Gateway Drug | Volume I

Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Six

Warning(s):
Explicit language
Sexual situations
Mentions of Drug abuse
Mentions of abuse

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"You bailed! You bailed on rehab, you bailed on sobriety and you bailed on me!" I throw at Nikki.

My shaky hand pushes the door of the guest bedroom open, seeing the outline of Nikki's body, in the dark, spread across the mattress on top of the comforter, probably reeling on a high.

I carefully step inside to the bed, my hand trailing over his bare chest.
He, looking at me hazily.

"I've never bailed on you, Vivian!" He argues. "I have never--"

"I wanted to do this to fix our relationship, to fix us, and I was counting on you being sober in order to do so successfully and you broke out of rehab and loaded up the same night!" I bark. "How the hell can we fix--"

"--What's the point of therapy if you refuse to follow instructions she gives us?!" He points to Dr. Strun as she watches us go back and forth. "She gave us a rule of thirty days of no communication, no contact, unless it's an emergency, and no intimacy and I thought that would be pretty easy for you because you were down my throat about doing everything we could to make the work but no! We get home and twelve hours later you were like a fucking nymphomaniac all the sudden!"

On day one of therapy, Dr. Strun immediately recognized we needed a reset button, and so our "no contact" rule was set for one month. And if we failed to follow the rule, we started back at day 1. Even if the slip up were to occur on day 27.

I'd be lying if I said I followed the rule better than Nikki did.

"Because I miss you!" I tell him.

He gives out a sigh, knowing why I'm in here, about to blow our third shot at attempting no contact in the past week.

"I'm right here!" He says back, pointing to himself.

"You haven't been here since 1983!" I declare.

I gently kiss him, and his hand runs over my thigh, pulling me onto him.

"Okay, calm down." Dr. Strun says to us calmly, the two of us taking deep breaths. "Vivian, what do you mean by that?" She asks me.

I sit back down on the couch in her small office and sigh, holding back tears.

"He started heroin in 1983." I explain. "And he's slowly lost who he is in the past three years as his addiction has gotten worse."

"How does he act when he's under the influence?"

"Confusing. One minute he's having a good time, laughing and smiling and the next minute he's mean and abrasive to anyone who breaths the wrong way." I explain.

"And what was he like before his addiction?"

I peel my tshirt off, my chest against his as our tongues move together, his fingers in the ends of my hair as my hands fumble to get his pants undone and my panties off before he rolls onto me.