Pull

by Rachel Van Dyken

“How do I feel?” I repeated, feeling the familiar anger

  thump through my chest. “I feel fan-freaking-tastic. I mean, I’ve

  learned so much about myself in these past two years. I’m going to

  take up watercolors to share my feelings. And hopefully, later this

  afternoon, I’ll frolic across the beach and giggle until I fall to my

  knees and pet a mermaid when it joins me on the sand.”

  “Sarcasm.” Mrs. Murray scribbled something on her

  notepad and glanced back up. “Good. At least you’re not burying

  your anger inside anymore. What else?”

  Sweat began to pool at the back of my neck as I fought to

  keep my emotions in check. My eyes flickered to the ground, and

  my breathing grew more and more shallow. “I hate it here.”

  “We’ve been over this, Alyssa.” Mrs. Murray sighed. “I

  know you hate it here, but do you really think the best thing for

  you to do is escape your current situation? So, what? You run away

  instead of facing your fears? Your anxiety? Tell me how that will

  help you, and I’ll be all for it, Alyssa.”

  I bit my lip in response and tucked my hair behind my ears.

  Biting my lip was a nervous habit I developed when I was either

  trying to keep myself from talking too much or crying. It was

  usually the latter these days.

  “Listen, Alyssa.” Mrs. Murray set her tablet on the table next

  to her and leaned forward. “I’m going to be doing a summer grief

  group. I really want you to think about attending.”

  “You’re not going to make me?” I snapped. I didn’t mean to

  sound so harsh, but I always felt defensive, because I knew the only

  way I could please my parents was to come here. And in all

  honesty, I also knew that I probably wouldn’t be here in the first

  place, if I hadn’t gotten into that truck.

  I owed them.

  Just like I owed Brady.

  “I’ll think about it,” I mumbled.

  Mrs. Murray smiled. “I think you’ll really enjoy it, Alyssa.

  There will be some other kids your age. Support groups offer

  exactly that, support. When was the last time you even went out

  with friends? Or went to a movie?”

  “I work.” I shrugged.

  She lifted an eyebrow and grabbed her notepad to scribble

  something else. “Right, so you work twenty-four seven, can’t drive

  more than ten miles outside of town, and you think you’re just

  fine?”

  My eyes flickered to hers then back to the ground, and I

  swallowed slowly. “I know I’m not fine.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s just… I don’t think I’ll ever be fine again. I feel broken.”

  Oh, crap. Now I was going to start crying, and I hated

  crying. Hated feeling any sort of weakness.

  “What does broken feel like, Alyssa?”

  “What does it feel like?” I laughed bitterly and clenched my

  hands together. “It feels like hell. It feels like I’ll never be normal

  again. Every night I relive the accident, and every morning it’s the

  same. It takes every ounce of energy I have to keep myself from

  crying when I brush my teeth. I can’t even bring myself to listen to

  music because it reminds me of him. I can’t get into trucks. And

  whenever I even hear a football game, I nearly have a breakdown.

  So yeah, I would say that’s broken. When you can’t even function

  in a normal world. When you can’t breathe without your chest

  hurting.”

  It was silent in the room except for my ragged breathing.

  Mrs. Murray wrote a few things down then looked at me.

  “Wow, Alyssa. I’m proud of you for being brave enough to share

  that. You realize we’ve never talked about your other fears before?

  Only the anxiety about long car rides. I truly think you are making

  progress.”

  “Right,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly drained.

  “And…” She wrote a few more notes down. “Since you were

  late, our session is going to have to be cut short. I have another

  client expected in a few minutes. But Alyssa, I really want you to

  think about this grief group. The first meeting is a week from

  Saturday.” She pulled out a small yellow flyer. The fact that it had

  smiling people on the front did nothing to ease my misgiving that

  this was a bad idea. The meeting place was TBD.

  I lacked the strength to argue at that point, so I swiped it and

  stuffed it into my messenger bag before saying thanks and stepping

  out of her office.

  Needing escape, I stumbled toward the door and jerked it

  open.

  And walked straight into a wall of muscle.

  “Whoa there.” Strong arms came up to steady me.

  I recognized that voice. Slowly, I raised my eyes and met

  Demetri’s horrified gaze.

  I jerked away. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Are you the famous one?” he stated. Quite snidely, I might

  add.

  “Clearly not, considering I actually have humility.”

  He smirked. “Little girl’s got a big bite.”

  I rolled my eyes and tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed

  my shoulders again. “So, I guess that begs the question. Are you

  stalking me?”

  Rolling my eyes, I clenched my teeth and jerked away from

  his touch. “Yes, rock star. I love you. I want to have your babies. I

  draw hearts around your name, and tonight, when I get home, I’m

  hoping to create a love spell that will make you fall in love with

  me.”

  He smirked and his dimples framed his all-too-perfect face. I

  couldn’t pull my eyes away, even though my mind screamed for

  me to do so.

  “I think you’re bad for my ego.”

  “Someone has to be.”

  “Touché.” His eyes flickered to my lips and then back to my

  face.

  “Can I go now?” I pushed past him. He finally released me,

  but the sensation of his touch remained.

  “What’s your name?” he yelled after me.

  “None of your business,” I said without turning around. The

  car roared to life, and I was off. Though I’ll admit I did glance in

  the rearview mirror… maybe once or twice. Any living, breathing

  girl would. He was a god among boys, but he knew it. And his

  reckless type of lifestyle would be like my poison and my drug.

  Staying away from him was necessary. I needed to protect myself

  at all costs.

  Chapter Four

  Demetri

  Damn, that girl was hard to read and hostile to boot. One

  minute I thought we were flirting, the next she looked like she’d

  rather cut off my balls than say another word to me.

  I never claimed to be the smartest guy when it came to the

  opposite sex, but she seemed like she was in to me, and then like

  flipping a switch, she turned indifferent.

  I shrugged it off and went into Mrs. Murray’s office. It was a

  familiar place for me over the past year, especially since she had

  single-handedly been responsible for giving me the ability to move

  through my twelve-step program without jumping head-first into

  the ocean.

  “Demetri, you’re early.” Mrs. Murray said sarcastically.


  Okay, fine. So I was rarely early to anything. Crap, I bet I

  was late to my own birth. But in my defense, the whole job thing

  had me running on a different schedule. I started getting up at

  seven, eating lunch at noon like most people in this world, and

  going to bed at a decent hour in order to keep myself from falling

  asleep once I had to start work. Clearly it was a good idea,

  considering all the drama that took place at the taffy shop today.

  I had only been at my new schedule for a few days, and

  already I was feeling a bit suicidal, like any minute the boredom

  would finally get to me, and I’d wake up to find myself actually

  crazy. You know, the type of crazy where drool flows out of a guy’s

  mouth and he think cats talk to him.

  “Have a seat.” Mrs. Murray pointed to the usual couch. I

  laughed and sat on the floor as was my custom. Something about

  sitting on the couch made me uncomfortable. I mean, I’m sure it

  was a comfortable couch — it was leather after all, but it made the

  whole situation seem too real.

  If I sat on the couch, it meant I was actually in therapy.

  If I sat on the floor, I could convince myself I was just at

  Nat’s house hanging out. Most the time I would go into the kitchen

  halfway through our session, grab some popcorn and soda, then

  return and spill my guts.

  I was always like that.

  Lucky for me, Mrs. Murray didn’t mind, as long as I stayed

  out of trouble and actually participated in our sessions.

  I leaned my back against the couch and sighed, running my

  hand through my still wet hair.

  “How has work been?” Mrs. Murray asked once she took a

  seat and grabbed her notepad.

  “Well, let’s see.” I cracked my knuckles and laughed. “I sing

  a taffy jingle on a street corner like some cheaply paid whore, and

  today I almost got my car towed.” I ended with a little smile and

  waited while she wrote stuff down.

  “So it’s going well then?”

  “I haven’t been arrested yet for public intoxication or selling

  drugs to little kids, so sure. It’s going well.”

  “Two sarcastic appointments in a row. How did I get so

  lucky?” Mrs. Murray mumbled behind her notepad. I don’t think

  she meant for me to hear.

  “What was that?” I cupped my ear. “You weren’t just

  complaining about your favorite client, were you?”

  Mrs. Murray rolled her eyes. I laughed at her expression. She

  knew me far better than even Alec these days. I told her everything.

  It helped that her daughter was my best friend, even though it

  made Alec want to punch me most the time.

  “So, this taffy job… do you feel like it’s keeping you out of

  trouble?”

  I leaned forward. “That’s a dumb question.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.

  “Watch.” I cleared my throat. “Asking if it’s keeping me out

  of trouble is like asking a kid if school keeps him from joining a

  gang. Or if joining the football team keeps you from doing drugs

  and having premarital sex. Staying out of trouble has nothing to do

  with keeping your hands from being idle.”

  I cleared my throat.

  Mrs. Murray scribbled a few things down. “Now I’m

  intrigued, Demetri. What does it have to do with?”

  I shrugged. “Color me weird, but I don’t think giving away

  condoms keeps kids from having sex. I also don’t think parents

  who allow their kids to drink at home are keeping their kids from

  underage drinking. And keeping me busy doesn’t keep me from

  doing stupid shit.”

  “Then what does?”

  I grinned. “It all comes down to my self-control and my

  desire to be a better person. Occupying my time with tons of busy

  work just irritates me. If I’m going to do something stupid, or if any

  kid’s going to do something stupid, they’ll just wait until they have

  time to do it. Like after football practice, or after their job. Anyway,

  to answer your previous question, the job makes me want to kill

  myself, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.” I

  exhaled and popped my knuckles again. “Half the time I want to

  get high, the other half I wish I was drunk, which leaves like an

  hour in my day when I’m not thinking about those things, and

  during that hour all I can think about is the fact that the one woman

  I’ve ever truly loved, died, and I could have saved her.”

  Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened.

  I hadn’t meant to say that much.

  I blamed the fact that my head was constantly clear. I was

  getting more and more honest about my emotions. I couldn’t figure

  out if that meant I was getting weak or that I’ve always been that

  guy, I just never knew.

  The silence was deafening. I cleared my throat. “I’m just

  going to go make some popcorn if that’s cool?”

  Mrs. Murray nodded.

  I pushed to my feet and nearly ran out of the tiny office into

  the kitchen. Within seconds I felt like I could breathe again, but it

  didn’t change the fact that I had just admitted, not only to my

  shrink, but to myself, how completely screwed up I was.

  In a few minutes I had popcorn and a soda. I glanced back at

  the office door and took a deep breath, hoping to God that she

  wouldn’t make me talk any more about my feelings.

  It was quiet when I walked in. Mrs. Murray sat, legs crossed,

  waiting for me. I plopped onto the floor and tossed some popcorn

  into my mouth.

  “We have about fifteen minutes left of our session, Demetri.”

  She always did this, mainly because the first time we had a

  session I would ask how much longer we had, like every five

  minutes. Now she just told me, so I wouldn’t interrupt her.

  “Okay.” I sipped the sugary soda. It was nothing like beer. It

  made my stomach almost sick, but ever since I quit all my

  addictions, I needed something to drink that wasn’t bad for me —

  not that high fructose corn syrup was good, but still.

  My obsession with Starbucks had also skyrocketed over the

  last year. It was the only way to keep the cravings at bay. I would

  drink soda during the afternoon and evening, and in the mornings

  I had at least three cups of coffee. I added non-alcoholic Kahlua

  creamer in order to get my fix.

  Keeping my fingers occupied, when all I wanted was a

  cigarette, also proved a problem. At nineteen, it wasn’t like it was

  illegal, but smoking went hand in hand with drinking for me. If I

  had one, I wanted the other, so I had to cut everything out of my

  life.

  Nat had suggested licorice. It helped sometimes. Most of the

  time I just felt like beating my head against a wall.

  “Demetri, did you hear me?”

  “Hmm?” My head snapped up. I reached for more popcorn,

  but the bowl was empty. I really needed to start running or doing

  something so I didn’t blow up from all the stress-eating.

  Mrs. Murray set down her notepad. “I think we made a lot

  of progress today, Demetri.” She cleared her throat.
“I also think

  you’re right.”

  “Pardon?” I sputtered.

  “What you said about people making choices. I think you

  were spot on. Not only that, but it’s a very wise thing for you to say

  at such a young age.”

  “I’m nineteen,” I growled.

  Her smile was patronizing. The type of smile you give a kid

  when they hold up their hand and say, “I’m five now!” I closed my

  eyes and rested my head against the cold leather couch.

  “Yes, you are,” she agreed. “I think you’d be a good group

  leader too, Demetri.”

  Was she high?

  “Um, you know I’m kind of in a group, right? As in, my

  brother and I are in a group, and I’m the lead singer?” I was

  looking at her like she’d lost her mind.

  “Got that.” She winked. “I mean a group leader in group

  therapy.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I think I’m a little too messed

  up in the head to lead anyone right now.”

  “Which is why you’re perfect.” She stood and brushed her

  hands on her skirt. “The rest of the group will relate to you, and I

  think you’re ready for the next step.” She sighed and looked

  straight into my eyes. “Demetri, can I be honest with you?”

  “Aren’t you always?”

  She gave me a hand up. I was towering over her as she

  slipped off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt. “I don’t think

  you’re going to keep making progress until you start to heal, and I

  don’t think you’re going to start healing unless you deal with the

  grief you went through. I think you need to be around people who

  understand that grief. Maybe together you guys can work through

  stuff. Besides, you’re a natural leader, which makes you either the

  most powerful man in the room or the most dangerous.”

  “Why the most dangerous?” I drew my eyebrows together

  and shoved my hands in my pockets.

  Mrs. Murray returned her glasses to her face. “Because, you

  can lead people to success, or you can bring them down with you.”

  “Kind of how Alec brought me down with the whole drugs

  and alcohol thing?”

  She nodded and grimaced. “Yes. Though when you remind

  me of things like that, you make the mom side of me want to check

  up on him and Nat.”

  “Nat’s fine.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Right.” She patted my arm and led me to the door. “Just

  think about it, okay?” She pushed a small, yellow paper into my