I had always thought there would be time for fun later, like I was in a holding pattern waiting for my real life to start. As if all this was temporary. Someday I’d meet someone, forgive myself, and all the stress and guilt I carried around with me would suddenly vanish. I knew it didn’t work that way, but it was a pretty thought.
While I was growing up, school and grades had always been more important than boys and parties. Plus, I was what you’d call a late bloomer. Braces and glasses hampered my social life throughout high school, as well as a layer of acne, thanks to the greasy pizza place I worked at after school. After the accident, a social life and dates to dances were the last things I cared about. It had all been about surviving.
Needing some independence from the little Indiana town where I grew up, I’d jumped at the chance when I was offered a job in Chicago to counsel troubled teens. Besides, there was nothing for me back in Indiana anymore.
After my parents passed away tragically in a car accident my senior year of high school, I’d stayed with my friend Brian and his parents so I could finish the school year. Each day I kept my head down and did what was expected of me, then each night I cried myself to sleep. After graduation, I attended a local community college and continued living with Brian’s parents, even when he moved two hours away to go to Indiana University.
I had moved to Chicago to be free, to start over. But of course that wasn’t possible. My past followed me, just like it always would. Brian decided to relocate along with me, saying he would never let me fend for myself alone in the big city. Even though that had been exactly what I’d wanted. A fresh start where no one knew me as the sad little orphaned girl.
Did I want to live with Brian? No, but affording my own place in Chicago was out of the question. We’d found a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment, so at least we each had our own space. There was also a large kitchen and living room, and a small den where we put a breakfast table and my bookshelves. Brian had painted it a sunny yellow for me, even though we’d have to change it back to white when we moved out, per the landlord’s orders.
I should have been grateful, but his presence was a constant reminder of what had happened. Of who I’d become. I was living as a shell of my former self without any idea how to break free.
I pushed all that from my mind when I heard Brian knock at my bedroom door. Fixing on a pleasant smile, I pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. ‘Hi.’
‘Hey, you.’ He pulled me warmly into a hug, and I didn’t fight it. It was the only physical affection I got. And Brian was comfortable, like your favorite tennis shoes. ‘You ready?’ he asked.
‘Yep.’ I grabbed my purse from the counter and looped it around my body.
Brian had bought a Groupon for a painting class tonight, and invited me along. He knew I wasn’t a go-out-and-party type, and his attempts at taking me out to dinner had failed too. It felt too much like a date, so we stuck to simple activities like this. Safe. Platonic. The story of my life.
When I thought about my meeting in the morning, the prospect of seeing Knox again sent a little thrill through me, making my belly dance with nerves. All week while I worked with the teen girls at the center, I’d felt like a hypocrite. I counseled them about not making their whole life about a guy, yet here I was, all my waking thoughts consumed by the mystery that was Knox Bauer.
‘You okay?’ Brian squinted at me.
‘Fine.’ I squirmed, forcing the thoughts of Knox’s raw masculinity from my brain. ‘Let’s go get our painting on.’
Knox
After a trying week with my brothers, the last thing I wanted to do was go to my Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting—but the promise of seeing McKenna there forced my hand. I wanted to watch the way her eyes gravitated toward mine, and the soft flush of pink that warmed her cheeks when she spoke. She was a curiosity. A fun plaything to entertain me since I had to sit through the torture of being there.
I stepped into a pair of jeans and shoved my feet into my worn boots before making my way downstairs. Tucker sped past me, tearing through the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in hand, sloshing milk on the wooden floor right at my feet. He beelined it for the TV to watch his Saturday morning cartoons. It was the only time I let him eat in front of the television, so instead of scolding him for the spilled milk, I dropped a kitchen rag to the floor and began mopping it up with my foot. The TV switched on and a roar of canned laughter came from the other room as I flung the milk-soaked cloth into the sink.
Our house wasn’t clean. It wasn’t organized. But we tried to keep it somewhat tidy. We each took turns washing the dishes and doing the laundry. The floors weren’t mopped and the bathroom was often neglected, but we managed. We had clean dishes to eat from and fresh clothes to wear. It was all we needed.
During the week while the boys were at school, I managed a hardware store, and at night I occasionally picked up bartending shifts for the extra money. It provided enough to pay the bills, but bigger things weighed on me—paying for college, buying cell phones, and cars for the guys. I had no idea how any of that would be possible.
I tried to push those thoughts from my mind as I drove to my sex addicts meeting. I would deal with one problem at a time. It was all I could do.
When I arrived, the chairs were already filling up in a semicircle around McKenna. I grabbed a paper cup of weak coffee and sat down just as she was getting started. Her eyes flashed to mine and a tiny smile lifted her mouth. She hadn’t thought I would show up, and her relief was visible. I couldn’t help but give her my best panty-dropping grin and watched as her chest and neck flushed pink.
McKenna’s eyes dropped down to the notes on her lap and she took a moment to steady herself before beginning. ‘Sex addicts are very me-centric. Your addiction isn’t meant to serve anyone else. It’s a selfish pursuit. You get what you want, when you want it. And that’s why it can be so difficult to break. You’re not used to having to delay gratification. Today I want you to think about how you first became dependent on sex.’
She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting around the faces in the group. I couldn’t help but notice she deliberately avoided looking my way. Apparently I rattled her and she needed her composure to continue the meeting.
How did I become dependent on sex? I wasn’t sure I could pinpoint when it happened, but sure, I used sex to numb my pain and manage stress. Listening to McKenna, I was starting to believe that maybe it wasn’t totally normal.
‘Over time, people develop a tolerance for sex. They need more and more of it to feel okay, and they experience withdrawal if they can’t have it. Eventually, it can destroy your relationships—your marriage, your job. I know we’ve previously talked about being fired for looking at Internet porn at work, or marriages ending when a spouse discovered an affair. Your risky behaviors put you in danger for contracting a life-threatening STD. Or put you in debt, paying for strip clubs and prostitutes. None of these things lead to good outcomes. Can anyone share some of the techniques they’ve developed to work through their cravings?’
Shit. She actually wanted people to share how they avoided sex? It would be more useful to share techniques on how I seduced girls from nightclubs, coffee shops, the grocery store, or how to fuck standing up in a tiny bathroom stall. Doggie style. It was
