Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

the fluffy bedroom slippers. It was almost comical. “I suppose the word ‘moderation’ isn’t in an alcoholic’s vocabulary, hmm?” he asked easily. If he was still angry, he was hiding it well.
    Despite the lack of outward signs of anger, every comment cut deep. Zane felt hollow as he met Ty’s eyes. “I didn’t think my tolerance would have dropped so much,” he said softly. “I thought I could handle it.”
    Ty continued to look at him, his face expressionless. The lack of emotion was wholly unlike Ty; usually he couldn’t be trusted to hold his temper and his eyes were easy to read. The lack of outward emotion simply meant he was trying very hard to hide whatever he was feeling. Finally, he set the book aside and pulled his feet off the table. “At least you know that for the next time,” he observed.
    Zane wrapped his arms around himself, knowing he wouldn’t get any sympathy or comfort. Ty had never given him any reason to think he suffered addictions like Zane did, and despite making an effort not to drink around his partner, Ty’s reactions suggested no small amount of disdain for Zane’s substance abuse problems — ever since his first snarky comment eons ago when they’d first met: “ What, you’re a recovering alcoholic ? ”
    Ty certainly didn’t want to hear Zane boo-hoo about it. Zane wished, though, sometimes, that Ty would at least acknowledge how goddamn hard it was for Zane to say no to so much every single day of his life.
    Ty was still watching him. “You do realize you’ll probably be expected to drink again, right?” he asked softly.
    The thought hurt Zane so badly inside that it had to show on the outside somehow. He could still taste the liquor, and his throat and belly burned for it. He nodded jerkily. It would make everything easier to handle, clearer to see, smoother to swallow. It would cool him off and soothe his nerves. And with every sip he’d damn himself further. Zane knew that when that bottle was back in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to handle it.
    “You’re just going to accept that?” Ty asked him in frustration. He stood up quickly, one of the fuzzy slippers in his hand. He held it up, waved it, then tossed it angrily at the wall. “Why the hell am I the only one that cares about that?” he shouted as he came closer.
    “I care about it. There’s just nothing I can do about it,” Zane answered.
    “Bullshit!” Ty snapped, jerking his head as if he’d just bitten a piece out of something.
    “Will you listen to me for once ! Just once!” Zane yelled angrily.
    Ty stopped abruptly, staring at him for a moment before he breathed in quickly and nodded. He looked down and shook his foot, kicking off the other fuzzy slipper with a muttered curse. He looked back up at Zane and nodded again. “I’m listening,” he said, sounding sincere and serious.
    Zane took a couple moments to pull himself together, because he figured he wouldn’t get another chance to try to explain this. When he spoke, it was as raw and honest as he could make it. “You want me to be able to drink and handle it better. To be able to resist what it does to me and push it away when it gets to be too much. But the truth is that just one taste is too much. There is no handling it, no matter how much you care.” He stopped for a moment, staring at Ty and willing him to comprehend. “You have to believe me. Even if you don’t understand,” he begged.
    Ty looked at him silently, his eyes darting side to side as he studied Zane’s face. He didn’t really look like Ty, not with the airbrushed sheen. But they couldn’t change his eyes. He took another step toward the bed and knelt beside it, taking Zane’s hand in his and looking up at him. “I don’t understand what it takes,” he admitted, looking up at Zane earnestly. “I don’t understand what it does to you. But I do know that you are the most incredibly stubborn human being I’ve ever met,” he went on with a hint of frustration. “You’re stronger than last night.”
    Zane’s breath caught. He’d had no idea that was how Ty thought of him. It made him feel ten feet tall… and at the same time cut down to size. The unvarnished reality was that he was, and always would be, an alcoholic and drug abuser who hung on by his fingertips every day trying to stay sober and do his job. He squeezed Ty’s hand. “I wish I was what you believe,” he whispered. “I wish I was what you need me to be.”
    Ty looked