Because (and I did this for all the character's in my sisters books that are shipped together, from Bar Red's Redemption from STESLARA I'm the one that makes the aesthetic thingys) I made a shipping thingy for Micah and AJ since so many of you ship them together!

Observe:

This will be put up on the aesthetic "Before You Begin" chapter at the beginning of the book.
(I'm sorry if it's not good as expected)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: CHAPSTICK

Only when an addict learns to love himself will he feel he's worth changing.
-Toni Sorenson

Having an addiction, then having to recover from it is like being stuck in traffic. 

You have to watch the other people around you move on and get where they need to go when you're stuck. Sometimes you move really slow and you feel like you're getting nowhere, and sometimes you have to stop moving all together and actually get nowhere. Sometimes other people get really impatient with you, but there's nothing you can do about it, there's nowhere else you can go except forward -even if forward is coming so slow that moving backwards would be faster. 

A lot of the time you feel like you'll never get out of the traffic, never get where you want to be. But then little by little, tear by tear, inch by inch through pain and frustrating you see improvement. 

It's hard but you get where you're going, even if you have put on the breaks and stop once or twice.

With Micah, he's still in the process of recovery, still unbecoming an addict and learning how to be human again. It's a constant surprise to me that he's doing as well as he is, that he's not giving up or taking a step back.

Our past, us being addicts, complicates things. 

As much as we can pretend it doesn't, as much as we don't want it to, it does.

I still can't remember everything, neither can he. We don't know what we used to be, we don't know much of anything besides for the fact that I left him. That it didn't end well.

We crashed and burned.

Trying to figure it out isn't working well, looking each other in the eyes and simply trying to remember doesn't work. Something's missing, and neither of us can figure it out.

"From what you do remember, do you miss me?" Micah asks, taking the situation lightly, a hint of a devilish grin in his dark eyes. 

We're standing in his apartment's living room, all the furniture pushed to the side to give us a place to practice fighting. This conversation started when he told me that he remembered I never wanted to fight before.

"No," My false reply stops my real feelings from creeping out of my heart and up my throat to expose me.

"I think you're lying." That look is gone, and the broken boy faces me completely, no joke in his features but smirking nonetheless. 

Raising an eyebrow, I silently ask him how he knows.

"Something like that, even if you couldn't remember your body would. You'd be in pain." Micah shakes his head, then looks back up to me. "Nobody can go through something like that alone, so if I went through that kind of pain, you did too."

"I said I missed you," I confess, looking at the ground as I wrap my arms around myself. "I told her, I told her that I wanted you. She didn't like it and...I -she used to hit me, you know. I either behaved or I'd get hurt, I thought I deserved it. I was never good enough. But you...I did miss you. She just didn't like it."

There's a lot she didn't like.

It was so exhausting, so mentally and emotionally draining to have to care for her. Caring for her was terrible, loving her was a new type of abuse. She never missed the opportunity to disappoint, manipulate or hurt me.

Being a drug addict isn't nearly as bad as being sober and loving a drug addict -so long as they're still on drugs. It doesn't matter if it's a family member, spouse or friend, nothing will mess a person up more than watching someone kill themselves like that.

Being associated with addicts is another pain all together.

Because try as hard as they'd like, people know they can't save them, the only person who can do that is themselves. But the addicts sure as hell can destroy the sober, and given enough time, they will.

I know that she helped destroy me, and that's why I became an addict -to get even.

"She's not the one who gave you those scars," Micah finally says, breaking the silent and he points to the most distinguishable ones on my collarbone. "Is she?"

"That's all from little ol' me." I pause. "Before, when we knew each other, you said that you didn't want someone capable of doing that to me alive. I know you, and I know if you knew it was me who did that you wouldn't say that. But I didn't argue with you, and I didn't tell you but not because I didn't think you cared. Or because I wanted you to feel guilty. I don't...please don't-"

He embraces me before I can finish, catching the anxiety in my voice. "It's okay AJ, you're okay and I'm okay. Everything's alright."

It almost feels wrong how good being able to melt into the broken boy feels, that for some reason I'm not supposed to sink into his chest, that my body is supposed to feel awkward pressed against his. But it's not, and it doesn't.

"Thanks Demon," I say, voice a little wobbly.

"Anything for you, little Goddess."

Feeling my heart start to pound and give way to a flush, I just hug him tighter. He's starting to get more touchy, teasing me more, he looks happier and it's like he's half flirting with me sometimes -so I don't know if he's actually flirting with me, just teasing me or starting to be nicer.

But Micah really hates people.

So I doubt it's that last option.

This all just means I'm flushing more, trying to hide my face from him all while still trying to let him know I'm not backing down.

It's really hard to fight someone, when you're thinking about their muscles instead of how it feels when those muscles hit you. But that's probably my main issue because Micah doesn't actually hit me, it's all practice, it's all light.

But then he expects me to actually hit him, and the one time I did- -because I merely slipped and elbowed him hard enough to give him a bloody nose- -I ended up crying as if I had been the one who was hurt all while Micah glared at me in exasperation. 

There are rules to follow even after getting sober. 

For example: Your body becomes a temple if and only when you treat it like one, so you need to treat it like one. Micah is starting to do this well.

After breaking from addiction, you need to fix yourself in the right way. But I've learned that a heart can still break even if you never put it together properly in the first place.

So here I am, trying not to fall apart the same time I'm working to always keep myself together.

Eventually we go back to what he would call sparring, until I call for a mango break. Given, this is his strawberry and water break, but I think that would be a mouthful to ask for when I'm gasping for air and sweaty.

Micah keeps his apartment cool, whereas I keep mine warm. I think this is due to me always being a little cold, and him being born with the sun in his veins.

It's a little sad to think about how many times he let the light out.

More than I would ever know, and twice as many as I remember. Why can't I remember?

This is frustrating!

"Can I kiss you?" I blurt, staring wide eyed up at Micah, who sputters and chokes slightly on his strawberry shake. I probably should have eased into that.

Getting a grip on himself, he gives me a level look -dark eyes beyond skeptical but that's mixed with curiosity and something else I can't recognize besides for the fact it's the exact look he's given me for a while now. "Why?"

"Because when we repeat things our muscles have memories of our minds tend to catch up, and the one thing I know we did...a lot, was uh, kiss." Explaining this, I was prepared for a lot of things but him smirking down at me wasn't one of them. "You're making me regret asking, Micah."

"Nah, it's alright. It's just -we did one thing a lot more than we kissed and -ow!" Micah's smug grin doesn't go away after I smack his frustratingly hard abdomen, if anything it grows. "Just saying! That included a lot more muscles."

My nose wrinkles at the thought, but not because I'm disgusted with the prospect of having sex with him. "I don't want to think about that." I pause, eyeing Micah up and down. "You're nasty."

"Nasty but really good at-"

"Ahh!" I squeak, slapping my hands over my ears before stomping my foot. "Stop! This isn't what this is about, my ears don't need to be put through this. Can you please just agree to do this so I can figure my life out. Please? I'm not the same person I was back then, you know this, I don't sleep around anymore, I don't do drugs. I'm not -I don't have the same friends. New human. Old addiction. But you're still here, you're still in my life. And that's great, because I want you in my life but I need to figure it out. Without knowing how you've affected me I can't move on and I'm still so confused. Please Micah, just this once?"

"You just want to be kissed -just once?" He confirms, that look in his dark eyes growing as if this is some sort of joke. "I remember once, we were talking about something, about us I think, about something about your dress, and we laughed. I kissed you, but I don't remember what was said. All I can really remember is how you taste, like strawberries."

That's how we met.

He came into the room I was in without knocking, my best friend had just left, and saw me putting on lip gloss. Strawberry lip-gloss. Without bothering to say anything to me, he grabbed me and kissed me, then said that I'm his favorite flavor.

We kept meeting, and I got his number, he got mine. Without my best friend knowing- -she didn't let me have any other friends, fuck buddies included- -we always went to the same parties on purpose.

"You bought me strawberry chapstick." I finally say, touching my lips. "Because you liked how it tasted, and you...you told me not to wear it anymore?"

Did he really say that? 

"I remember that," Micah sighs almost wistfully. "It got old, tasting strawberries everywhere. You were supposed to stay refreshing, because you already were like nothing else around." This confession surprises me. To me, I was like any other mind-numb party girl around. "And you're actually pretty sweet on your own."

"Does that mean you'll kiss me?"

God, I have got to stop blurting things.

The broken boy laughs, shaking his head at how bold I am. "You're insane, but yeah. On one condition though."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I take a small step back. "I don't like it when people say that."

"I'm not people." Micah doesn't even blink as he dismisses me, nearly making me scoff at his audacity. "I'll kiss you, if you're sitting like you were when I remember kissing you."

"Only if I wasn't..." Trailing off, I flush at what I'm about to say. "On you."

Winking, Micah only shrugs. "Agree and then I'll tell you."

I gape at him. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." He nods, crossing his arms. "I don't want to know as much as you, I just want to remember what that conversation was about. It was after I got my tattoo."

I frown. "How do you know?"

"You asked me why I liked your name enough to get it, and since I didn't remember getting it you laughed at me."

This is so confusing. 

"Why didn't I know your name?"

Once again, Micah shrugs. "Because you called me demon like you do now, but you said it was a good thing. Usually I was called a monster, so I actually liked being called that. I was a demon, and that sounded a lot more appealing than a violent monster. Plus it gave me a reason to make a lot of jokes about how hot I am."

"Hot." I nod. "Right."

I hate not knowing about all this.

I hate myself for doing this to us, for letting her control me, for hurting him.

"So," He drawls out, green eyes holding me captive. "Do you agree?"

This probably isn't something that should be happening, not with him, not again. But once again, it feels good that it is happening even if it's not supposed to. 

I'm an addict, and I'm almost certain at one point I was addicted to him too.

And like I said, I'll be an addict for the rest of my life.

Some things don't change.

So I say "Yes." without stammering, without grimacing, without regret.

Micah smirks, large hands clamping around my waist making me squeak and start backwards but he doesn't let me move. Instead he lifts me up and in one swift movement sits me on the back of his couch, hands never moving though his thumbs stop digging into me so hard and start running along my skin.

I probably get so much hate for these skirts because I always wear them at the wrong times, they're cursed. They're cursed, that's why I'm wearing one now and that's why my skirt didn't keep my shirt from fleeing it's hold and letting Micah touch bare skin instead of fabric. Cursed skirts. That's what I have.

"Wait!" I exclaim, having a hard time thinking through the way my heart is pounding in my throat and chest.

Micah instantly freezes, dark eyes narrowing at me, seemingly annoyed. "What is it?"

"What if we remember?" He snorts at my question, making me pout and cross my arms over my chest defensively. "I mean, what if we remember and we were something really important or, or we knew something about each other we aren't supposed to. What if -what if you remember why you got that tattoo or what my name means?"

"I already know why you hate your name. And isn't remembering all that the point."

Smiling sheepishly, I look down to his black sweatshirt. "Well um, it would be really great if I was the only one who could remember something from doing this. I hate that you used to know me."

"Why?" The broken boy doesn't look like he likes that.

That is such a simple question for such a complicated answer. I don't know how to answer without crying, so I give a slight shrug of my shoulders as if I don't know. "We can hash all this out if we do remember something. So um, kiss please?"

He doesn't need to be asked again.

My lips are taken captive, almost like it's an instinct I respond and lift my hands up to clench in his shirt.

This seems so...innocent compared to what we used to do.

Thinking the same thing, and almost like that's bad, Micah grabs my leg and wraps it back around his waist -deepening the kiss until it's open mouth and he's completely dominating our movements. Without being prompted, besides my body pushes forward into his because of how wonderful this feels.

I remember that conversation now.

But I keep kissing him, and even ignore the other memories that come up in favor of the way his lips are moving against mine.

Yeah, I think. I was definitely addicted to him at one point.

Pulling away first, realizing I asked for one simple kiss, doesn't work as Micah growls out a husky "No." before cupping the back of my neck and kissing me again.

It's impossible to stop myself from giggling into the kiss, making the broken boy grin against my lips before pulling away -it's pretty hard to kiss a laughing person. "Sorry," I say but my ecstatic smile is anything but apologetic. "Babe?"

He raises an eyebrow, hands running over me until he can grab my waist. "Yes?"

"I remembered."

"And?"

"I like us." I say. This is another way of saying that even before, I liked us, and I want that back.

But of course my addict knows that, so he smiles.