Beth sat across the table from me, stirring her tea slowly. “Why are you doing this to me, Blythe?” She asked.

We sat across from each other, in her lavish garden surrounded by colorful flowers and greenery. Her housekeeper, Paula appeared through the foliage.

“More tea?” Paula asked, chipper.

Without even looking in her direction, Beth waved her away. “What exactly am I doing to you?” I asked.

Beth rolled her eyes. “I gave you the best of everything I could, Blythe. Look at your sister. Twenty years old, still in college. She’s got her very first book deal.”

I shook my head, in disbelief. “My God. We can’t have a single conversation without you comparing me to Blair, can we?” I asked.

She took a sip from her cup. “That is not a comparison. She is a role model. She gets good grades, she listens to what I have to say, and she doesn’t get married to the first man to make her feel special.”

I scoffed. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, Beth.”

“Blythe, have you ever considered that to be the problem?” She sighed. “You make yourself so unpalatable, dear.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Coming here was such a big fucking mistake.” I said, rising to my feet.

“Oh, Blythe. Don’t be dramatic.” She said behind me, “You don’t fool me. You’re just doing all of this to get back at me. Christ, I thought this rebellious streak would finally come to an end after college.”

I turned to face her, “Not everything is about you, Beth.”

~

I sat in a chair across from my usual spot on the pull out couch. There was a huge window behind the couch that granted me access to a landscape view of the forest outside. I sat with my foot propped up on a pillow on the coffee table, sketching pictures of the trees next to the fire place.

“Is that what you came up here to do?” Rowan asked, his body was wet and glistening. He wore only a towel, and I could see the definition of each individual muscle on his abdomen. He’d shaved his beard down a lot, and his hair was combed and slicked back. I bit my lip, realizing I was staring.

“What?” I asked, snapping back to my senses.

I saw a smirk begin to form on his lips. “You only really had camping gear, snacks, and art supplies. Did you come all the way up here to do this?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I did. I was in a similar environment in rehab, I made a few really good pieces there.”

“So you’re an artist?” He asked. I tried to keep my eyes glued to the page in front of me, but I found myself admiring the muscles on his arms. His bicep was bigger than my thigh.

I cleared my throat. “Mhm.” I could feel my cheeks getting hot.

“You mind if I take a look?” He asked, coming closer.

“It’s not finished yet.” I said, quickly.

He stopped, and flashed a beautiful set of perfect teeth at me. “I get it.” He said, turning and walking up to the loft.

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I covered my face with my hands. I felt like I’d opened a can of worms. Rowan is the epitome of hot lumberjack, but I didn’t think of him that way, until last night. Even though I was just hoping to get another pill or two, looking at him that way made me realize how gorgeous he actually was, how easily he could lift me up, and how gentle his hands were. I couldn’t think of him that way, I couldn’t think of anyone that way. The only person I’ve thought about for the last three and a half years has been Cedar. It’s always been Cedar.

Rowan came down from the loft in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. I kept my eyes glued to my sketch. I’d already broken my year and a half long sobriety, I won’t break my promise to Cedar too.

“Tea?” Rowan asked.

“Sure.” I said back.

He walked over, and sat on the coffee table in front of me and studied me. I kept my eyes down. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Mhm.” I smiled, maintaining eye contact with the page.

He huffed. “So yesterday, you’re brave enough to attempt to come on to me, in hopes that I’d give you more pills and today, you refuse to look me in the eye?”

“You make me sound like a whore when you put it that way.” I scoffed.

He threw his hand up. “Not my intention.” He said quickly, “I just want to know what changed. I won’t give you pills but I don’t think I’m… intimidating.”

I looked up at him, his green eyes stealing my gaze. “I never said you were.”

“Then what changed?” He asked.

“I gave up my sobriety. I don’t want to give up my dignity too, and I lost some of that last night. So, if you don’t mind.” I said, getting back to my sketch.

“What? You think that one pill means you’re not sober anymore?” He scoffed.

“That’s kind of how it works.” I said.

“Did you get high, from the one pill I gave you yesterday? Or the half of one I gave you this morning?” Rowan asked.

“Well, not exactly. But–”

“Then as far as I’m concerned.” He said, cutting me off. “No sobriety broken.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works.” I said, finally putting my sketch book down.

Rowan shrugged, “I mean, I am a doctor. I think I would know.” He said.

I rolled my eyes. He continued, “Come on, you had a pill and a half over the last twelve hours. You’re hurt. I’m sure not even your sponsor could blame you. And I’m going to make damn sure, you stay sober. Don’t beat yourself up.” He said, putting a hand on my knee.

A chill went through me at the feel of his touch. I started to place my hand on his, but stopped. “Uh, tea?” I asked.

Rowan stood up. “Yeah. No problem.”

He went into the kitchen to make the tea. I sat, staring at the little snowflakes coating the trees outside. I thought about what Rowan said, but I felt like I didn’t deserve to call this sobriety. There are no loopholes to being clean, either you are or you aren’t. Rowan walked back over to me with two mugs filled with tea.

“Chamomile, with honey and lemon. Is that alright?” He asked. I nodded.

He sat a mug down on the table next to me, and then sat on the chair across from me, sipping hot tea out of his mug. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.” He said.

I shrugged. “I always have a lot on my mind.”

“What is it this time?” He asked.

I took a deep breath. “I can’t be here anymore.” I said, resting my head on the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Well, we don’t have much of a choice,” He huffed, “But why do you feel that way?”

“I can’t resist the temptation of being here.” I said, quietly.

“You have no idea where the pills are. I move them around, everytime I bring you a dose.” He said. “You’re fine, and we might be stuck here a while but it won’t be forever.”

I looked at him. “That’s not the only thing.” I said.

“Then what is?” He asked.

I lip my lower lip. “Nothing.” I exhaled. “Like you said. I don’t really have a choice. I’m stuck here.”

I threw the thought of Rowan out of my mind. I came here, for one reason. To create art that felt like me, art that could get me out of my sister's stupid house and far, far away from my mother. A man I’ve known for only two days would not change that. Rowan would not come between me and my love for Cedar. No one would.

Days passed, Rowan and I fell into a sort of cohabitation. He’d make meals, and go out to get firewood and check to see if anything changed with the landslide. When he was in the cabin, he would just read while I sketched. At first, the silence between us felt so unnatural, but I was getting used to it now. The swelling on my ankle went down significantly, and I was even able to put small amounts of pressure on it, which meant Rowan didn’t have to carry me everywhere anymore. I regained a little bit of mobility in my arm arm but still could barely raise it higher than two inches. The bruising on my ribcage was getting worse, however, Rowan claimed that was common. None the less he kept me on a very, very strict pain management regimen. Half of a pill every eight hours. It wasn’t all bad though, he finally decided to let Sadie be free to roam the cabin.

“Where do you get all of these pills?” I worked up the courage to ask him one day. “I mean, as far as I know, you’re not a doctor currently. And usually, doctors don’t just keep opioids laying around their house… unless you’re an addict too?” I joked.

He gave a half hearted laugh. “I don’t practice, currently no. I quit to take care of my dad before he died. It was supposed to be temporary but I just never ended up going back to the hospital after he was gone.” He said.

“And the pills?” I asked.

“I used to do house calls.” He said.

I scoffed. “Bullshit. No one does that anymore, and opioids are always heavily monitored. I think I would know.”

Rowan shrugged. “Wow, are you all caught up on your TV medical no how?” He asked.

I gave him a confused look. “No need to get all defensive, jeez. I’m just saying, having a bunch of opioids at your disposal is a bit suspicious.” I said.

“Maybe you should mind your own business then.” He snapped, storming off up to his loft.