Sinner and Saint

Chapter Nineteen

"Well, you definitely match my mood," I said to the sky after I got a good look at it this morning.

Early January mornings could get quite chilly here but it was rare for it to look like rain.

But it was my birthday. Maybe that's why.

Most of my life, it had been celebrated through some type of party where people got wasted—first by Cece and her 'friends' when I was still quite young, and then later by me and my crowd once I was old enough to fake-ID my way into bars and other places.

The excitement had already started to wane even before the date became synonymous to Stellan's arrival in my life but it had definitely become the opposite of partying wild and hard in the last two years. If it landed on workday, I would take the rare day off and go surfing—something I usually reserved in the spring and summer. It had the benefit that with the cooler temperatures, I would have the beach all to myself.

Sidney taught me how to surf about two years ago, when I was fresh out of rehab.

I loved how it could disconnect me physically from the world. Out there, deep in the waters, I was but just a speck. It was a delicate dance between surviving and thriving, capturing perfectly how every single day has been since I forced myself down a different path.

I would spend most of the day out on the ocean, not talking to a single soul until I headed over to Carmela's for the small dinner she'd throw for me with my usual crew. It wasn't anything extravagant but my heart was happy and I guess, that's what it ultimately has to come down to.

This year is different though.

For the past two years, the idea of getting well enough and coming back home—coming back to Stellan—had driven me to make it through the worst of my struggles. But it's been many months now since I've been back and the adrenaline that carried me through the lead-up was petering out. The birthday I thought would finally be different from previous years turned out exactly like them.

So yes, today, I felt edgy.

Felt like it for the past week or so, actually.

While things have never been perfect before, for the first time in a long while, I couldn't shake this gnawing feeling.

The lid on that abyss slipping open fractionally.

That unsettling feeling that something was still critically missing at the core.

And it spooked me a little.

Enough that I had to call my new sponsor last night, a week earlier than our regular chat, just to talk it out.

It helped a lot but I had to pay close attention to myself in the next little while. To get help as soon as possible should a crack ever appear.

I had better luck than most recovering alcoholics when it came to avoiding relapses, mostly because my biggest triggers were fully out of the picture. But I couldn't get too comfortable. The path back to ruin was sometimes carved by a thousand small unwitting steps toward it.

I took out a frozen egg muffin and popped it into the microwave as I filled up my Thermos with some coffee. While waiting for breakfast, I flipped my laptop open on the dining table and checked a couple of emails.

Stellan had sent me one late last night, after I'd turned in.

He had a project proposal for me that he wanted to talk about over coffee today, if I had half an hour.

I'd wondered if he remembered my birthday. But then I wondered right after why I thought he wouldn't.

From his email though, it didn't seem like he did.