Page 25 of Desperate Haste
“Weren’t you the one who said we aren’t supposed to use that word?”
“Malcolm.” Her shoulders droop as her head falls to one side.
“Okay, okay. I’m done. What’s your question?”
She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and blows out a breath. “You can tell me if this is too personal but…can I ask what you’re sober from? It can’t be alcohol, I’ve seen you drink before…I mean, I guess it could be but…” her voice trails off and I can tell she’s trying to be delicate.
“I got into some trouble with Adderall in college and it started to become a bigger issue. I started to dabble in other types of amphetamines to the point where I couldn’t operate without them.” Guilt wracks my core as I think about how far gone I was. It’s never easy for me to talk about this time of my life, but I want to be honest with her. “I got mixed up with some bad people, did some pretty stupid shit. Almost got hooked on way harder stuff plenty of times. But, my friends helped me get back on my feet. They saved me from myself, really.”
“That’s why you guys are so close,” she says almost as a question.
“We’re close for a lot of reasons. But they were there for me when I needed them. Got me the help I needed. I met Marshall at my first N.A. meeting and he took me under his wing. I’m where I am now because of all of them.”
She nods her head at me and swallows hard. The air in the truck has grown heavy and I want nothing more than to try and lighten the mood again. “Can we eat now? I’m starving and about to eat my own arm off.”
She snuffs out a laugh through her nose and a smile breaks across her lips. “Yes, we can eat now.”
My hand pushes open the door again and I’m halfway out when she says my name.
“Hey, Malcolm.”
“Yeah?” I turn around to see her looking at me from the passenger seat.
“Thanks for sharing that with me.” Her eyes flit to the floor before they land on me again. Her face is reserved but full of what I can only describe as appreciation.
“I promise to always be honest with you, princess,” I say. She rolls her eyes at the use of the nickname and steps out of the truck, carrying her sandwich in her hand.
“I swear to god if you keep calling me ‘princess,’ I’m going to be sick.”
15
OPHELIA
He helps me up into the bed of his truck after dropping the tailgate for us to sit on. He had driven us out to a lookout that overlooked an inlet that dumped into the Ashley River and subsequently the Atlantic Ocean. I’ve lived in Charleston for over four years now, ever since leaving Georgia, but have never come across this spot before. How Malcolm came to find it I’m not sure.
We eat our sandwiches in silence, instead allowing the sounds of the water running downstream to fill the space between us. I can’t tell how he’s feeling after he’d told me about Marshall, Butcher and Block, and his addiction. They don’t bother me in the slightest and I’m touched that he felt comfortable enough to tell me about them in the first place. Maybe I can be brave and tell him?—
“Damn, Darryl makes a good sandwich.” His outburst startles me out of my thoughts and I try not to choke on the bite I’d just taken.
“He really does,” I mumble through overstuffed cheeks. I couldn’t say when the last time I had a classic deli sandwich was but this is the best one I’ve had in years. For a presumptuous old man, Darryl makes a damn good sandwich.
Malcolm licks his fingers clean and balls up the paper wrapper his sandwich had been in before turning and looking at me. “So, did I totally kill my chance of ever getting laid again because I told you I’m an addict in recovery?”
My eyebrows push together in the center of my face and I bring the back of my hand to my mouth to cover it while I talk with my mouth half full. “Why would that ruin your chances of getting laid?” I look into his nearly black eyes where the corners pinch together at a point.
“I don’t know, I guess I just assume that people want nothing to do with me when they find out. Like my parents. I mean shit, I was shocked my friends still wanted anything to do with me after I put them through what I did.” His voice goes quiet at the end and I want to ask him what he means. Instead, I take the risk and give him a piece of myself so he doesn’t feel so alone.
“Ahhh, so I see you’re also a part of the fractured family club,” I tease, leaning over and bumping his shoulder with mine. We’re sitting close enough on the tailgate that our knees are brushing together. Any other guy I would have moved all the way to the opposite end. Hell, any other guy and I wouldn’t be here at all.
But I am.
With Malcolm.
And I’m not entirely sure why.
“You too?” his voice picks up. “Damn, between you, me, and Magnolia, we’re well on our way to forming a full-on quartet. Wait, shit, if you include Hank in that, too, then we’re there.”
“We should get shirts,” I offer with a laugh.
