Other Broken Things by C. Desir Page B

Cook County Corrections’ inked on your ass.”
    â€œYou’re such a classy girl.”
    I wink. “I try. Now go buy me some biscuits before I really start to talk dirty and you aren’t able to stand up.”
    He bolts from his seat and I choke on laughter. He turns back and smiles at me and now I know: he’s in just as bad as I am. Crap. Crap crap crap crap crap.

Chapter
Fifteen
    I’m at Starbucks at the butt crack of dawn on the Sunday morning after Christmas with a Venti double mocha and Kathy in front of me with a blank notebook and the Big Book .
    â€œSo I assume you understand what the Fourth Step is, even if last time you only half-assed it,” she says.
    â€œExcuse me. I fully assed it.”
    She snorts. “No. You didn’t. Because we wouldn’t be here if you did. Now, mostly the moral inventory is about resentment, regret, booze, and sex.”
    â€œWhat?” I sputter.
    She shrugs. “Well, that’s pretty much what it is. You make a list of all the things you resent right now and figure out why that’s your problem, and not the problem of the people you resent. You make a list of all the things you regret, now and in the past, then figure out why that’s also your problem. Then you make a list of how you dealt with these resentments and regrets with alcohol or sex or both.”
    â€œI don’t remember them doing it like this in rehab.”
    Kathy shakes her head. “That’s because rehab is meant to dry you out, so you can start to do the real work.”
    â€œThat sex thing seems sketchy. This isn’t Sex Addicts Anonymous.”
    Kathy flips open the Big Book and faces it toward me. “Read this section on the Fourth Step. The whole last bit is all about sexual relationships. Bill W. knew what was what.”
    If I’m being totally honest, I don’t want to get into this with Kathy. Not just because of my less-than-pure thoughts about Joe, but because I’m not sure I want this crusty lady diving through my notes about my sex life. I’ve worked too damn hard to shut all that down.
    â€œHow do you even know if sex was a problem for me?”
    She raises an eyebrow. “Sex is a problem for all of us. And you probably more than most. Look at the way you chew gum or smoke cigarettes.” She waves to the wrappers of the gum that I’ve already chewed through since we’ve been here. “Tell me about your last boyfriend.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTell me that sex and alcohol weren’t all wrapped up together in how that ended—probably how it started too.”
    I take a sip of coffee. “His name is Brent. And yeah, I guess those were both involved.”
    â€œAnd does he fall into the category of resentment or regret?”
    â€œDon’t know. Both, I guess. I resent that I got sent to rehab because I was dropping his wasted ass off.”
    She scribbles something in the notebook. “And the regret?”
    I shrug. I have a world of regret when it comes to Brent but there’s no way I’m getting into that with Kathy. “I don’t know. I guess I feel bad because I sort of used him. For booze, for someone to party with, whatever.”
    She nods and scribbles more, then passes the notebook to me. “See? Columns: Regret, Resent, Reason. Now you need to fill in the rest of the list, and include every grudge you’re holding on to. Even the ones from a long time ago. Your parents. Your psychiatrist. Whatever. Get them all out. Then we’ll meet and talk about it. You’ll tell me your story about how you got here and include all the things on the list, and we’ll smoke a bunch of cigarettes and then it’ll be done.”
    When I did this in rehab, I had two things I talked about: my parents and school. I didn’t mention friends or anything from the past. I didn’t mention boxing or Jerry or the gym. I didn’t mention the accident or