Sweet Decadence

viii. make amends

Chapter VIII

          "You've recognized a fundamental feature of an addict's life.  Maintaining your habit is so important, you've no real interest in anything else."  

- Marian Keyes

                             TAKING IN A DEEP BREATH, MAYA PUSHED OPEN THE DOORS TO THE ROOM.  She stepped inside, looking around before finding Marney sitting next to Norman's old spot.  They'd agreed that this would be where they sat every time they had a meeting, just to be closer to Norman.  They had even gotten permission from the group's two council members to paint the chair with things to remind everyone of Norman. 

          Walking over to Marney, Maya noticed there was a cross hanging from around her neck.  It was almost identical to the one Maya always wore on her own chain, making her smile.  The only difference was that Marney didn't believe in God and Maya was unsure. 

          Which didn't always make sense. 

          Sighing, Maya took a seat next to Norman's chair and smiled at it.  She patted the seat and then looked up into Marney's eyes.  They were both remembering two nights ago, when they'd spent the daylight painting and the night drying the chair. 

          Everything on the chair represented something of Norman.  Marney was a surprisingly good artist when it came to painting scenes and Maya was only good at painting characters or animals and other abstract things that required concentration on only one area.  Although this was true, Marney admitted to Maya that she couldn't do much with a pencil, and they'd laughed together over the dirty jokes swimming through their heads. 

          Just thinking about having a good time without him brought forth a meloncholy feeling to Maya's heart.  She knew he would've wanted her to be happy and to keep going without him, because he would always be there . . . but it hurt because she couldn't share it with him. 

          What hurt more was knowing that she couldn't come to group with him.  He would never finish his twelve steps; forever stuck on step number seven, he would be.  She had passed him up in a matter of seven weeks.  She'd grown and learned with him . . . and now she has to do it without him. 

          She had to go through all the steps without him, from here on out.  She knew it was going to be hard . . . and she knew he would want her to do it.  He would want her to keep fighting her addiction and her cravings all the way to the end.  He would want her to fight the will and the desire to die, because he wouldn't have let her die. 

          He would've just held her and comforted her.  He would've stayed up all night and day with her until he knew it was safe to leave her sitting in her apartment or on the bench alone.  He would've known exactly what to say to keep her breathing . . .  He would've saved her beating heart and made her want to keep living. 

          He would want her to do this . . .  He would want her to keep going through the steps.  He would want her to finish the program and to keep fighting.

          She didn't want to, though.  She made a promise to go and visit his grave when she had the stomach to hold down whatever was in it.  Maya knew Marney had already been there; she described his headstone, which sounded as if it was blank, other than his name, date of birth and date of death. 

          She missed him, already.  She missed him after just a week of him being gone, because she really had loved him.  He was the father she never had and now, she had no one to mentor her.  He had taken on that role the second he placed his hand on her shoulder.