Secret Door

Twenty-Three

-Miles-

How long until I needed a drink? How long until I needed a high? Two days? Three? A week? The sensation crept up in my mind the moment I woke up the day after Alex and I came home from the hospital. I wished I could pretend life was perfect now. Alex, my sexy, strong lover had saved me. Saved me from myself and we were reunited once again. We were safe, happy, and glorious in each other's arms. The perfect couple that we never were before. I knew it was only a matter of time before I needed something again.

And then there was Alex. Alex holding me, nursing me back to some deranged idea of "health", cooking for me, cleaning. He was sweet, helpful, and loving. But I always caught him. Maybe it would be during a spare moment at the dinner table, or a lull in the conversation before bed. He would give me this look. It was dead, empty, but somehow brimming with something. Something I couldn't explain, and something he wouldn't. I watched him when he wasn't watching me. Everything was so temporary. We needed to talk.

"Good morning," came his sleepy, warm voice four days after our return from the hospital. I couldn't believe I'd lasted this long. I couldn't believe he'd lasted this long. There's no way I would make it through a full week. I felt the itch crawling around my head like a parasite.

"Good morning, babe," I said softly.

He placed a simple kiss on my temple and I smiled weakly in response. This game couldn't continue forever.

"What do you want for breakfast, darling?" He asked, standing up out of bed.

Vodka.

"I don't care. You pick," I shot him a grin.

He returned it and traveled into the kitchen. I followed, sitting down at the dining room table quietly as he cooked what smelled like pancakes. The silence was so loud.

"Tea?" Alex offered, walking over to me to place two mugs down and fill them. I took a small sip of mine as he walked back to plate the pancakes and carry them over to me.

He sat in the seat across from me and stared at me from over the rim of his mug. I watched him carefully. He was doing the stare and he was doing it more forcefully than ever.

"What, Alex?" I snapped, throwing my mug down hard against the wood of the table.

He looked at me blankly "I didn't say anything," he replied, bringing his mug away from his face.

"No, it's that you aren't saying anything," I snapped.

He looked at me for a second. There was a slight hesitation there. Something flickered through his familiar brown eyes. He let out a long sigh.

"What am I supposed to say, Miles?"

"I don't know! Something!" I sputtered, exasperated.

"Something?"

I nodded.

"Okay. How about I say something about how you were the one telling me I had a problem. That you were the one planning to send me to rehab while you were the one who ended up fucking overdosing?! Is that what I'm supposed to say, Miles? Because that's what I've been thinking!" He blurted out.

"I knew you were mad. I knew you were mad and not saying anything! Why didn't you just fucking tell me so we wouldn't have to keep up this happy couple act?!" I retorted.

Alex stood up, pacing in front of the table as he chose his words.

"I don't fucking know! I guess I just wanted to forget about all of this....all of this shit. "