THE WIFE or THE MISTRESS: BOOK II: CHAPTER TWO: HE WON’T GO

BLAKE

I’m still reeling from what happened at the airport. I’ve never seen any of the guys look so murderous. Not for the first time, I wonder how they could be friends with someone like Michael. I suppose he must have some good qualities, although I’ve never seen them. All I see when I look at him is a man that really should have had his ass spanked more as a kid. No way would someone who learned discipline- be it corporal punishment or a severe tongue-lashing - have grown up to be the spoiled brat Michael Novotny is. That’s not to say I condone violence against children per se, but a smack in the mouth, or eighty-seven of them, would have gone a long way with Michael. At the very least, he would have learned that what he says has harsh consequences.

Ted and I haven’t talked much during the flight so far, but that’s to be expected. He’s working, trying to make sure everything is in order for Kinnetik so that they can run it remotely from the island. Not only that, but he’s also putting some things in action for Diane and I also, to be able to get the workers out of Tampa and settled in Pittsburgh as soon as possible. Yeah, Ted’s a good man. Despite all we are going through, he’s still making sure that I’m okay. I suspect that even if we don’t make it together after this, he would still do so, because at the base of it all, he loves me and wants the best for me. It goes both ways.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting here listening to the song that got me through rehab many days. “He Won’t Go” is a song about the one left behind when their life-partner is on drugs. Seems fitting to hear it just now and Adele’s voice paints the picture of what Ted must have felt like when I was. I know I have to tell Ted what’s been wrong with me lately. As much as the Michael interference is a big part of it, and my family issues are another part, there is something that is causing me to want to pick up again. The truth, one of the people I used to get high with has checked himself into my rehab facility.

Ordinarily, there wouldn’t have been a problem with that. But, in this case there is. He pretends to want to get clean to everyone else, but with me, I found out he’s actually been sent by my former dealer and pimp to get me to come back. When I’ve complained to the others or avoided him entirely, he pulls his usual song and dance, making him look like the victim and me as the uncooperative one. Even with the fact that I now own the clinic, although that’s not public knowledge, me kicking him out would be grounds for a lawsuit. Sean is smart… he accosts me when he knows I’m alone or where there are no cameras or cell phones allowed within the building. Because we have patients within the building with heart issues, and cell phone usage can mess with their pacemakers, they are kept to a certain wing- a wing that I have to visit when I’m on duty just as all of the other Senior counselors do. It’s making for an untenable situation.

I won’t lie. Like all addicts, I miss being high sometimes. The constant euphoric, fuck-everything feeling is what keeps us enthralled to the drug for so long. But I have come to love my life more. I love knowing where and who Ted is. I love not having to fuck anyone for money or a roof over my head for the night. I love going to work and coming home, keeping mostly predictable hours instead of roaming the streets looking for my next fix. I just love my life as it is now. But this situation with Sean keeps bringing all of the old feelings back to me. I’ve begun having drug dreams again, when I haven’t had them in more than three years. I wake up in drenched in sweat, craving the drugs that have been out of my system for more than seven years now. Sean’s suggestions are powerful and the allure of danger and excitement is almost becoming too hard to resist. I find myself wondering what it would be like to just have one hit again, and it’s then I realize just how much trouble I’m in. I’m glad we’re getting away from Pittsburgh for awhile.

Although I know there will be hell to pay upon my return, since news of my new acquisition and my catapult into the world of multi-millionaire would have surely hit the papers by then, hopefully I will be stronger. Hopefully Teddy and I will have weathered the storm trying to tear us apart, and with any luck, any hold that my former life has over me will have been abolished once and for all. Please God, make it so!

TED

I know that there is a lot going on with Blake right now. He’s just pulled out the personal journal that they’ve asked us to write in during the flight. I’ll get to mine at some point, but first there is a mountain of business to be taken care of so that perhaps we can enjoy our first night on the island, at least. I am under no illusion that things between Blake and I will be solved overnight. A huge chunk of the problem lies with me at the moment.

I haven’t told anyone about the issues I’m struggling with. Brian knows that there is something; even Emmett has noticed. Justin simply told me that if I ever needed him, to come find him immediately. He didn’t pry or try to get me to talk. Michael, as usual, just ignored it, while Ben has been watching me like a hawk. I’ve never asked Ben, but I suspect he knows a lot more about the way I have been feeling then he lets on. Someday, I may work up the courage to ask him, but I’m not there yet.

So while on the outside, things appear fine with me, inside I’m screaming for help. My biggest fear in going through this counseling is that my fears and feelings will throw Blake back into the narcotic nightmare we both escaped. Yet, I know if I was high, telling him of my fucked up feelings would be so much easier. It’s always easier when you’re angry, which is what I would be if I traversed that particular road again.

It’s funny, but helping Blake through the process of his newfound wealth is actually helping. It allows me to remember what I would be losing should I do the stupid and pick up Meth again. I worked so fucking hard to regain everyone’s trust, most especially my own in myself. I worked hard to accept that no matter what my wants, needs, and desires to be different are, at my core, I’m a brilliant accountant. What I once considered my curse is now my glory, and I don’t want to lose that again. But it’s when I’m not entrenched in the wonderful world of checks and balances, that the doubts begin to creep in. And being fair-weather friends with Michael Novotny doesn’t help.

I can’t help thinking back to what happened at the airport where Michael spewed his hate for Justin, yet again. Drew was about to commit murder on Justin’s behalf as Em and I basically stood shock still. Why? Justin has been more of a friend to us than Michael has ever been in all the years we’ve known him. So why, other than verbally dismissing him, did we do nothing, again? If I’m honest, I will admit that I wonder if Michael really hates us all. Yeah, I’m including Brian in this as well. I know Blake has mentioned that scenario at least a dozen times over the years, but I’ve always brushed it off, thinking that Michael couldn’t hate those of us who have been with him longer than we’ve all had partners. But now I’m not so sure.

I keep thinking of the comments he’s spewed thoughtlessly since our friendship began. In retrospect, whereas I always thought Brian was a heartless asshole, I’m thinking that that title really belongs to Michael. If I was to compare the two men- which really, that’s kind of hard to do when up against Brian Kinney- I would have to say that Brian has been more of a friend than Michael. He never lets us rest on our laurels, always pushing Em and I to exceed our own expectations. As a result, Emmett didn’t become lost within my addiction and I didn’t become lost in its aftermath. Michael, on the other hand, excused us for being who we were in those moments. He told Emmett that it was okay to support me, even at the expense of himself. As for me, Michael seemed to try to reach out, but I later found out that it was his idea to bring everyone to the restaurant where I was working as a singing waiter, even though I had asked him not to. I’ve often found myself questioning his motives behind doing that, especially in recent years when he’s made comments about it in front of others.

All I can hope at this point is that Michael will change from this experience. If he doesn’t, the one friend he’s going to lose is me. My sobriety can’t continue to be assaulted by him. All other outside forces, I could handle with help, but not when one of the people who is supposed to be helping you through it, is in a sense, holding the Meth pipe with an innocent smile and vicious intent.