost ready?” Mark says as he adds a few more chairs to our group.

The group mumbles an unanimous, “Yes,” as I finish stirring my coffee and take a sip.

“Come on,” Monica says, pulling my arm. “We’ll sit next to each other.”

The warm liquid feels good going down as it begins to warm my insides, so I take another swig, hoping to maximize the warmth. We’re all taking a seat when a couple, a man and woman, enters the room, and I nearly choke to death on my coffee.

It’s Lucas with some woman.

I want to run and hide. I can’t deal with him today, but the moment I think about excusing myself from the meeting, we lock eyes. He spots me straight away, and the two of us stare at one another for what seems like an eternity. A thousand unspoken words pass between us before the woman he’s with grabs his arm and drags him to a set of chairs just a few spaces away from Mon and me.

“Are you okay?” she turns to me as I shift in my seat.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie.

My body has this fleeting urge to jump out of my chair and hit the door, but I know it’ll cause a scene so I stay put as I wonder why he’s here. Is he there to support her? Is she there to support him? Do they both have a drinking problem?

Does God just hate me?

I can’t believe that he’s here with another woman—not that I expected him to stay single, but it hurts like hell to know that he’s moved on. I never really did.

Instead, I went into a downward spiral of depression, which landed me here, but I’m recovering. I’m taking steps to improve my life, but the moment I see him, I know it could all come undone.

“Who would like to begin today?” Mark asks as he begins the meeting, breaking my concentration as he pulls me back into reality.