I was the one by her side while Abel busted his ass to keep a roof over their heads and food in the fridge. It’s not his fault that he hasn’t seen it all, but he needs to respect the fact that I have. And he needs to let me take care of her for once. I know what the fuck I’m talking about. Why can’t he see that?
“What do you need from me, Dex? You need me to give you permission to push her to the point that she runs from us all? You need me to give you my blessing to take away her lifeline right now? That hoodie is her fucking shield and you want me to let you take that away from her in her weakest moment? Because I can’t, and won’t, fucking do that!”
The accusation in his voice comes out like a punch to the jaw. How fucking dare he insinuate that I would ever do anything less than what is in Bree’s best interest. I’ve been by her side long before today. Long before we moved back to Deacon Hill. And just because he was too blind to see what was right in front of him, doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.
“You know what, Abel? I don’t need a damn thing from you except for you to stay the hell out of my way. You worry about your girlfriend, and I’ll worry about mine.”
I hang up the phone without giving him a chance to say anything back. Yeah, it’s a bitch move, I agree. But I am far beyond giving a shit about what Abel thinks about my relationship with his sister.
He wants to coddle her and hold her in a bubble. He wants to clip her wings for fear that she’ll fall and get hurt. What he doesn’t realize is that I will always fly beside her. I will catch her if she falls. I will hold her hand as she regains her momentum. And the only way my beautiful Breezie can ever fly again is if she gets out of that godforsaken fucking hoodie.
I put my elbows on my knees and bury my head in my hands. Gosh, this whole situation is so fucked up. My gorgeous girl doesn’t deserve this shit. I hate that she can’t seem to catch a break in life. Deacon Hill has brought nothing but pain to her life. I so badly just want to whisk her away to anywhere else on the planet and help her find out who she is without all this baggage tying her down. She deserves all the good that life has to offer.
“Hey there, cutie!”
The unfamiliar voice causes me to raise my head up. Standing directly in front of me is the receptionist that walked Bree back to her appointment. There’s no reason for her to be approaching me unless something happened with my girl. The thought causes panic to rise in my chest.
I stand abruptly, knocking the chair into the wall with an audible thud.
“Is everything okay? Bree, is she okay?” I ask, voice frantic.
“Oh yeah, everything’s going good in there. No cause for alarm. I was just waiting for you to get off the phone.” She smiles at me like it should be obvious why she’s speaking to me instead of being behind the counter, doing her damn job.
“I’m sorry, I guess I’m confused then. If Bree’s okay, then what did you need from me?”
She giggles at my question. The sound grits at my nerves, it’s as fake as the rest of her. Fake boobs, fake tan, fake hair. She’s the exact opposite of anything I find appealing in a woman.
She’s no Breezie.
“I was just wanting to give you my number, see if you were free this weekend. I’d love to go out for dinner and drinks, get to know you a little bit more.” She extends her hand out to me, holding a folded up piece of paper. I can’t for the life of me piece together what in the actual hell is unraveling in front of me right now.
Disgust takes root in the pit of my stomach. Who the hell does this girl think she is? Who the hell hits on the boyfriend of a patient while she’s in session? Is she fucking serious right now?
“Do you always hit on your patient's boyfriends or are you just feeling extra fucking bold today?”
The smile drops from her face quicker than it appeared.
“No, I just… um… the girl…she… she…” The receptionist stammers.
“That girl would be the love of my life. That girl is a patient here. That girl is my whole fucking world. And you waltz out here, disrespecting the hell out of her, by trying to pick up her boyfriend while she’s reliving her worst nightmare? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snarl.
“No, it’s not like that, she told me…”
I cut her off, refusing to hear another word come out of her mouth. I don’t care what she has to say. I just want her to get the hell away from me.
“I don’t care what she said. I don’t care what you thought. Get the hell away from me and stay away from her.”
I nod my head towards the seat she should be occupying at the moment, effectively dismissing her. The fucking gall…
She scurries off to her desk, shock written clear across her face. I don’t know exactly what Bree said to her, but I have a pretty good idea. Buried in that hoodie, she’s fucking hiding, running… Thinking she’s protecting me when she’s really just hurting us both. Well, that shit ends today. She’s the only woman who I want by my side. Scars and all.
I pace the waiting area over and over again, unable to contain the emotions coursing through me. I want nothing more than to go confront her, but I refuse to let anything interrupt whatever is happening in that room with her therapist. So I pace, surely wearing a path in the carpet, showcasing where I’ve spent my time.
When her hour is up, I force myself to sit down, to act like I haven’t been going out of my mind for the last half hour since that woman approached me. I don’t want Bree to worry about me when she already has so much on her plate right now. I just want her to focus on getting through this. We can get through the rest of it together. Whether she believes that or not. It’s what will happen.
My leg bounces up and down while I wait, betraying the calm façade I’m trying so hard to portray.
Come on baby, I need you.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, I feel her. My leg stops bouncing, and my breathing begins to even out. I look up to see her walking side by side with Dr. Nichol’s, and the breath in my lungs catches.
Bree walks toward me with a smile on her face, and my hoodie folded over her arms. It’s the first time since she’s been home from the hospital that she hasn’t been wearing it.
A smile spreads across my face so quickly that I don’t even realize it’s happened until Bree’s nimble fingers reach out to touch the corners of my mouth.
“You’re smiling.” She says, her cheeks growing red.
“And you’re not wearing the hoodie.” I tell her, as I lean into her touch.
“I don’t think she needs it anymore.” Dr. Nichol’s interjects. “Today was more than I think either of us anticipated, but I couldn’t be happier with how it went. What do you think, Bree?”
“I think I owe you more than I can ever repay.” Bree tells her, leaning down to embrace the tiny woman.
I watch as a tear slides down the good doctor’s cheek. She closes her eyes and holds Bree a little bit tighter. Whatever happened in that room, clearly had a profound impact on her, as much as it did on Bree.
“You go schedule your next appointment, and I’ll visit with Dex for a minute, okay?” Dr. Nichol’s suggests.
“Actually…” I interject before Bree has the chance to walk away. Both women turn their eyes to me, a confused look across both their faces. “Little Miss Legally Blonde Bimbo up there is not someone I want around Bree or myself again in the future. She decided to come hit on me while Bree was in session and that’s not someone I want anything to do with.”
I look toward Bree to gauge her reaction to what I just said. When she casts her eyes down and starts fidgeting, I know my assumptions on her encouraging that girl to talk to me were right.
“Bree, did you have something to do with her approaching me?” I ask in a calm voice.
Dr. Nichol’s raises a brow and turns towards Bree, awaiting the response as much as I am. The only difference is, I already know the answer.
“Yeah, about that…” Bree starts.
&n
bsp; “We’re gonna have a long talk about this in our next session, Breelle.”
Bree winces at Dr. Nichol’s use of her full name, and I just smile. This doctor has no idea how stubborn my girl can be, but I know she will soon find out. And with any luck, she may be the one to help break her of it.
Dr. Nichol’s continues. “As for Daphne, let’s just say she won’t be here the next time you come in, or ever again for that matter. I’ll call tomorrow to set up our next appointment. After that, you should be able to do so with the new replacement at the front desk.”
With that, Dr. Nichol’s pats Bree on the arm, and walks away, entrusting her to me, something I take great pride in.
“Dex, I’m so sor…”
I cut her off.
“You think I just met you yesterday? C’mon, Breezie. I know you. Stop trying to protect me. I know what I want. I know what this journey will be like. No matter how good, bad, or ugly, I’m not going anywhere. And not for any other reason than because I simply don’t want to. I love you and I want to be with you. Nothing is going to change that. End of story, okay?”
She sighs with resignation and steps into my side. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tighter, and place my other hand in my front pocket.
“You keep sighing like that and trying to sick other girls on me, and I’m liable to think that you don’t want me to stick around.” I joke.
“Not in this lifetime, Dex. Or the next.”
I lean down to seal that vow with a kiss. Body to body, we walk out of her new found haven and towards the car.
“So tell me about these badass pictures you drew on your arms. They’re kinda sexy.”
She laughs and jabs me slightly in the side.
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“On the way? Where are we going?” I ask, confused at the new plans for the day. Not that I mind, I’m damn happy to have her out of the house. She needs to be in the real world again.
She replies with two words that answer as many questions as it raises and I smile with pride.
“Top Hat.”
***
On my 18th birthday, I committed myself to 28 hours of pain in order to bask in eternal beauty at the end of it all. It took four, seven-hour sessions, but the end result was worth every damn second. My right arm was the first masterpiece I ever had Darrell put on my body. Every tattoo I’ve gotten, except for the words on the inside of my left arm, were done by the owner of Top Hat Tattoo.
Darrell is a character. He’s in his mid-fifties now and the only place on his body that isn’t tattooed is his face. He’s my height, standing at 6 foot 2, and has long curly black hair. He’s a more metal version of Slash if you can believe it.
He named his shop Top Hat because he wears one wherever he goes. Especially when he’s tattooing. He once told me that the hat fuels his creativity and that whenever he takes it off, music has no sound. Pretty poetic, I have to say.
On the way here, Bree told me all about her therapy session, and how monumental it was to her. She showed me her arms and the designs she made there. It was the first time I’ve seen her skin since she was released from the hospital. And even then, they were all on bandages. She refused to let anyone see the scars, so she kept them hidden until she could swap out the bandages for my hoodie.
I read the reports. I witnessed her and Max retell their stories of what happened in that warehouse… I know she has a lot more scars to show. But when I asked ‘What about the rest?’ She just told me ‘It’ll have to wait.’
I won’t say a part of me wasn’t hurt by that response, doing so would be a lie. But I will say I understand how much progress she’s made in one day and for that, I have to be grateful. I have to be patient.
It’s not that I need to see her scars, it’s that I need her to be okay with showing them to them. I need her to not let these marks define her, or convince her that I won’t be able to see past them. I don’t care how many there are. I don’t care how bad they are. They’re a part of who she is now, which makes them important to me. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told her this in the last month, she’s not ready to come to terms with them, and I won’t force her to. I have to respect that.
I find a parking spot on the side of the tattoo shop, and place the car in park. I turn to face my brave girl and gauge her reaction to being here, to taking this step for herself. Her leg is bouncing up and down, showing she’s nervous, but that beautiful smile is still plastered across her face, showing me she’s more happy and excited than anything else.
“You ready, Breezie Baby?” I ask, returning the smile.
“Yeah, I am.”
“So what are you nervous about?”
She looks at me in bewilderment, like I don’t know her well enough by now to see plain as day that she’s nervous.
“Am I that transparent?” She asks.
“Only to me.” I reassure her.
“I’ve heard scar tissue is a bitch to tattoo over. I just… I don’t know how bad it will hurt so I’m a little nervous that the pain will bring back some memories that I’d rather keep away.”
With each word she speaks, her voice gets smaller, like she’s fading into herself. She’s come too far today, I can’t let her take a step back now. I place my fingers under her chin, encouraging her to hold her head high. We lock eyes and I smile at her, letting her see how happy she makes me.
“Well, we just have to help ground you to the present then. We can talk the whole time, reminding you of where you are and what you’re doing now. I’ll be right there through every step. You can even squeeze my hand if the pain gets to be too much.”
“I may break it on accident.” She laughs.
“Sounds like a fair price to pay. Why should you be the only one in pain?” I ask rhetorically.
She stares at me in bemusement, remaining wordless as she does so.
I can’t take the silence, worried that I just crossed a line I didn’t even know was there.
“Did I say something wrong?” I ask.
She exhales a breath and shakes her head absentmindedly.
“Just the opposite actually. You said something very, very right.”
With that, she motions to open her door and step out into the summer sun. I follow swiftly behind, joining her at the head of my car. She engulfs me in a hug, squeezing tightly. My arms fold around her, bringing her as close to me as I possibly can.
“I’m so proud of you, babe. You have no idea how it felt to see you walk out of that office without that damn hoodie on. To be able to see you.”
“I’m not a hundred percent yet, Dex. You know that right? The rest of it… It will take some more time. But. I’m working on it. I really am.”
“I know. But I want to help you too. I don’t want you to hide from me okay? I don’t want to be another person you’re afraid to be open with. I want it all. The good, the bad, the ugly. Just… Just let me in. Just like old times. Can you do that?”
“I can try.”
“You made a promise not to run, I need you to stick to that. Especially when it’s hard. I know you better than anyone, I can help if you’ll let me.”
She sighs into my chest, the fight leaving her body. She knows I’m right, she’s just afraid to admit it to herself. I’m okay with that. I can handle her fear. Hell, I’m damn near a professional at handling Bree’s fear at this point. But what I can’t handle is her silence, her shutting me out.
“I promise to try.”
“That’s all I ask, I guess. Now come on, let’s go see Darrell.”
We release our embrace and she takes my hand. We walk side by side into the shop to be greeted by a kid who looks fresh out of high school.
“Aye, welcome to Top Hat. What can we do for ya today?”
“Is Darrell free?” I ask.
“Yeah, he’s in the back, let me go get him for ya.”
Bree squeezes my hand, pulling my a
ttention to her angelic face.
“What is it, babe?”
“The whole time, Dex. I need you by my side the whole time, no matter how long it takes, okay?”
“Every second. I’ll be here.”
She nods, accepting my word. The last time metal pierced her skin, it was under much different circumstances and I can feel her nerves like a physical manifestation between us. I would never let her do this alone.
“Well if it isn’t Dexter Wilson. As I live and breathe.”
I release Bree’s hand long enough to embrace Darrell in a quick hug. It’s been three years since I’ve last seen him, and for how many hours I used to religiously spend in this shop since the day I turned 18, that’s a long time to wait.
“What’s up, old man? Still rockin’ out at The Lighthouse in your spare time?”
“Every Thursday night. Music is still shitty, but my spirit is still loud.”
We laugh together as I take my place by Bree’s side.
“What’s the Lighthouse?” she asks.
Darrell looks to me and winks, giving me permission to tell the story.
“The Lighthouse is a biker bar on the outskirts of town. It’s where old metal-heads, like Darrell here, go to get wasted, lose money in games of pool, and live out their rock ‘n roll dreams. And when you spend all your time and money in his shop as a punk ass 18 year old, sometimes one of the old dogs will sneak you in and buy you a round or two.”
I smile as memories fly to the forefront of my mind. Some foggy, some embarrassing, but mostly good and full of humor. I had no business in a place like that, especially not that young, but Darrell and his boys always took care of me. They kept an eye on me and never let me get too out of hand. They taught me how to play pool, darts, and how to chug a tall draft beer in twenty seconds. Granted, some lessons were more helpful than others, but every man needs an arsenal after all.
Bree giggles next to me, and it’s like a luscious melody to my ears. It’s been too long since I heard her laugh so freely, so honestly.
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