* * *

Synopsis:

Jake

They pinned a medal on my chest and called me a hero. Too bad they didn’t let the demons that haunt me know.

Now, I’ve been shipped off to rehab, the Navy SEALs have given me a chance to start over.

It was the last place I thought I’d find the woman of my dreams. It was the last place I’d ever even look.

But from the second I lock onto her innocent blue eyes I know she needs me, and I know I can’t live without her.

I defended my country, and now I’ll put my life on the line to defend her.

Holly

I’ve spent my entire life on the run.

When my twin sister died and everyone blamed me, I ran to Miami and fell into the lap of the biggest drug smuggler on the Eastern Seaboard.

I learned the hard way that he was no knight in shining armor. I still have the scars and bruises he laid on my body to prove it.

I finally found the strength to leave him. To get help. And I ran again.

Now, I’m at rehab. I met Jake, a man who makes the world and all of my troubles slide away with a simple smile. He says he can save me.

He says he will die to do it.

Running is all I’ve ever known how to do. Now, I want to run one more time. Right into Jake’s strong arms.

* * *

I’m straddling Knox’s leg. The firm muscles of his thigh are wedged between mine, pressed up against my pussy. The fabric of my short skirt is hiked up, giving a glimpse of my lace thong to the guys – that’s how Knox likes it. He likes putting me on display.

I watch the guys. Watch as their eyes dart back and forth from between my thighs to the gun casually resting on Knox’s other leg. As if their animal brains are too stupid to decide what to focus on: my panties or the threat of death.

Men.

I’m bored. It’s taking all of my self-restraint not to show it. I remember when this used to make me wet. When Knox went through his speech with a new guy about how much coke to sell he would start him off with. When he laid out all of his payment demands, with me on his leg, his coke queen, fuck, I’d practically cum.

Being with one of the most dangerous and powerful drug runners in Miami had a lot of appeal to a messed up seventeen-year-old. And the nights where it lost its lustre, the free-flowing mountains of cocaine never did.

Now, at twenty-two, I’ve seen it all a million times. I know I’m not Knox’s queen; I’m his puppet.

His dummy.

“Since yer new, I’ll start ya with four ounces,” Knox juts out his jaw and gives a curt nod toward the compact, tinfoil-wrapped brick on the coffee table.

The new guy, Jim, doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink his icy blue eyes. “I want ten,” his lips are tight as the words squeeze between them.

“You got shit in your ears? Or just shit for brains?” Knox’s muscles tighten, pushing me up a bit taller. Nobody contradicts Knox. I’m surprised Jim doesn’t know that. Or he just doesn’t care.

Tommy rests his hand on the new guy’s knee, silently instructing him to shut up. “He’s starting you with four. End of story, man.” Tommy glares into Jim’s face.

I can’t help but stare into his face too, but not for the same reason. I’m just shocked that someone has the balls to talk back to Knox. It’s stupid and it’s… kinda hot.

Tommy’s greasy helmet of hair doesn’t move as he directs his gaze back to meet Knox. “Four is fine, man. Ain’t it, Jim?” He prods the man he’s vouched for.

“No.”

Tommy’s eyes squint, causing the three black tears inked onto the outside corner of his eye to crinkle up. Three tears for three lives he’s taken. It’s a pretty standard prison tat. I try to imagine what Knox’s face would look like if he had a tear for every life he snuffed out. The side of his face would be stained black. Just like his soul.

I can feel Knox’s rage seething from his pores. I don’t need to look at him to know that his jaw is cut from stone and his eyes are narrowed like a wolf about to rip the throat out of his prey.

From the corner of my eye, I see his hand grip his gun. “Tommy, why the fuck you bringing clowns into my home who can’t follow basic instructions?” His voice grits through his clenched teeth.

“Listen, Knox, I don’t mean no disrespect, man,” Jim holds up his palms. “I can do ten though. You don’t need to work me up slow. I’m good.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tommy hisses at him. Jim doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked on Knox.

“You’ll take four, or you’ll take none. You have one fucking week to get me my cut, five grand. You make the math work, but don’t cut it with too much shit or you won’t get any repeat business, got it?”

“How about I start with six?” Jim answers coolly.

“This isn’t a fucking negotiation!” Knox thunders.

Jim clamps his mouth shut, but he doesn’t shirk back. My eyes travel over his ropy muscles, dipping down to the bulge of his pants. He’s packing, and I know from Knox’s pat down routine, that it ain’t a gun. I don’t mean to squeeze my thighs tight. I don’t give my pussy permission to get wet. I’ve just never seen someone challenge Knox so nonchalantly. There’s something about his quiet confidence that’s hard not to admire.

“Fine, man. Four it is. You’re the boss,” Jim agrees. His tone is flat though. His ice blue eyes flicker between my legs and he quickly licks his lip before returning his focus to the job. It was a second, less than that, but it was enough to make my nipples turn to pebbles. Who is this guy?

“Take yer shit and get out.” Knox nods to the brick. “You’ve got one week. Don’t make me send someone collecting.”

“I won’t.” Jim quickly snatches the block of blow from the table and thrusts it into his jacket pocket.

We all stand up. The men don’t shake hands. Instead Knox and Jim stare at each other like a couple of dogs ready to fight.

“Let’s go, man,” Tommy nods toward the door.

Jim doesn’t move. Tommy grabs him by his elbow and leads him away. As Tommy turns the knob on the door, Jim turns and looks back at us.

“I’ll see you in a week.” His eyes are clearly locked on me.

“Bye.” I’m not sure why the word escaped my lips. Let alone why it came out all high-pitched and singsongy.

The men disappear through the door and Knox quickly walks over to it, locking it behind them.

I start to make my way to the bathroom when Knox marches up to me.

“You fucking little slut!” Bright white light jolts over my eyes as he throws me into the wall.

His hand squeezes around my throat, locking me in place and cutting off my air.

“You think you’re here to flirt with my guys, bitch?” The back of his hand slices across my lip and I can instantly taste my blood.

“Knox,” I sputter, “please.”

His fist is wrapped in my long brown hair and he tosses me to the floor. I hit it with a thud.

“That’s right, Holly. You’ll be begging me all night.” He unbuckles his belt and quickly flicks the leather free, snapping it toward me like a whip. “You’ll beg me to stop. Then you’ll beg me to fuck you.”

With a quick jerk of his wrist, Knox snaps the leather belt across my bare leg. The pain spreads over my flesh like wildfire. My eyes water, but I don’t cry out. I’ve learned he likes that more. I won’t give him the fucking satisfaction.

Knox sneers down at me. His brown eyes flicker with a rage I’ve seen more times than I’d like to admit.

SNAP!

Tears spill onto my cheeks as welts begin to rise on my calf. I desperately try to get my feet under me. I push myself up, attempting to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Knox’s foot lands square on my stomach. I collapse back onto the floor, gasping for air. He knocked the wind out of me.

“I’m not even close to being finished with you, Holly.”

Knox wraps the belt tightly around his tattooed fist, his shoulders hunch over as he towers me. The silver buckle of his belt dangles menacingly before me, promising pain to come.

“Knox, please… “

SNAP!

The buckle hits my arm like a rock.

“No! Please! I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry!” I choke out the words, tears flooding my face. I hate myself for begging him. I hate myself for ever staying with him. I hate… him.

Knox stands taller, proud that he broke me down. I frantically look to the lone exit from his condo. It’s behind him. The only other escape is the balcony. I’d never survive. Eighteen floors up would kill me.

Wouldn’t that be better?

I push the thought away. No. I won’t let him kill me. I won’t go down without a fight. Not anymore.

Knox lifts his arm again; I scuttle back on the floor. I won’t lie here and let him beat me. I need to try.

His belt buckle comes down, but doesn’t bite my skin. I scurry backward as I see the fire in his eyes blaze out of control.

“Fucking cunt! Where do you think you’re gonna go, huh? You want me to chase you around the room?” He snarls.

“Knox, please. Put down the belt,” I plead.

“After what you did? I brought you into my home and took care of you, for how long? Years! Treated you like a little princess and you sit on my lap with your pussy leaking for some other guy?” He leaps toward me, the belt buckle glistening under the light.

“I didn’t!” I protest, shifting backward as quickly as I can manage.

SNAP!

“Fuck!” The buckle meets my ankle and blinding pain sears through me. I don’t have time to hold it. To check it. To see if it’s broken. I need to get away.

I move back and thump into the coffee table. Quickly, I cower under it, then tip it over, trying to barricade myself from Knox’s abuse. The table hits the floor with a thud. My mind reels for a better plan. I silently pray for help when the cool metal slides against my hand.

His gun.

The gun I’ve never seen him without, a single day. The one that’s always out. Always loaded. The silencer, always screwed on tight. It just slid from the table to the floor beside my hand.

I blink, uncertain of how the gun ended up in my hand. I don’t remember picking it up. I don’t remember aiming it at him. My brain is in survival mode.

Knox is perfectly still. The smug smile on his face tells me just how serious he thinks this is. He hasn’t even dropped the belt.

“Oh, come on,” he smiles. He’s clearly amused. “You gonna shoot me?” He takes a slow, deliberate step forward.

“Stay back!” Hot tears blur my vision. I raise the gun to his head and cock it. It’s heavier than I imagined.

Knox’s smile fades. “You won’t,” his voice is confident but he doesn’t move. “You need me, Holly. We need each other.”

My hand trembles. If I drop this gun, I know how this ends. My body covered in welts as he roughly fucks me. I know that tomorrow, he’ll buy me expensive clothes, and that we’ll never talk about this. About what he does to me. Until next time. When it happens again.

And again.

“No!” My voice is steadier than my hand. “I don’t need you anymore.”

“If you shoot me, you better fucking kill me, cunt! I’ll fuck you with that gun, you understand me?” Knox booms.

I drop my hand, and Knox sneers as he thinks that he won. Instead, I aim between his legs, I’m going to shoot his dick off. The trigger squeezes easily under my finger. I close my eyes and lower the gun.

BANG!

“Fucking-shit-fuck! You bitch!”

I open my eyes and Knox is on the floor holding his knee. Not what I was aiming for, but satisfaction still swells up inside me as I watch the blood stain his jeans.

There’s no time to waste! I spot his car keys on the bookshelf and run across the room to grab them.

“I’m gonna slice you open! Do you hear me?” Knox shrieks.

Clutching the keys in my free hand, I grip his gun tight in my other. I hold it up again, pointing it at him as I maneuver around his bloody pool growing on the floor.

“Fuck you, Knox.” I grit the words through my teeth. “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you with your own fucking gun,” I yell bravely.

I run to the door and don’t look back as I pass through it. I know he can’t chase me down, but somehow I’m not convinced he won’t find a way. I race down the stairwell so fast I feel like I’m almost tumbling down the flights of stairs. My ankle is screaming in pain, but I can’t stop. I can’t risk him catching me. Not now.

Knox will kill me. Or have someone else do it. The fluorescent lights blend together as I race through the underground parking lot to his car. Jumping in, I half expect him to hit the window, like some kind of goddamned horror movie villain that won’t die. He’s been far worse than that for me, for a long time now.

The key turns in the ignition and the car starts. I back out and Knox isn’t there. I make it all the way to the exit, expecting this to somehow fall apart at any second. I shiver despite the Miami heat.

Nothing stops me. I pull out onto the street and drive away into the night. All my fears of never being able to escape slowly begin to fade as I realize what I just did. I’ve been with Knox so long; I had convinced myself freedom was impossible. I toss his handgun into the passenger seat and drive away. Knox and his horrors grow smaller in my rearview mirror as my mind fumbles to come up with a plan. I’ll need to ditch the car. I need to get out of Florida. But where will I go? How will I get there?

I only know two things right now.

I’m free.

If Knox tracks me down, I’ll be dead.

“Petty Officer Armstrong!” My head snaps up and my eyes refocus to the present. Back from the hundred-mile stare – the look I get when the past haunts my memories.

“Chief!” I answer Chief Warrant Officer Andrews, who’s been assigned to represent me at my hearing.

My Captain’s Mast is a blessing compared to the court-martial I could’ve been up for. However, just because it’s a lesser punishment doesn’t mean I’m not about to get tossed out of the SEALs. I know I’m not going to spend any time in a cell, but I might be given my marching orders. Back to civilian street.

“You come to attention when I address you, Petty Officer! This is a charge parade not a fucking tea party,” Andrews barks, his cheeks billowing out like a sail in high seas.

“Yes, Chief!” I stand at attention. Eyes forward. Chin up. Shoulders back. I refuse to let my gaze wander over to the man now responsible for representing me. A man I’ve served with for years. Closer to me than my own father. My gut twinges as the thought marinates in my brain. Just like my own Dad, he’s a man I’ve let down.

“Now, listen here,” the Chief continues, “you’re gonna march down these flats and before you enter the quarterdeck you’re gonna remove your headdress, got it?” He doesn’t wait for my response. It wasn’t a real question.

My eyes flicker over his aging face.  He meets my gaze with a hardened stare, his brown eyes leveling me. “You’re gonna march over to the podium and bring your heels together in front of the Captain. You don’t say a word. Not a fucking peep. You let me do the talking, understand?” He paces in front of me nervously.

Again, I don’t answer, but this time I can see that Andrews wanted me to. He stops and peers at me with a look that makes me wish I could hide in my own skin. How is it that I can face terrorists? I can shoot killers dead without a second thought, but a look from Andrews makes me feel like a nervous recruit again.

“Yes, Chief!” I answer.

Andrews nods slowly, happy with my delayed response. His sea boots squeak against the floor as he goes back to pacing.

“Good. Now, the Captain will hear your charges. He’ll listen to what I have to say and then he’ll ask you to speak. A word of advice, keep it short, sweet and true. No excuses. No one wants to hear anything other than your total acceptance that what you did was wrong, get it?”

“Yes, Chief!”

“I’m gonna recommend that we keep you, Armstrong. I’ll do what I can. However, there’s a good chance you’re being discharged. If that happens,” he stops in his tracks and looks me square in the face, “I want to thank you.”

I can’t hide the surprise spreading over my face like an oil slick on the ocean. My jaw slackens, “Thank me?”

“Yes,” the Chief’s face is inches from my own. I can see the broken capillaries in his nose that tell the tale of more fun nights out with the boys than he probably remembers. The smell of his tobacco chew wafts around me. “Listen, son, I know you. I’ve known you for many years now. I know as well as anybody that this was a mistake. An idiotic mistake, but it wasn’t you. You’re more than your worst decision. There isn’t a single person on this earth that wants to be judged on their lowest moment. Trust me, we’ve all done shit we aren’t proud of,” he claps my shoulder and his eyes soften.

I look down at the toes of my boots, wishing with every ounce of my soul that I could take it all back. But I can’t.

“If you do get the boot today, it doesn’t change what you did for us, for your brothers, or for your country over in Afghanistan. You carried out that mission and saved lives. This…” he waves his hand searching for the word, “shit show that you’ve gotten yourself into, it’s never gonna taint that. So, thank you. Keep your chin up and be proud of what you did right. Even if your life feels all wrong now. You’ll always have that.”

Andrews clears his throat loudly and squares off his jaw. As he clamps his teeth together, his eyes narrow and the moment between us fades away.

“Now, march your ass down to the quarterdeck. Let’s get this over with,” he barks.

“Yes, Chief!” I repeat again as I give an about-turn and do my sharpest drill down the hall.

As I was directed, I stop and remove my hat before proceeding into the room. My arms swing by my sides as I take short, sharp steps over to the podium. I come to a standstill in front of the Captain, snap my heels together and stiffly hold my arms tight to my sides.

Captain Bliss looks me over sternly. His thick moustache seems to add an extra layer of disapproval with its turned down sides. The look of disgust is echoed in his squinted eyes and furrowed brows.

I struggle to focus as Andrews pleads my case. My mind is reeling, is this it for me? I joined the SEALs just days after I graduated high school. This career is one I’ve lived and breathed for my entire adult life. If I’m not a SEAL, who will I be?

“I said, ‘what do you have to say for yourself, Armstrong?’” The Captain’s voice reaches through the thick cotton fog in my brain and gives me a shake.

I blink as I realize everyone is waiting for me to say my piece. Swallowing hard, I open my mouth, “Sir. Sorry, Sir. I’m guilty. The cocaine was mine and I used it for recreational purposes. I have no excuse. It was a bad decision, Sir. One I’ve regretted every day since. I let down my brothers in arms and I also let down my real brother, in an act of cowardice I’ll never be able to forgive myself for. I accept your judgement and punishment.”

“Captain, if I may,” Andrews cuts in, “I’d like to say a few words,” he waits for the nod of approval from Bliss before continuing.

“Very well,” the Captain answers.

Andrews clears his throat, “Sir, I’d like to add that Petty Officer Armstrong has worked with me for quite some time. He’s always been reliable and respectful; a stand-up guy. He’s served us proudly abroad on many deployments as well as at home. I see you have his file there,” Andrews nods to the manila envelope on the podium, “so I don’t need to tell you how instrumental Armstrong was in Operation Trident Fury. However, I would just like to mention that without the unflinching bravery that this man showed during that mission, our guys could have easily faced an ambush.” My Chief looks over at me, “He definitely stepped in it this time. I’m not saying he should be excused for what he did, I just want to let you know that what he did was a mistake and not at all a testament to his character.”

Captain Bliss looks at me sternly, then to the Chief. “Noted,” he finally answers.

The room is so quiet. Every movement of the people gathered to watch this humiliating proceeding is amplified like its being played over a loudspeaker. I can hear Andrews breathing beside me. I can hear my own heart rushing blood through my body.

“The charges against you are serious, Petty Officer,” the Captain finally interrupts the silence. “Cocaine use is strictly prohibited, as you well know. However, given your clean record, not to mention your exemplary reputation that Chief Warrant Officer Andrews just mentioned about your deployment with SEAL Team 8, you went above and beyond for your mission and I’m prepared to take that into consideration.” He presses his lips into little more than a slit in his face, his moustache covering his mouth like a blanket. “Your punishment,” he looks at me sternly, “you will receive a full reduction in rank, a loss of fifty percent of your base pay for two months and you must also attend an inpatient rehabilitation facility for sixty days. If you choose not to attend, which you are within your legal rights to refuse, you will be discharged. What do you choose?” He watches me carefully.

Is it really a choice? The money and rank reduction sting, but both can be earned back. Getting a discharge would be death.

“I accept your first option. Thank you, Sir.”

ERREICH!

“Fuck!” I yank the wheel hard to the right and pull back down off the curb I’d just driven Knox’s car onto. That didn’t sound good, but I don’t have time to care. I grab the ticket from the airport parking garage dispenser and shakily maneuver his precious Audi inside.

Somehow, I manage to slide into an open parking space without crashing the car into anything else. When I ran away from home at seventeen, all I had was a learner’s permit. I’ve been behind the wheel before, but that was five years ago. I throw the car into park and fling my seatbelt off, patting my hands underneath the dashboard carefully.

“I know it’s here somewhere,” I grunt, twisting my body into some kind of advanced yoga pose as I reach as far as my fingertips can stretch.

“There!” I feel the bundle and pry the duct tape by the corner, peeling it back until the package fall into my hand. Yanking the Ziploc bag of money toward me, I quickly dart my eyes out my window to see if anyone around is watching. The few people in the parking garage are busy getting their bags together for their trips. No one gives a damn about what I’m doing, let alone what I’m going through.

I pull the bag open and wrap my trembling hand around the stack of bills inside. The wad of neatly wrapped hundred dollar bills is mine. I’ve been with Knox for five years, and for as long as I’ve known him, he’s kept his emergency stash of cash taped up in his car. He always said it was enough to get to where he had to go if shit went down, but not so much that it would ruin him if his car ever got jacked. Knox isn’t big on bank accounts. Instead, he has bricks of cash like this one hidden all over the condo and lord knows where else.

I flip my thumb over the bills, there’s at least ten grand here. I can go anywhere with that kind of cash. Anywhere in the world. Start over. Go get a fresh start somewhere.

Like the fresh start you got with Knox?

I wave my hand, trying to swat the intrusive thought away like a buzzing mosquito. This will be different. I’m not a kid anymore. I won’t end up in the arms of another psychopathic drug smuggler. I’ve always learned my lessons the hard way, but I still learn them.

I don’t have my purse, so I split the fat wad of cash in two and stuff each half into the cups of my bra. I look like Dolly Parton, but I don’t care. I’d probably get a lot more stares if I walked around holding ten thousand dollars in my hand like a clutch. My eyes flit over the car to see if there’s anything else I should bring. They stop on the gun lying on the passenger seat, gleaming up at me. I spin around in my seat and cautiously look around for any security guards or passersby who might notice what I’m doing. No one around. Quickly, I wrap my fingers around the cold steel and give the gun a quick wipe down using the stretchy edge of my skirt to lift it back up and toss it under the driver’s seat. I pull the keys from the ignition and cast them aside the same way. One quick look in the mirror to make sure I don’t have raccoon eyes, and I’m out of Knox’s car. I lock the door, slam it shut and gasp instinctively at the gash slit down the driver’s side door from where I scraped the ticket box.

Knox would kill me if he saw that. Shit, Knox will kill me if he ever sees me again. The car should be the least of my worries. After half a decade of living with his rules, his anger, his abuse…it’s hard to shake the feeling that everything I’m doing won’t come with horrifying consequences.

I need to get away. Start over. I need to go now. Logically, I know that with a gunshot wound to the leg, Knox isn’t going to be hot on my tail chasing me down. It’s not like he can just call in his car stolen to the Miami police. They would love to hear from him, as one of the biggest cocaine importers on the Eastern Seaboard, I’m sure it would be the bust of a lifetime for them, to have Knox drop into their laps.

No, I don’t need to worry about any of that. For now. I slam the door shut and make my way to the airport. I just need to get on a flight and get out of here. The further the better. My heels click against the cement loudly as I struggle to think up a plan. Maybe Europe would be a good place to go.

Shit.

I can’t leave the country! Not when I left my passport at my parents’ house five years ago. My mind flashes back to a similar time, when I let my parents think I was going off to school, my backpack stuffed with my belongings. Instead of heading to my grade eleven classes that day, I jumped on a bus for Miami. After grieving my twin sister’s death for almost a year, I couldn’t take it anymore. I could deal with the stares, the whispers, the rumors. I couldn’t, however, handle the emotionless void in my mother’s eyes, or the heartbroken and forced smiles from my Dad. I had to leave it behind. To start over. I left and never looked back.

After living in a town as small as Everglades City, getting lost in a real city like Miami seemed perfect. It didn’t take me too many nights on my own before I realized how wrong I’d been. A fresh-faced seventeen-year-old in a huge city, it wasn’t long before I attracted the wrong kind of attention.

I saved you, you ungrateful cunt! Without me, you’d be turning tricks on the street. Or dead.

Knox’s words that I’ve heard so many times echo in my mind. My heart wrenches as hot tears slide down my cheeks. I remember when being his girl felt like a privilege. When he really did feel like my knight in shining armor. I was so young and fucking dumb.

I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand, the welts on my leg and my swollen ankle are painful reminders of how wrong I was. A salty tear trails down my face and burns the split in my lip, making me wince.

No, I don’t owe him shit. He didn’t save me. He ruined me.

I reach the door of the airport and my stomach sinks. I have no ID at all. None. It’s not just a matter of having no passport. I didn’t have the time or the presence of mind to grab my purse when I ran out of Knox’s place. I’m not just stuck in the USA, I’m stuck. Period.

I fight the urge to lay down and give up. To just crumple into a fetal position and let the authorities deal with me. I’m exhausted. The adrenaline of leaving Knox behind has faded out and, for the first time in five years, so has my coke high.

When I first came to live with Knox, I remember how the endless partying and mountains of coke would light up our nights. What started as fun quickly turned into necessity. I began using coke how most people drink coffee. After a while, I needed it just to feel normal. I haven’t been clean in almost half a decade. Right now, I’m fading fast.

Without thinking, I jump into one of the yellow cabs waiting by the airport curb. I feel cocooned inside the car. Safer than I’ve felt in years.

The cab driver turns to me, the white teeth revealed in his smile are a stark contrast to his midnight skin. “Where can I take you?” He asks cheerfully in a thick Jamaican accent.

Where? Where can I go?

Tears blur my vision and flood my face. “I… I don’t know,” I sob.

“Whoa, hey now. Don’t cry. It’ll be ok,” worry flashes over his dark features as his eyes flicker over my swollen lip. “Are you in danger? I can call the police if you want?” His velvety voice wraps around me like a soothing hug.

“No!” I yelp. “Please, no police,” I wave my hand frantically.

“Ok, ok,” he answers. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out together. Do you have any friends you can go to?”

I solemnly shake my head from side to side as tears choke off my words.

“Ok, how about family. Surely you have a mother and father? Right?” He prods.

“I can’t see them. I haven’t talked to them in five years. I don’t think they ever want to see me again anyway,” I whimper.

“Hold up. Listen to me young lady,” his thick Jamaican accent rolls his words, “I am a father of three girls,” he holds up his fingers at me to clarify. “I wouldn’t care if I hadn’t heard from them in fifty years, if they called me, I’d take that call. You don’t know a parent’s love for a child. You can trust that.” His kind eyes are comforting.

“I don’t have a way to call them,” I explain. “I have money for this trip, but I didn’t take anything else when I ran… I mean, when I left.” I try to keep the details to myself.

The cab driver nods slowly, digesting my words. “Listen, young lady, that’s no problem. You can call your folks on my phone. No charge. Just call them. I promise you, they’ll want to help you.”

He hands his cellphone back to me and I stare at it blankly. It’s been so long since I left. Since I walked away from the confusion, hurt and despair I caused them. Will they be happy to hear from me? After what I did? After this much time?

“Please, as a father, I beg you. Call them.” He repeats.

Breathing in deeply, I dial the number I grew up with. A number I haven’t pressed into any phone for years. My shaking hand holds the cell to my ear as a broad smile flashes over the cab driver’s face.

Br-ring! Br-ring!

“Hello?” My father’s voice cuts through the years of silence. I can’t speak. I can picture him so clearly, as his voice tethers me to reality. “Hello?” He repeats.

“Daddy,” my voice cracks as my tears flow freely now.

“Holly? Oh my God! Holly, is that you?” His voice is strained with desperation.

“Yes. Dad? I need help.”

The yellow cab lazily lumbers into my parents’ driveway like we’re traveling underwater. Time comes to a standstill as I manage to separate four sweaty hundred dollar bills from my bra and hand them over.

“This is too much,” the driver gently corrects me.

“I owe you much more than that,” I answer. The hour and a half drive might have come to just over two hundred, but I am more than grateful for the kindness this stranger has shown me. Besides, I have no problem spending cash from a man who earned it keeping people like me addicted to drugs.

“Thank you,” his teeth flash a brilliant white as he smiles.

I open the door and step out onto wobbly legs. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me, like a newborn fawn standing for the first time. Exhaustion battles with my nervousness, making my head spin with the terrible concoction.

I slam the door to the cab shut behind me and pull a deep breath of fresh air into my lungs. This is it. I haven’t seen my parents in five years. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what to say. I don’t…

“Holly!” My father explodes from the front door in his tattered, brown slippers and his robe flapping behind his flannel pajamas like the superman cape I used to imagine he secretly wore under his clothes when I was a child.

Suddenly, the world speeds up as Dad runs down the front steps and over to me. It’s a blur as he throws his arms around me, tears cascading down my face as I tuck my head into my father’s chest.

“Daddy,” I croak the word. My emotions are a cyclone of confusion. In a way, it feels like it was only yesterday that I left without looking back. In many more ways, it feels like it was a lifetime ago.

My father grabs my shoulders and locks his brown eyes on mine. “Where did you go? Why did you leave? Are you ok? What happened to your mouth? Oh my God, I’m so happy to see you!” He rattles off his questions in rapid fire. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’re home now. That’s the main thing,” he folds me into him, holding me in another tight bearhug. “Let’s get you inside,” he steps back.

I follow his lead toward the house and watch as the cab driver pulls back out of the driveway and onto the suburban street. The darkness obscures my view of him, but he changes gears under the streetlight and I can see the sweet smile spread across his face as he drives away.

I step inside my parents’ house and nothing has changed. The living room furniture with the worn navy blue stripes is in the same place as when I left. On the wall are the same photos, encapsulating our family in a moment we probably all wish we could go back to. A moment where we looked genuinely happy. A moment when Heather, my twin, was still alive.

The only thing that has changed is that I don’t see my mother anywhere. I scan the room, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Her shoes are still in the front hall and her knitting is sitting half-finished on the coffee table. I know she’s still living here.

“Where’s Mom?” I turn my face toward my father. His deep wrinkles burrow into his skin as he frowns. “She’s here, honey. She went to bed. She just needs time, ok?” He explains so softly, his voice is like a summer breeze. Yet the words smack me in the face as hard as the back of Knox’s hand.

She doesn’t want me here. She doesn’t want to see me. I never should’ve come home.

“Here, you can wear this,” Dad slides his tattered robe off his arms and onto my shoulders. I remember that Heather and I gave him this housecoat for Father’s Day when we were nine. I can’t believe he’s hung onto it for thirteen years. I slip my arms inside and glance up at my father’s face. His eyes are clouded with tears as he gazes down over my skin-tight, short dress.

Shame floods me as I pull on the robe and wrap myself in it, like a protective blanket, trying to hide what only hours ago felt like perfectly acceptable clothes. I can see the disappointment in my father’s face as he tries to piece together my disappearance. As he tries to make sense of all of this.

“Holly, are you in trouble? Do you… are you…? Well, are you running from someone? A pimp?” His voice trembles.

A pimp?

I don’t know what to say. Is the truth any better? I may not have been working the streets, but Knox always took everything from me when he wanted it. It didn’t start out that way. It never used to be shelter and coke in exchange for sex. At least, that’s what I told myself when he first took me in. Of course, to a seventeen-year-old runaway, a twenty-seven-year-old with money and power was alluring. Add the idea of him loving me to the mix and I never had a chance.

“No, I’m not a prostitute. I swear.” The relief washing over my father’s aging face breaks my heart.

“What happened to you? Where did you go?” He leads me over to the couch and I curl my feet up under me as I sit down on it. The warmth of the house, his housecoat, knowing for the first time in almost half a decade that I’m safe, it’s all making my eyelids heavy.

“I ended up in Miami,” I confess, my voice thick with exhaustion. “I ended up with a man. A really bad man. Dad?” I somehow manage to pry my eyes open to look up at my father. His nose looks bigger than the last time I saw him. His ears too. My eyes start to travel over his face, lined deep with worry. Aged beyond his years. He’s lost most of his hair, too. The thin, salt and pepper clinging to the sides of his head and combed over his shiny bald spot is fooling no one.

“Are you in danger now? What can I do to help you?” Dad prods.

“I am, Dad, he is a drug smuggler. One of the biggest on the East Coast. If he finds me, he’s gonna kill me. I swear, he’s terrible. I need to get clean and I need to get help. I want to start over. I want to get off the drugs and start a new life. He doesn’t know where I am, I never told him where I came from. Plus, I parked his car at an airport to make him think I flew somewhere. He won’t look for me here. But, I still can’t stay here. Daddy,” fat tears stream down my face and drip off my chin, blotting on his robe, “I need to get real help. For drugs. I need to get clean.” I repeat and I see the realization of what I’m telling him takes hold of my father’s face.

Five years ago, if I would’ve admitted to using cocaine, hell, even pot, my Dad probably would’ve kicked me out to the very streets I ran away to. Now, I can see the years have softened him. I suppose losing not only one, but both of your children will do that. Guilt floods through me, coursing through my veins as I realize for the first time the pain and suffering I’ve put him through. I’ve put them both through.

“Ok, we’ll get you into rehab. There’s plenty of good programs out there, we’ll do some research and find the right one.” Dad nods and throws his shoulders back with determination.

“I can help pay. I have money,” I reach inside the robe and pull the wads of bills out, lying them on the couch between us.

“Where the hell did you get all of this?” Dad’s eyes flash with suspicion, no doubt questioning if I have been working the streets after all.

“I took it from him. He was beating me, Dad. He… he hurt me all the time. I couldn’t take it anymore so I left.” I start explaining.

Dad holds up his hands and I fall silent. “Ok, enough. It’s late, it’s been a crazy day. I’m sure you’re tired.”

I nod.

“So am I,” his voice grows weary as his face falls. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure this all out. We’ll get you into rehab. We’ll make a plan. For tonight, I think the best thing any of us can do is get a good night’s sleep. Ok?” His tone tells me he isn’t really asking, he’s telling me. That’s fine with me.

“Sure.” I mumble.

“Your room is still how you left it, Holly. You can sleep in there.” He instructs me.

I stand up and shuffle over to the stairs. I try not to limp on my bad ankle. I don’t want to worry my father any more than I already have. As I approach the stairs, I hear my mother scurry from the top back to her room and shut the door.

She was listening the whole time.

I make my way to my room. Dad was right; it hasn’t changed a bit. The bedding looks fresh on the single sized bed, but other than that it looks like a time capsule in here. My collection of cheap perfumes is still lined up on my dresser and my poster of Channing Tatum is still tacked to the wall. I slump into my bed and yank the covers over me, still fully dressed. Sleep quickly begins to overtake me as I relax back against my pillow.

My mother’s voice makes me startle. I can hear her getting louder as my father tries to hush her. Is she yelling? I tilt my head toward my bedroom door and listen. No, she’s crying. My heart sinks.

“It won’t change anything,” she sobs. “You can send her to rehab, you can do everything you can, but it won’t change a damned thing!” Her voice is shrill.

She’s never forgiven me. She still hates me. Blames me as much as she did six years ago, when it happened.

The day my sister died.

April 1st. What a day to be sent off to rehab. I guess that makes me the April fool. More like fuck-up. I watch the massive cedars slide by the window of the taxi. On the other side of the highway, the Pacific Ocean quietly laps at the shoreline. I’m not sure why the brass decided to send me to British Columbia, Canada, of all places. The United States probably has more top-notch rehabilitation centers than any other country on earth.

I watch the calm, green waves of the Pacific, mesmerized. I’ve lived and sailed on the Atlantic my entire career. I’ve grown to love her wild, uncontrollable swells and her craggy shorelines. The Pacific seems more refined, her gentle rolls hypnotically grazing the sandy beach. They’re like twin sisters, separated at birth. One reckless and free, the other reserved and shy.

I might not be drawn to the water in the same way, but it’s hard to argue that there’s a tranquility in this landscape that soothes the soul. The softly sloping mountains in the distance, the giant evergreens stretching toward the overcast sky. I feel like I’m driving through a Bob Ross painting. Now we just need to turn my mistakes into ‘happy little accidents’ and I’ll be all set.

The driver pulls into the long, curved driveway and up to the front door. I hand him the fare in American and he smiles brightly.

“You want me to figure out the exchange on that?” He nods his sallow face down to the bills in his hand.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, man.” I pop open the door and hop out, glancing up at the sprawling brown building with the green roof in front of me.

It looks like the architect took his cue from the nature surrounding the building and made the facility the same color as the trees it’s nestled in. I grab my bags from the trunk and slowly walk toward the front doors.

What am I doing here? I don’t belong here. I’m not some crackhead or junkie. I just did coke to feel better. To stop the slow motion replay of that night. It helps me forget.

I give my head a shake and throw my shoulders back. I’m here because this is the only way I get to stay with the SEALs. It’s just like every other training they’ve sent me on or tested me with. I just need to play the game, get through it and move on.

I pause at the door, my eye caught by the shiny black plaque on the wall. ‘For Those Alumni who have lost their lives to chemical dependency’ it reads. There must be at least a hundred names on there, and room for more. Not exactly a strong testament to the program I’m about to enter.

I sigh and push open the door. Let’s get this over with. The reception area has a pint-sized smiling woman greeting me as soon as I pass the threshold.

“Hello! Welcome to Edgewood. Are you a new patient?” Her grey eyes dart down to my bags.

“Yeah, I’m Petty Officer Armstrong. I was told you’d be expecting me to check in today.”

“Certainly!” Her words are too cheerful. Her smile looks painful. I can’t look at her, it makes me uncomfortable. “If you could just take a seat here and fill out these forms, I’ll have a counselor come out to get you checked in.

Checked in. Like I’m taking a vacation at an all-inclusive. I grab the forms and scan the room as I make my way to the expensive looking leather chairs lining the wall. The place does look like a resort or some kind of spa. The floor-to-ceiling windows allow me to get a glimpse of the facility past this reception area. Cathedral glass ceilings and beautiful red cedar wood lumber draw my attention. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. I wonder if they have a pool.

I take a seat and fill out the information. I don’t notice the short, slim man with a crooked smile who quietly sits in the chair next to me until he clears his throat and I look up.

“Hi, I’m John. I’ll help you get settled in here, and show you around.” His eyes blink quickly, like he has a tic he can’t control.

“Uh, great. Sounds good,” I stand up and hand off the paperwork to the woman with the pasted on smile. My fingers wrap around the handle of my suitcase when John holds up his hand.

“No, just leave those.”

“What? I need them,” I frown.

“They’ll be delivered to your room, after they’ve been searched.” He answers quietly but firmly.

“Searched. Seriously?”

“It’s mandatory.”

Another sigh escapes my lips and I let go of the handle with a shrug. “Fine. Whatever.”

John swipes his ID card and the inside door clicks loudly as it unlocks for us. He opens it and holds it for me, his hand extended as an invite for me to pass through. Damned Canadians and their manners. It feels awkward to have a little man hold the door for me like we’re on a date, but I push the feeling aside and enter.

John shuffles up next to me, showing different parts of the common areas. “Over there is the dining hall,” he points vaguely toward the vacant cafeteria. “That is the nurses’ station and medication dispensary. It’s where you pick up your meds in the morning, if you need them,” he nods to the sprawling wood desk ahead of us.

“I won’t need any,” I try to answer politely, but the words come out with a razor’s edge.

I look around, where is everyone?

As if reading my thoughts, John answers my unasked question, “The other patients and counselors are in the auditorium for the morning lesson.”

Lesson? Ok then. I don’t bother asking what that’s about. I’m sure in two months, I’ll be getting more than my fill of the routine here.

All of a sudden, the eerie silence crashes around us as a huge group of people come from the hallways on either side of the desk and flood into the space. Their combined voices sound like a flock of angry seagulls fighting for scraps of food at the beach. People are mulling around with binders in their arms, like they’re in school.

I’m surprised how many of them look normal. I mean, I guess I expected people to be more disheveled and have less teeth, generally. John is saying something, but I can’t hear him. I can’t even hear the grating caws of the bustling crowd anymore. My feet stop moving and my eyes lock down.

She’s striking. Not like some photoshopped super model, perfectly made up with smoky eyes and red lips. She’s a natural beauty. I’m transfixed by her plump lips. I’m hypnotized by her perky breasts and the curve of her ass. It’s easy to see from the sparkle in her baby blue eyes that she has a wild streak I’d love to explore. In a way, she reminds me of the Atlantic Ocean I was missing before. Untamed and mysterious. I want to wrap my hands in her long, wavy brown hair. I want to kiss every inch of her milky skin. Her eyes quickly find mine and I can see she feels it too. My heart pounds as I try to stop staring.

I can’t.

I watch as the cute freckles on her pale skin crinkle up and her eyebrows knit together. She looks away from me, toward the tall, built man that is standing too close to her and talking too loudly. My fists clench and my teeth set on edge as I watch her pull her binder up over her perfect tits, like a shield. A move I’ve seen tons of women do, and never when they’re comfortable with the guy bothering them. She steps back from the obnoxious dude towering over her and he lumbers forward, refilling the empty space. Anger flashes through me and I step forward, just as John grabs my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He tilts his head at me.

“Uh, I just need to use the toilet,” I lie, hoping he buys it.

“Ahh, ok. Well, you can do that in a bit. First, you need to follow me,” he insists.

I look back up, but the girl is gone. I don’t see her anywhere in the crowd. She disappeared.

“Ok, what’s up?” I follow John into one of the offices lining the wall. It’s instantly quieter as he closes the door.

“As you probably know, Edgewood is a renowned facility. We have a program that specializes in addictions faced by men and women in uniform.” He spouts off his talking points.

Ah, well that explains why I’m in Canada then.

“The program is difficult, but if you don’t give up, we have an eighty percent success rate.” He continues.

“That’s pretty good,” my mind flashes back to the plaque on the wall as I came in. Seems to contradict what he’s telling me, but the truth is, I don’t care. I can barely concentrate on what this guy is going on about. My mind is still wrapped up in her.

Where did she go?

“But before we get into any of that, we need to take the standard precautions to make sure you're not smuggling any drugs or paraphernalia into the facility,” he continues.

“Yeah, well, you’ve already got my bags.” I answer distractedly.

“Yes, that’s part of it. However, there’s another part. You’re gonna need to strip down and shake out your clothes for me.”

“What?” I level him with my stare, my focus suddenly sharpening to him and him alone. “Are you saying…”

“Before we can proceed, there’s a strip search,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he answers.

So much for checking into my luxury spa. More like being processed for prison. This shit just got real.

“Holly, you’ve been quiet for the past couple of days. I know you’re still new to all of this, but why don’t you tell the group about yourself?” My group therapy counselor, Gavin, prods me. He sits tall in his chair at one end of the circle, his hair gelled into a spiky hedgehog style that was popular when I was in junior high. His mournful brown eyes pierce mine.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” I stare at my hands. I can’t bring myself to look into the faces of the strangers surrounding me. Six people from all walks of life sit around me. Since I checked in two days ago, I’ve heard them talk about their lives, their careers, their children, their dreams. Intensely personal details have spilled out of them, like they’ve known these people all their lives. Like we’ve all grown up together. Not like we’re the complete and total random strangers tossed together in a salad of sadness and sickness.

I clear my throat as my mind goes blank. What does he want me to say?

“Do you mean tell you how I got started with drugs?” I peer over at Gavin and his thin sweeping of chin whiskers quiver as he presses his lips together.

“No, we’ll get into all that. Right now, I would just like it if you introduced yourself to the group. Tell us who you are. A little bit about yourself,” Gavin’s eyes are warm, even if his tone is a bit clinical. He looks down at the pad of paper he’s holding on a clipboard in his lap and makes a few notes.

A bit about myself? What is there to tell? A whirlwind of memories flash through my mind, but every single one of them involves Knox and cocaine. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the question. It shouldn’t be this hard. I should be able to tell people something. Anything.

Heat flushes over my cheeks as I blush, I open my eyes and try not to let the shame radiating through me turn to tears. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know who I am.”

Gavin nods sadly and makes another note. The door to the office swings open and, lucky for me, all eyes in the room turn to see why. I watch as the guy I saw earlier today saunters inside and nonchalantly slumps down in an empty seat across the circle from me.

My heartbeat quickens as his deep blue eyes meet mine. He locks me in his gaze, and I feel like I’m struggling to keep my feet under me in a hurricane. I can feel the electricity crackle in the air between us, holding me prisoner of his stare. I press my thighs together tightly and my breathing grows raspy and erratic. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man before. Not even to Knox.

Gavin clears his throat, ignoring our newest group member entirely. The same way he did to me two days ago when I was thrown into this jumbled mess of addicts. “You were saying, Holly?” His voice cuts through the fog and pulls me back into the therapy session.

Somehow, I manage to drag my eyes from the newcomer and back to my counselor. “What? Oh, yeah. I guess I was trying to say that I’m not sure how to tell you a bit about myself because it’s been awhile since I’ve been more than, well, you know… an addict.” I admit.

I look back over to the new guy; he’s watching me closely. I’m sure every person in this room is, but his are the only eyes I feel on me. Like they’re marking my skin. His brown beard is well kept, but the same can’t be said for his shaggy hair. I force myself to focus on Gavin instead. No matter how difficult it is.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything other than be a drug smuggler’s girlfriend. For the last five years, my whole life has centered on coke,” I continue. “Selling it, using it, buying it. Everything has been focused on drugs.” I answer truthfully.

Gavin makes another note and scratches the side of his head with his pen. “Ok, but what about hobbies? Or friends? Family?” He grasps at straws as I shake my head no at each suggestion.

“I left my family when I was seventeen and never looked back. I didn’t really have a good idea of who I was when I ran away, just who I didn’t want to be seen as anymore.” My voice creaks, warning me of tears to come. “I don’t know, ok?” I push away the sadness with a burst of anger. “I don’t know what you’re looking for. I’ve told you who I am, can we move on now?” My eyes flicker back to the new guy. His pale pink lips are cocked into a half smile as he shamelessly scans his eyes over my body.

That look, that arrogance, it reminds me of…

Knox’s face flashes before my eyes. The smirk that would possess his face when he’d wrap a belt around his hand, relishing what he was about to do to me.

I push the image from my head, but the anger inside me boils up. “What about him?” I point across the circle at the mystery man who joined us. “Why don’t you get him to introduce himself instead of sitting there smiling like an idiot.”

“Hey,” Gavin’s voice is so soft, it’s almost a whisper, “I know you’re new, but that’s not how we do things. Besides, I’d appreciate it if you let me run my own group,” he scolds me. “What you’re doing is deflecting right now, Holly.”

“Hey man, I don’t mind,” the gorgeous stranger sitting across from me finally speaks. My heart flutters at his deep voice.

“It’s not necessary,” Gavin holds up his hand. “We like to give new patients a few days to acclimate before they jump in. Today is Holly’s day,” he tries to redirect the focus.

“No, man, it’s fine. Hi everyone, I’m Jake.” He steamrolls over Gavin’s attempts to take charge. “I was told not to give you my last name in here. That’s kind of weird for me since I’ve been in the military since I was a teenager and I’ve been going by my last name only, since then.” He chuckles and throws his arms over the back of his seat, leaning back comfortably. I’m happy that I don’t have to fight the urge to watch him anymore. Since he’s taken command of the room my eyes are just one of many sets on him.

Gavin writes furiously on his sheets as Jake continues, “Anyway, I’m just doing my time. I don’t really need to be here, well not like you guys do,” he nods at me and my cheeks burn. “I need to do a stint to keep my job, so if this is what I gotta do to stay with the SEALs then, so be it.”

He’s a SEAL? I glance at his shaggy hair and his beard again. The scruff perfectly lines his strong jaw and his sandy brown hair hangs around his face like a frame for his ocean blue eyes. He doesn’t look military. His slightly amused look stokes the flames of my anger.

“Oh, you don’t have to be here, huh?” I spit the words at him. I could smack his high and mighty look off his perfect face. “I guess the military sent you here for research then? Or just for fun?” My fists ball up at my sides.

“No, I’m here for coke.” He says slowly, like he’s a professor to an obtuse student. “Cocaine is addictive. If you do it enough you’ll get addicted no matter what. That doesn’t make you an addict, it makes the substance itself impossible to not get addicted to. It’s not like you. I was just partying.” His eyes never break from mine. I can’t decide if I want them to or not.

“Oh wow, that’s so cool how you’re the only non-addict in a rehab center. It must feel great to be so high above all of us,” I snap back. I know this isn’t entirely fair. I don’t really know this guy. He doesn’t know me. After spending five years being told that I’m nothing, being told how much better Knox is and always will be than me, I can’t take one more second of being looked down on. Especially not by some big, hot guy who thinks he’s king shit.

“Excuse me,” Gavin interrupts, clearly exasperated. “I already said that we’ll get to you another day,” he frowns at Jake. “This is Holly’s time, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying we’re different, that’s all.” Jake completely ignores our counselor, never taking his eyes off me. “I’m not like you. I spent my time fighting for our country with other guys and when we had downtime, we lived it up. That’s it. I didn’t come from some broken home or whatever. My parents loved me and all that shit.” His words sucker punch me.

I struggle to breathe as I jump to my feet. I left my parents’ house because I ruined their lives. My mother never forgave me for the day my sister died. Even when I left for this place, she couldn’t look me in the eyes when she coldly said goodbye. I left her house when I was seventeen, but I haven’t felt her love for a lot longer than that.

“Go fuck yourself, douche,” I storm across the room and fling the office door open, slamming it behind me.

Hot tears splash down my cheeks as I stumble down the hallway. Fuck that guy. Fuck him with his arrogant smirk and his beautiful eyes. I try to douse the flames of desire he so quickly ignited in me. I’m so glad he’s had a great life and a great family. That he’s not broken and pathetic.

Like me.

Standing in the front hallway, like a herd of cattle waiting for the gates to the field to be unlocked, I wait with the other patients. Apparently, after lunch we have a daily walk for an hour. What I find weird is that none of the counselors have bothered to let me know about the schedule. I wasn’t given a pamphlet with timings on it. Instead, I’ve had to glean the information from other patients.

At lunch, I scanned the cafeteria for Holly, but I didn’t see her. Instead, I was invited to sit at the table with some very chatty Canadians while we ate our choice of either lasagna or burritos and rice.

“Ya, buddy. It’s a bit confusing around here at first,” a ginger guy with the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen and a heavy, almost Boston sounding accent nattered away. “But you get used to it in no time. Once you learn the routine, it’s like Groundhog Day in here.” He scarfed his burrito and talked around the mushed beans as he chewed. “I’ve heard that you guys deal better with that though.”

“You guys?” I looked up from my plate of meaty lasagna to question him.

“You military types. There’s a lot of you in here. They say you’re so used to doing routines and following orders that it’s not too hard on you. Give it a day and you’ll be a pro.” He tossed the remaining burrito in his mouth and I looked around.

How many military people are there? I looked around the cafeteria wondering. With everyone dressed in civvies, it wasn’t easy to see. Not until I started looking closer. Haircuts, posture, demeanor. They all helped me zone in on others who are serving their country.

Despite how intensely I looked through the crowd, there was one face I wanted to see that was missing. Holly.

The door buzzes and everyone shuffles through to the fresh air awaiting us outside. I smile up at the sun, breathing the clean West Coast air deep into my lungs. I stretch my arms in wide circles and shake out the tension. What a great day for a run.

I start to jog up the path leading through the thick cedars when a woman calls out behind me. I barely catch my name and stop.

Is it her?

My eyes focus like a red laser locking in on a target for the mystery person yelling my name. God damn. I would love to make her sweet lips call out my name. Cry it loudly as I make her cum over and over.

Disappointment crashes over me as my focus narrows to a hunched over, silver-haired woman who could be my grandmother. “Jake,” she smiles at me.

“Uh, yeah?” How does she know my name? Who is this lady?

“I’m in your group session. You made quite the entrance this morning,” she chuckles.

“Oh, hi. I didn’t catch your name,” I prod her as I slowly walk beside her.

“It’s Mabel,” she answers warmly. “I just wanted to tell you that we’re not allowed to jog or run during the walk time. Not that I could even if I wanted to,” she chuckles again and limps forward.

“We can’t run? Why?” Annoyance prickles over my skin and I rub my hand over my beard.

“A lot of people use exercise to get a bit of an endorphin rush, a little mini-high. In here, people get desperate to feel good again. Plus, walking makes you think more. It’s more reflective. Anyway,” she smiles at my scowl, “I don’t make the rules, I just follow them. You can do what you want, but if you use this time to run you’ll hear the same spiel from a counselor later.” She warns gently.

This is fucking ridiculous. Get high from running. Seriously? What’s next? No sugar because you might feel a rush? Instead of snapping at granny, I bite my tongue and smile back politely. Don’t shoot the messenger, right? Especially not when she’s a sweet, little old thing like her.

“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” I look over at her curiously. What is she doing in a place like this?

“Heroin,” her sweet voice interrupts my thoughts.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m in for heroin addiction, I’m guessing you were gonna ask. It’s always the first question.”

So much for a sweet, innocent granny.

“Oh, wow. That’s intense.” I walk alongside her.

“Well, it didn’t start out that way. It started with an Oxycodone prescription. It ended with heroin.” She answers sadly.

Holy shit, it’s hard to imagine my walking partner with a needle in her arm. She must be in her late sixties or early seventies.

“Where you start is never where you end up, that’s the thing with addiction,” she continues softly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I’m not sure what else to say.

“Don’t be. I’m gonna be just fine.”

My eye is caught by a flash of teal blue. A jacket in the crowd ahead. It’s the jacket that catches my eye, but the long, flowing brown hair that I lock onto. She turns and looks back over her shoulder. Holly’s beautiful blue eyes meet mine and I can’t hear what Mabel is saying anymore.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” I interrupt her and quickly zigzag through the bodies separating Holly and I, without saying another word.

Ahead of me, Holly puts her head down and marches forward with more steam in her step. She’s trying to avoid me, but after this morning’s explosion I feel like we should clear the air. I mean, that’s my excuse anyway.

“Hey, wait up,” I call out. I know she can hear me, but she keeps pressing forward. I maneuver around a large gaggle of women clucking like hens and close the distance between us.

“Hey,” I grab her arm, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she brusquely yanks her arm from my grasp and sets her jaw in determination. I easily keep up with her increased pace. If she thinks she’s going to speed up and outwalk me, she’s mistaken.

“Listen, I don’t know what I did to upset you, but I’m sorry. Ok? I didn’t mean to offend you this morning. Sometimes I’m not the best at expressing myself.” I continue.

“You don’t say,” she snaps back, but some of the tension in her shoulders slides away and her pace slows slightly.

“It’s true, look, icebreakers aren’t really my thing.”

“No shit,” she answers.

“Like one time, I made a speech at my buddy’s wedding. It was supposed to be touching. I talked about how when we went hunting, he’d open up about how he’d met the love of his life, even saying he’d met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with,” I explain.

“What’s wrong with that?” She looks over at me and I almost stop walking when her face softens and her beauty radiates through. She’s stunning.

“The problem was, I didn’t know his wife was an animal rights type vegan and that when he went hunting with me, he’d told her he was just going camping as a cover story.”

“Really?” Holly giggles and I can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s sort of funny now. But, at the time she had a nuclear meltdown and I was like the leper no one wanted to talk to. Like I said, even when I’m not trying, I offend people.”

Holly laughs a little and slows her pace again. She looks so beautiful when she smiles. I mean, she’s pretty damned sexy when she’s pouting too. I imagine how her thick lips would feel crushed against mine. How they would look sliding down my body to my fat… I shake my head and focus my gaze on the mysterious girl beside me. I’ve never been one to get drawn in by a pretty face, to light up from a simple smile. Why is she so different?

“It sounds like you have bad luck,” she pushes her hair back from her face and runs her fingers through the long locks. I want to wrap her hair around my hand while I make her mine.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I murmur. “I mean, who would’ve thought in a place like this I’d meet someone as beautiful as you. That’s pretty lucky if you ask me.”

Her freckles scrunch up on her ivory nose and she looks down at her feet. I’ve made her uncomfortable.

“Uh, anyway, I wasn’t trying to say that I’m better than you because we grew up different.” I try to change the subject back to my attempted apology.

“No? Well, your non-addiction to coke and your awesome, loving parents sounded better.” Her voice runs cold.

“Hey, I’ve got my own shit. I bet everyone in here does. My family isn’t perfect, ok? It’s just not,” I shake my head and try to stay in the moment, I don’t want memories to overtake me, “it’s just not the main thing I struggle with. I’m definitely not better than you. Just different.”

Our shoes crunch against the twigs on the path below us. Holly looks up at me from under her eyelashes, like she doesn’t fully trust me or my words.

“Ok,” she says finally. Tension I didn’t know I was holding washes away with just that one word.

“Great,” I smile. “Hey, we’re both in here for coke, right? Maybe we can focus on our similarities. Help each other out with this thing, huh?” I ramble, happy to have reached a truce.

“Maybe,” she answers tentatively. “Um, but right now the walk is over and I’ve got a class to go to. I’ll see you in group tomorrow, ok?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, breaking off from the trail, she heads back to the front doors of Edgewood and doesn’t look back.

I feel like we’re doing a dance. Waltzing back and forth, one step forward and two steps back.

I make my way down the hall to my room, trying to convince myself that my body is ready for sleep. I know I’m not tired. I just want to close my eyes and dream of him. Jake.

I want the freedom to talk to him, laugh with him, to kiss him. My heart flutters as the last thought lingers. What is it about him that makes me feel this way? I’ve been numb for so long, my world dulled by drugs and pain, I forgot how this feels. How a simple glance from his gorgeous eyes can make me happy and shy, at the same time. How a smile from his perfect lips can make a flush of heat rush through my body, igniting my soul.

Speaking of smiles, I can’t hide the one stupidly pasted on my face right now. I’m getting funny looks from the other patients as I float through the hall like a girl who has finally been asked to the prom by her high school crush, but I don’t care.

I turn the corner into my room and walk in through the open door. They make us keep the doors open here during the day. I’ve been told that they do random inspections in the rooms to make sure no one is sneaking in drugs or booze. I guess it makes sense, but it still feels weird to know that just anyone could be rifling through my underwear or reading through my journal while I’m gone.

At least we get to close them at night. I’d never get any sleep with the bright light cascading into my room from the hall, like a spotlight on a prison tower. I fling the door shut and climb into bed. I’m so ready for sleep to overtake me. The days are long here. Like mercury, I feel myself melt away from my body, ready to reform into a new shape in my dreams.

I hear a noise from my closet and sit up in bed. The room looks different. I look around and realize that I’m in my childhood bedroom.

How did I…?

There’s no time to question it because the noise in my closet is growing louder. I should run away, or scream, but I can’t stop myself from opening the door. I know what’s waiting for me before the door even opens, but I still gasp. My heart pounds rushing blood into my ears and my lungs struggle to take in air. I open my mouth to scream, but Knox steps forward from behind the door and clamps his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries with his meaty hand as he pushes me back against the wall with a thump.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he reaches behind him and pulls out his gun. The gun I shot him in the leg with. How did he get it back? I feel the cold metal nuzzle against my temple. Tears spring to my eyes as he cocks it.

“Make a fucking sound and I’ll kill whoever comes in here, then I’ll kill you.” He sneers. I can’t breathe. His hand is still locked over my lips and pressed up snugly under my nose, making it next to impossible to get any air.

Knox releases his icy grip from my face and pinches his fingers into the flesh of my arm. The flesh of my arm. The thought occurs to me. That’s how I started thinking of myself when I was with him. Like my mind and body became separate entities. He could control my body, he could hurt my flesh, but he could never rule my mind.

“Knox, please,” I whisper, knowing full well that he’ll make good on his promise to kill anyone who walks in here.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he tosses me down and I tumble onto my bed. I slide back, desperate to put some space between us, until my back hits the wall behind me. I knew he would find me. I went to the furthest rehab center I could find, hoping to escape him. To give myself a chance to heal before I had to think of how to spend the rest of my life avoiding him. Damn it, I traveled to the Canadian west coast just to stay hidden. How did he find me?

“You thought you’d get away so easily, huh? I told you, baby girl, you ain’t ever getting away from me. First, I’m gonna do you like you did me,” he nods down to his leg.

I slap both my hands over my mouth to prevent the scream, that’s welling up inside me, from escaping. His knee is bleeding down his leg, a fresh wound. Like I just shot him. My mind can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, I shot him weeks ago. How is this happening? I watch in horror as the blood soaks his jeans and pools around his foot, slicking out over the floor.

“Knox, I’m sorry. Please…”

“I told you to keep your mouth shut!” He raises his hand and I cower, crunching myself down into a ball as I prepare myself for the impact of his gun. Nothing happens. I wait, my head tucked into my body, but he doesn’t hit me. I peer up and his face is an inch from mine. I can see every scar, every wrinkle from years of drug use, I can smell the familiar tobacco and whiskey on his breath.

“I’m gonna blow your pretty little knee out, Holly. Then I’m taking you home with me. You got it? You’re my property, bitch. The only way you’re ever gonna leave me is in a body bag.”

He presses the heavy muzzle of his gun against the top of my knee and I choke on my tears. Click! The distinctive cock of the gun warns me of what’s to come. He can only hurt my flesh. My body. Not me. He can’t hurt me. I won’t let him hurt me. The thoughts repeat in my head like a mantra.

The door flings open and Jake pounces from the doorway and lands on Knox. How did he know? Jake cracks his fist across Knox’s jaw, but he doesn’t get control of his gun. The two of them struggle for power, rolling on the ground. Knox lifts the gun toward Jake’s face, but loses control. Jake twists his hand and the two struggle for the weapon.

“Knox! No!” I shriek.

BANG!

My eyes spring open as I sit up in bed. The room is dark and quiet, where’s Knox? And Jake? My heart thuds in my chest erratically and sweat prickles my brow. Was that...? I try to slow my panting and wipe away my tears with my knuckles. Was that just a dream?

I search the room, expecting Knox to jump out at me from the shadows. A shiver runs down the length of my body. It felt so real. Pulling the blankets around me tight, I lean back against the wall, trying to calm down. It was a dream. He’s not here.

I know it wasn’t real, but I can’t shake my very real emotions. More than the sadness and more than the fear gripping my core right now, I’m overwhelmed by something else.

Shame.

How did I ever let that monster control me? How will I ever truly escape him? He hasn’t found me here, so far. What about when my two months are up? What about when I go back to Everglades City? I’ve seen Knox track down dealers who owed him money. Men who’ve fled the state, thinking they’d pulled a fast one. I’ve never heard of one who got away. He always managed to track them down, he has eyes and ears working for him all across the country. And when he got his hands on someone who tried to fuck him over, someone who thought they could get away…

I shudder and pull the blanket tighter. If he ever finds me, death would be the least of my worries. Tears roll down my cheek and land on the mini blanket fort I’ve cocooned around me. I’ll never get away. I’ll never have my own life. I’m fucked. I drop my head against my knees and sob. It’s over.

No.

The voice inside is little more than a whisper, but I heard it. I raise my head, sniffling. The whirlwind of worries still cyclone around me, but they aren’t new. This little protest, now this is new.

No

This time my thought is louder. I won’t lay down and give up. I’m not with Knox anymore and I’m not going to let him take the only thing I ever managed to keep as my own when he owned me; my mind.

“No!” I repeat the word to the darkness. I will get better and I will start my life over with a fresh mind and a healthy body. He won’t stop me. He won’t control me anymore.

No.

I lie back on the mattress and fix my blanket around me. It’s time I broke free from this cocoon and showed the world my transformation. I’m a butterfly.

My head sinks into my fluffy pillow, cooled by the night air and I close my eyes. As soon as my eyelids flutter closed, Knox’s face flashes in my mind.

“No!” I sit back up and yell to the night. This time, I don’t feel the power of the word. Just the way I always used it, begging for something, for him, to stop.

I run my hands over my long hair, trying to soothe away my fears. There’s no way that I can live like this. As long as Knox is in my head, I’ll never be free from him, whether he finds me or not. I need to figure out a way to erase him from my mind. But how?

“I, like, never get scared,” the memory of my sixteen-year-old friend, Roxy, floods my brain.

“Yeah right,” I rolled my eyes.

“Even at night?” My twin sister, Heather asked her. “When you’re all alone and it’s dark?”

“Especially not then,” Roxy flipped her luxurious blonde hair over her shoulder and sat up in her sleeping bag. My sister and I along with the other girls at our sweet sixteen sleepover leaned in to hear her secret.

“You’re trying to tell me that you see some shadows, or hear some creepy noises and you never get freaked out by that?” One of our mutual friends, Gina, prodded.

“That’s totally what I’m saying,” Roxy tilted her head and looked down at us like a bunch of amateurs.

“How?” Heather asked her.

“Because,” Roxy smirked, “you can’t be scared and horny at the same time,” she let the words hang, marinate in our teenage minds.

“Wait, what?” I asked.

“Ok, so, every time I start getting all nervous or feel a bit scared or whatever, I just force myself to think of the hottest guy I can picture. And then I let my fingers do the rest,” she giggles.

“Ewww, you’re gross!” Gina twisted her sun-kissed face in disgust.

“Oh, as if you’ve never masturbated. Gimme a break!” Roxy laughed, throwing her pillow at Gina.

“Keep it down guys! You’re gonna wake up my parents,” Heather had chided them.

I let the memory fade away, once again I’m surrounded by the darkness and my fears of Knox. “You can’t be horny and scared at the same time,” Roxy’s voice echoes in my ears.

Lying back on my bed I get comfortable and close my eyes again. This time, when Knox’s face pops up behind my eyelids, I push him away and force myself to think of the hottest guy I can imagine.

Jake.

His shaggy brown hair, his deep blue eyes. I suck in my bottom lip and let my fingers trail down my body. Jake’s trim beard surrounding his pale pink lips. I think of each part of him. His face. His body. Like layers of an onion, the fear peels away as I submerge myself into the fantasy.

I slip my hand under my pajama pants and let my fingers travel across my thigh to my wet pussy. I let my mind indulge in the perfect movie in my head.

“You’re so sexy,” Jake murmurs, soaking me in as the warm water of the shower splashes down around us. I don’t shy away from his gaze, instead I feel powerful.

“So are you,” I whisper, letting my fingers trail down over his chiselled abs until my hand wraps around his thick cock.

Water droplets fall from his beard as he smiles down at me. He leans over and takes my rosy nipple in his mouth, I moan and let my head fall back under the water.

Under my blankets, my fingers find my clit, aching with desire and I rub my sensitive nub and think of Jake.

“I don’t want to cum from your hand, I want to feel you around me,” Jake growls in my ear and easily lifts me in his arms.

I slide my legs around his waist and he presses me back against the tile wall as his member lines up against my wet entrance.

In bed, I swirl my fingertip around my clit, breathing hard as my pleasure builds.

“I need to feel you in me,” I tighten my legs around him, desperate to feel our bodies merge together.

Jake presses his cock against my lower lips and I open for him. He feels so good as every inch of him slides inside my willing pussy. I press my hips down, hungry to feel him fill me. I feel tight around him while he pumps his cock in me. I feel myself stretch to take his full girth as the hot water steams up the air around us.

Jake holds me close, never making me feel like I might fall. His grip is firm, but never painful. His strength makes me feel safe.

I throw my head back against my pillow, squeezing my eyes tight as my orgasm floods over me. “Oh, Jake!” I moan as I twist my head to the side. I pull my hand from my pants and snuggle into my bed as exhaustion finally overwhelms me. I imagine Jake lying behind me, his arm wrapped around me. Keeping me safe, and drift off into a peaceful sleep.

I’m the first one here. I’ve never been this early for, well, anything. Especially not for group. I scan the circle of empty seats and pick mine. I pick the chair that’s second down from where our counselor, Gavin, sits at the head of the circle.

It’s a strategic move, about as complex as putting your backpack on the bus seat next to you in hopes that no one will ask to join you. No one wants to sit hip-to-hip with Gavin. It’s uncomfortable, so I’m hoping by taking the next seat over, I can save that spot.

Warmth tingles through me as I nervously wait to see him walk through the door. Normally, if I have any time to kill before the session starts, I spend it staring at my feet or lost in thought as I gaze out the window. Today, I’m smiling like a goof at every person in my group therapy as they pop up in the doorframe. Only to scowl at them in disappointment for not being him.

Jake.

There’s those damned butterflies again. Fluttering around my insides like I’ve never seen a man before. Honestly, I haven’t. Not like him. Knox wasn’t the only boyfriend I ever had, but he was the first man I was ever with.

My eyes drift back down to my shoes against the green carpet as unwelcome thoughts of him infiltrate my mind. Jake is like everything that Knox tried so hard to be, and more. Not just in looks. Not just how Jake’s deep blue eyes shine with kindness where Knox’s sharp black eyes would narrow with hatred. Not just how Knox’s sinewy, ropy muscles made him look like someone who dug their way out of Alcatraz, where Jake’s sturdy, built frame looks like he could protect me from everything. It’s also how Knox needed to carry, and often use, a gun to demand respect. Jake commands the same just by walking into a room. His confidence is something I’ve seen before, but when you mix it in with his boyish charm and his scruffy, sexy face…

I squirm in my seat as heat rushes through my core and my pussy clenches. I need to get a hold of myself, I shake my head and my long hair slides lazily back and forth. My attempts at regaining self-control are short lived because Jake strolls into the room and a smile I didn’t give permission to cross my face, tugs at my lips.

His eyes are locked on mine and my heart quickens as my breathing grows shallow. I force myself to look away, to drag my eyes from his handsome face and look somewhere, anywhere else. Mabel smiles knowingly at me from across the circle. She gives me a little wink, making deep creases from the scattered cobweb of lines around her eye.

Jake takes the seat next to me and I mentally high five myself. It’s the small things, the little wins that make the days bearable around here. That’s what I tell myself about the surge of happiness flooding through me just because a guy I only met yesterday is sitting in the chair beside me. It would be ridiculous to get this excited for any other reason, right?

“So, uh, did you give anymore thought to my proposal?” Jake’s deep voice cuts through my scattered thoughts and my focus lasers in on him.

The rest of the people shifting in the seats around me disappear. The room itself melts away. He’s all I see. He’s all I want to see.

“Um, proposal?” I lick my lips nervously as I try to push the image of him down on one knee, holding a diamond ring up to me from my mind.

Get it together, Holly!

I tuck my hair behind my ear and look up at him from under my lashes, waiting for the lips I fantasized about kissing me, to explain what he means.

Jake leans back nonchalantly in his seat and lets his eyes drift over me. “Yeah, what I mentioned yesterday. You know, about us trying to help each other through this?” His eyes shine with amusement as he waits for my mind to register what he’s talking about. It doesn’t. “Since we’re both in here for the same addiction?” He continues after pausing long enough to see that my mind is drawing a blank.

“Oh, that!” I giggle. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I mean, technically, I think we’re all supposed to help each other out in here. You know?” I fight hard to keep myself from looking as flustered as he’s making me feel. The distinctive heat spreading over my cheeks is telling me I’m not doing that great of a job hiding it though. “But, I’d, um, I would like if we tried that.”

Jake’s smile makes the heat I was feeling in my cheeks rush through my entire body. I’m done with wondering how he can make me feel this way with just a look. It doesn’t matter. He just does. For once, I’m going to stop overthinking and enjoy it.

“Get the fuck out of my seat, shithead,” the room snaps back into crystal clear focus as Carl kicks the leg of Jake’s chair.

What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Jake’s smile evaporates as he snarls up at the idiot who has been following me around Edgewood like a stalker since I checked in. Every woman has dealt with some version of Carl. The guy who talks too close. The guy looms around you like he’s marking his territory. The guy whose creepy stares make you want to scrub a layer of your skin off in a hot shower. The shitty thing about a place like this is, I can’t just leave at the end of the day and not worry about him. He’s always lurking in the shadows, ready to assault my personal space with his delusional attempts to claim me.

“Listen man, because this is a one time warning, get the fuck out of my face. Now!” Jake lurches forward in his seat, snarling.

Across the room, Mabel interrupts the growing tension, “Carl, go sit yourself down and stop making a damned fool of yourself.” Her sweet, granny face furrows with wrinkles.

Carl looks over his shoulder at her and then sneers down at Jake. I can see every muscle in Jake’s arms tense as he looks like he’s about to pounce from his seat.

Carl shrugs and rolls his eyes, “Whatever man. I don’t really want to sit by this little bitch anyway,” he turns to find another seat and Jake almost knocks him off balance when he pops up to his feet.

“What did you just say?” He growls.

Carl turns back to face Jake. Their noses are little more than an inch apart. Jake’s eyes narrow and his shoulders hunch forward as he balls his big hands up at his sides.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carl answers mockingly, “you’re right. My bad. I shouldn’t have called her a bitch. Not when she’s clearly a fucking slut,” the words that I’ve heard Knox say more times than I can count feel like a slap to the side of the head. Carl shoves Jake’s shoulders back, but he doesn’t budge.

Jake’s fist jabs up quickly, so fast that I don’t have time to blink before it’s over, and lands right under Carl’s rib cage. The hiss of his breath leaving his body fills the room like a balloon being let go before it’s tied off. The creep falls to his knees opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, trying to gasp of lungful of air. I grip the edges of my seat, watching as Carl sputters for his breath.

“Looks like you’re the little bitch now,” Jake’s voice is rough like gravel.

“What are you doing?” All eyes in the room flicker over to the door to the office. Standing there, with his clipboard and a grimace is Gavin.

“Carl started it!” Mabel jumps in.

Gavin holds up his hand and she falls silent. “I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it. Jake, Carl, let’s go. You’re getting discharged.”

From the waiting room, I can hear Gavin inside the office. Even if his voice wasn’t as loud as it is, I’d have no problem listening since the door is open.

“I want them both out, not just Carl. This one has been nothing but a disruption since he walked in. I’ve been doing this long enough to know who’s going to take their recovery seriously and who isn’t,” he yells.

I’m the only one seated in a line of chairs against the wall. Carl is already being discharged after everyone gave statements about who started that shit.

Clenching my jaw, I stare straight ahead as I eavesdrop. I can’t catch a break. I mean, being in shit seems to be the only thing I’m good at these days. I don’t care. I would drop that fucker again in a second for what he said.

I saw how it hurt her. How his pathetic name-calling clouded over her sky blue eyes as she hunched over, defeated. As if I was going to let him degrade her. Like fuck. That asshole got what he deserved.

Now what’s going to happen to me?

I hold my breath and tilt my head as I strain to hear the Director answer. “Gavin, it’s not your job to decide who will recover and who won’t. It’s your job to break through to them and guide them through this program,” she answers calmly.

“But, this is different…”

“The decision has been made. It’s final. I won’t argue with you. Carl is being processed to leave and Jake is staying. That’s that.”

I wait to hear my counselor’s rebuttal, but instead I sit a little straighter in my chair as he comes huffing out of the office and storms past me. I stand up, not sure if that means I’m free to go, or what? Before I have a chance to overthink it, a tiny woman with huge, clunky heels comes clopping out to the waiting room.

She can’t stand taller than five feet, and that’s with the heels. Her severe, black pantsuit matches her severe, black hair that’s neatly pulled back into a bun. Her oversized, round glasses make her look like an owl.

“Jake, please come into my office. We need to have a word,” she holds out her hand to lead the way and I comply. For such a small woman, she is daunting. Her thin-lipped, no nonsense attitude is one I’ve seen many times with military brass.

I silently make my way into her cozy office. Sitting in the plush, leather chair in front of the desk, I soak in the array of diplomas framed on her wall as she makes her way to her seat.

“I’m Edna Morehouse,” she begins, somehow sitting evenly with me from across her large desk. Is she sitting on a phonebook back there? “I run this facility.”

“Hi, Ms. Morehouse. I’m Jake Armstrong.”

“I know.” She nods. “And Edna is fine. We all use first names here. Even the staff.”

“Uh, ok,” I glance down at the file folder lying in front of her.

She opens the cover and looks inside at the first sheet. From where I’m sitting, I can see my name typed on the top.

“It’s only your second day here, Jake. For you to end up in my office at all during your stay is never a good thing. I’d say that you’re off to a rocky start, wouldn’t you?” She blinks at me from behind her absurdly large glasses.

“You can ask anyone who was there, I punched that guy in self-defense. It’s not like I started it, he attacked me,” I dive into my justification.

Edna simply holds up her hand and I clamp down my jaw.

“Cool it, hot shot. I know what happened. And, as you no doubt heard, you’re not being kicked out. At least, not today.” She lets the threat hang ominously between us as she skims over the rest of my documents.

“I’ve looked at your file, Jake. It seems to me, that you might want to focus your attention on your program. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, if you don’t graduate from rehab after your time here, you won’t have a position to go back to in the Navy SEALs. Isn’t that right?” Despite her stature, she seems to peer down her nose at me, like an owl on a branch. She has got to be sitting on a phone book.

“That’s right,” I sigh. She’s right. If I don’t get the green light from these people, then my career is over. The only job, scratch that, the only life I can ever imagine living would be nothing more than a memory. I shift in my seat and try to push the thought away.

“I’ll do better,” I answer. “I’ll focus,” I push the words through my gritted teeth.

“Good!” Edna beams cheerfully. I have to admit, I was more comfortable with the scowl. “I’m glad we could have this little chat then; you can go back to your routine now. I’m pretty sure it’s almost lunchtime,” she holds her hand up again, pointing to the door.

“Um, thanks.” I stand up and make my way out.

“Oh, and Jake?” Her tone is cool; I turn around and her face has transformed back into a stone-cold stare.

“Yes?”

“I better not see you in here again, understand?”

I nod and walk out into the hall. I need to get it together. If they kick me out of here, that’s it. I have nothing to go back to. My job, my friends, hell, my entire life has been the SEALs since I graduated high school. If I lose them, I lose everything.

Is that him? No.

Disappointment floods through me as I watch another man walk into the dining hall and head over to the counter. Ever since Jake was hauled out of group this morning, I’ve been on pins and needles. Is he getting kicked out?

My heart sinks at the thought. I’ll never be able to sleep easily, knowing he was shown the door because of me. Well, because of how Carl was acting toward me. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

That’s not the only reason you’ll be upset, a little voice nags me.

I know it won’t be. I know that if Jake leaves, even though I barely know him, even though we may never meet again once we’re both out of here, I’ll miss him.

I try not to let the thought linger. I don’t like how it twists up in my gut and refuses to let go.

There he is! I jump up from my seat so fast that my chair almost topples backward. I steady it with my hand, also taking a moment to settle my nerves. Deep breaths.

Walking over to the counter on shaky legs, I try not to stare at him like a hunter narrowing a deer into their sights.

“Hey,” I try to sound casual as I lean against the food counter where he’s collecting his lunch.

“Hey yourself,” he smiles back.

Damn, my heart is thudding like a drummer at a band audition.

“I saved you a seat, back there,” I point to the little table stuffed in the back corner. I chose it purposely, hoping that, if Jake was staying, we would have a bit of privacy to talk. And, if it turned out he was leaving, it would give me a quiet place to cry.

“Looks good,” he agrees. “Lead the way,” he lifts his tray with the lunch special and follows me.

I can’t help it, I’m giving my hips a little swing as I make my way through the crowded tables to the back. I don’t have to turn around to know his eyes are on me, I can feel them.

We get settled in our seats and Jake nods at his plate, “Do you want some of these fries?” My eyes glide over salty, crispy, hot fries piled high beside his sandwich.

“No, that’s ok.”

“Are you sure?” He prods.

“Oh, ok, just one,” I quickly rescue a fry from his plate and pop it into my mouth as Jake chuckles and shakes his head slowly.

“What?” I tilt my head waiting to hear what’s so funny.

“Nothing, it’s just, women always say they’ll have just one fry and then they end up splitting them. I don’t know why you do that,” he takes a bite of his sandwich.

“I don’t know either,” I smile and grab another one of his fries.

I can see the twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

For a moment, I’m lost in him. It’s amazing how just watching him can make the past, present and future blur around me like some kind of Van Gogh painting.

“Hey, I’m glad you waited for me. I wanted to find you. We need to talk,” his voice interrupts the slowly swirling time warp and brings me back to the moment.

“Sure,” I sit up straighter, “what do you want to talk about?”

“I’d like to apologize to you,” he answers before taking another bite of his roast beef sandwich.

“Apologize?”

“Yeah, say sorry,” he explains.

“I know what the word means,” I laugh, “why are you apologizing to me?”

Jake puts his food down and looks into my eyes, my breath catches in my throat. His eyes, they’re so intense. “I should’ve tried to deal with that asshole without, you know, being violent. I get the feeling that you’ve already dealt with enough of that from men,” he stares into me. At least, that’s how it feels. Like he’s watching my secrets, my thoughts, my fears, all play out on a screen.

“You picked up on that, huh?” I look down at my ragged nails, trying to push down the swell of shame rising inside me.

“I did.”

“How?” I force myself to meet his eyes again, even though it’s unnerving. “I never told you about any of that, hell, I haven’t told anyone here.” I search his face.

“I’m pretty good at reading people. It’s one of the things we learn in the SEALs. Knowing when people are lying, telling the truth, or hiding shit, can make all the difference between a mission being a success story or an epic failure.”

My eyes dart back down, I grab another fry from his plate and think about his words. Makes sense.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His hand grazes against the edge of mine. His touch is a whisper, so light, but somehow reassuring.

“I don’t think there’s much to say, really. I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Went from a small town to Miami and it was just too much for me. I didn’t know the first thing about surviving in the big city. It didn’t take long to feel like I was being swallowed whole.” I look up at him and he nods, waiting for me to finish.

“So, when I met Knox, my ex,” I explain, “it felt too good to be true. He was ten years older, had an amazing place, made amazing money, it all seemed like a fairy tale.”

“But it wasn’t?” Jake prods.

“Maybe like one of those Grimm Brothers ones. Where the happy endings are bleak and everyone has the plague.” I force a weak smile.

“Doesn’t sound good,” Jake smiles at my attempt to lighten the mood.

“No,” my smile slides off my face, “it wasn’t good. Far from it.” I pull another fry off his plate, but don’t eat it. I just hold it as clips and glimpses of memories fight for a spot in my brain. “It wasn’t good at all.”

“He was violent?” Jake lowers his voice.

“Yes. Very. At first I did the whole ‘he didn’t mean to really hurt me that badly’ thing. But it didn’t take long to see that he did. He got worse and I never left because… I didn’t have anywhere to go.” I confess to the table.

“Why did you leave home? Were your parents violent too?”

“No,” my voice is flat but firm. “They never laid a hand on me. Ever.” I emphasize.

He nods slowly, “you don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t be pushing you.”

“No, it’s ok. I left because,” I swallow the hard lump in my throat, “I left because I could never undo what I did and it ruined my family. It ruined our lives. I couldn’t take it anymore, the guilt, and the shame. Watching the sadness overtake their lives. Watching my neighbors shake their heads at me when I went out. Everywhere I went, I couldn’t escape.”

“I’m sure whatever you did couldn’t be that bad,” Jake soothes me.

Slow tears trail down my cheeks and my lower lip trembles, “It was,” I whisper.

“Let me tell you, I know this from experience, sometimes it feels like we’ve done the worst thing in the world when we’re in the middle of it, but it passes.”

“No, not with this.” My voice cracks.

“Why? What happened?”

“I have a twin sister, Heather.” I swallow hard, “Had,” I correct myself. “She died.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake grasps my hand, but I pull it back.

“She died, and I’m responsible. It’s my fault she’s dead.” The tears slide over my cheeks and gather on my chin. “It’s my fault.”

Holly drops her head into her hands and sobs uncontrollably. I gently lay my hand on her shoulder, trying to think of what to say. I have so many questions. What happened to her sister? How is it her fault? Obviously, she didn’t mean to do her any harm, or she’d be in jail instead of here with me. As the tears drip from her palms and she chokes on her sorrow, it’s easy to see that, whatever happened, Holly believes wholeheartedly that it is her fault.

“Hey, it’s ok. Shhh, it’s ok,” I soothe her. She’s in no state to answer a bunch of questions that aren’t my business anyway. I want to pull her onto my lap with my arms wrapped around her tight and hold her against my chest until she feels better. However, in a place like this, you can’t do that. It’s considered inappropriate contact. It’s a violation of one of their fifteen million rules around here. My mind flashes back to my meeting with the Director. I’m already on thin ice. If they kick me out of here, my career in the SEALs is through. I look around the nearly empty cafeteria and spot one of the counselors wading past the sea of chairs toward us. I instinctively pull my hand back. The last thing I need is another reason for them to give me the boot.

But, it’s more than that, isn’t it? The thought crosses my mind. This isn’t about your career; you just don’t want to leave her behind.

The realization fires through me like lightening. For the first time in my twenty-seven years, I’ve met someone I really want to get to know, and not just physically. I mean, let’s not pretend I’m a saint, that’s definitely part of it, but it’s deeper than wanting to fuck her. I want to help her.

“Hey! You two! You’re late for the activity. Let’s get a move on!” A short, elderly woman with big, military style boots and khakis gives us our marching orders.

I choose to ignore the little dictator, turning my attention back to Holly. “Hey, are you going to be ok?” I murmur.

“Yeah, I will. I’m good,” she manages to pull herself together remarkably quick, sweeping her thumbs over her tearstained cheeks like two wiper blades on a car window.

“Did you hear me?” The counselor stomps over to our table, it’s impossible to tell if she’s scowling or if her face is just wrinkled in such a way that she always looks miserable.

“We were just heading out,” giving her the sweetest ‘let-me-get-you-your-next-drink’ smile I can manage.

Apparently, it was a scowl, because her deep lines shift and transform on her face as she tilts her head and smiles back at me.

“It’s my fault, I was just blabbing about working in the Navy SEALs and totally lost track of time. I would hate to miss the… I’m sorry, what is the activity?” I lay it on thick. I know this woman’s type. She might have a good thirty years on me, but she still wants to have a strong, young buck give her a smile that makes her melt.

“The what?” She blinks, like she’s just awoken on a stage at a hypnotist’s show with a crowd of unfamiliar faces smiling up at her. “Oh, uh, the activity. It’s an Easter craft,” she answers softly. Then, snapping her head back up straight, her lines return as she grabs a hold of her senses, “And you two are late! So, let’s get this show on the road,” she demands again.

This time we both listen and get up from our seats at our cozy table and follow her out of the dining hall.

“Easter craft?” I mumble to Holly. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, apparently, every week we have these mandatory group functions that we have to attend. It’s so dumb.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes.

“Nothing like mandatory fun,” I smirk.

The counselor leads us into a large room filled with tables full of crafting supplies and surrounded by groups of patients. Each table is filled with every preschooler’s dream of glitter, paints, stickers, pom-poms, glue and more. Well, doesn’t this look… interesting.

I scan the faces of the present addicts in here. So many of them look unreasonably happy to be doing this right now. Like, this will be the highlight of their day that they write about on the sheet we have to turn in each night listing what we liked, hated and learned from our day in rehab. It’s just one more way I can’t relate to so many of these people. Not only are they in here because they let drugs or alcohol destroy them, and everything they held dear, but now they’re so deliriously happy to find meaning in everything, that simple things like compulsory craft time brings genuine pleasure to their lives.

My eyes flicker back to Holly. I almost burst out laughing at the twisted look of pained disdain on her face. It’s like I can see the thoughts running through my brain playing out like a projector on a movie screen across her milky complexion.

I might not be able to relate to these guys, but this girl? The one right I can’t stop thinking about. The one whose scent drives me wild. The one who I’ve only just met, but feel like I’ve known since we were kids, I get her.

“Ok, enough dilly-dallying now. You both take a spot at that table back there,” the silver-haired woman points across the room to the only table with less than ten people crowded around it. “We’ve got to get started.”

“Sure,” I start to walk away, “wait.” I turn back to face her and watch as her deep scowl evolves into a softer gaze again. “What is it we’re supposed to do?”

“Oh, um, the activity is to take one of the cardboard eggs at your station and decorate it to represent your truth.” She explains, like she’s actually speaking English.

“My truth.” I repeat.

“Yes.”

“And, these are… Easter eggs?” I try to make the connection, but can’t.

“Yes.”

“So, are we hiding our ‘truth’ around the building and doing an egg hunt or something?” I’m honestly not even trying to be sarcastic. Although, I can see it’s not being taken that way.

“No, of course not.” She snips at me.

“Are we donating these eggs to children or something? For them to enjoy?” I grasp at straws to make sense of what possible association this could have with Easter.

“No! No egg hunt, no donations. It’s just Easter eggs of your truth. Now, get to your table and get it done before you run out of time,” she peers down at her wristwatch, reminding me of the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland always worrying about being late.

I look around me for Holly, but see she’s already joined the table we’ve been assigned, so I clamp my jaw shut and head over. I guess it doesn’t matter if I understand the reasoning. Or, if there actually is any. It’s time to spend beside her, and that’s time well spent.

“You ready to glitter your truth?” I slide in beside her at the table with a smirk. “Oh, look at this!” I mockingly point to the pile of art crap in the center of the plastic, pop-up table, “If glitter isn’t ‘truthy’ enough, you can put rhinestones on that shit!” I pick up a package of dollar store fake jewels.

Holly laughs loud enough to deafen the scowls of other participants at the table. I don’t give a fuck about them, or what they think of me. I’m only focused on one person, and if I can make her laugh after how hard she was crying in the cafeteria a little while ago, well that’s a win.

“Ok, I know it sucks, but let’s just do it. Who knows, maybe it’ll help out a couple of lost coke-heads like us,” she smiles up at me sweetly and it takes every ounce of physical restraint I have, in every fiber of my muscles, not to kiss her. God damn it! She’s so beautiful.

She doesn’t wait for me to stop staring at her like a man who’s been shipwrecked and hasn’t seen a woman in a decade. Instead, she grabs some paints, an egg, and gets to work.

I pick up a cardboard, unmarked egg shape and stare at it blankly. What the fuck am I supposed to draw on this thing? My truth. Whatever the hell that means. Like I’m going to paint my deepest pain or my biggest desires on the side of a pretend egg. Anger wells up inside of me at the thought.

I can’t believe my brothers are back in Virginia Beach doing real shit, like fighting terrorism and defending our soil in operations most people won’t ever hear about and I’m here doing this. This fucking stupid craft. Like I’m a six-year-old boy instead of a twenty-seven-year-old man.

Fine. They want my truth? Then the truth is what they’ll get. I grab a paintbrush and dab it into the paint.

Time evaporates as I create my masterpiece. With a few flicks of the wrist, I admire my rudimentary artwork with a grin. Sure, it’s no Da Vinci painting, but it’ll do the trick.

“Time’s up!” The counselor who rounded us up like a couple of stray cattle chirps. “I’m going to come around and collect your eggs in this Easter basket, one-by-one. I’m going to ask that you share the truth, your truth that you decorated on your egg with the group, please.” She stands up, with a giant wicker basket in tow.

My mind blurs out the monotony of listening to person after person explain their biggest dreams and aspirations. The sheer volume of people who put down “getting clean” as their “truth” tells me, again, how little I have in common with these people.

Finally, the scowling counselor makes her way to our table, collecting each egg in her basket like a reverse Easter bunny. When she asks Holly what her truth is, my hearing finally kicks back in. My focus lasers in on her as she explains the little puppy dog that she’s drawn on the side of her egg.

“I, well, I guess even in my darkest times, and I mean the absolute worst moments I’ve ever lived, I’ve always felt a deep connection with animals.” She speaks to a room of nodding heads. “So, I guess, my truth is that I want to do something to help animals as much as they’ve helped me,” she answers, placing her egg in the basket.

“Perfect,” the counselor gives her a flash of a smile and then turns her attention to me. “And what is this?” She points to my design.

“That’s me,” I explain the little boy I’ve painted on the side of my egg.

“What are you doing?” She looks at the rough artwork quizzically.

“I’m smashing your basket of eggs,” I point to the cracked shells and exposed yolks spread around my egg in a mess.

“What? Why? How is this your ‘truth’?” Her voice raises with anger.

“Because, I truthfully think this activity is a stupid waste of time. If I was a little boy, and you sent me a basket of your Easter eggs of sadness, then I’d smash the shit out of them. And,” I pause with a smile, “that’s the truth.”

Laughter erupts around me, but the only person I can really hear is Holly. Her quiet chuckle is, by far, the loudest in the room to me. I don’t care about the angry lines forming in the counselor’s face, or whether or not I’m going to have to sit in Ms. Morehouse’s office again today, the only thing I care about, the only thing that matters, is the moment of happiness I’ve managed to bring to Holly. No matter how fleeting it is, it was worth it all.

The desert wind swirls around me, the sand attacking my exposed skin like a million, tiny hailstones. That’s how I think of it anyway, even after living in Virginia Beach for years, it still reminds me of the brutal Colorado winters I grew up with.

Why am I here?

I don’t have time to ponder, my hands are suddenly weighed down by my Colt M4A1, and my tactical gear adds gravity to my body. I need to move.

My feet grit against the grainy dirt as I quietly enter the dark building. It’s eerily calm. They know we’re here. It won’t do them any good though, we’ve got them surrounded.

With my night vision goggles, I can see the blurry details of the house. The first floor is clear. I sweep each room, my gun held out at the ready, as I search for our target through a filter of green. The night vision makes it feel like a video game.

I throw up the hand signal and make my way up the stairs. We’ve been briefed that this building has at least four floors. We have to sweep them all. We have to take out our target. No exceptions.

I quietly creep down the hall, into the first bedroom. My partner is on my heels, ready to cover me from anyone stupid enough to try to attack us from behind.

Empty.

Next room is the same. As I inch toward the last door on this floor, I hear a woman say “Shhh!” They’re hiding in this room. But is he? I can hear them cowering. His family. I hope he’s not using them as a human shield. It wouldn’t surprise me though, you don’t get to be the head of the most powerful terrorist organization in the world living by a strict moral code.

I open the door, I can see the women and children huddled against the back wall. The mothers are using their bodies to shelter their babies. I don’t care about them. I’m not here for them. I sweep the room, he’s not here.

Suddenly, I’m blinded. I can’t see anything! I rip off my night vision goggles to see that a bright light has been turned on in the room, making them useless. There’s no time for my eyes to adjust to the light, because standing two feet from me is a boy, maybe eight years old. There’s a burning rage in his eyes and a snarl on his face as he points the gun in his hands at my face.

BANG!

Chaos erupts. Children and their mothers scream. They try to rush the door, but they can’t. My guys have them covered. One of the mothers crawls across the floor, wailing. She makes her way over to the body on the floor. The lifeless boy, who only a second ago was ready to kill me. Dead. His body floods the floor with blood. The blood of a child. Her screams grow louder and louder as the blood pools around him.

“Fuck!”

My heart is jackhammering in my chest as I shoot up in bed. Cold sweat trails down my face and my panting fills the night air.

“It was a dream. A dream.” I repeat the phrase like a mantra. However, I know different. I know that this time it was a dream, but that’s because I already lived the nightmare.

I swing my feet over the edge of my bed, letting them rest on the cool tile floor as I regain my senses. My heart rate begins to slow to a normal pace. I wipe the sweat from my face with the back of my hand and stand up. Giving my arms a shake, I try to push the thoughts back down.

The clock on the end table says it’s a little after three in the morning. I don’t even need to check it to know that. It’s always the same. The dream is the same. The time I wake up is the same. The reality is the same.

I know I’m not getting anymore sleep tonight. Normally, I would take a shower, maybe do some reading to kill time before the daily grind starts back up. Tonight, I feel trapped in this tiny room. I’ve never wanted coke this much. I need a distraction, and cocaine has been perfect for that. The endless rush of energy it’s given me has made these three-hour power naps I’ve been calling ‘a night’s sleep’ bearable. A little white powder can numb these thoughts haunting me every night. It isn’t the coke I’m addicted to, really, it’s the escape.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and step into my shoes with my bare feet.

A walk will do me good. I just need to get outside these four walls. I need to give myself something to do.

I make my way down the empty hallway. It’s weird to see this place so dead. All day long, there’s always a couple hundred patients milling around. There’s no escape from the shuffling bodies, clogging the halls as they make their way to lectures or therapy sessions like zombies on the Walking Dead.

Tonight, there’s none of that. It’s just me. For a moment, I consider taking a little jog up the empty hallway. However, I know they have a night person who roams around here to make sure all the addicts stay nestled in their beds. I remember how Mabel, the old lady from my group therapy sessions, told me that they frown upon people doing exercise. That they think it gives you a mini-high.

No. I won’t jog. When I run into the night guard, I’m sure I’ll already have explaining to do for being out of my room, I don’t need to add another layer by getting into trouble for doing some minor cardio too.

I push my hands into my pockets and shake my head, annoyed at the stupidity of some of these rules. Before I know it, I realize that I’m approaching Holly’s room. I stop in my tracks. I shouldn’t be here.

But I am.

My heart rate quickens again, but this time it’s not from fear. From the crack under her door I can see light spilling out across the hall floor. A rush of adrenaline shoots through me.

She’s awake.

At least, I assume so. I look down the hall behind me. Should I? I slowly close the distance between her door and my body. I shouldn’t, right? I should keep walking. Talk to her in the morning. I know this, yet I still approach her room. I don’t remember my feet stopping, or making a fist, but my knuckles lightly rap on her door somehow. I tilt my head and listen.

Nothing.

Damn. I guess she is sleeping. The air feels like it’s deflating from my lungs as I start to move away. It’s for the best. I don’t need to get in the kind of trouble that going into her room in the middle of the night will surely bring. And, I’m not talking about getting my knuckles rapped by the Director either.

“Who is it?” Her voice is little more than a whisper, but I’m sure I heard it.

I stand up taller and walk back to her door. “It’s Jake,” I whisper back.

I can hear her feet hit the floor and pad over the tile as she makes her way to the door. When she opens it, the bright light casts down from the ceiling, glowing around her like a vision from heaven. She looks like an angel. My eyes slowly travel over the formfitting t-shirt she’s wearing as a pajama top. Her perky, little tits are pressed up against the fabric as her rock hard nipples are begging to be freed. She tugs the shirt down over her creamy thighs, but it barely covers the glimpse of her sexy underwear. She’s an angel alright. She looks like one of those Victoria’s Secret models.

“What are you doing here?” She looks nervously over my shoulder into the hallway.

“I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t mean to come here, but then I saw your light on,” I whisper back.

She bites her lip. Her perfect, plump, pink lip and my cock stirs. God, the dirty thoughts I’ve already had about that pretty mouth of hers.

“Ok, come in,” she holds the door open and I walk in. I hear the distinctive click of the door closing behind us. I can only go by my hearing because Holly turned off the bedroom light. We’re both standing in darkness. I can hear her breathing quicken and my cock begins to get hard.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

“Just a sec,” I hear her walk past me.

Click! A subdued light casts across the space as she turns on the small lamp on her bedside table.

“If you came here because you saw my light, then the night patrolman might do the same. I can’t risk getting caught with you in here,” she explains.

Makes sense.

I nod, silently, as my eyes trail over every inch of her like my tongue longs to. “Good idea,” I finally manage the words.

“Why are you here? Is something wrong?” I can’t pry my eyes off of her. She’s perfection. The way her shirt rides up as she takes a breath, exposing her silky legs. Legs I’ve already imagined wrapped around my waist, or my head. Holly looks down and pink flushes over her cheeks as she seems to remember, for the first time, what she’s wearing. She hops into her bed and pulls her blanket over her. She casts her eyes down at her buried legs, like she’s studying the comforter’s pattern with deep interest.

“Sorry,” I look away, a pang of guilt hits me in the gut for making her feel self-conscious. “I swear,” I hold up my hands, “I didn’t come here for that,” I try to explain.

“No?” Her blue eyes meet mine.

“No.”

“Then what did you come here for?” She raises her chin and looks me straight on, sticking out her bottom lip like I’ve insulted her somehow.

“I… I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep, so I guess I just really wanted to see you. Being around you, talking to you, seeing you, it makes me feel better.”

“You can sit over here,” she pats the space on the bed next to her. I don’t need more than that. The mattress sinks under my weight as I sit beside her.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” she confesses. “I have a lot of bad dreams.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Really?” I can feel her scrutinizing my face, but I can’t look at her. I can’t tell her about the image that haunts me every night. Instead, I swallow hard and try to bury it inside.

“You know, when I was younger I had a friend that told me something kinda interesting,” she changes the subject.

I look back at her and she gazes up at me from under her eyelashes.

“What’s that?” God, she smells amazing. The way she’s looking at me right now, it’s astonishing that I haven’t kissed her.

“She told me that it’s impossible to be afraid and horny at the same time,” she smiles slyly at me and my cock throbs against my jeans.

“Is that a fact?” My voice grows thick and I move closer to her.

“It is.” She breathes.

“I think I’m going to have to test that out,” I wrap my hand around the back of her head and crush my lips against hers. She parts her mouth eagerly and our tongues collide. She tastes sweet. Like there’s still some innocence behind her wall of pain; innocence that I’d like to claim.

Her hands quickly slide over my shoulders and down my back. Her movements are frantic, desperate, like she needs this as much as I do. Maybe even more.

My fingers trail down to the edge of her shirt and I pull it up, breaking our kiss when I reach her chin, then I tug it off her sexy body. I throw back the blanket she tried to hide under and shamelessly soak in every inch of her almost naked frame.

“Take yours off,” her voice is hoarse with desire. I quickly rip off my own shirt and toss it to the floor beside hers. She drinks me in and I move over to the edge of the bed, leaning my back against the wall, I pull her on top of me so she’s straddling my rigid cock, still bound by my jeans.

I lick down the side of her neck and trail my tongue down over her collarbone and over her chest. When I pull her rosy nipple into my mouth, she throws her head back and grinds down against me, driving me wild. I want to make her mine. To feel her sweet pussy clench around me as I fuck all of her fears, her sadness and her pain away. I want to make her forget everything that came before me, to make her feel like a virgin again, as her walls stretch around me, letting me take what’s mine.

I push my fingers under the flimsy fabric of her underwear and part her lips with my finger as I suck her nipple into my mouth. Holly groans and presses herself down onto my hand. I can feel her excitement, she’s wet. However, I know from experience that she’s needs to be soaked if she’s going to enjoy every inch of what I have to give her.

I free her nipple from my mouth and look in her beautiful eyes, “Stand up,” I growl.

“What?” She looks puzzled, but I guide her to her feet and she complies. She stands in front of me, looking unsure of herself.

“Lean your arms on the wall,” I instruct her. As she does, her sweet pussy moves less than an inch from my face. I can smell her sweet juices and I salivate.

“Don’t move,” I order her and pull her panties over her plump ass, tugging them down to just above her knees.

I don’t waste any time, cupping her ass with both hands, I pull her toward my needy mouth and dive my tongue into her neatly-trimmed pussy.

“Ahhh,” she squirms in my hands and I pinch my hands into her flesh and I hold her in place.

I lick her from her center to her sensitive little nub, holding her tight while she wriggles in my hands. Flickering my tongue against her, I feel her thighs quiver on either side of my face as I eat her out. I keep licking her clit, relentlessly in pursuit of her orgasm until I no longer need to press her into my mouth. Instead, she starts grinding her hips, pressing her pussy deep against my face, chasing her pleasure from my tongue.

I look up the length of her body above me. I watch as her perky tits bounce a little each time she thrusts her hips forward. I flatten my tongue against her clit and slide it over her until she’s trembling against me. Her breathing is ragged and she drops her head to the wall supporting her and squeezes her eyes shut while she lets me rack her body with ecstasy.

“Ooohhh, fuck!” She whimpers, her sweet nectar floods her pussy and I lap it up as she shakes with bliss.

Suddenly, her knees buckle and she unexpectedly crumples into my lap. “Are you ok?” I whisper, pulling her toward me.

“More than ok. That was fucking amazing,” she breathes.

“I’m glad,” I smirk.

“No, I mean,” she looks up at me shyly, “no one has ever done that for me before,” deep red burns across her cheeks at her confession.

I raise an eyebrow, “Really?”

“It’s true,” she mumbles.

I knew I would make her mine. “Now, how about I do something for you?” Her nimble fingers quickly pry open my jeans and she reaches in, wrapping her hand around my ready cock.

I stifle my laugh as I watch her eyes grow wide, “Are you serious?” Her hand explores my thick dick and her eyes drop down to soak it in, like she can’t believe her sense of touch alone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slowly,” I smirk.

“Oh my god!” Her blue eyes grow even bigger as she examines the ten inches I’m going to stuff inside her.

Holly shuffles back on the bed, hovering her mouth over my ready cock. I can feel the heat of her breath on my skin, teasing me. I groan as she slowly licks her lips in anticipation. She lowers her mouth, her lips surround the head of my dick.

Squeak, thunk, squeak thunk.

“Shit! What was that?” Holly’s eyes are still opened wide, but this time in sheer terror. I heard it too. The distinctive sound of squeaky sneakers making their way up the hall. It’s the staff doing the nighttime rounds.

We’re fucked.

I jump from the bed with Holly in my arms and lie her back down against the mattress, throwing the blanket over her naked body. Quickly, I pick up my shirt, flick off the lamp on the table next to her, and hop across the room silently. I snugly slide into the little closet at the end of the room just as there’s a rap at the door.

“Hello?” Holly answers too loudly and too full of emotion for someone who’s supposed to be sleeping.

I hear the door open and a female voice is muffled but I can still make her out, “Everything ok in here?”

“Yeah, why?” Holly sounds guilty.

“I saw a light from your room and thought I heard some noise. Are you ok?” The woman persists.

“Yeah, I just went to the bathroom, no biggie,” Holly laughs nervously.

“If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Ok, then. Sleep well.”

I hear the door swing shut and Holly lets out a deep breath. I wait before moving a muscle. I’m not sure if the staff has left or if she’s hovering outside Holly’s door.

I hear Holly slide out of bed and make her way over to the closet. She pulls open the door with fear tattooed across her face. “That was close,” she hisses.

It was. Too close. If I got caught in here, Holly and I would both be kicked out. That would mean the end of my career, the end of her treatment, but most importantly: the end of us.

“You need to leave,” she looks up at me apologetically. My balls ache and, for a split second, I entertain the thought of getting caught and all that comes with it, if it means fucking her. Somehow I shake my head free from the thought.

No. I’ll go back to my room and take care of myself. It’s not worth the price. Not when it could cost me her.

I nod, and silently slip out of her room, down the hall, and back into my own bedroom. I can still taste her juices on my face, see her lips hovering over my cock, and feel her heat on my skin. I reach down under the blanket and take my dick in my hand. It’s not even close to being as good as it was with her, but it’ll have to do.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a month,” Jake mumbles, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the parking lot. “We’re halfway through this,” he pries his eyes from the cars filling up the usually empty spaces, and glances over to me.

“I know, it’s incredible,” I agree. I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face when I look at him. It’s automatic. I’ve never met someone who made me feel this happy.

I’ll have to add it to the long list of things I’ve denied myself over the years. Happiness, sobriety, comfort, love. I guess I never thought I deserved any of it. I allowed a terrible mistake that took my sister’s life, to steal mine as well. I realize now, she wasn’t the only one who died that night. I may have still been walking and breathing, but I was only existing. A shell. My spirit left me that night along with hers. It’s only now, in this past month, that I’ve felt it return.

“Do you see your parents yet?” Jake nods toward the groups of people exiting the multitude of vehicles outside.

I scan the crowd, but don’t recognize anyone. “Nope, not yet.”

Those of us who are at the midway point of treatment are getting a visit from our families today. Before this, we hadn’t had any contact with them. I guess the idea is that they want us to focus solely on ourselves and our recovery, not the possible baggage that many of us have with our loved ones.

“I don’t see mine either,” Jake looks out the window quickly, as if to reconfirm what I just said.

Butterflies erupt into chaos inside me as my eyes travel slowly down his face. His deep blue eyes that stop time and blur the world around us, his pale pink lips under his sexy brown beard. My mind flashes back to the night he snuck into my room. To how amazing his lips felt between my thighs. Heat flashes through me, flushing my cheeks, and I bite my bottom lip. That was the most amazing feeling I’ve ever experienced.

I hate that we decided to cool it after that night. After almost getting caught, it was too close for comfort. We promised each other to practise some self-control and not have any more midnight visits. I’ve been tempted to go back on that promise every single night. However, I think it’s helped us both a lot to put more of our effort into this program and less into sneaking around. Even Jake, Mr. Tough Navy SEAL, seems to be taking it more seriously.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Jake smirks down at me.

I look down at my feet, knowing I’m a shit liar, “Nothing, why?”

“Nothing, huh?” His voice is like velvet. “Your eyes just glazed over and you’re blushing like crazy,” I can hear the amusement in his tone. “It doesn’t look like nothing from here,” he presses me.

I look up at him from under my eyelashes, feeling shy. “That night,” I whisper, determined to keep our secret from the nosy crowd of patients surrounding us.

“I love when you bite your lip like that,” Jake murmurs. I didn’t even realize that I was doing that. I immediately push my mouth closed and feel my skin burn with a deeper shade of red. “God you’re sexy,” he continues.

“Thank you,” my voice is weak, but my heartbeat is pounding strong. I can hear it rushing the blood in my ears.

Jake steps toward me, closing the already small gap between us, I breathe him in. He smells like coffee and a walk through a cedar forest after a heavy rain.

“I think about it every single day. And, when we get out of here,” he drops his voice so his words can only reach my ears, “I’m going to make that night look like amateur hour.” My nipples pebble under my shirt and my clit aches for him.

“I can’t wait,” I whisper, tucking my hair behind my ear, I look up into his face. I’ve never met a man who can make me wet from a simple look.

Jake looks around and takes a step back. The foot of space feels like a canyon between us, but I understand why he has to move away. We always have to be aware of how close we stand, how often we talk, how long we stare. Otherwise, it could mean the end.

“Hey, there’s my folks,” Jake’s voice returns to normal as he points to an elderly couple making their way to the building.

I scour the growing crowd at the front door for my own mother and father, but can’t make them out.

The receptionist out in the lobby buzzes open the front doors and the families begin to shuffle inside the main building.

“I should go see them,” Jake smiles down at me. “See ya later, ok?”

“Ok,” I smile and watch him strut across the lobby to greet his parents. They’re much shorter than him, even his father stands a good six inches smaller than he does. Of course, it’s not hard to feel like some kind of elvish creature next to Jake. He’s at least six-two, but feels a lot taller from the way his heavy, cut muscles fill his towering frame.

They walk away down the hall together and I redirect my attention to the crowd pouring into the building. My eyes laser in on the unfamiliar sea of faces, carefully watching each stranger enter the facility until it dries up into a slowly trickling stream. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here motionless, watching. My head twists like an owl, desperately searching for my parents. Instead, I see the last few people enter the building and cheerfully greet their daughter at the door. It’s the reception I haven’t had in years.

Tears fill the corners of my eyes and my gut knots as I spin around on my heel to look back out to the parking lot. I stare for too long, with my breath held, silently hoping that they’re just late to show up. That they’re just slow to get out of their car. That there’s some reason that they didn’t show up, other than the truth.

I gaze out the window like a puppy in a shelter for longer than I should. The realization finally hits like a tsunami, drowning me in despair. They aren’t here, and they aren’t coming.

They haven’t forgiven me. Even now, after I’ve tried to put my life back together and get clean. After so many years of us being apart.

They still don’t love me.

I lead my parents to one of the rooms normally reserved for group therapy. Today, they’ve been reassigned as a place for patients to talk to their family members, although not privately. I look around the room at the other people I’ve come to know sitting in here with their loved ones. It’s not exactly an intimate setting where you can pour out your soul. Not that I want to do that anyway.

I was annoyed when I found out I couldn’t just take my folks down to my room where we could grab some chairs and chat for a few hours. The staff here informed me that it’s another one of the rules that all visits are confined to public areas only. That way the roving counselors can check in on all of us and make sure nothing is getting too out of hand.

I think the real reason is that they don’t want people who haven’t seen their husbands or wives in over a month to turn this into a conjugal visit. I quickly look around the room for some empty seats. I spot a few available over by Mabel. I have to give her a second look, because her transformation is jarring. Usually she can be found shuffling down the halls in slippers, no matter the time of day, and baggy sweaters that could double as dresses. Today, she’s all dolled up, in a pale yellow dress. Her white hair is pulled up into a bun with tiny tendrils framing her face, like smoke rising up from a campfire. She’s even wearing makeup and, on her feet, where a fuzzy pair of pink slippers normally reside, she’s got a black pair of flats on.

Sitting next to Mabel is an old man wearing a sports jacket and dress pants. From the way he looks at her, I know without a doubt in my mind, that the reason we need to have our guests in public places is exactly the reason I suspected. They don’t want sweet, little Mabel and her horny husband getting filthy on their watch.

“Let’s grab those seats,” I point to the ones I’ve scouted and my parents comply. Mom seems pretty chipper; a big smile is pasted on her face. I know it’s her default mode that’s she’s slipped into right now, she’s not actually deliriously thrilled to be at a rehab facility visiting her son. She’s just putting on a brave face. I glance over at my father. It’s a lot more than I can say for the old man; his mouth is twisted down and his eyebrows are furrowed together as he glances around like he’s looking for someone to yell at.

“I’m glad you came,” I smile. “I know it was a really long way to travel. What do you think of British Columbia?” I make small talk.

“Oh, Jake, it’s really beautiful. It reminds me of when I was a little girl and your grandfather took the family on a trip down the Pacific Coast Highway. Just breathtaking, isn’t it Don?” Mom tries to pull my father out of his funk and into the conversation.

“I guess.” He looks at his hands. He won’t look at me. When they first got here, I gave Mom a hug and held out my hand for Dad, but he wouldn’t shake it.

“How’s my superstar brother, Cameron, doing?” I plod onward, ignoring my father’s radiating anger.

“Oh, he got drafted by Miami,” Mom answers excitedly. He and Chelsea will be moving on down to Florida next month. It’s so exciting, isn’t it Don?”

“Sure is,” Dad’s voice is flat. He’s still staring down at his palms, like he never realized he had hands before and he’s trying to figure out how they work.

I take a peek around the room to see if any other families are having as much fun as mine. Most of them are either murmuring closely like Mabel and her man, or happily chatting away like the others in here. Not one is slumped over and sullen like my father.

“What about you Jake? I’ve been so worried about you,” my mother’s eyes fix on mine. I can see she’s not lying, under the layer of makeup she’s wearing, dark bags are still visible beneath each eye.

“I’m really doing well, Mom. Please, don’t worry.” I answer truthfully.

“It’s my job,” she smiles at me and, for the first time since she walked in here, it’s genuine.

“Is this a good program?” She continues, “Is it working?”

I will spare her the details about how long it has taken me to feel like this has been anything but a waste of time, rehab-wise. Obviously, my time here with Holly has been anything but. However, I don’t think she wants to hear about that either. Especially since Holly and I don’t have a real future together. The idea pains me, and I push it away.

Instead, I remember how, about a week ago, we had a guest speaker that put it all into perspective for me. Instead of the usual array of ex-addicts they parade in here to give us speeches about how much better their lives are now, they had a guest speaker I could relate to. A soldier.

Sure, he was a Canadian, so not exactly a SEAL, but we’re all brothers in arms. I sat up straighter when he talked about how his addiction started after he returned from duty. One thing he said really stuck with me, “Addiction is tricky, it starts for one reason. In my case, I needed to get out of my own head sometimes. However, even though it starts because of one particular cause, it always continues for another. It morphs. Takes you over. Until you’re not using because of shit you experienced or saw anymore. You’re using because you’re an addict.”

That hit home for me.

I look up at my mother, she’s watching me closely. How many nights of sleep have I stolen from her? How much worry, how much anguish, and how much sorrow have I exchanged for her rest?

“Mom, I really am doing well,” I finally answer. “I didn’t think I needed help when I first came, but I know I’m in the right place now. It’s working,” I smile. “My name is Jacob Armstrong and I’m an addict,” I smile weakly, trying to make light of the confession.

“That’s wonderful to hear, Jake. Not that you’re an addict, of course, but that it’s working. I’m so happy to hear that it’s working. I’ve been praying for you.” Tears brim her eyelids and she clasps her hands together in front of her heart.

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Don, did you hear that? Jake’s getting better.” She urges my father to participate, but he just juts out his jaw in silence. “Donald, will you stop sulking and speak to your son,” she raises her voice, clearly feeling as annoyed as I am by my father’s attitude.

“I’m not sulking. I have nothing to say to him,” he spits out the last word like it burned his tongue.

“Donald Armstrong, I told you not to do this,” my mother leans into him as she hisses her words quietly. I know that the idea of our family making a scene horrifies her.

“I’m not doing anything,” my father pouts. “I told you I never wanted to come here. You can sit there and act like everything’s all better just because he says he’s an addict or whatever. But, that don’t make a lick of difference to me,” his voice is starting to fill the room.

“Keep it down, Don,” my mother scolds him. I look around the room, and other families are trying hard not to notice our family scuffle.

“Why? Why should I keep it down, huh? So, people in this room don’t know what a failure our son is? So, they don’t find out how much he humiliated our family? How he got caught with cocaine by the police and he decided to run away, like a coward?” A wave of crimson is rising up his neck and splashing onto his cheeks as his voice keeps getting louder.

“I’m sorry for that, Dad,” I admit. “I’m ashamed of what I did, there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about it. Trust me,” I try to jump in.

“Oh, you’re sorry? Well, then that makes it all ok, doesn’t it? Did you hear that, Bev? He’s sorry. All fixed.” He claps his hands together like he’s brushing of dirt.

“Don,” my mother drops her head from the now staring eyes of other families in this room, “stop.”

“No, I won’t.” Dad hops to his feet abruptly. “I won’t sit here and act like everything is ok, just because he’s sorry. Or act like it’s all water under the bridge just because he wants a participation medal for being here. It doesn’t change anything!” He points in my face, “It doesn’t change what you did.”

I jump to my feet and stare my father down as anger licks at the back of my throat. “How about instead of pretending that what I did was ok, you just pretend not to be such a shitty excuse for a father. Try that on for your first acting lesson, ok Pops? Because I might not be winning any awards for the shit I’ve done, but you aren’t winning Dad-of-the-fucking-year anytime soon either.” I jut my finger back in his face as my mother hangs her head in the crossfire.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He spits back, “You gonna give me some sad sack story about how this is all my fault? That you have some kind of Daddy issues. Save it.” He rolls his eyes hard.

“You can do that, sure,” I snarl. “You go ahead and stand there like you’ve got any room to look down your nose at me, but you know that you aren’t a good father. Just ask Cameron.” I bite back. “You think a good father only shows love and respect to their kid if they follow the path they want? You think a good dad is only there for their kids when they’re succeeding? You don’t care about me, you never did. Cameron used to joke that I was the golden boy, and what a joke it was. I was the golden boy alright, as long as I lived my life to make you happy. You wanna laugh and say I’ve got ‘Daddy issues’? You’re right, I do. Because I never grew up with a real father, I grew up with a tyrant who just wanted me to live out your failed dreams.”

My father’s face is absorbed by crimson and he balls up his fist, “You tryin’ to say I’m the failure here?”

“Yeah, you are. You failed at living your big, wild, military dreams and then you failed at being a dad. I guess I learned from the best.”

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” A staff member enters the room and races over to us. My father and I don’t move. We’re frozen in rage, staring each other down.

“If you two can’t be civil and sit down, we might need to end this visit,” the man with wire-rimmed glasses and a comb-over informs us.

“No need to end it, we were already done,” Dad doesn’t blink or unlock his eyes from mine. “Let’s go, Bev. We’re leaving.”

“Don, please. Can’t you just sit down and talk this out. We came all this way,” Mom protests weakly.

“I said, we’re leaving!” Dad roars.

Mom stands up and runs her hands over her dress pants, pulls her purse on her shoulder and forces herself to hold her head up.

I don’t watch as my father storms out of the room. He doesn’t deserve any more of my attention. Instead, I look at my mother. I hate that she’s crying. I hate that, after everything, I’m still causing her more pain.

“I love you, Jake,” she whispers and gives me a hug.

“I love you too, Mom.”

“He’ll come around. I know he will,” she tries to reassure me.

“Sure.” I answer, giving her a quick squeeze. Mom follows my father out into the hall and out of the building.

“No he won’t,” I mutter to myself. “He’ll never change.”

I try not to watch how happy the other patients are with their families as I make my way down the hall to my room. The smiles. The hugs. The love. Did my family ever have those moments? I know we did. Back before we fell apart, with a hole torn into our hearts that would never heal. Back before Heather died.

I fight to keep the tears locked up inside, threatening to spill from my broken soul. I’m tired of feeling this way. This guilt. I want to let it go. I need to let it go.

Then do it.

The thought flits through my mind like a butterfly flickering in and out of a warm summer sky. Mesmerizing and beautiful.

I stop in front of the door to my room and lay my hand on the handle. No. I let my fingers slide off the door knob and my arm falls to my side. I’m not going to go wallow in self-pity anymore. I’m not going to hide from the things upsetting me. My parents didn’t show up, and yeah, that sucks, but it doesn’t mean I’m dead. It’s time to stop letting other people control my feelings, letting them control my life.

My mind flashes to Knox, the man who controlled everything I did for five years. He told me what to eat, what to wear, who I could talk to, when I could talk. The worst part was: I let him. I never tried to escape, even when he started beating me, even when he did worse than that. I told myself it was impossible to get away.

And I was wrong.

I stand straight and push back my shoulders, turning on my heel, I make my way back up the hall. If I could stand up to him and start over, then I can face anything. I’m not hiding anymore. I’ve already made it through hell and lived to tell the tale. If that didn’t break me, nothing can.

I march down past the common room full of patients and their loved ones. This time, when I let my gaze wander over them, I don’t feel sad. My time will come. I’m not sure when or how, but I know in my heart that I’ll be happy again. This too, shall pass. The Alcoholics Anonymous mantra that we’ve repeated in here a hundred times, pops into my head.

In the meantime, I need to figure out what to do with myself right now. I look around the facility and all the public spaces are filled up with visitors. I don’t want to hide in my room, licking my wounds. However, I don’t want to sit down next to any of the families like some kind of creeper either.

Shuffling my feet along the tile floor, I make my way to the mail room. I know I don’t have any mail, but it gives me a place to go. That’s all I’m looking for right now.

“Hey there, I’m Kyle,” a short, pudgy man with wiry hair smiles at me. I can’t help but stare at his clothes. His sweater looks like one of those joke ones you see people wear to ‘ugly sweater parties’.

“Uh, hi,” I manage to answer.

“Can I help you with something? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” his brown eyes twinkle cheerfully.

“It’s Holly, I just… wanted to check on my mail.” I finally pry my eyes from the clash of colors and patterns on his body.

“Like the sweater, huh?” Kyle answers.

“Isn’t it for Christmas?” I blurt out.

“No, why do you think that?” His face erupts into a smile and I can’t help but feel like he wears this thing just to mess with people.

“It’s covered in penguins,” I point to the design.

“You can wear penguins any time of year,” he pulls down on the hem of his gaudy fashion choice and smoothes his hand over the wrinkles.

“In May? I mean, I guess so. But, it’s red and green,” I laugh.

“So are flowers,” he answers with a straight face. Now I’m starting to wonder if he really does think this is a year-round sweater and I’m offending him.

“I guess you’ve got me there,” I smile. “I like it,” I lie.

“No you don’t,” Kyle meets my eyes and I blush. I guess I did offend him after all. “It made you smile though, and that’s worth it to me. If I can wear a dorky sweater and make someone’s day in here a little brighter, then I don’t care how silly it looks,” he explains.

“That’s really nice,” I laugh, relieved that I haven’t insulted his tacky taste.

“So, Holly, is it?”

“Yes.”

“I need a last name to check your mail.”

“Sure, it’s Evans,” I answer.

Kyle whirls around and searches through one of many filing cabinets lining the back wall. “Evans, ok, just a sec,” he runs his hand over the drawers until he reaches the one for names starting with E. I watch as he flips his nubby fingers through the folders in the drawer until he almost reaches the back. “Evans!” He sounds excited as he pulls out a couple of envelopes, “Holly Evans. Here we go, you’ve got mail today.”

“I do,” I peer curiously over to the mystery letters in his hand.

“You sure do, now I just need you to sign this sheet,” he pulls a clipboard from the top of the filing cabinet with a pen attached to it by a string, “to mark that you’ve gotten them.”

“Sure,” I sign the paper and slide it back to him. Wrapping my fingers around the edge of the letters, I tingle with excitement. I can’t remember the last time I got mail. I don’t mean in here, I mean in life. I forgot the little rush you get when something unexpected is sent to you.

“Thanks!” I cheerfully call out as I start back down the hall to my room. At least this time I’m not going to drown in sadness.

“No problem, and Holly?” Kyle calls out and I turn back to look at him in his ridiculous Christmas sweater once more.

“Yeah?”

“Keep on smiling,” he answers.

“I’ll try,” I beam at him and then hurry back to my room.

I peer down at the envelopes, one of them is clearly from my father. The return address on it makes it easy to figure out. The other is more mysterious. The address to send it here has been printed on a sticker and stuck to the front and there’s no return address to be found.

I rush into my room and close the door with my foot, quickly making my way over to my small bed. My fingers make quick work of tearing the edge of the first envelope open and my heart beats quickly as I pull the handwritten letter from my father out.

   

Dear Holly,

I hope this finds you well. It’s been so hard to have you suddenly appear back in our lives only to have you disappear into rehab for two months. I understand that it’s important for your recovery, and that’s all that truly matters. I know that in time, when you’re clean and back home, the communication you aren’t allowed to have with us now will fade into a distant memory. It’s just hard right now.

I’m writing this because I needed to tell you that we received a notice from Edgewood inviting us to Family Day. Unfortunately, it came really late in the mail and we weren’t able to book travel out of the country with such short notice. It kills me to know we could have had time together, and I hope you understand that I would’ve come if I could.

I’m rooting for you, Holly. I know you’re going to get the help you need and live the life you’ve always deserved; one filled with joy and success. I love you and will be there for your graduation day.

   

Sincerely,

           

Dad

I pull the letter to my chest as tears fall down my face. For once, they aren’t tears of sadness or fear, but happiness. They didn’t just decide not to show up after all. Well, at least my father didn’t. I scan his words again, but notice there’s no mention of my Mom. I won’t focus on that, though. Not right now. Right now, I’ll take the small victories where I can get them. Knowing that my father didn’t choose to leave me here high and dry on Family Day is feeling like a pretty big win.

I wipe away my tears and put his letter down on my bedside table, smiling. I stare at it in a happy haze as my fingers tear through the next envelope. Maybe things are really going to turn around for me. Once I get out of here, maybe I can get a fresh start. My future feels bright for the first time in over half a decade.

I glance down at the typed letter trembling in my hand. The smile evaporates from my face and my eyes grow wide. I drop the paper to the floor and clamp both of my hands over the silent scream formed on my lips. All the feelings and flames of hope are extinguished by a tide of fear gripping at my heart.

I was so wrong. I have no future. If this is true, I won’t even have a present. I look down at the note in horror. Simply typed, in the middle of the sheet are two lines:

           

I told you I would find you.

I’m going to kill you.

I stomp into my room, slamming the door behind me with a clap of thunder. Pacing the empty floor in front of my bed, I try to shake off the anger rolling through my blood.

Who the hell does he think he is? Why did he bother to travel up here from Colorado, just to sit like a sullen lump for our visit?

Rage boils up the back of my throat as his face, tattooed with disappointment, flashes through my mind. I hammer my fists down onto my desk with a thud, but the anger is still there. “Fuck him,” I growl at my empty room.

This must be what Cameron has felt like his entire life. The only time my father treated him right was when he spent some time in the Army. As soon as he retired to pursue his dream of a football career, my father’s pride shrivelled up into dust. Dad retired as a General, nothing to sneeze at. You’d think his own accomplishments would be enough for him. However, he’s never been happy unless his sons were following his path, more like marching down it, in uniform. Even being in the military wasn’t really ever enough for him, he always wanted me to be Special Forces, pushing it hard. I’m guessing he wanted to live the adventures he never had in the regular force through me. Too bad my cocaine addiction didn’t fit into his ‘choose-your-own-adventure’ model.

Looking out my window at the lush, green forest surrounding my side of the building I finally feel a calm begin to soothe me. He’ll get over it. That much is true. As long as I clean up and stay with the SEALs, that’s all he’ll need to move on. The night I ran from the cops and left my brother with a bag of coke was a black eye. Not just for my father, but for my relationship with Cameron too. Black eyes heal though. If my brother could forgive me, then Dad will eventually too.

The sliver of good news that my mother delivered pops up from my memory. My big bro got drafted by the NFL! I always knew he’d make it. I can’t wait to get out of here and go watch one of his games. Just goes to show that following Dad’s dreams aren’t worth shit. Cameron broke free, did his own thing and now look at him.

Pride for my brother swells up in my chest and a smile spreads over my lips. I wish I could call him and congratulate him.

THUNK!

My fists ball up at my sides as I whirl around to see who’s coming into my room with the grace of a rhino. The tension eases from my body and my fingers unfurl as my eyes lock on Holly’s impossible sexiness.

Wait, her eyes, they look glassy. Her face is drained of the usual bright glow I’ve looked forward to seeing every day. She looks like a corpse, standing in my doorframe with one fist balled up in front of her and her muscles motionless.

“What’s wrong? I thought you didn’t want us visiting each other’s rooms anymore?” I look over her shoulder, out into the hall for possible staff members. Holly doesn’t move. It’s hard to tell if she’s even breathing. I rush over to her and ease her inside my room, gently closing the door behind her.

“What’s going on?” I prod. “Holly, please tell me. What happened?” My mind begins to race through worst case scenarios as she stares blankly ahead.

“He found me.” Her pale lips barely move as she finally whispers a clue.

“Who found you? What do you mean?” I look down at the fist she’s still holding out in front of her, frozen in time. Between the cracks in her fingers I can see she’s holding something. A paper.

I softly place my hand on her shoulder, “Holly, it’s going to be ok. Let me help you, please.” I slide my hand down to hers and she releases the crumpled paper into my hand.

I pull it open and read the typewritten note, if you can call it that.

I told you I would find you.

I’m going to kill you.

A chill runs through me. Knox. He tracked her down.

“Come here, it’s going to be ok,” I pull Holly against my chest and wrap my arms around her tightly. Her rigid muscles begin to slacken and she falls against me, sobbing. Her tears are wetting my shirt, spreading over my chest like a dark stain. Just like the dark stain from Holly’s past haunting her now.

“Shhh, it’s going to be ok. I promise you. Don’t cry,” I run my hand over her silky hair and try to figure out how this piece of shit found her.

“It w-won’t be,” she sniffles and throws her arms around me tight, pressing her face into me. “He f-found me here. Here! In Canada,” she sobs. “He’s gonna kill me, he’s killed other people who fucked him over, I’m dead.”

“Hey, he won’t come up here. There’s no way he can cross the border, he’s just trying to scare you.”

“N-no, you don’t understand. He wants revenge. He’ll find a way. How did he find out I was here?” She wails and I pull her in tight.

“Look, I don’t know how he tracked you down here, but he has no reason to try to get revenge. For what? You leaving?” I try to reason with her.

“It’s more than that.” She pulls her face from my chest and looks at me with her red-rimmed eyes.

“What do you mean?” I hold her loosely in my arms and watch as she seems to debate telling me something, her face twists up like it’s painful to think about.

“I shot him,” she whispers, dropping her head.

“Wait, what?” Maybe Holly isn’t the innocent girl who was stuck in a bad life, like I thought. “Did you say you shot him?”

“I did. In the knee. And I stole his car. And ten grand of his money.” She mumbles.

Woah, who the fuck is this chick? Not the woman I’ve been getting to know in here for the last month.

“Why?” I try to put the puzzle pieces together.

“It’s not like I just woke up one day and did it,” she looks back up at me and her lip quivers violently. “He was beating me, with a belt…again. Here,” she pulls away from me and takes a step back. “See?” she leans over, pulling up her pant leg and prying her sock over her heel. Wrapped around her ankle is the faded yellowing stain of an old, thick bruise. Etched into the side of her ankle is a vague imprint of where that sack of shit hit her with the buckle. My muscles tense as my emotions surge through me. If that fucker shows his face around here, I’m going to fucking end him.

Holly fixes her clothes and stands back up, facing me. “He told me, when he was finished whipping me, he was going to fuck me with his gun,” she shivers as she recalls the horror.

“Hey, come here,” I reach out and grab her, pulling her back against my chest. “I’m sorry you ever went through that. Any of that. It’s over now. You don’t need to be afraid.”

“Yes, I do!” Her pitch hurts my ears. “He found me! He’s going to kill me. He’s gonna… “

“No, he won’t. Listen, he can’t cross the border,” I try to explain.

“He has people who can,” she protests.

“Ok, even if he does. Even if they try to come here, you’re safe here. No one is allowed in this building without a code. You’re in a building with twenty-four hour security, in another country, on a property with a fence surrounding it, and you have a secret weapon.”

“What?” She scrunches her nose up in confusion.

“Me.”

Finally, a smile touches her lips and I can’t help but smile back. I want her to feel better. To make her safe. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

I watch as a cloud rolls in over her bright blue eyes, “What about after I get out? He’ll just find me again. At my parents’ house!” The revelation strikes her like lightening.

“No. He won’t.” I assure her firmly.

“How do you know?”

“Does he know where you’re from? Where your parents live?” I prod.

“No,” she bites her lip and her eyebrows twitch together. “When I left my parents’ house, I didn’t look back. I never told anyone where I was from, I hoped that if I kept it inside, maybe I would forget too,” she looks down at the floor, her chin trembling.

“Ok, and he won’t find you there.”

“What do you mean? If he found me here, he can find me anywhere.”

“He won’t find you there, because after this you’re going to come live with me. I’ll protect you. And if he tries anything when you’re living at my house, I’ll kill that coward with my bare hands.” I pull Holly in close and kiss her forehead.

“Why would you do that for me?” She whispers like she’s not sure she wants to know.

“Because,” I take a deep breath and look straight into her eyes, “yeah, so um… I’m kind of falling in love with you.”

I can’t sleep. I’m tired enough. Bored enough. Yet, every time I close my eyes, nothing. Just more seconds turning into minutes, dragging into hours. I feel like a damned kid waiting up to hear Santa on the roof. In less than ten hours, Holly and I will be walking out of this place. We’ll be graduates of the program, free to go back to our lives. Lives we left behind, like shattered tile on the ground. Lives that we’ll forge together, as a couple, and create a new picture of our future with the mosaic we build back up.

I twist in the ridiculously small, single bed that I’ll never miss sleeping in. Flipping my pillow, I lie my head on the cool side and try, yet again, to let sleep wash over me. My eyes gently shut and I listen to the soft rain pattering on my window pane.

Nothing.

Wide awake. Ok, enough is enough. I’m getting up. I know better than to go prowling into the night in search of Holly’s room. We made a promise to each other to hold off from anymore of that until after graduation. I glance at the clock on my nightstand. In nine and a half hours. I groan as I imagine feeling her soft flesh under mine as I fill every inch of her pussy with my hard cock.

Nine hours and twenty-eight minutes.

This is going to be the longest day of my life.

I toss on a t-shirt and jeans then slip into my shoes before heading out. I can’t just lie here and miserably wait for time to pass. Besides, there’s only so many times a guy can jerk off in one night before he needs to find a different distraction.

My stomach growls at me, directing my feet to the cafeteria. I know the kitchen is closed at this hour, but they keep the drinks and usually some packages of crackers out to subdue late night munchies. Maybe some crackers and a big glass of milk will do the trick. Isn’t milk supposed to make you tired or something? I think I heard that somewhere.

I turn the corner and stop dead in my tracks. I guess I did fall asleep. This must be a dream. Across the darkened room, in a light linen gown is Holly. The light of the soda machine glows around her head like a halo. Walking up to her, I notice that this feels more real than any dream I’ve ever had. The details that are usually blurry around the edges are now crisp.

As I approach, Holly hears my footsteps and whips around, frightened. “Hey, sorry, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on ya,” I tell her softly, closing the distance between us.

“Oh,” her blue eyes look so vibrant under the eerie light casting off the drink machine. “Jake,” she breathes, her face relaxing, “it’s you.”

“It is,” I nestle up next to her. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” I tease her, pressing myself against her.

“You’re such a dork,” she smirks up at me, but the way she presses her pussy against my growing cock tells me a different story.  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a drink of milk.”

I knew I’d heard it somewhere.

Under her nightgown, I can see her nipples form into hard peaks. She looks up at me with her eyes half-closed like she’s waiting for me to kiss her. I glance up toward the kitchen door, no one is there. I wind my fingers up in her hair, grabbing a fistful and hover for just a moment over her, breathing her in. This is no dream, this sexy woman, standing in barely anything, this woman I’ve been dying to fuck since the day we met, is very real.

“Mmmm,” Holly moans, testing my restraint. I cover her mouth with my hungry kiss, my tongue easing her lips open and dancing with hers.

I slide both my hands down over her back, cupping her sweet ass and pressing her pussy tight against me. I can’t fucking take this. To hell with nine more hours. To hell with one more second. I wrap my hands around each of her thighs and easily lift her up, spreading her legs around me.

Her natural perfume teases my nose and pushes me over the edge. I need her. NOW!

Walking her over to a table, I plop her down on the edge and slide my fingertips under the edge of her nightgown, exposing her neatly-trimmed pussy. “You keeping that trimmed up for me, Holly,” I look into her eyes as I run my finger over the short hair.

“Mmmhmmm,” she bites her lip.

“Good girl,” I mumble as I start to slide down to my knees.

“No, we can’t,” Holly pulls on my shoulders to stop me.

“Why? It’s our last day. Who cares what happens? It’s not like they’re gonna kick us out on grad day,” I fall to my knees and lick my lips, ready to worship her.

“I care,” she pleads weakly. I look up at her. Her mouth is telling me a different story than her sexy body, but I still need to listen.

“You’re telling me you don’t want me to make you feel like you did that night?” I cock an eyebrow at her in disbelief.

“I do,” she squirms on the table and my mouth waters. “I really do,” she pants. “It’s just,” she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I made a promise to take this seriously. I want to finish the program by keeping our promise to ourselves and to each other. We said we’d wait. It’s only a few more hours. It’s important to me,” she opens her eyes and stares down at me like she’s uncertain how I’ll react.

I hate how she looks nervous when she tells me something that she knows I won’t like. As if she’s expecting me to freak out at her, or worse. Of course, after what she went through with Knox for five years, it’s probably a hard habit to break. Still, I want her to trust me.

“Ok,” I stand back up and pull down her nightgown. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me too. We’ll wait,” I pull her down from the side of the table to her feet and into my arms.

“Thank you,” she presses the side of her face into my chest and listens to my heartbeat. “I love you,” she whispers, wrapping her small arms around my waist.

“You don’t need to thank me. Never for that. And, I love you too,” I smile down at her and give her a quick peck before releasing her to the night. “However, I should go. I’m gonna go take a shower,” I smirk.

“Ok, I feel like I should apologize or something,” she tilts her head.

“Never.” My answer is firm. “Just know, that in nine hours,” I growl, “that pussy is mine.”

Holly’s eyes open wide and she nods her head.

“Good. Well then, sleep well.” I grab her hand and give it a squeeze before turning and walking out the door.

Looks like I’ll be working on a world record for how many times a guy can jerk off in one night. Damn she makes me crazy, but she’s worth the wait. I know that once we get out of here, I’ll be working on a new world record. Seeing how many times and how many ways I can fuck her before we’re both too sore and tired to continue. Now, that’s a record I look forward to setting.

Standing nervously at the side of the auditorium, I wait to hear my name. I watch as patients who started the program at the same time as me are called on stage, one-by-one, to officially graduate. A little more than fifty percent of us made it through the two months here. Many people quit, choosing whatever their old lives and old addictions provided for them instead of recovery. I knew I had nothing to go back to out there. For me, it was get better or die. “Holly E.” Ms. Morehouse calls me up. Even on grad day, they don’t reveal our last names. Some attempt to give us anonymity I guess.

I walk up the couple of steps to the center of the stage and shake the hand of the smiling director.

“Congratulations,” she speaks softly and hands me a bronze coin with an eagle soaring above the cedars on the front. I flip it over in my hand, the back reads: they who succeed, believe they will.

I smile with tears in my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“You did the hard work, we just helped you find yourself again. Make sure you don’t lose her out there, ok?” She gives me a quick hug and I nod, overcome with emotions.

“I won’t,” I promise and make my way to the other side.

I squeeze the coin in my hand and look out into the crowd of friends and family cheering us on. My eyes stop scanning when they reach the aging face of my father. His cheeks are flush and his smile looks like it hurts, it’s so wide. His pride radiates around him like an aura. My heart swells up like a balloon.

I did it.

I’ve never graduated anything before. Not unless you count kindergarten, which I don’t. I dropped out of high school and never looked back. This is the first thing I’ve really worked for and accomplished in a long, long time. I’ve been locked in Knox’s world of drugs and pain for so long, I’d forgotten what it felt like to achieve something on my own. I fail to recall what it feels like to succeed at anything.

My gaze moves over to my mother. Her face is in direct contrast to Dad’s. They look like those masks you always see as a symbol for drama. One with a delirious smile and the other with a frown. Why did she come here? Clearly, she didn’t want to.

“Jake A.” I pry my attention from the sour look on Mom’s face and watch as Jake struts across the stage. I can’t help but soak up every inch of him, starting with his shaggy brown hair and ocean blue eyes and traveling down over his broad shoulders, further to his cut abs, to his… I bite my lip and my heartbeat quickens. I remember how I couldn’t fully wrap my fingers around his long, fat cock. Heat burns over my cheeks as my chest rises and falls rapidly, only a few short hours and I’ll get to explore every inch.

Jake smiles at me as he makes his way to our side of the stage. We did it! My body tingles with a sensation I don’t remember having since I was a child: pride. I’m happy that Jake and I agreed to wait until after this ceremony to be together. It meant a lot to me, after years of breaking promises to myself to quit drugs, to leave Knox, to start over, and failing myself every time, this promise had to stick.