by Marie Meyer
“Jillibean?” he answered.
“Holy shit, you answered.” I was shocked. “Don’t you have a show tonight?”
“Nope. We have the night off.” He was quiet. Uh-oh. He sounded distracted. I probably interrupted something. Shit!
“Uh…can you talk?” I cringed, hoping he and Erin weren’t taking advantage of his free time.
“To you? Fuck yeah. What kind of question is that?” he chided.
“Oh, well, you just sounded busy. I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” I laughed humorlessly. “You’re not hanging with Erin tonight? I thought she’d be all over your down time.” I cringed at the thought.
“We broke up,” he said nonchalantly. “And Thor has a date, so he most likely won’t be home before sunrise.”
Did I hear him correctly? “You broke up?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound too broken up about it, so I took that as a good sign.
“What happened?”
“Nothing really. We just weren’t that into each other.” He didn’t offer any more of an explanation. And he was so quiet.
“Is everything all right?” I didn’t really need to ask. I could tell something besides his breakup with Erin was on his mind. I was used to Griffin’s introspective moods. He’d stew about something for weeks and get really quiet while he formulated an answer. He wasn’t the kind of person that liked to talk about his feelings; he’d much rather put them into a new song. When he got like this, he wrote the best songs.
“Mmm-hmm,” he mumbled. “Just working on…” He paused for a beat. “…a new song. We have a gig on New Year’s Eve, and I want it ready for that night.”
I knew it! A beatific smile spread across my face. “That’s awesome, Grif. Where’s the show?”
“At The Pageant.” He said it so casually; it was as if they were playing a show at the mall. The Pageant was a big damn deal. Huge artists played there, and now Mine Shaft was among them. Pride welled inside me.
“What?” I shouted. “That’s huge! Why aren’t you more excited?”
“I guess I’m just a little nervous. I don’t want any fuck-ups.”
“Griffin!” I cheered. “I’m so proud of you! You guys are great, you have nothing to worry about.”
“You’ll be there, right?” he asked. I detected a hint of trepidation in his voice.
“Uh…yeah. What? You think I’d miss your biggest gig yet?” I retorted. “Someone would have to chain me to a cinderblock wall to keep me away.”
“Good,” he sighed, relieved.
“Will you sing me the song you’re working on?” I asked. His voice always melted over me like warm, sweet syrup on a pancake. Instant comfort.
I waited.
“Please, Griff?” I asked again, pouring on some sweetness of my own.
“All right, but if I’m going to do this, I need to play it, too,” he said. “Hang up, and we can FaceTime. I’ll test what I’ve got out on you. Sound good?”
“Hell, yeah.” I sat up, excited.
A low chuckle resonated through the receiver. “I’ll get my shit together here, and I’ll call you right back. Give me a minute.”
“Okay,” I said, and then the line went dead.
I reached behind me and pulled my iPad off the desk, resting it on my lap while I twisted my body around to fluff the pillows at my back. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times, letting it fall onto the pillow. Then I waited.
I snuggled into the covers and drew up my knees, using them to prop my iPad.
Then it rang.
A giddy smile pulled at my lips, my heart dropped into my stomach, and a fan-girly squee escaped as I tapped the screen, answering the call.
“Okay, I’m set up here,” he said, coming into view on the screen. “Can you hear me all right?”
I nodded my head, wearing a ridiculous smile. “Perfectly.”
His smile was just as big as mine. “It’s good to see you, Bean.”
“Ditto,” I said, exhaling.
Griffin smiled back at me for a second more, then looked down at the acoustic guitar in his hands. He strummed a couple of slow, steady chords and then looked back to me. His simmering gaze sent goose bumps across my skin. I felt the meticulously constructed wall around my heart burning to the ground with each scorching glance. A couple of dark waves of hair fell into his eyes as he got ready to sing. I’d give anything to sweep them away…to run my fingers through his hair.
When he opened his mouth, a deep sexy baritone voice filtered through the speakers of my iPad. I watched him intently, taking in everything from the sway of his body when he played his guitar, to the way his mouth moved, remembering the way it had felt oh-so-briefly on mine. I watched in blissful silence, soaking up the rich sounds of Griffin’s song melting into my ears.
I was so ready to go home…to him.
Chapter Fourteen
I sat quietly at Jennifer’s table, sliding some saucy concoction around my plate with a fork. I glanced at the clock and wondered how Griffin’s recording session was going. Since I’d gotten home four days ago, he’d called me whenever he could, but that was about it.
Mine Shaft’s record label had some big plans in the works—first and foremost, to finish up Mine Shaft’s debut album. Without school to interfere, Griffin spent every waking moment laying down tracks, which meant I hadn’t gotten to see him at all. The record company had pretty strict rules about friends tagging along, so I was forced to spend some quality time with my sister. Yeah, right! Whenever possible, I retreated to my old sanctuary—the fabric store I used to work at while I was in high school.
Jennifer’s shrill voice brought me back to the present. “Matthew,” she said icily. “You’re doing the dishes.” Jennifer looked at her husband with about as much affection as a person would use to admire a dung beetle. I swore the woman’s heart was surrounded by a glacier. Over the years, the glacier had migrated northward, now visible in her frozen blue eyes. I watched Jennifer and Matt’s interactions, knowing full well that I did not want a relationship like theirs. Ever.
“Matthew!” she shrieked again. “Did you hear me?”
Matt looked up from his phone, a clueless expression on his face. “What?” he asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
I didn’t want to listen to either of them anymore, and since I had nothing better to do, I offered. “I’ll take care of them, Jenny,” I said softly.
The twins sat silently, looking from their mom to me. Michael’s face scrunched in confusion. “Mommy, your name is Jenny?” he asked.
She glanced at her son, then turned her frosty glare on me. “Don’t call me that.” Even her voice was cold.
“I like Jenny, Mommy.” Mitchell smiled up at his mom, shoveling a spoonful of food into his mouth.
I returned her glare, biting my tongue to keep from laughing at my nephews’ comments. The twins always provided a much-needed dose of comic relief in this household. I placed my fork down on the plate with a clink, challenging her. The few months I’d spent on my own had strengthened my resolve when it came to dealing with her shit. “Do you want my help or not.”
Pushing his chair back with a loud screech, Matthew stood up. “Sounds good, Jill.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, then stretched his hands above his head. “I’ve got some work to do in the office.” Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the kitchen.
Jennifer sighed and looked at me. “Do what you want.” She got up and took her plate with her. “Boys, give me your plates.” They put their forks down and handed them to their mother. Jennifer went to the trash can, scraped the remaining food into the receptacle, and deposited all three plates in the sink before summoning the boys to follow her out of the kitchen.
Wow. I offer to do something nice for her and she acts like a complete bitch. I shook my head and got up, taking my plate and Matthew’s to the sink.
I went to work on the dishes in relative
quiet. Occasionally, I’d hear one of the boys squeal from the next room, followed by Jennifer shouting at them to “use their inside voices.” I leaned over and did some creative rearranging on the lower tray of the dishwasher, so I could fit Jennifer’s large mixing bowl and serving platter in the same load. With enough room for both, I reached into the sink and pulled out the platter, rinsing it under a stream of lukewarm water. Rinsed clean, I was just about to put it into the dishwasher when it slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Oh, fuck,” I hissed.
“What did you do?” Jennifer’s accusatory whisper filled the kitchen. Damn, she’s fast.
I turned around, seeing her standing in the doorway. The pure, unadulterated hatred radiating from her made me want to run and hide.
“Jennifer, I’m so sorry,” I said timidly. “I didn’t mean to…” My eyes stung. With just one incensed look from my sister, all of my newfound mettle disappeared, and I felt like was six years old again.
“Shut up!” Jennifer yelled, holding her hands up to cut me off. “Just shut up.” She stomped into the kitchen and went straight to the utility room. When she reemerged, she held a broom and dustpan.
“Here,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’ll clean up the mess.”
“You’ve done enough.” Jennifer wouldn’t even look at me, but instead went right to work sweeping up the broken glass. “I’m so sick of you ruining things for me,” she said cruelly.
That was all it took. I couldn’t keep the tears at bay now. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I choked.
She lifted her head up and pierced me with her gaze. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
I stared at her, not knowing what else to say. Sobbing, I fled the room.
On my way upstairs, I stepped around the twins playing with their toy cars on the living room floor and went up to the guest room. Shutting the door behind me, I plopped down on the bed and sent Griffin a text. Are you busy tonight? I REALLY want to see you.
Jillibean, I’m so sorry. I can’t come over tonight. I’m at the studio until late.
The heaviness in my chest threatened to crush me. The screen blurred through my tears while I thumbed back a canned response. No problem. I miss you.
I know. I miss you, too. I’m sorry.
Don’t be sorry. I’m proud of you!
Thanks, Bean. I’ll talk to you later.
Later. When was later? I sent a smiley face back and wiped the tears from my cheek. Lying back on the bed I stared at the ceiling. I needed to talk to someone. Who could I talk to? Considering that Griffin and Sarah were my only friends, my only other option was Dr. Hoffman.
I picked up my phone and found her number. Why did my breakdowns always happen after hours? After the robotic voice prompted me to leave a message, I told Dr. H. I was back in town, and I really needed to speak with her. I hoped she’d get me in tomorrow. I couldn’t take much more of my sister’s malevolence.
Now, with nothing to do, and no one to talk to, I was at a loss. The hateful voices in my head decided to keep me company, and I’d do anything to quiet them.
I reached over to the nightstand and pulled my earbuds from the drawer. I slipped them in and turned the music up loud enough to drown out every possible noise.
I reveled in the release of tears even though I could think of a better way to cut the hurt away. I forced myself to enjoy the tears just as much. I cried until my tears formed a gluey substance over my eyelids, making them too sticky and heavy for me to hold open any longer.
* * *
“I will, Mom,” I mumbled, trying to roll over. Something heavy weighed me down.
“Aunt Jillian, who are you talking to?”
A raspy voice was right at my ear. I pulled open one eye and screamed. Sitting bolt upright in bed, I stared into four pale blue eyes. “What the fu…” I stopped myself from saying anything more. All I needed was for the twins to tell their mother that I’d taught them that word. I flopped back down with the twins still sitting on top of me. “What are you two doing in my bed?” I sighed.
“We were bored,” Mitchell said. “You almost said a naughty word.” He pointed at me and giggled.
I lifted my head up and gave Mitchell the eye. “I did not.”
“Yes, you did,” Michael chimed in.
“Whatever.” I flopped back onto the pillow, blowing air out of my mouth. I was screwed. “So, was it fun watching me sleep? Are you still bored?” I asked.
“Yes, we’re still bored. You’re a boring sleeper. Come on, Mitchell, let’s go bother Mommy until she lets us go outside.”
As soon as the boys were gone, I threw my arm over my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But the early morning light, filtering in through the shades, put a monkey wrench in my plan. The room was way too bright. So much for sleep.
I huffed, throwing the covers back, willing myself to get up, when my phone started vibrating beneath my leg. The phone must have gotten lost in my bed covers when I fell asleep last night. I pulled it out from underneath me and saw Dr. Hoffman’s name displayed across the screen. Thank God. I breathed a sigh of relief and pressed answer.
After a brief conversation with Dr. H.’s receptionist, I had an appointment scheduled later that morning. I got dressed in a hurry, and was out the door in record time. I was eager to speak with her. Phone sessions were okay, but I craved the serenity of her office. I’d always felt safe there.
Dr. Hoffman’s office was small and quaint. It was in the rural part of the city, surrounded by a huge, beautifully manicured lawn, pristine walking path, and small koi pond. Sometimes Dr. Hoffman liked to take her patients outside for “walking sessions,” and her facility certainly provided patients with a peaceful and safe atmosphere. I’d been on dozens of walking sessions with Dr. Hoffman, but today I knew we’d spend our time in her cozy therapy room since it was freezing outside.
When I pulled open the door, the receptionist greeted me with a smile and asked for my name. “Jillian Lawson.”
She wrote my name down and looked back to me. “Dr. Hoffman is wrapping up with a patient now. She’ll be with you shortly. May I get you a bottle of water while you wait?”
“No, thank you,” I said, walking toward one of the two oversized plush chairs in the waiting area.
“We’ll call you soon.” She smiled and went back to the paperwork in front of her.
I looked back over my shoulder and said, “Thank you.”
Flopping into one of the chairs, I leaned my head on the high cushioned back. Piped over a sound system was some generic station that specialized in instrumental versions of pop music; I recognized the current song as a close approximation of Madonna’s Lucky Star. Humming along, I pulled my phone out, double checking to see if I’d missed any messages from Griffin.
None. Damn, he wasn’t joking when he’d said he had no free time. Who knew being a rock star was a full-time job?
“Jillian?”
I looked up from my phone and saw Dr. Hoffman standing in the doorway. I quickly jumped to my feet. “Hi,” I said, giving her a small wave.
“It’s good to see you, Jillian.” She extended her hand in greeting, and I shook it lightly. “Why don’t you come in?” She stepped aside and ushered me through the door. “Can I have Suzy get you anything?” she asked, referring to her receptionist.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
Dr. Hoffman nodded with a warm smile. She pointed me to a chair and took a seat right across from me. “It’s so good to see you,” she said again.
“It’s good to see you, too.” I set my purse down on the floor and shrugged off my coat, getting comfortable.
“So, Jillian, how have things been since the last time we talked?” She rested her iPad on her lap, sliding her finger across the screen.
In my head, I tried to remember how long it had been since I’d talked to her on the phone. Maybe a little over a week? “Okay, I guess,” I answered.
Her bro
ws pulled together, scrutinizing my words and body language. “What do you mean, ‘you guess?’”
A heavy breath fell from my lips. “Just an argument with my sister.” I shrugged.
“Did this argument make you want to harm yourself?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, not last night. But there were a few times during the semester that I thought about it,” I admitted.
“Well, I’m glad that last night’s incident didn’t cause you any setbacks. You’ve done remarkably well, Jillian. You should be very proud of your progress,” she said, smiling. “And, even with the thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself, you didn’t act on them, and that’s a huge accomplishment. But I am concerned about you falling back into old habits when things become too stressful.”
“I’m worried about next semester. It’s going to be tough,” I confided.
“Have you thought about ways you can minimize your stress level?” Dr. Hoffman typed on her iPad and looked up at me.
“Running helps. And talking to Griffin,” I replied confidently. Sarah popped into my head, too. “I have a really great roommate. She doesn’t know about my inclination to self-harm, but I could talk to her if I needed.”
She nodded and clicked on something. “Good. Those are all healthy ways to manage stress.” Dr. Hoffman considered me for a moment, tilting her head to the side, before she asked her next question. “I’m curious, since we don’t meet on a regular basis any longer, and you’re so far from home, how do you cope with seeing the scars, now that you’re so far away from your support network? I remembered from some of our previous sessions, when you mentioned how much you hated to look at them. We used to talk about your scars all the time.”
I looked away, feeling ashamed. I still hated them. They represented every ugly truth about my past. My torso was a cross-hatched mess of raised and puckered skin. I didn’t answer, but instead focused on the hem of my shirt, memorizing the pattern of the double needle straight stitch, and the feel of the thread holding my hem together. After a beat, I shook my head. “I try my hardest not to look at them. Shower quickly…get dressed in the dark…and I never touch them,” I mumbled.