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Relapse is part of recovery, that’s what they all say.
If you ask Aaron, that’s a bunch of bullshit. Plenty of people get clean and sober and never touch a bottle or needle again. Aaron’s not one of them, but he could have been, and he hates it. He mostly hates it because he loves it.
However fucked up it may be, he loves the syringe in his apartment, lazily tossed aside, and the headache he wakes up with. He loves when he turns over his arm to see the bruised holes where the needle pressed in. He loves the way he’s still a little high on the thrill of it all, and the familiarity of letting himself get bad.
What he doesn’t love is thinking about the numbers. They’re all too clear in his haze. Thirteen years clean. He hasn’t touched a substance since he was seventeen and Denny found him on his bathroom floor, barely conscious. He can still remember the beep of machines and the glaring white lights. One thing was clear through it all. He would make sure Denny would never, ever have to find him like that again.
But this wasn’t that. It was a poor justification for a shitty situation, but he’d done it in an anxious stupor, and there was no coming back now. It didn’t help that it was shoot day. He couldn’t tell if he was still gone or just so far in denial that he didn’t feel real.
He wanted so badly for that number – thirteen – to mean something. He wanted it to click in his brain, the horrors of what he’d done, and what this meant for him. Would he even be able to stop again? How would he hide it? He already wanted to do more and more, never mind his tolerance. Never mind the fact he’d taken a fourth of his old dose and still thrown up twice. God, he wanted to take every drug in the world. Why would he ever give this up?
But he’d hidden under the guise of control before, when he was a high school student not living up to his own expectations. He’d seen firsthand how it had ruined him as a person. And things were finally good. The show, the guys, his comedy work, tour; it was all so great. But that was why he craved the bad. Like he needed it, somehow. He needed to sabotage everything positive in his life because he couldn’t understand a guy like him deserving any of it.
Here he was, laying on his couch when he should be getting ready to drive to a studio to work at people’s dream job. Hell, it was his dream job. He should have woken up in his bed this morning, like always. Did the journaling and breathwork that all the drug addict meetings encourage. Instead he was cleaning up the floor from where he’d gotten high, alone in his apartment.
It wasn’t even on purpose at first. Until it was.
—----
Late nights were always the worst for Aaron. Since he could remember. Everything hit so much harder when his distractions were gone and he was forced to face the truth of who he was. That was when he’d indulge in his own destruction; when he could gleefully make everything worse, get as high as the clouds and pretend like he wasn’t dying inside. And when the morning came, and everything came rushing back, his only comfort was the method he’d use that night; a way to make it hit harder, faster, be able to take more.
He never wanted to stop, so he never did. It took his life almost ending to finally make him see he was addicted. And even then, laying in that hospital bed, the only thing he could think about was how much he wished it had just killed him. Because a life without drugs, was worse than overdosing on his floor.
But this wasn’t high school anymore. So really, there was no excuse when Aaron got a knock on his door.
He was already changed into his sleepwear, planning to go straight to bed. He wanted to be sharp for the shoot tomorrow so he could be on. So he could convince everyone, and himself, that things were better. That he didn’t need anything to function like he used to. That he could do this.
He opened the door and smiled, a little surprised to see his neighbor there. They’d barely spoken, except for her inviting him over for a drink, and Aaron sheepishly admitting that he was completely sober.
“Hey,” She said, nodding to her apartment down the hall. “A couple of us are having a get-together. You in? I know you don’t drink, but we’ve got stronger stuff.” She winked at him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Hey, we’ve got drugs. Come do them with us!
And Aaron knew. The second the words left her mouth, he just knew.
His head could’ve told him anything in that moment. His best friends could’ve been standing right by him, and it wouldn’t have changed the way his feet moved down that hallway. He didn’t even bother to change. A flip switched, and he went on autopilot. Like a dog chasing a bone, but he was rabid for it, and he knew exactly where to get it.
He didn’t stay for long. He didn’t have to, once he got what he needed. And then he went back to his apartment. Shut the door. Silenced his phone. Refused to think. Refused to think about that goddamn number thirteen, or how long it’d been. His shaky hands had forgotten nothing.
And then it was quiet. It was so, so quiet. And Aaron breathed. And then he laughed. He took deeper breaths than he had in years, laughed harder than he had his whole life, because this was better than any joke his friends could tell. This was so much better than breathing exercises and clean streaks and caring about any of it, at all, all the time. He didn’t understand what on earth he was so worried about. He didn’t understand that feeling, that pit in his stomach he always got. It was gone now. That made him giddy with relief and it also kind of made him want to throw up.
Consequences were far away from him now. Everything was. It didn’t matter what was in the morning as long as he could keep riding this high forever.
Of course, he couldn’t, but as he came down, he fell asleep.
—------
The studio was loud and busy when he got there.
He wasn’t late by any means, but he usually showed up early. He knew Kevin got stressed on shoot days, and he’d always have a cup of coffee with him, talk through things. It was good for the both of them.
Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be happening today. Aaron was glad the parking lot was devoid of people as he got out of his Uber. He couldn’t drive; his hands were shaking too much to grip a steering wheel, he had fumbled with his car keys on the way out the door, and he was sweaty and unsteady. He’d have to pull off a real good performance to keep the guys off his back.
He’d done this everyday when he was still in school, and now he was a grown adult. He should be able to keep things under control. He wiped his clammy palms on his jeans before entering the studio.
The first thing that registered was a dull headache in the back of his head from the bright lights. Before he could stop it, the first thought that popped into his head was, I bet the drugs would fix that.
And they would. How was he supposed to move on, knowing that they would?
And Jesus, his arm hurt. Even the first time he injected, he didn’t remember it hurting this badly. He took a seat and tried to focus his vision, but it was going in and out. He told himself over and over that he could do this. He just needed to make it through these few hours, and there was more waiting for him.
“Aaron? What’s up, man? Missed you this morning.” Kevin’s voice appeared before he did. He was loud today, bouncing off the walls, but maybe that was just Aaron’s head.
When Aaron didn’t immediately get up or match Kev’s energy, he sank back a bit. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, all good.” Aaron stood up slowly and the room started to spin. He forced a smile onto his face. “I might be coming down with something. Not feeling great.”
“Shit,” Kevin said. “Can you do today? If not we’ll work something out–”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Aaron waved him off. “I’m gonna go grab a Celsius.”
He went to the break room, honestly just needing an excuse to get away from the stifling conversation. Usually Kevin’s loud, caring personality was sweet, but today it was just overbearing and grating. The last thing he needed was someone overanalyzing him.
“Yo, a-boogie!” Denny called out to him. When Aaron turned, Denny’s face fell.
He squinted a bit, his eyes glossing over, like he was remembering something. Maybe all those days in first period, with Aaron insisting he was fine, Denny too busy fighting his own hangover to care. Sometimes he’d ask; don’t you think you’re doing that a bit much lately? And Aaron’s futile deflections. I’m not a fucking drug addict; Denny would always reply with no one said you were and the conversation would be over.
“You look…” Denny trailed off, his eyes coming back into focus with a shake of his head. He was probably laughing it off in his head, playing it off as anything but the truth. It wasn’t like Aaron could handle it, either, so who was he to judge?
Aaron scrubbed his hands down his face. “Awful? I know. I’m not feeling too hot.”
“Right,” Denny said with a small nod. “It’s just… you’re all pale.”
Aaron stood there awkwardly, dodging eye contact, glancing down at the energy drink in his hand before cracking it open.
“...And sweaty.” Denny licked his lips, searching for something. “Don’t you wanna take off that sweatshirt?”
Aaron thought about the track marks beneath his sleeve and immediately shook his head. “I’m okay for right now.”
They were empty words used to fill the silence. Aaron knows just how much Denny went through when he was the one to drive Aaron to the hospital that night; he knows he must be reliving that moment right now in his head.
Luckily, Zane comes as a distraction, nudging Denny’s shoulder as he walks past. “Hey, we’re green in five. Go get mic’d up, please.” He calls over his shoulder, “And tell Aaron to put the Celsius in a mug.”
Denny snaps out of his trance at that, and an uneasy smile goes onto his face. But he’s just as good at pretending as Aaron is, and once he takes his seat next to the panel, he’s like a completely different person.
The ON AIR sign clicks on, the contestants are shuffled out, and Kevin starts doing the intro. Aaron is unfamiliar with their guest, and by the time the first round starts, he’s already forgotten what the video is supposed to be about. His mind is elsewhere, and as much as he wishes he wasn’t, all he can think about is what’s waiting for him at home. There’s not a lot left, but even if there was, it would never be enough.
He should feel guilty, but he feels oddly at peace. Like he’s already accepted that he’s doing this again, and that it might kill him, and so what if it does?
“Aaron, what do you think?”
Shit. Kev’s asking him. He glances discreetly at Herm’s notes, even though he has barely anything written down. He just reads out, “Number four looks like she could carry her weight.”
That gets a good laugh out of the panel, even though Aaron has zero context for what he just said. Herm elbows him. “Stealing jokes now?”
“Yeah, none of my material is good enough.” Aaron’s nervous, and it shows. He hides his shaky hands under the table and fidgets with a bracelet on his wrist. He needs to calm down, take deep breaths, pretend.
“You good?” Herm asks in a lower voice.
Aaron is tight-lipped. “Sure.”
He tries his best to focus for the rest of the video, and it’s not until the end that he realizes he barely spoke. Like, at all. He didn’t make one joke, if you’re not counting Herm’s at the beginning.
He can tell Denny’s suspicion on him is growing, so he takes more sips of his Celsius until it’s gone. He wasn’t expecting it to take such a toll on him, but then again, it’s been thirteen years clean, and he threw it all away in a night, on a whim. Was he ever really clean at all, if it could be gone so easily? If one mistake can erase all your progress, what has it all been for?
But maybe that’s the thing. It wasn’t built on the notion of getting better and healing. It was built so he could say that things were fine.
But Aaron really, really wasn’t fine.
And rather than come to terms with that, he’d rather smoke and swallow pills and have something artificial take the pain away, replace it with more pain for those around him. He gets a respite from his suffering; they don’t. He was still the seventeen year old kid who’d pay any amount of money for one hit. Who did drugs at lunch because he couldn’t make it through two classes sober.
He realizes all of this, but it changes nothing. He is still a man who is now less than twenty-four hours clean, a man who is going to go home and get high and forget all about this and wake up to concerned texts and convince everyone he’s okay. Until it kills him, he’ll become a ghost of himself.
“Didn’t talk much,” Kev comments. Aaron notices they’re the only two left at the table after filming wrapped. “You can go home, seriously, if you’re sick. You’re zoning out, too, and you look pale…”
Kevin keeps talking, entertaining his own thoughts. Aaron only hears some of it and cares for none of it. He checks his phone. Checks it again. Another sip of his Celsius and Kevin is looking at him expectantly.
“Are you coming to lunch?” He repeats.
“Oh. Uh.” Aaron shrugs. “Probably not, man, sorry.”
Kevin studies his face, searching his eyes. He’s got an annoyed expression, so maybe he had to repeat the question more than once. Aaron thinks he’s going to ask if he’s okay again, but instead, he turns and walks away.
Aaron still feels dizzy, but he faintly feels like something is off. The entire panel are in a corner, talking in hushed tones about something clearly important. Aaron’s mind is elsewhere, so he doesn’t think much of it, until Denny breaks apart from the group to approach him.
“You didn’t talk at all last video.” Denny’s voice is deadpan, his expression serious. The joking, lively person from twenty minutes ago is gone.
“I said I’m not feeling well,” Aaron says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re lying.” Denny’s voice is almost desperate.
Aaron can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes. He doesn’t want to lie. He doesn’t want to hide it. He just wants to feel okay.
Sensing his sudden emotion, Denny takes his arm and leads him to a bathroom. Once inside, they stand facing each other, Aaron’s body curled in on itself. He’s hugging his arms to his chest protectively and trying not to break apart.
Denny stands his ground. “Come on, a-boogie. Just talk to me. What’s going on?”
Aaron shuts and locks the door behind him. He uses everything inside him to lie once more. “Nothing. I think I’m just sick, okay?"
"Just sick." denny scoffs, rubs his eyes. "I'm not stupid. Can you..." he stops. "Can you just be honest, for me, please?"
Aaron's bottom lip trembles, just slightly. He feels his hands shaking as he reaches up to wipe away tears from his eyes.
"Denny..."
“Please.” Denny shuts his eyes tightly, like he can’t bear to look at the failure of a man in front of him. "I'm gonna ask you a question, and I want you to be honest. That’s all I need from you right now."
Aaron slumps against the door. “Denny.”
"Are you- are you on drugs?" Denny opens his eyes even though he’s afraid of what he’ll see. He knows the answer, they both do.
Another tear falls from Aaron's eyes. He just looks at Denny. His eyes plead, please don't make me say it out loud.
"Jesus Christ, Aaron." Denny sinks to his knees, breathless, crying too now. "Jesus Christ."
Aaron wants to say something, anything, mutter an apology he wants so badly to mean. Nothing comes.
"Are you high right now?"
Aaron turns, buries his face in his sleeve, ashamed. "No. I-I don't think so." his tears were caught by the fabric of his sweatshirt. He sniffles and adds, “Last night.” He doesn’t need to explain.
“Just last night?” Denny asks.
Aaron nods and covers his mouth as a sob spills out.
Denny takes a deep breath. “Okay, sweetheart. Okay. I'm gonna need you to roll up your sleeve for me." He puts a fist to his mouth, like the words alone are too much for him to say.
Aaron closes his eyes as tears fall down his cheeks. There’s no use in fighting it, really. There’s no outrunning what was bound to catch up to him eventually.
"Okay," Aaron whispered. For once, he’s done fighting. He’s done running. For once, maybe he can let himself be seen and held. For once, he could feel the warmth of his best friend instead of the drugs.
He slowly folds his sleeve back, lifting it to his elbow. Then he turns over his arm where it’s bruised and bloody, from the failed attempts and the mess of last night.
Denny chokes a sob through his hand and turns his face away.
They’re both on the floor now, crumpled and drained, and Denny leans toward Aaron and takes him into his arms, cradling him like you might a child who had a nightmare.
Except Aaron was living his nightmare, and it was all his fault, and he knew it was.
“I sat by and watched this happen once." Denny's eyes were glossy, his breath hitching in his throat. "I won't let you ruin yourself again."
“I’m not– it’s not like how it was. It’s not bad.”
It’s as if Denny hadn’t even heard him speak. “Everything is good. You’re doing good. Why mess all of it up? Why, Aaron? Why?” He’s pleading with him as tears run down his cheeks, still holding him like if he lets go, they both might shatter.
“Because,” Aaron sobbed.
Denny shook his head, his voice coming out as a weak whimper. “Why?”
“Because I don’t deserve any of this. I’m a bad person, I-I’m a bad friend, Denny, don’t you get that? All I do is hurt you all. I hurt myself, but the difference is I deserve it. You’d all be so much better off, I mean… and thirteen years… but it was a lie.” Words spill out before he can stop them, faster than his tears, and they might as well be poison. Each sentence fragment only makes Denny cry harder.
“I don’t understand,” Denny whispers, gently touching the ends of Aaron’s hair, too scared to do more, but he doesn’t want to feel like he’s losing him anymore. “Why would you do this to us?”
Aaron squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to scream. I don’t know. I always thought I was doing it to myself.
“Don’t you know that we all love you?” Denny says insistently, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As simple as breathing.
Aaron hesitates. “I… I don’t know. I mean, I know I should believe that, but I… I can’t.”
“Oh, Aaron.” Denny presses their foreheads together, grabs the back of his neck to keep him in place. For a minute it’s just their staggered breathing, hiccups and sobs, tears falling into each other’s lap. Denny pulls Aaron into his arms and holds him so, so tight.
“Listen to me.”
Aaron looks up, and Denny wipes the tears falling down his face.
“When we get out of here, we’re going back to your apartment. We’re throwing it all away. And then we’ll go back to mine, okay? And–” Aaron’s eyes start to drift away, but Denny grabs his chin and forces him to make eye contact. “And you’ll sleep in a bed, and I’ll be on the floor. And when you wake up in the morning, I will have stayed. And I’ll make you coffee, and I’ll never say the fuckass number thirteen again, okay?”
Aaron laughs, just a little, through his tears.
“And I’ll stay for however long it takes to make you realize how much I love you. When I saw you this morning… all I could think about was that time when I didn’t know if you were going to make it. And I put that on me. And now I’m putting it on me again, and I’ll do it every single time until you get clean and stay that way.”
The insistence in Denny’s eyes, the pure, unfiltered love is enough to make Aaron start crying again.
“And you don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to deserve it. Because even if you don’t, that’s what you’re gonna get.” Denny wraps him in another hug.
When their tears slow and stop, and they get to their feet, still holding each other, Denny pulls down Aaron’s sleeve. They walk back out into the studio.
“Will you tell them?” Aaron asks under his breath.
Denny pauses, then, “No.”
Aaron exhales.
Someday, maybe. Maybe someday in another thirteen years. Or maybe just one or two.
—-----
It’s an unusually warm night for November. The stars freckle the sky and the constellations are visible from the ground. A gentle wind guides the air, but it’s not cold. The night holds secrets and moonlight floods through a window. Two boys lie in a room. One is on the floor and one is in the bed. A candle one of them forgot to blow out flickers in the kitchen. It illuminates a trash can. Inside the trash can, a plastic bag and an empty syringe. And the boy in the bed is learning how to unlove them both.