Undeniably Yours

Holland

As I look around the large community center auditorium, I frown and then start to chew on the inside of my lip. I didn’t come all that early but it was early enough to observe more fellow “addicts” than I ever cared to think about. I usually arrived just in time to catch a seat before the meeting started, so I didn’t have time to study people as they filed in. And while I stayed after to socialize, I could definitely tell that probably half of the attendees couldn’t get to the door fast enough once the meeting was adjourned because they were practically strangers. Compared to most of them, I look great! I wouldn’t even have been here if I didn’t have to be here by order of the court…

I was a spoiled rich kid that was used to daddy’s money bailing me out anytime I messed up. My dad was a very successful entrepreneur with his hand in various business ventures. What he was most well known for was being one of the founding fathers of the marijuana industry. He had been at the forefront of the fight to legalize for medical use and further fought for legalization of recreational use.

But I’d gone too far… I’d been pulled over on the 405 after a night of hard partying with a group of friends loaded into my car as well as several open liquor bottles, over an ounce of cocaine, a bag of xannies, and around six ounces of weed. I was so fucked up I tried to evade arrest and even tried to assault one of the arresting officers. I still don’t remember any of that night… All I ‘remember’ is what was shown from the bodycam and dashcam footage in court. That wasn’t me… that was a stranger.

I was extremely lucky that I managed to get away with six months in a rehab facility followed by two years probation with a mandatory court-ordered NA participation. It could have been much worse, and next time I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky… that is, if I even made it to a ‘next time’. I was more likely to kill myself in some sort of accident while I was fucked up or overdose first. That was the sobering thought for me, the one that grounded me and made me pretty much reevaluate my entire life.

I’d done my six months in rehab and took it very seriously. I even put myself into a sober living facility for another six months afterward. When I left the sober living facility, I knew that I needed a total change, a whole new environment away from the temptations, bad influences, and triggers that led me down and kept me on that terrible path my life had been on for so long.

So, I moved several hours north of LA to Carmel, just outside of Monterey. I was completely alone without a support system nearby… but it was a fresh start, which I needed more than anything. Believing I was truly trying to fix myself, my father was willing to drop a cool few mil on a luxury home near the beach for me, though he claimed it to be a family vacation home rather than mine. He also gave me a much more generous allowance than I deserved given my history… I still wanted for nothing.

I’m determined… I won’t let my dad or myself down. However, being alone and having no real friends is hard. I’ve been here for two months already and I’ve mostly kept to myself, rarely leaving my personal oasis. Partly, I don’t trust myself to make the right choices concerning making new friends. It just seems easier to shut everyone out, even if it does go against every fiber of my extrovert nature.

The meeting began and I sigh, steeling myself. I never shared at these meetings. Hearing just how bad some of these people’s lives had been leading them towards drug and alcohol addictions made me feel self-conscious. I couldn’t say that my mother’s death had driven me to unhealthy coping mechanism. I was five years old when she killed herself. I also couldn’t blame the miscarriage I had when I was 17… I’m not proud at all to admit that at the time I had selfishly hoped and prayed it would happen. A pregnancy and the resulting baby would very much have put a damper on the party scene, which is all I cared about at the time.

No, I didn’t really have a good reason at all for why or how I became an addict. I really was just a spoiled and selfish brat.

I’m pretty well liked by the people I’ve chatted with at the end of the meetings and I’d hate for their opinions to change after hearing my story, to feel the disdain in their gazes… I wonder if I’ll always feel this way - too ashamed of myself to open up about my past. I hope not. I hate the feeling. It’s almost enough to make me want to drink or pop pills.

Is this normal? Thinking about wanting to drink and do drugs while sitting in the middle of a Narcotics Anonymous meeting? It certainly wasn’t the first time it had happened…

Shaking my head, I try to shift my thoughts to something a little more appropriate. I think about the ocean that I can see from my backyard, how calming and soothing the waves are as well as the salty scent of the breeze that comes from it. Watching the sunset over the ocean from my backyard has become one of my favorite things about my new, much simpler life.

I start to feel the uneasy sensation that I’m being watched. The hair on the back of my neck and the hair on the back of my arms stands on end and I can almost feel a magnetic pull just over my shoulder to the right. Turning my head to look in that direction, my eyes immediately meet those of a ruggedly handsome man I’d guess to be in his late twenties, early thirties. His face is slightly weathered as if he’s worked manual labor for quite a while and he has a full, but short well-groomed beard. And it looked as if every inch of exposed skin, apart from his face was covered in tattoos.

I felt my face heat as my cheeks flush. I flash him a polite smile before quickly turning to face forward again. My cheeks feel so hot I think I might actually start sweating. This is crazy! I’m not a bashful person by any means and I never feel flustered like this by anyone. So, why then is my body reacting like a schoolgirl getting caught staring at her crush? I wasn’t even the one staring!

I want to look back and see if he’s still looking, but I can’t. I won’t. Instead, I chug some water from the bottle I swiped before the meeting. I try to think of anything else for the rest of the meeting, but I can’t. I want to know more about this guy. Who is he? I’ve never seen him at any other meetings. Then again, I generally keep my head down till the end. Maybe he’s one of those sit in the back and bolt as soon as the meeting’s over types, not much for socialization… That would explain why I hadn’t recognized him. Or maybe he was just new? I wonder what brought him here… Was he forced to be here, like me? Or was he here of his own volition? What had been his kryptonite? Pills? Coke? Heroin? Meth?

The meeting is adjourned and we’re invited to enjoy refreshments and socialize before going. I force myself not to look over my shoulder and instead walk impassively to the back of the room. I skip the donuts, never having been a fan, but pour myself a coffee. I start to take a sip as I turn around and I nearly choke as I make eye contact with the stranger that had consumed my thoughts for almost the entire duration of the meeting.

His brows raise in concern as I cough and sputter, my face turning red. “You alright there?” His voice is deep and he has a British accent which causes my legs to involuntarily clench together. I’ve always had a thing for British and Australian accents and his seems to have a stronger effect on me than any before.

I nod, recovering from my coughing fit. I was glad that I could use that as an excuse for my flushed face. One of his brows relaxes while the other remains arched and he smiles amusedly at me. “I know the coffee isn’t great, but I didn’t think it was that bad… Maybe I should stay away from it this time, eh?”

I laugh and shake my head. I want to look away from him, but I can’t. My eyes are locked with his in this intense gaze. His eyes are a grayish blue that I suspect may change hugh depending on what he’s wearing. What I find most captivating about them is how they look more like a fortress than anything, like he’s guarding more than anyone could imagine.

“No, it’s actually pretty good. It tastes better when it goes down the right pipe, though…” I finally manage to speak up. This time, he laughs and for a moment I feel my breath hitch as I take in the crinkles around his eyes and his perfect teeth. I can’t help but grin a little at the delightful sight.

“It usually does,” he says, unable to contain the grin after his laughter is subdued. “I’m Jackson, by the way…” He holds his hand out and the moment I take it, I feel a whirl of dizziness as my heart begins racing and I feel short of breath once more. No one has ever affected me like this before and I don’t know if I should embrace it or run as fast as I can.

“Holland,” I return a little breathlessly, inwardly kicking myself. This guy, Jackson, is going to think I’m a total psycho, swooning over him upon our introduction.

“Holland…” he repeats slowly. My core tingles at the sound of my name coming from his lips and it isn’t helped one bit by the way his eyes bore into mine as if he’s studying my soul. Do I have the same effect on him?

When he releases my hand, he finally breaks the spell by glancing me over, taking in my appearance. I’m wearing a white tank top under an unbuttoned purple plaid long sleeve shirt, old jeans that are comfy but worn in the knees

and some ankle boots embellished with studs and buckles. I’m so glad I didn’t come in that ratty old Coachella shirt and torn jeans that I came in last week. Not that I was trying, but I actually look decently cute.

I take the opportunity to more thoroughly take in his appearance as well. He’s covered in tattoos and I find myself a little disappointed I can’t see the ones that are hidden beneath his clothing. The sleeves to his grey shirt are pushed halfway up his forearm and the few buttons on his shirt are open, creating a v-neck appearance. His jeans are snug in all the right places, but they definitely aren’t skinny jeans. His black boots look so broken in that I can’t imagine that they’re comfortable anymore. I’d be willing to bet they were his favorite, judging by how well put together he looks otherwise.

“Is this your first time here?” I ask in one of my worst attempts ever at making conversation with a stranger. Why am I so awkward with this guy?

He shakes his head, still smiling at me. “No… not exactly. But it’s my first time here in a while.”

“Oh…” was all I managed to get out as a slight frown overtook my expression.

Seeming to read my thoughts, Jackson quickly adds on to his initial response. “I as back home in London taking care of my mum while she was sick.”

I feel myself flush again, ashamed that my mind automatically went to relapse, and that he’d been able to read it on me. I want to avert my gaze again, but I can’t. I’m just drawn to him. Fortunately he doesn’t seem bothered by my assumption.

“How long have you lived around here?” I ask, trying to change the subject and move past my screw up.

“Going on four years… after I got clean, I moved out here for a fresh start. I actually work for Dean at his garage,” Jackson answers, nodding towards the man who was busy in animated conversation with one of the other attendees. Dead had been the first one to welcome me and quite frequently led the meetings. He was a very friendly guy that looked much more gruff than he actually was. His shop was the only locally owned one arounds amid the sea of chain garages.

“Ah, so you’re a mechanic?” I ask, finding myself even more curious about him. Not to mention suddenly interested in getting an oil change in the very near future.

“Yeah,” he replies, turning the questions back on me, “What about you? Where you from? What do you do?”

I open my mouth to respond, but quickly close it again, unsure how to answer. I’ve never been embarrassed or self-conscious about not having a job and living off of daddy’s money before. So why do I feel like an asshole now? Jackson’s brows quirk up inquisitively as he watches me, waiting for my response.

“I’m from LA,” I start out very surely before my voice becomes a little unsure, “I used to dabble in modeling and, um, social media influencing.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie… I had done a little modeling in the past, but it wasn’t something that I necessarily sought out. I did it as a favor for friends that had their own clothing or accessory lines, or the ones that owned boutiques and needed someone to model the merchandise for their online store. And technically, I had been a social media influencer, but without trying to be. I was friends with other heiresses and rich kids as well as a few celebrities, and I frequently appeared in their feeds. This garnered me plenty of followers from people, usually fans, that wanted to feel closer to whichever of my friends they adored and to keep tabs on them. Just as well, I’d gotten several requests from various companies to promote their stuff in my feed, some of which I’d accepted.

But that was over a year ago… and I hadn’t even thought about what I would do with my life moving forward beyond sobriety. That was still such a scary thought for me. I felt like making plans for my future would put too much stress on me and might weaken my resolve to stay sober.

“Used to…?” he asks, picking up on my subtle use of the past tense, “So, what now?”

Feeling a little self-conscious with him, I blush a little. I’m thankful it’s not a full on reddening like I’ve already displayed more than once this evening. “I’m not sure… I haven’t really thought about it,” I answer honestly.

Jackson gives me a reassuring smile and I immediately feel more at ease with him. There’s just something about his easy-going nature that makes me feel as if I can trust him despite barely even knowing him. “That’s alright. You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. If you’re looking for something right now, you should talk to Dean. He’s friends with a lot of the business owners around here and could find you something.”

While I hadn’t really thought about actually getting a job anytime soon, now I find myself wanting to. I want to be responsible, respectable, reliable… someone worthy of Jackson’s time and attention. I nod and glance over at Dean again. He’s still involved in his conversation, but he’s distractedly watching us.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Thanks,” I say, giving Jackson an appreciative smile. “So, the two of you are close?”

Jackson nods, grinning again. “Yeah. He’s my sponsor, but really he’s more like a father to me than anything.”

His smile is infectious and I quickly find myself mirroring his grin, though with a bit of amusement behind mine. “Ah… So that’s why he’s watching us like that..”

Jackson briefly raises a brow before turning to look at Dean. Their eyes meet and I see an unreadable expression pass over the older man’s face. When Jackson turns back to me, his grin has turned sheepish. “Yeah… he doesn’t approve of a relationship between two addicts.”

My heart starts racing and I fight not to blush this time. Trying to feign confidence that I don’t entirely have around this man, I arch a brow at him and smile coquettishly. “Is that what this is?” I ask, motioning my finger between the two of us.

He looks momentarily surprised but quickly recovers, grinning again as he brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “No,” he says, “Not yet, at least…” His eyes burn into me and I’m powerless to look away. I bite my lip and his eyes briefly flick to my mouth as he licks his lips. The sound of a throat clearing next to us causes both of us to jump like guilty teenagers caught in the act.

Dean is standing there, studying us for a moment before speaking. “Hey, son…” he claps Jackson on the back and then turns to me with a warm smile, “Darlin’. Staying out of trouble?”

I smile back at the older man and nod. “Trying to. Jackson tells me you might be able to help me find a job…”

“I sure can, darlin’,” he says, his smile brightening, “You should’ve said something sooner! I know Bill down at the hardware store is looking for some help. I think my buddy Tom might still be looking for someone for his gift shop. I’ll ask around and give you a call tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Dean. I’d appreciate that,” I reply, actually feeling a little giddy at the idea now.

Dean gives me nod and then turns to Jackson. “Son, you mind helping me clean up so we can get out of here?”

Jackson looks slightly reluctant as he nods, and I feel excitement bubbling at knowing he doesn’t want our chat to be cut short either. “Yeah, no problem, Dean. It was good to meet you, Holland.”

“It was good to meet you as well, Jackson,” I returned.

Dean turned away to start clearing the refreshment table, but Jackson hesitated following his lead. He gave me a smoldering look that almost made me lose control, and then with a slight smirk, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Downing the rest of my coffee, which has gone cold, in a couple gulps, I toss my cup into a nearby trashcan before heading out to the parking lot. I needed to get home where I could think more clearly. Dean was right to think two addicts dating being a bad idea. If things got stressful or hard, they’d be even more likely to relapse in order to cope with the struggles.

Despite reason, I want him. I can’t deny the magnetic attraction between us, which I’m convinced is very much mutual. I’ve always thought of the idea of fate as a ridiculous notion, but this feels like fate. Like, whatever higher power there is meant for us to cross paths at this exact point in time. Maybe we’re not meant to be together forever, but we’re meant for something…