I return my attention to him. “I’ll be okay,” I answer.
I remove Finn’s shoes and socks and cover him with a sheet. But it’s not until I fill a pitcher of water and place it and a glass on the bedside table that she speaks again.
“Sol, thanks for being here,” she tells me. “Like I said, Finn needs you.”
I walk her out and push the security lock in place, but as I return to the bedroom area and take in Finn’s draped form I realize she’s wrong.
I’m the last thing he needs.
CHAPTER 25
Sol
For a long time all I do is watch Finn sleep. He seems so peaceful. But it kills me to know he had to get wasted to achieve this kind of peace.
I slip out of my coat. I didn’t even realize I still had it on, my mind too preoccupied with how I found Finn. I know why he did what he did. “Anesthetizing”. It’s what one of my former Profs called it, a fancy way to describe drinking or drugging to numb the pain.
God, it hurts knowing I’m the cause of his relapse.
Yet it hurts more knowing what I have to do to help him recover.
I’m not being a martyr. At least, I don’t mean to be. But I can’t deny the role my family and I played in his downward spiral. We practically shoved him off the wagon. Seriously, how could he possibly stand a chance at sobriety seeing what he saw, and then dealing with me afterward?
My intuition warned me to keep my distance the first time I saw him at the clinic, reminded me that two damaged people shouldn’t get involved, shouldn’t be together― not when their wounds were still so fresh. I knew this. Every passage I’ve read about codependency reinforced these facts. And still I let him into my heart.
Yet somehow, all the facts I read weren’t always true. We were good together. We laughed, we supported each other, and we loved. We were so good together.
Until we weren’t.
I lower myself to the edge of the bed. As angry and upset as I am about everything that transpired, my old friend exhaustion creeps in, making it hard to remain standing. I should sleep on the couch, and not be near him. But as much as I know it’s time to walk away, the need to feel close, this one last time, lures me.
My fingers smooth his hair. He hates the slight wave to it and usually doesn’t allow it to grow long enough for the edges to curl. I don’t mind, and like the softness to it. But then I like everything about him, everything that makes him “Finn” . . . even those demons he hides because don’t we all have our share?
Yet as much as I’ve wanted to support and love him, I fed those demons instead of lulling them to sleep.
“I should have stayed away from you,” I whisper. “I should have kept my distance and left you alone.”
It’s my last comment that stirs the misery I’ve tried to beat back. But when his hand covers mine, and he moves it toward his face, I just about break down.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers against my palm, his breath soft and warm.
The gesture is my undoing. I miss him and his sweet personality. I miss that tender side he reserves solely for me. I miss how we laughed, and I miss the way we touched. But I’ve been selfish, keeping him with me and causing him trauma he could have done without.
Shit. It was bad enough that he found my mother the way he did. But then he prolonged the experience by staying to comfort me when I fell into hysterics. Some counselor I am. I couldn’t save my mother, and I worsened Finn’s depression.
I bend and kiss his cheek, my tears dripping onto the bed. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, because God knows, I truly am.
I wish I could say I don’t regret my time with Finn, but I do. If I hadn’t come along, he wouldn’t be this bad off. Mason would be helping him recover, and he’d be in a better place. “I’m sorry,” I say, again.
He mumbles something I can’t quite understand. I think he wants water. I start to rise to hand him the glass when his grip tightens over mine. “No,” he slurs. “I want you to lay with me.”
For all I know, he thinks I’m one of the women who planned to spend the night with him. It should make me angry, but instead it makes me sadder. I lay beside him, my back against his chest. He fastens his arm around my waist as I gather the sheets around us. But when his lips pass along my neck and his hand slips beneath my shirt, I know we’re not going to sleep.
I should tell him, no, and leave the bed. Wasted or not, Finn wouldn’t force me to have sex with him. Yet as much as I know I shouldn’t be with him, I don’t stop him, allowing him to roll me onto my back and kiss me.
My arms slide around his neck when he climbs on top of me and starts to rub his groin between my legs. I don’t think he can get hard, not with how drunk he remains. But as his erection presses against me, he proves how wrong I really am.