Nova and Quinton: No Regrets (Nova #3)(26)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

A few people in the crowd nod, like they totally get what he’s saying. Understand. I should. It’s a story similar to mine, although my distraction wasn’t a phone, it was Lexi sticking her head out the window. The distraction that led me to drive carelessly. Still, I should have just pulled over.

I’m not understanding, though. Not yet, but I feel something change inside me. Lighten. I’m not sure what it is.

He raises his head back up and I’m surprised there aren’t tears in his eyes. “It took me years to figure out something. Years of drugs to finally realize one simple thing. That it’s not about numbing the pain, but accepting it and doing something with it. Doing something good to make up for the bad.” He starts walking back and forth across the front of the room again. “Doing something that helps people, instead of wasting away because I feel sorry for myself. Because I made a shit decision at the wrong moment and changed everything.” He glances at the people in the room, like he’s speaking to each one. “Make a difference. Make good in the world. You’ll be surprised how much easier dealing with your guilt is.”

He stops there and people start asking him questions. I stay quiet, though, getting stuck in my own head as a revelation hits me. Is that what I’m doing? Feeling sorry for myself? As I rewind through all my shit decisions over the last two years, I come to the painful conclusion that maybe I am. I mean, I haven’t done anything good to make up for the lives I’ve taken. I’ve just slowly walked toward death myself, determined to die because it seemed so much easier than dealing with all the aching inside.

The more I analyze this, the more freaked out I get. I’m not sure what’s worse, just letting myself drown in my guilt or seeing some sort of lighter side, like I’m starting to. I’m not even sure I’m ready to deal with it, and by the time the meeting ends, I’m ready to run the hell out of that church and go find someone to buy from so I can pump my body up with meth and focus on the adrenaline rush of that instead of the positive adrenaline I’m feeling.

But Wilson cuts me off at the doorway, stepping in front of me, appearing pretty much out of nowhere. “Hey, is the room on fire or something?”

I stop in front of him and give him a quizzical look. “What?”

He chuckles as he leans over and collects a Styrofoam cup from the table beside the doorway. “You were leaving so fast, I thought maybe you saw a fire.” He pauses like he’s actually waiting for me to answer the question. “But by the confused look you’re giving me, I’m guessing no to the fire, right?” Again, he waits for me to respond.

I slowly shake my head. “No… no fire.”

“So then what’s up with the rush exit?” he asks, reaching for the coffeepot. “Did my speech freak you out or something?”

I’m about to tell him no, but he seems like the kind of person who would call me out on my lie, so I warily nod. “Yeah, sort of, I guess.”

He pours the coffee into the cup before returning it to the coffee maker. “Yeah, I tend to do that sometimes when I get really intense.” He reaches for a packet of sugar. “It seems like the more speeches I give, the more passionate I get, but I think it’s because I become more and more determined to try and help people like you and me see things in a different light.”

I glance around at the few people in the room, feeling out of place. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“You seem uneasy.” He studies me as he rips the packet of sugar open with his teeth. “If I’m remembering right, Greg made you come to these meetings?”

“Yeah, he did.”

He smiles to himself as he pours the sugar into his coffee, then tosses the packet into the garbage before grabbing a stirrer. “He’s a pushy son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

I nearly smile. “Yeah, sort of, but he’s not that bad.”

“Nah, he’s not bad at all.” He walks out the door and toward the steps that lead upstairs. The meeting room is actually located in the basement of a church, of all things. I’m not really a fan of going into the church. In fact, I feel like I’m being judged the moment I step over the threshold, whether by church members or God, I’m not sure, especially since I’m not really sure I believe in God.

“In fact, he actually helped me a lot by pushing me,” Wilson continues as he jogs up the stairs.

“Really?” I ask with doubt, grasping the railing as I walk up.

He pauses in the middle of the stairway, glancing over his shoulder at me with a curious look on his face. “How long have you been seeing him?”

“A few weeks.”

He nods, like he understands something. “You’re a newbie, then.” He starts up the stairs again. “Give it time. It’ll get better.”

I’m not sure if I’m completely buying his getting-better speech. “How long does it usually take?” I ask as we step out into the pew area and turn for the exit doors to our left, which have wreaths on them. Christmas cheer everywhere and yet I feel so bummed out.

“Take for what?” he asks, stirring his coffee, which I know is stale because I tried it the first time I came to one of these meetings and nearly threw up from the nasty taste.

“I don’t know.” I scratch the back of my neck, loitering in front of the doorway as the support group people leave the church. “To get rid of the weight on my shoulders… the guilt.” I’m not even sure why I’m asking, because that would mean I believe it’s possible. And I don’t. Not really, anyway. But Wilson seems so easy to talk to, maybe because I know he once felt the same way I’m feeling.

He briefly stares at me before he takes a sip of the coffee, then stares up at the front of the church, where there’s a lectern, rows of chairs, and a stained glass window that rays of sunlight shine through. “To be honest, it doesn’t ever go away.” He returns his attention to me. “Like I said today, it’s always there, but you just got to learn how to deal with it and make your life good enough that good covers up the dark part of you.”

“Dark part?” I pretend like I have no idea what he’s talking about, when I do, way, way too f**king well.

He gives me a knowing smile, like he understands this. “You just got out of rehab, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And how long has it been?”

“Since when? Since I did drugs?”