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"I'm watching you choke down the words that you said.."

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Relapsing doesn't mean that you failed.

Relapsing doesn't mean that you're weak.

Relapsing doesn't mean that you are destined to return to a life of addiction.

Relapsing means falling after standing strong for so long. If you put it into most simplest terms, it's just a setback. A stumble. It doesn't mean that your life is going to turn upside down with no hopes of a full recovery. It's just a simple setback, and all you need to do is get back up.

It's a pretty common thing for most recovered addicts.

So me, simply falling, shouldn't be a surprise. If anything, I would be setting the world into order.

One line, or one little white pill, or even one small drink, won't kill me.  Not this time. I know how to control myself, I know how to stop myself if things get too dark and twisted. I could make it easy. I could make it simple. Like a one night stand. When I'm done, I'll just hold my head up high and promise myself to never look back. Just one more time.

After the infamous Lip shot down that was heard around the world, we rode home in complete and utter silence. It was uncomfortable. You could feel all the unwanted lust dying and self confidence deteriorating. It felt like I was naked sitting next to him in a car that wasn't even ours. Unsettling and wrong. He didn't say a word, he didn't look my way. He barely breathed with an unsteady heart.

It was honesty.

Lip didn't want a recovering addict. He's known too many his whole life to make room for one more, let alone the most damaged of them all. He's seen this show one too many times to know it like his favorite textbook. A stunt of promising sobriety followed by disappointing, heartbreaking, honesty. He didn't trust me yet, and I foolishly ignored that. I may have slipped up with my addiction to Lip, but I could always pull myself back up.

I wanted his trust before his heart.

I needed it.

Once we made it back to the south side, we dumped the car near the L and walked awkwardly home. Our hands almost touching, heat bouncing off our near bodies. Silence was our favorite game and we were both winning. As soon as we reached the Gallagher home, Lip zipped up the stairs, without a single word. I stood near the couch and listened to his feet shuffle back and forth in his room. All the lights were out and everyone was asleep.

I slept that night, feeling empty and hungry for oblivion.

The addict wanted back in.

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Endless weeks passed with sweat and aching feet. I worked every night shift at the bar, in hopes of avoiding Lip at home. When I wasn't sleeping on the Gallagher couch, I was kicking old drunks out the famous red door. There were easy days and there were hard days. The easy days were filled with laughs between me and Kev. They were filled with moments of me and the kids making breakfast together. I wore a smile on my face, with optimism in my grasp. But the bad days, they were unbearable. I'd wake up with sore limbs and a growling stomach. They were the moments filled with hatred towards Lip and nostalgia for sweet narcotics. Those were the days that were filled with pessimistic thoughts and dark wants.

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