Addictions

Within a few years, she'd be all grown-up, but she was still something of a little girl in the way she looked up to him.

She had no idea whether he was aware of how much they shared; she herself was only beginning to see what she had inherited from him.

The way they both moved, the way they sat in a room silent, their conception of what mattered and what did not - the way addiction was part of their life.

His addiction had taught her not to speak, not to trust and not to feel; all lessons that had been reinforced by her own. Seeing how he coped - that is, the way he was so oblivious about it - had shown her how to conceal everything, how to keep up appearances, how to lay out a straight face and a straight story for the outside world.

She'd seen him turn around one morning; he'd made a decision, he stuck to it and never went back. Just like that. He'd taken it all in, he'd even faced the teasing without a word. That certainly called for admiration, and the little girl she still was sometimes stood in front of him very impressed by it all - but she didn't utter a word.

She was unsure and he probably didn't know; the loneliness inherent to addiction was the price to pay.