“To get you food.” He looked at me like I was dumb. “You need things that are soft to eat. And since canned soup sucks and I can’t make any homemade, I picked you up some from Chick-fil-a, hence the stop there.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I gasped, overcome with an emotion I didn’t recognize. Let’s face it, I’d been pretty shitty to Memphis. Most guys would’ve moved on by now, deeming me a lost cause.
He ceased removing items from the bag and turned his head slightly to study me. His brows furrowed together and his lips formed a thin line. “That’s what friends are for and I’m your friend.”
I swallowed thickly. “I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“Well, then I count myself lucky to be such,” he bowed slightly, smiling for my benefit.
“I don’t deserve you,” I breathed, my hands tightening around the container of ice cream.
He chuckled. “That’s true.”
Of course he’d agree.
Desperate to get away from the seriousness of the conversation, I mumbled, “You know, you better be really glad this didn’t touch the floor.” I pointed at my ice cream.
He shook his head as he went back to unloading the grocery bags. “What would you have done to me if your precious ice cream was ruined?”
“Hmm,” I tapped the end of the spoon against my lips. “I’m thinking a food fight would’ve been appropriate.”
“You’re something else, you know that, right?” He gathered up the plastic bags and tossed them in the trash. Without giving me time to answer, he leaned against the counter and said, “You should eat this soup before you devour that ice cream.”
I clutched the container in my hand tighter. “Don’t touch my ice cream.”
He laughed. “I have two sisters, I know not to come between a woman and her sweet tooth.”
As I ate my ice cream he put the groceries in their rightful place. He never, not once, stopped to ask me where anything went. He looked through the cabinets and figured it out himself.
Once every last bit of my delicious treat was gone I found myself chilled. I grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself.
“Cold?” Memphis asked.
I nodded.
“Here,” he shrugged out of the sweatshirt he wore and handed it to me. “Put this on. It’ll keep you warm.”
I was reluctant to take it at first, but finally did. The blanket pooled at my waist as I wiggled my body into the sweatshirt. Dang, there was a lot of extra material here. My head finally poked through the opening and I felt like a turtle.
“You know,” he smiled, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his pouty lips, “you look really good in that sweatshirt. I think you should keep it.”
I rolled my eyes and tucked stray pieces of dark hair behind my ears. I turned my back to him and faced the TV. “Not likely.”
His chuckle reverberated behind me and I jumped at his close proximity.
“Jesus! What are you? A fucking ninja? First you manage to get into my apartment without me hearing you and now you’re hovering behind me like an uber creeper.”
“You have a very dirty mouth,” he whispered huskily, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against my collarbone. My heart accelerated at the feather light touch and my throat constricted. It shouldn’t have felt so good when he touched me, especially after what had happened with Caelan. I was heartbroken—but my damn heart still reached out for Memphis. I think it always had been and I’d denied it for far too long.
I wasn’t going to rush into things though.
I needed time to heal and I wasn’t going to be the woman I’d once been—jumping from man to man, because she knew nothing else. I had to gain my independence.
Memphis sat beside me. The couch squished down and I dipped closer to him, which I was sure was his goal. He held the bowl of soup in his hand and a spoon poised above it. He dipped it into the liquid and held it up to my mouth. A bit of broth dripped onto my bottoms and a noodle hung precariously on the edge. “Eat up, buttercup,” he chirped.
Was he crazy? He had to be.
“You’re not feeding me.” I shook my head back and forth and tried to scoot away from him like a young child would from its mother when they didn’t want to take medicine.
“Oh I am.”
My mouth fell open in shock and he used it to his advantage by shoving the spoon into my mouth.
I sputtered and choked as the hot liquid hit my tongue and trickled down my throat.
Once I had swallowed I narrowed my eyes at him. It really hurt too much for me to continue to argue with him. Frankly, it wasn’t worth it. If the smug jerk wanted to hand feed me soup, then so be it. If his fingers got too close I’d be more than happy to take a bite.
Once half of the soup was gone I could stomach no more. I shook my head adamantly that I was done. With a reluctant sigh he set the bowl on the coffee table.
“How are you feeling?” True concern showed in his eyes.
I pondered his question. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly.
“You’ve got to give me more than that.” He stretched his arm across the back of the couch and his fingers hovered dangerously close to the back of my neck.
“I’m glad I’m alive,” I whispered as I toyed with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “I see now that I have so much to live for.” I looked at him out of my peripheral vision.
A small gasp escaped my lips when he reached up and took a strand of my hair between his fingers. He rubbed it leisurely and he seemed to be waiting for me to tell him to stop.
I didn’t.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” His voice was soft and hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should admit that out loud.
“Why?” I forced the word past my parched lips.
He shrugged and looked away from me. A muscle in his jaw jumped. When his gaze connected with mine once more I saw a vulnerability there that I hadn’t been prepared for. “I care about you.”
To most people they were four simple words. But I wasn’t most people and they meant a hell of a lot to me.
I slid my body closer to Memphis’. He appeared skeptical as to what I was going to do. It shocked him completely when I burrowed my body against his. His arms wound around me as I laid my head against his chest.
I wanted to be held. There was nothing wrong with that, right?
No more than a minute had past until I croaked, “He ended things.”
I felt every muscle in his body stiffen from my admission. “Are you okay with that?”
What a stupid question.
“No,” I admitted. “I understand where he was coming from, but I…I love him.”
Memphis smoothed the hair off my forehead and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger so that I was forced to look at him. “You’ll love again.”
Was he right? Could I possibly ever love someone as much as I loved Caelan?
“I hope so,” was my reply.
CHAPTER 28
Caelan
I was in a fucking cell.
Okay, so it wasn’t a jail cell, but it might as well have been.
Three large steps were all it took for me to walk from one side of the room to the other. Was this part of rehab? Did they put you in the smallest room imaginable in the hopes of driving you insane? If the answer was yes, then it was working.
I sat down on the bed and it was so hard that it didn’t give an inch with my weight.
I really didn’t want to be here, but I knew it was the best thing for me. I was far too dependent on the drugs and alcohol, ultimately becoming that way with Sutton. Apparently I was addicted to everything.
I placed my head in my hands and my clawed at my hair.
I wanted out of here.
I was desperate to escape the stark clinical whiteness.
This wasn’t home.
There was nothing here that was me. The room was a blank slate. No pictures. No rugs. No TV.
It was
empty.
Kind of like me.
I sighed heavily and let out a snarl. I’d only been there—I looked around for a clock but found none—I’d guess thirty minutes, an hour at most.
And this was going to be where I lived until the doctors believed I was stable.
Fuck.
At this point I’d never be stable. This white box was going to drive me mad.
There was a window though, and it looked out onto a grassy picnic area where the inmates could hang out and eat. Yes, inmates, because that’s essentially what we were. I didn’t know who’d want to utilize it now though. It was winter. Who wanted to sit outside in freezing temperatures? Not me, that was for sure.
I lay back on the bed and stared up at the plain ceiling. I tried to conjure of shapes in the swirls of paint, but came up empty.
The door to my room opened and I sat up.
The prison guard—I was totally sticking with the whole prison comparisons—smiled and said, “Group therapy in five minutes. Someone will be by to get you.”
Before I could answer she closed and locked the door—from the outside—once more.
I found it laughable that they locked us in our rooms. I guess they found that they had to, but still. Who was I a threat to? That question was probably better left unanswered.
While I waited for the person responsible for taking me to group therapy—and really, therapy? I didn’t need therapy—I counted the seconds in my head.
Five minutes on the dot the door was unlocked. It was a man this time.
“Caelan Gregory?” He asked.
I huffed as I came to my feet. “The one and only. Who the fuck else would be locked in this room?”
“I hate firstdayers,” the man grumbled.
Great, he had a fucking nickname for it.
“So,” I said as he led me down the clean white hallway, “are you my guide dog or something?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re all the same when you get here.”
I laughed at that. “Trust me, there’s no one else like me.”
“Well,” he shrugged and opened a door, “you’re about to find out that there are a lot of people just like you.”
“I doubt that,” I grumbled as I followed him inside.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to one of the chairs set up in a round circle. They were blue and plastic—the only spot of color in the—of course—white room. I had never hated white as much as I did right now. Normally, I loved it. Especially when it was a canvas I looked at and there was the promise of endless ideas.
The man took the seat at the head of the group.
Was he a patient here too? If he was, why the fuck had he gotten me from my room? This was fucking weird.
“As you all know,” he motioned to the other guys, and a few women too, in the chairs around me, “I’m Alex.” Looking straight at me, because as luck would have it I was blessed with the seat directly in front of him. “I’m the therapist here.” Staring me down, he continued, “You will have a group therapy session twice a week and three one on one sessions with me a week. Saturday and Sunday are your free days.” Ha! Free days! Wasn’t that a bunch of bullshit! I was locked in a fucking room! “You do not have to participate in the group today. Think of this as a warm up. You will, however, be expected to participate the next time. No excuses.”
Fuck, this guy was a hard ass. He wasn’t going to cut me, or anyone, any slack.
“Now,” he clasped his hands together and tilted his chair on the back two legs, “I’ll go first.”
Now I was thoroughly confused. I didn’t even understand why we were doing therapy in the first place? Was that normal? I didn’t know. I should’ve researched this place before I allowed myself to be sent here. I wasn’t one to talk about my feelings or any shit like that, so this was going to prove interesting.
“I’m thirty-eight. I’ve been clean for twelve years now. At seventeen years old I was a heroine addict. I got involved in the wrong crowd and wanted to lash out at my parents. They were very strict, you see,” he steepled his hands together and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So, like you,” he pointed at me, “I’ve been through the same things. I sat right where you’re sitting and questioned why the hell I was here. In my mind, I wasn’t an addict. I didn’t have a problem. I was fine. Guess, what? I was lying to myself, just like you’ve been doing to yourself,” he pointed at me. “Addiction is a bad thing, but it doesn’t make you bad.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “The first step to healing is admitting you have a problem.”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to respond, but I did anyway. “Uh…haven’t I admitted that I have a problem by being here?”
“In a way,” Alex agreed, “but having sat right where you are now, I know you’re probably already thinking of leaving and wondering why you agreed to this.”
I swallowed thickly. He was exactly right. I kept my mouth shut after that.
“Alright,” Alex clapped his hands together, “we’ll start here,” he pointed to the person on his left, “and go around.”
“My name is Kasey,” the woman spoke, “I’m an alcoholic.”
“Would you like to say anything else?” Alex asked her.
She shook her head. Alex surprised me by not asking her to speak further.
The next person said, “I’m Ray. I’m a cocaine addict. I got addicted when I was only fifteen. Both my parent’s were druggies, so I guess I was destined to become one too,” he muttered, scratching his arm. “I’ve been here a month now. It’s been the hardest thirty days of my life so far. But,” he looked directly at me, “it’s worth it.”
And so it went.
Everyone spoke—some more than others. I could tell that the ones that didn’t say much were new here. I guess we all had to work ourselves up to the deeper stuff.
When the session was over we were dismissed. Alex walked me back to my room once more. I felt like a child being shadowed by a parent so that they didn’t run off. Alex seemed nice enough, but I didn’t like him. I could tell he was going to push my buttons.
Before he left me alone in my room, he said, “I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
Boldly, I lifted my hand and showed him my middle finger, waving it through the air with emphasis. If he thought he was going to get me to talk about my feelings, he was mistaken.
⌘⌘⌘
Sutton
“Well, well, well,” Emery chimed the moment I walked into the coffee shop, “if it isn’t the mermaid.”
I shook my head and ignored him as I headed to the back. He wasted no time followed me.
“How have you been?” He asked.
I grunted and turned around to face him, my hands planted firmly on my hips. “You’re best friends with Memphis, right?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, clearly wondering where I was going with this.
“Then you should know everything, seeing as how the stubborn ass has lived at my place for the last week!” I cried, stomping my foot in irritation. No matter how hard I tried to get him to leave, Memphis refused to go. I don’t know what he was afraid I’d do, he never voiced it out loud, but I was rarely alone anymore. He’d been nice—he was always nice—but it was weird having him around all the time. Especially since I got along with him better than I’d care to admit. He was easy to talk to, fun, and let’s face it, nice to look at. But none of those things meant I was okay with him living with me for the time being. He had nothing to worry about. I wasn’t going to hang myself from the ceiling rafters. I was okay. I was taking my medicine—even though I didn’t think I needed it—and I felt okay. I missed Caelan and a part of me was still scared that Marcus would show up, but I was coping in a healthy way. I’d learned my lesson. Yet, I was still being punished for my moment of weakness. I knew Memphis, Emery, Daphne—all of them—deserved to know the truth about why I’d tried to take my own life. I was trying to get up the courage to tell them, but I hadn’t had
the guts yet. Telling my parents and boyfriend had gone horribly. While Caelan had been fine, I worried about what the others would think.
“Whoa,” Emery lifted his hands in the air, “I was trying to be polite.”
“Sorry,” I frowned. Stop acting like a bitch, I scolded myself. But let’s face it, I was one and I’d probably always be one.
When life hands you lemons, become a sarcastic snappy bitch—that was my motto.
I ran my fingers through my hair as I searched for the right words. “This has been a really tough time,” I admitted and—oh God, was I going to cry? I better not.
“I’m sure it has,” he nodded in agreement. “But you have friends, Sutton. You can talk to me. To Memphis. To Daphne. You’re not alone. People care about you. Don’t shut yourself off from us.”
I grabbed the apron from my locker. “I know I can,” I assured him.
“Have you seen a therapist?” He asked.
“I’ve only been out of the hospital for a week. What do you think?” I replied as I tied the piece of fabric around my waist.
“I think you should,” he shrugged. “It would be good for you to get help.”
“Ha!” I chortled. “Yeah, and let someone pick my brain, learn all my dirty secrets, and sit there thinking what a horrible person I am? I don’t think so!”
“I think you’re making a mistake,” he said, blocking me from leaving the room.
“Emery,” I said his name as calmly as possible, “please, I’m begging you, let it go. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. What I did was a dreadful mistake. I’m sorry if I hurt you with what I did, but it happened. It’s in the past now and I’m ready to move on.”
“Three weeks is in the past? You think that’s enough time to move on from a suicide attempt? You’re crazier than I thought,” he shook his head, laughing humorlessly.
His words stung but I tried my best not to show that.
Upon noticing my frown, he mumbled, “Oh, crap. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
I raised my shoulders slightly, feigning that I was unaffected. “It’s okay. You’re right. I am crazy.”
“Fuck,” he groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m the shittiest friend ever.”
Beauty in the Ashes Page 30