"You know what you gotta do right?" Jacob's peer supporter said to him in a quiet somber tone. Jacob knew. And he didn't like it. "I'm not standing in front of that church Terry." Jacob said as he sat in the passenger seat of Terrys white Malibu. Jacob loved this car. Only because it had a black front end mask that Jacob thought made it look really cool. It was something Jacob wanted for himself. Something he'd planned on buying after saving up enough money. It was something tangible that motivated him everyday to work hard at his job, and at being sober. But now sitting here inside it only made him more depressed. "I'm not reintroducing myself to those people. Fuck that, and fuck them." Terry looked at Jadob with a deep, almost pleading concern. Jacob knew what was coming next. He could see the aggressive and expertly worded response forming behind those pleading eyes. Nothing about Jacob's support group, including his longtime peer supporter Terry, suggested soft and sweet. Since moving here Jacob had only gone to one place for his A.A meetings. One small group of people he'd went to for support and understanding during his time here. And they were widely known for being brutally honest about what they learned and how they practiced the 12 steps. Some called them a cult, because of how they chose to interpret the big book. And what they believed were the most important rules to follow. But Jacob just thought they were harsh and callous. He knew they had the experience of chronic relapsing, and then sustained sobriety. But he also thought they used their clean time as a form of currency and seniority to completely disregard the feelings of those not as familiar with this level of recovery. He was not a fan of their fringe methods. And how the relationship dynamic of sponsor/sponsee was expected to be. A sponsor was suppose to be the intimate one on one, teacher/ therapist for the newcomer. One of the few in the support group who maintained an almost constant contact with the sponsee for the first year of recovery outside of those meetings. They'd read and breakdown the big book with them. Walk them through the 12 steps, and act as a kind of 'chaperone' for the newcomer "A sponsor is the closest thing to God you'll get." is how they put it. And with years of sobriety behind them it was really hard to contest whatever didn't feel right about how they broke down the whole process without feeling stupid or ignorant. But how they spoke just didn't seem right to Jacob . And he knew he was about to be reminded why. "And that's why yo ass is gonna continue to get high right there." Terrys voice went from soft to stern, and from stern to intimidating within that one sentence. Terry was no small man. Even though he was in his mid 50's he had a commanding 6'5 frame. Even sitting in his car he was bigger than Jacob, who was 6'2. "You still don't get it! You still think you running something around here." Jacob put his head inside of his hand. "You still ain't powerless Jacob. You still ain't did Step 1, and until you completely admit that you obviously have no power over this shit you are going to continue to get drunk." Jacob lifted his head with the same slight annoyance he felt every time he talked with Terry. "I did admit I was powerless" Jacob spat " What do you think I been doing since I moved here" Terry looked at Jacob now with an almost disgusted glare "Nigga you been working, fucking, and relapsing! All the things we told you not to do!" Terry's words shot out like bullets. "And you ain't admit shit. All you did was repeat the words of Step 1. Just like you repeated the words of Steps 2 and 3. But you ain't putting no real action behind it man. And you think you plugged into Gods power when you still exercising yo own power. What the book say? Huh? 'Half measures avail us nothing'. The shits not working for you because you ain't humble enough to do the real work. You not powerless man" Jacob hated these conversations. And he knew better than to argue a point that would never reach its target. So he just sat there, contemplating. Not of how to convince Terry of his past sincerity and dedication to the program, but of how to convince him to give him some money. At the moment, Jacob could care less about telling his support group of his relapse (which they would find out anyway once Terry left) all he cared about was getting high. The monkey was on his back. And he wanted his banana.