away to pull the surveillance footage. It took me an hour of combing footage, but there she had been, tucked safely behind the guy she was there with. I knew that had to be it. She seemed familiar when I’d first met her at the gallery because she had obviously been to one of my clubs before.
Nina poured them both shots of Patrón and I watched on the somewhat grainy screen as her slight throat worked to swallow down the alcohol. I watched and kicked myself for not upgrading Indigo’s security cameras and monitors to the best HD quality on the market.
Familiar need, urgency to pacify my craving, gripped me. I knew I shouldn’t allow myself to play with fire but dammit. This woman had four-alarm blaze written all over her and yet I was ready to storm the building, flames be damned.
I licked my lips, thinking that just a drop, a taste from her pouty lips…
No.
I had to shut myself down before my mind wandered too far in that direction. The trajectory of my thoughts was often an indication of what actions were going to follow.
Fantasizing about licking residual alcohol off that woman’s delectable looking mouth was a recipe for disaster. I’d paid a fucking fortune to learn how to identify the obvious dangers for people like me.
Triggers were the devil and had to be consciously avoided and there I was, sitting on the edge of my bed after only the second time seeing her and wanting to bury my cock balls deep in what I knew would be a huge trigger—Flor.
People like me. I laughed at my own expense, alone in my room. Thinking that there were other people like me was laughable considering how isolated I felt from the moment my eyes opened in the morning until sleep came for me at night. I’ve never met any one else whose life had turned out like mine. I doubted they existed. It was just me.
Her showing up tonight, exactly a week later at Four-19, was fucking fortuitous. Her companion had paid cash for their drinks the night she came to Indigo, and of course none of my staff had the faintest clue who this woman was.
Dumb luck delivered her to me seven days later. Not that I deserved a fucking ounce of good fortune, but I’d take it nonetheless.
Seeing her leaning against the wall outside sent a measure of excitement through me. I had to calm down for a couple of minutes before walking over to the booth where I had my staff seat them.
Looking at her tonight, I knew this woman was going to be trouble for me. Martin, my sponsor, would have gently reminded me that addiction is a chameleon, a shape-shifter, and I’d be serving myself best if I stayed honest. “Be honest, Graham. Stay honest,” I muttered to myself from the king sized bed that only I slept in. It was laughable to recite those words considering that I had secrets that even Martin didn’t know. I had wondered if he had a few secrets of his own.
Martin spoke of addiction as though it was a living, breathing monster, and in truth, I felt he was right. Sobriety and relapsing were forever pitted against each other in a daily war with no resolution to be had. There would be no peace treaty. Ever. There would only ever be a battle, a fight, a war. But if war wanted me, war could have me, and I’d be a fucking soldier against my own evil for as long as it took if it meant sparing the people I loved from the monster I was capable of being when alcohol snaked its way through my veins.
Martin would warn me that my addiction was likely trying another vector to entrap me, to encourage my poor choices and the disease that had no cure. The same disease that I knew first hand would only lay a blanket-path of destruction on my life if given half the chance.
I knew all of that. I could practically hear Martin preaching to me right now. If I were braver, I’d call him right now. Who cared that it was three o’clock in the morning? Alcoholism waited for no one, conformed to no one else’s agenda and took pity on nothing.
But…I’m weak, and addiction was a
Nina poured them both shots of Patrón and I watched on the somewhat grainy screen as her slight throat worked to swallow down the alcohol. I watched and kicked myself for not upgrading Indigo’s security cameras and monitors to the best HD quality on the market.
Familiar need, urgency to pacify my craving, gripped me. I knew I shouldn’t allow myself to play with fire but dammit. This woman had four-alarm blaze written all over her and yet I was ready to storm the building, flames be damned.
I licked my lips, thinking that just a drop, a taste from her pouty lips…
No.
I had to shut myself down before my mind wandered too far in that direction. The trajectory of my thoughts was often an indication of what actions were going to follow.
Fantasizing about licking residual alcohol off that woman’s delectable looking mouth was a recipe for disaster. I’d paid a fucking fortune to learn how to identify the obvious dangers for people like me.
Triggers were the devil and had to be consciously avoided and there I was, sitting on the edge of my bed after only the second time seeing her and wanting to bury my cock balls deep in what I knew would be a huge trigger—Flor.
People like me. I laughed at my own expense, alone in my room. Thinking that there were other people like me was laughable considering how isolated I felt from the moment my eyes opened in the morning until sleep came for me at night. I’ve never met any one else whose life had turned out like mine. I doubted they existed. It was just me.
Her showing up tonight, exactly a week later at Four-19, was fucking fortuitous. Her companion had paid cash for their drinks the night she came to Indigo, and of course none of my staff had the faintest clue who this woman was.
Dumb luck delivered her to me seven days later. Not that I deserved a fucking ounce of good fortune, but I’d take it nonetheless.
Seeing her leaning against the wall outside sent a measure of excitement through me. I had to calm down for a couple of minutes before walking over to the booth where I had my staff seat them.
Looking at her tonight, I knew this woman was going to be trouble for me. Martin, my sponsor, would have gently reminded me that addiction is a chameleon, a shape-shifter, and I’d be serving myself best if I stayed honest. “Be honest, Graham. Stay honest,” I muttered to myself from the king sized bed that only I slept in. It was laughable to recite those words considering that I had secrets that even Martin didn’t know. I had wondered if he had a few secrets of his own.
Martin spoke of addiction as though it was a living, breathing monster, and in truth, I felt he was right. Sobriety and relapsing were forever pitted against each other in a daily war with no resolution to be had. There would be no peace treaty. Ever. There would only ever be a battle, a fight, a war. But if war wanted me, war could have me, and I’d be a fucking soldier against my own evil for as long as it took if it meant sparing the people I loved from the monster I was capable of being when alcohol snaked its way through my veins.
Martin would warn me that my addiction was likely trying another vector to entrap me, to encourage my poor choices and the disease that had no cure. The same disease that I knew first hand would only lay a blanket-path of destruction on my life if given half the chance.
I knew all of that. I could practically hear Martin preaching to me right now. If I were braver, I’d call him right now. Who cared that it was three o’clock in the morning? Alcoholism waited for no one, conformed to no one else’s agenda and took pity on nothing.
But…I’m weak, and addiction was a
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