Hot Mess. Emily Belden

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ like a baby—safe and warm. The swirl of insanity instantly simmered down and the relief set in; this was real.

      And we were going to be okay.

      Underneath his messy front, there was something—a lot of things, actually. There was a lost soul that needed direction. A man with a good heart and an insane amount of talent. Benji had the wisdom to know he needed help, but not where to find it or how to get it. And then there I was, this beacon of normalcy shining in the night, and he had clung to it. I was like the Carpathia coming to pull him out of icy waters. How could I have blamed him for that? For thinking his source of rescue came in a little five-foot-three package, was a good lay and had a kind heart?

      Plus, when a person asks you to help save his life, you can’t exactly turn him away. Or at least I couldn’t.

      “I just want this to work,” I muttered through an ugly cry. There were another six words that would have been just as easy to fire off—I just want you to leave—but they would have been a lie. No matter the circumstances, I needed to be within arm’s reach of this man.

      “I do, too, babe. And it will. The coke stuff...it’s over. For good. And with you by my side, I know staying clean is possible. Regardless of everything that’s going on right now, I still feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I’d take slipping up, losing my job, the Twitter shit storm I started last night—I’d take it all again because I know it brought me you. The greatest gift of my life. I really mean that.”

      He wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and went on with the monologue.

      “But you gotta promise me one thing. You gotta stick by me, let me show you I can do this. I’m not going to let this fall through my fingers. I’ve never had anything like this, like you. I’ve wanted this my whole life.”

      I stared out beyond him through the windows of my apartment and shook my head—what was he going to tell the press about losing his job? What part would everyone think I played in sidelining their favorite chef?

      “So remind me, what’s the plan, then?”

      “I’m going to NA twice a day. You should try to go to some programs, too. Nar-Anon and Al-Anon are good. Stay away from CoDA, it’s bullshit.”

      I’d had no clue what any of those things were, or how I would fit them into my schedule. But I soon found out these were just nicknames for meetings designed to make me feel less crazy. Like I wasn’t the only one in a relationship with someone who doubled as a nuclear button. My biggest problem would not be finding a meeting—they happen all day every day in big cities like Chicago—but rather how I would go about hiding my attendance from my friends and family.

      “And I’ll do my coursework each night. Look—I’ve already started. I’ll work the program with Mark.”

      “Who is Mark again?”

      “My sponsor. He and his wife, Rita, actually want to meet you. They host a picnic every Saturday in the summer at North Avenue Beach. We can go this weekend.”

      “Benji, I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

      “Sorry, I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. When the time is right, we’ll do the picnic thing. And I’ll make some rad side dish, or you could bring your ironing-board grilled cheeses, and we’ll blow everyone’s mind. In the meantime, I’ll keep things between Mark and me. Okay? Sound good?”

      I didn’t know these Mark-and-Rita people from Adam or Eve, but something about their names, or the fact they hosted a weekly picnic, made me feel like Benji was in good hands. And just like that, I felt myself starting to turn. Slowly.

      “And what about work? What about your apartment? Your rent?”

      “Babe, look at me.” I wasn’t sure how much closer he could have gotten, but he nuzzled in a little more and held my shoulders tightly. I granted him blotchy, tearstained eye contact.

      “That place I was living in...the landlords...they terminated my lease.”

      “They what?”

      Just when I thought I was calming down.

      “It’s my fault. I was late on rent, they had trouble verifying my work and after last night...things got a little trashed.”

      “So, where’s all your stuff? Where are you living now?”

      “Well, all I really had was cooking stuff and Sebastian is holding on to it all for me.”

      I pictured his apartment on the night he cooked for me; there really was no furniture over there. Just a mattress on the floor and some bar stools. That’s when I realized that in the corner of my studio was a black duffel bag. His life, whatever scraps of it he was able to pull together before being evicted, was most certainly zipped in there.

      “You want to stay here.” It was a statement, not a question—let me make that clear. “And get sober.” Again, not a question.

      “I’ll make you lunch every day, I’ll cook dinner for you every night. Your friends, too. I’ll keep the place clean for us. Run your errands. Do whatever you need for me to prove how bad I want this and how committed I am to our future. This is a good thing, Allie. For our relationship. I can get better at my own pace, figure out what to do for work and take care of you.”

      I don’t know how Benji got into my apartment that day. My doorman must have recognized him from the night before and figured he was on the let-up list. As far as my unit being unlocked, I was tired that morning. Really fucking tired. It’s entirely possible I forgot to lock up. Point being, as I looked around, I noticed my place was immaculate. Bed made, TV stand dusted, towels in the bathroom folded. He’d picked up while waiting for me to come home.

      It had seemed ironic to me that the trade-off for accommodating a drug addict was a series of proposed housekeeping services and a promise that I’d eat like a queen. But sometimes when you’re just that tired, worn down and desperate, the vision of a decent lunch and coming home to a clean bathroom is enough to make it all seem worth it.

      “I’m not going to starting cooking tonight, though,” he said.

      My heart fell through the floor. I couldn’t put up with another night of mayhem or another false promise.

      “Because tonight, I’m going to order you a pizza. I’m going to get your favorite—butter crust with crispy pepperoni and extra sauce on the side. And we’re going to share it, eat the whole goddamn thing. And we’re going to watch a movie, The Lake House or P.S. I Love You...one of those girlie DVDs I keep seeing in your collection that I’m too embarrassed to admit I want to watch. You can pick. And then, we’re just going to hold each other and talk if we need to talk, be quiet if we need to be quiet, and at the end of the night, we’ll go to bed knowing it’s just you and me against the world, and that tomorrow is a fresh start and a new day.”

      He never let me object. Not once did I poke a hole in his plan or tell him no or force him to at least pick up a part-time shift at CVS. Yet still, the relationship that every girl wants was right in front of my face. The one where you can throw on some sweats, get comfy on the couch and curl up with your boyfriend, a greasy pizza and a chick flick, and still feel like the prettiest princess in all the land. And best of all, I wasn’t begging him to be on the same page as me. That was all Benji. He was laying it all out there for me.

      Twenty СКАЧАТЬ