“Do you ever speak to Jeff?”

Jeff, eugh. What’s there to say about Jeff? Well, first off, I hate him. I’m two-faced, in a British sort of way, and I make friends easily, but in truth I judge people too harshly. Getting my approval isn’t easy. I know it’s bad form but also, in a British sort of way, I am proud and traditional and refuse to change; even to fix one of my biggest flaws.

Jeff joined the group much later than I. He walked into our little safe circle looking dishevelled with a sad, sort of puppy dog look. The nurturers among us immediately fell for him. He was relatively handsome, but I found everything to be somewhat rehearsed. For one thing, having a five o’clock shadow and wearing a loose t-shirt doesn’t make for an alcoholic.

His skin was too perfect, his eyes were bright and wide, he smelled decent, and it took him almost no time to engage in the program. Myself, I was able to hide most of it with careful curation, but the droop in my right eye gave things away. He is too clean. He spends all his time talking to women and seems to have a permanent gaggle following him around. They’re fluttering around him now in the corner, no doubt.

I came out for a smoke break. I can only take so much of being around that many people before I start to spiral and need to step out. I guess the only time I was ever confident in a large group was when I was drunk. The time it takes my social clock to run out drastically falls when Jeff shows up.

“You’re a million miles away. Should I be worried?”

“Huh?” I said, coming around from my stupor. “Oh, sure. I have talked to him.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Should I be worried about you? You’ve been a bit on edge recently.”

“Nah, I am golden. What were you going to say about Jeff?”

“After his relapse a few weeks ago, he has really turned it around. It’s quite impressive really…”

Sandy kept talking, but I knew I had lost her trail immediately. I can’t get this guy out of my head. Just as it seemed that the attention he was getting had begun to die down, he came to the session looking almost identical to the day that he joined. Even his hair was tousled the same way, like he had used something to style it that way. Then a week later, he was back and calling it a momentary lapse in judgement.

I am so sick of this. I don’t believe any of it. He is so obviously trying to vie for attention. I know I can get obsessive, and I know I should probably ignore the compulsion to take this any farther than I already have but something has already snapped in my head. I know that I am going to follow him. I have to.

After the session and after a little small talk, Jeff decides to leave behind his gaggle, declaring that he ‘has to be up for a big meeting tomorrow’. I get into my little red Fiesta and tap her on the dashboard.

“We’re gonna go check him out, girly. Play nice now, ya hear?”

She responds by starting first time; it must be fate. I make sure to leave before he can get to his car. I always park around the corner from the centre, as I don’t want people to know my personal details. It’s probably true that most people who have trust issues have either been hurt or have something to hide. In my case, it’s probably both.

Walking to my car, I start to plan out the steps in my head. Tonight is just to check out where he lives, or where he hangs out. I’ll keep my distance and observe for now. By instinct I reach to the glove box and when I open it to see it empty, void of alcohol, I shake my head and try to refocus myself.

“Come on. Don’t do this, you know it won’t end we—”

Jeff’s car interrupts my thought as it pulls out of the lot and turns away, onto the street. I close the box, strap in, and set my hands to ten and two. I follow behind, but at a distance, taking no risks this early on. I lose some distance at the lights but keep on him halfway across town. I turn my heating on, and Girly does her best, but she is old and the cold night-air drifting in from some unseen hole bites at my feet.

He turns off the street to the backside of a building I don’t recognise. I park up a short distance away and turn my keys, shutting the car down and going into sleuth mode. He steps out of his car and checks himself out in the mirror, smoothing his hair into place and rubbing something into his wrists.

“Where the hell are you going?”

This wasn’t his home, that’s for certain. Has to get up early tomorrow, hm? I watch him get out of his car, then perform a quick scouting look before heading down a dark passageway and through a door. Not wanting to get out of my car, I decide to check out the front of the building by driving around, but as I do, I see a man rolling out a metal keg and placing it behind a dumpster.

“A keg?” I shake my head. “No freaking way. Is this a bar?”

Incredulous and filled with an unreasonable anger, I grab my phone and get out of my Fiesta.

“Wait here, Girly.” I say, patting her roof. As soon as I step out, I can hear the gentle thump thump thump of bass that tells me it’s a lively joint. I traipse over to the back of the building, doing my best to take soothing breaths, but each step slams to the stone in time with the bass fuelling my rage.

I reach the door and am hit in the face by the acrid tang of old beer pooling near the empty kegs and it stops me in my tracks. I am frozen in fear. What am I thinking? I can’t go in there, that would be it for me. This whole idea is stupid. I move to leave but as soon as I turn away; the fury left in me melts into that obnoxious obsessive voice and I am frozen again, caught between two ideas.

I settle for a compromise and walk away from the smell to Jeff’s car. Eugh, Jeff. Even his car is too nice. I lean against the driver-door, facing the door down the dark passageway I saw him go through earlier. My laboured breathing lets out my fury in short, puffy clouds into the cold air of the evening. Time passes and my hands grow cold. I alternate between blowing on them, rubbing them together, and squirreling them away in deep pockets.

The door opens once as a false alarm, when two guys leave. The one man had his arm around the waist of the other, but he quickly shrinks it away as he notices me. They keep their heads down as they go. What was that about? A gay bar? Then why does he spend all his time flirting with the women?

I am contemplating leaving, realising I am delving into things I have no business knowing, but torn between that, the betrayal of trust, and my obsessive impulses driving me to probe further. I am about to retreat when the door opens and stood in the passageway is Jeff.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He calls out, stomping over to me.

“Me? What the hell are you doing here, Mister Momentary Lapse?”

“You followed me? What are you, some kind of stalker?”

“You know there are other, non-alcohol driven ways to pick up guys?”

I pull out my flip phone.

“What is this? Are you going to take a picture? Did someone hire you?”

“Hire me? What are you talking about? This doesn’t even take pictures, it’s just some crumby burner phone I use for meetings.”

“So, what is this? Are you obsessed? Stalking?”

“You?!” I fake a laugh. “You’re not my type.”

His demeanour changes and he slumps his shoulders and moves to lean against his car with that sad puppy dog look in his eyes again.

“So, who else knows?”

“Nobody. I just knew there was something off about you.” I turn away from him to walk towards my car. “I am going to tell Jackson, though. Not about the gay-part, I couldn’t give a damn, but he should know if someone is trying to cheat the program. It’ll be better that way.”

I feel a touch of sympathy for his situation and hear him shift behind me. “You know, you don’t need to lie to anyone here about th—” I turn back to see Jeff, a calm empty expression on his face as he swings some kind of piping in a wide arch towards my head. There is no time to realise what happened, or even feel the impact. Everything just… goes black.