Anerley Addiction

Six months sober was the hardest stretch. Marcus sat in Nneka's group every Wednesday, learning to live differently. She made it possible.

She was Nigerian-British, thick curves in professional clothes, with eyes that had seen everything and still offered hope. She'd been through recovery herself—she told them that. It made her real.

"Progress isn't a straight line," she said each week. "But progress exists. I believe in all of you."

The day he got his six-month chip, she asked him to stay.

"You've done something remarkable," she said, her office quiet around them. "Most people don't make it this far."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"Yes you could. I just showed you what you already had." She moved closer. "Now I want to show you something else you have."

"What's that?"

"The capacity for healthy connection. Something to live for that isn't destructive." She touched his face. "If you're ready."

The first kiss was terrifying—feelings he'd numbed for years suddenly flooding back. She held him through it.

"I know. I know. It's overwhelming. But this is what clear feels like." Her thick body grounded him. "Let me show you."

They made love in her office after everyone else had gone—slowly, carefully, her thick curves surrounding him with safety.

"Feel everything. Don't run from it. This is real."

She came gently, tears mixing with pleasure, and he followed—feeling emotions he'd buried for decades.

"That's recovery," she breathed. "That's what you've been working toward."

"Is this... appropriate?" he asked afterward. "You being my counselor?"

"I'm transitioning you to another group. For this reason." She pulled him close. "I knew from the start there was something here. I had to wait until you were ready."

"I'm ready now."

"I know." She kissed him softly. "Welcome to the next phase. It's even better than sobriety."

His Anerley addiction had transformed into something healthy. And Marcus had found a reason to keep living—clear-eyed and grateful.