“Troubles, fancy pants?”
Peyton tried to push back against his chest to get him to move off of her, as she laughed. “Seriously, dickhead. You need to get off me before I pee all over you.”
Tristan had gone soft inside her anyway, and just rolled over to the other side of the bed. Peyton jumped up and was racing to the bathroom, her delicious backside barely bouncing as she ran. “Damn it, girl. You could bounce quarters off your ass! I think it’s time to scale back the booty work-outs!”
Peyton finished in the bathroom and came back out with a short robe wrapped around her body. “Why do you say that, Tristan?”
Tristan lifted himself up by his arms, leaving his lower half plastered to the bed. He used one arm to snake around her waist and pull her onto the bed, so that she was laying on her stomach and he could straddle her thighs. Peyton was fighting and flailing the entire time, but she was laughing as she did. Tristan grabbed her wrists in both of his hands, and pinned them into the mattress, leaving her robe up and over her bare backside.
“Because I’m an ass man,” he answered before placing a kiss against her bare lower cheek. “And I need somewhere to put my hands.” Tristan gave her other ass cheek the same chaste kiss, before he raised his head up again. “If you lose any more of this ass, I won’t be able to do this.” The words had barely left his mouth when he clamped his teeth around the meaty part of her butt and gave the flesh a firm bite. Peyton squeaked a little, before a deep groan practically vibrated his body through hers. He released his hold on her ass, then used his tongue to soothe where he had left the mark. After a few minutes of lavishing the area with his tongue, Tristan gave her love bite a soft kiss that made her hiss in a breath, and let go of her arms.
“That is as dominant as I will ever get with you, Peyton. I’ll mark you as mine and ask that you try to at least listen to me on occasion, but I don’t want a submissive woman.”
Peyton, rubbed her ass for a second as she smiled playfully, and answered, “Yes, sir.”
Tristan laid flat against the bed, and pretended to be in pain. “You’re going to be the death of me, Peyton.”
Chapter Twenty
He was in his childhood home. The house smelled awful, and was so cold. Dark and cold. There was a single light on in the bedroom, but it was so dim, it didn’t reach this far out into the house. He could hear the faintest sounds coming from the bedroom…they sounded like a lullaby. Like someone singing. Tristan knew that voice. Knew who that was. He started walking towards it, and could feel the dread creeping across his skin.
He shouldn’t go in there. He was told not to. Supposed to stay outside. He stepped all the way into the room, and could see a woman, a tiny wisp of a thing, sitting on the bed, clutching something in her hands, rocking from side to side. She started singing again, but this time Tristan could hear the words. “Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart never to part, baby of mine.”
The woman looked up at him, and Tristan saw the tears streaming down her sunken in face, instantly knowing that she was his mother. “Come here, Tristan,” she said in a distant voice as she reached for him. Her hand held his arm and he flailed about wildly trying to get her off him, “Nooooooooo!”
Tristan sat up in his own bed, sweat pouring off his body. Peyton was sitting on the floor next to the bed, holding her hand to her cheek, her eyes wide as she panted and stared at him. The pieces of the dream started to come back to him, and he realized the voice he’d heard in his dream was Peyton. His wildly beating heart continued to thump as he asked in a voice that was not his own, “Did I hurt you?”
Peyton removed her hand from her cheek, and checked the skin for what he assumed would be blood. She shook her head, and then slowly crept back over to the bed on her hands and knees. Tristan watched her, realizing that her face was full of fear…which was to be expected. She approached him slowly, and laid her head into his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Tristan let the last few minutes wash over him, rehashing the new bits of his nightmare. He was familiar with the song, but it wasn’t something he’d heard in a very long time. The feelings however, still clutched at him, and made his heart ache. The words she was singing added to the pain, and he tried to keep his feelings inside. He choked back tears that were desperately trying to break free from his body.
Peyton’s body was warmer than his, and it felt as if she was trying to infuse some of herself into him. She still hadn’t said a word yet, but it was obvious to both of them that it wouldn’t help anymore. It was a terrible feeling when you realize that you are so fucked up and broken that you can only bring pain to those around you.
His tears fell unbidden from his eyes, and dripped down onto his chest. He sobbed for the first time since he was eight years old.
Peyton finally crawled back into bed and held onto both of Tristan’s hands as she lay next to him. She hadn’t gotten too close to him, which was unusual for her. There was very little time that they spent together where she wasn’t holding onto him in one way or another. So, as soon as she had fallen back to sleep, Tristan went out to the living area and sat in one of the recliners. His body was on edge, and he knew there was no way he would be sleeping again tonight.
There was only one window on this side of the apartment, and he sat in front of it, staring out into the November night. It was cold and rainy, and the leaves were missing from all the trees. Tristan shifted restlessly in his seat, thinking about the last few months of his life.
He felt like he was in a pile it on moment, where his mind added his worst memories to the list of things to process, and the more that was added, the further down he slipped. Tristan didn’t even realize there was a mine field inside his brain, and wondered about the ramifications of his disease. If he had things buried deep inside that kept him locked in this cycle of ups and downs, then he wanted to get them the fuck out. But at the same time, he knew that all of this would mean another stay in the hospital. It wasn’t the end of the world, but losing your freedom like that was a shock to your system, and nothing that he wanted to repeat.
Tristan zoned out, and the hours flew by, but he never did fall back to sleep. He snapped out of his haze early the next morning, when Peyton called for him.
“Tristan? Where are you?”
He didn’t answer; instead he got up and walked back to the bedroom, staring off into space the entire time. Peyton was sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets to herself when he came into the room. She gasped when she looked at him, and jumped out of bed. She wrapped her arms around his waist, but he didn’t return the sentiment. Tristan was void of emotion, and his body was completely numb as they stood there, Peyton hugging him close.
Finally, she sniffled against his skin, and backed away. “Baby? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”
Tristan just shook his head and headed to his side of the bed. After he’d stretched out, he cleared his throat and spoke towards the ceiling with a shaky voice, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Peyton.”
“I know that, sweets. It just scared me is all. Did you take your instant meds?”
Tristan just shook his head against the pillow. “No. Sick of being dependent on that shit.”
Peyton laughed nervously, “Well, let’s work on kicking the habit after we get you feeling better, shall we?”
She left him, but came back within minutes with a glass of water in one hand, and the tiny pill he recognized as his anxiety medicine in her other hand. Tristan didn’t even balk, even though he’d thought about it. Peyton was pumping him full of his drugs, keeping him sedated enough so that he didn’t feel the pain that lanced his insides, all the way down to his soul. That was half of the story, he thought to himself, imaging that Peyton was keeping him drugged up so that she could get through the next two months with him. Or maybe Peyton was the drug for him, and her calm demeanor made him able to handle everything surrounding them.
Being so depende
nt on these meds, made Tristan feel like he had an addiction that he would have to kick when he was able. The drugs were his first problem, and then Peyton was his second. It was like she was another drug that he couldn’t kick. And he needed to if he was going to get out of this hellhole inside him. The rollercoaster of emotions was flooding his mind, and he could feel the panic attack building inside him. Just as soon as the overwhelmed and strangled feelings started, the medicine kicked in…his mind emptied, and he floated off into euphoria.
Peyton was sitting next to him when he woke again. She was fully dressed, reading the newspaper, with her feet crossed at the ankles, her back propped up against the wall. Tristan was lying on his stomach, with his arms spread eagle at his sides. He pulled his arms back towards him and tucked them under his body.
Peyton looked over to him, practically cooing, “Hey, sweets. How ya feeling?”
Tristan cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you in a minute. Can you get me something to drink?”
She was off the bed in a second, practically running to get him something. It was usually endearing the way that she tended to him, but right now it felt like she had a collar around his neck and was strangling what little life there was left in him.
Back in a flash, Peyton sat on his side of the bed, and helped him to sit up. He took the glass from her hand and finished it in one long swallow. Tristan set the glass on his nightstand, checking the clock and groaned when he realized that it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Thank you. I’m gonna take a shower and get ready for work.” Tristan didn’t let her speak, even though he could tell that she wanted to. His legs felt like jelly, but they responded when he worked the muscles and he moved towards the bathroom.
When Tristan came back out, he was wrapped in a towel, and peeked into the kitchen to see that Peyton was hunched over the counter, speaking to someone on her phone. She had a very stern expression, but Tristan had no idea who she was talking to. With a slow and steady speed, Tristan dressed himself and was ready to go to work with a few minutes to spare.
“Do you really think you should go to work today?” Peyton asked from the doorway of the bedroom as he sat on the bed and tied his shoes.
“Why not, Peyton? It’s not unusual for me to have an episode like that. There is just usually no one here to get hurt. Sorry about that.”
Peyton scrunched her eye brows together and frowned. “I didn’t know that you were having nightmares all the time, Tristan. Does your therapist know this?”
Tristan laughed darkly, “I don’t know that it makes a difference, Peyton. I gotta go.” He gave her a kiss on her cheek as he passed by and grabbed a coat from the hall closet.
“I have to work tonight, but I can come over again when I’m done, but it will be early in the morning.”
Tristan pulled his coat on and shook his head, “You go home and get some sleep when you’re done with work. I’ll be fine.”
Peyton frowned, but spoke with a laugh, “Okay, Sunday then.”
Tristan just shook his head, “Sorry, babe. Gabriel runs an after church brunch on Sundays and I’ll be working most of the day.”
“When is your next doctor’s appointment?”
Feeling irritated with the conversation, Tristan spit out, “I don’t know. Last time I checked, I was under your care, and didn’t have permission to make my own schedule.”
Peyton jumped back, like he’d slapped her in the face again. Her lower lip quivered, and the tears started falling almost immediately. “What did I do wrong?”
Tristan let his shoulders slump down, and he lowered his head. “Peyton, I need some space. You need some space. We can’t be so co-dependent on each other. Okay?”
Peyton continued to let the tears stream down her face, but she didn’t make any noise. She finally nodded and quietly told him, “I’d planned on making Thanksgiving dinner for us on Thursday if you want to come over.”
She turned and walked away. Just like he wanted her to.
Chapter Twenty One
Monday, November 19th
Dr. Martin’s office was always cold and there were noise deflectors running on each of the end tables. There was the standard psychiatrist couch against one wall, but there was also a rocking chair opposite that Tristan preferred to sit in. He didn’t know why he preferred the old wooden seat, but it was much better than being laid out on the couch, feeling like he was vulnerable. When he was here inside this room, Tristan needed to project a great recovery because giving away how fucked up he really was would send him straight back into the hospital.
“How are things going this week, Tristan?” Dr. Martin asked.
“Fair to middlin’, I guess. Feeling pretty good and was hoping we could talk about my prognosis, Doc.”
“Things are steadily improving, from what you’re telling me, Tristan. I would say that soon we will be able to discuss reducing the frequency of your visits to see me.”
Tristan paused for a minute to consider what he’d just said, and he nervously asked, “Will I ever be able to get to a point where I can stop taking all these drugs, and be released from your care?”
Dr. Martin took a deep breath, and took off his designer glasses, setting them down on the desk. “Tristan, bi-polar disorder isn’t something that you recover from. It is a life-long condition that requires monitoring of all the aspects of your life in order to keep it under control. I don’t foresee you being able to stop the medication at any time in your life, but you will be able to get by with only seeing me a few times a year when you are feeling better about things.”
Tristan lowered his front half down, bracing his arms on his knees. He was staring off into space, but nodded his head a few times to acknowledge he heard what Dr. Martin had said. Even though he’d thought about the possibility before, to hear it plain as day made Tristan realize that he was a habitual mental case.
It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and the restaurant was completely dead. They were prepared for this, especially since the weather was beautiful and families were getting for the next day’s dinner. Tristan was the only one left at the restaurant except for Susy and two of the dinner cooks, and of course Gabriel.
Susy had just finished all her busy work and asked Gabriel if they could shut down the restaurant and go home. He reluctantly agreed and Tristan worked on closing the remainder of his things down.
Susy waited by the bar for a while with her coat on, but Tristan didn’t give her any notice. He wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but she wasn’t the easiest person to deal with. She was layered in make-up and acted way too old for her age. Honestly, if she wiped all that shit off and just relaxed a bit, maybe she wouldn’t seem so fake.
“Tristan, can I ask you a question?”
“What’s up?” he threw over his shoulder, not looking up from restocking the bar cooler.
“Do you have family to spend Thanksgiving with?”
Tristan was stunned by her question, and nearly knocked himself out when he shot out of the top hatch of the cooler. “Ahhh…not really. But I’m not big into family dinners and all that, so it’s okay.”
“Well, if you want, you’re more than welcome to eat with us. My mom wouldn’t mind.”
Tristan was honest about not being in to family dinners, but he also didn’t want to have another run in with Susy’s older sister.
“I’m not sure that you sister wouldn’t mind my being there,” sarcasm dripped off his words.
Susy huffed and looked down to pick at her fingernails. “She doesn’t come to family dinners. She only hangs around me when she needs something. I’m sorry for the other day.”
Tristan gave her a weak smile, not sure if he should believe her or not. In the end, part of him wanted to believe that there was hope for Susy, and she wasn’t destined to be like her older sister. “It’s okay. Thanks for the offer, but I was invited to have dinner with Peyton, but like I said, I’m not into that.”
Gabriel took that moment t
o enter the bar area from his office. He shot Tristan a pained look, and stopped dead in his tracks. The sad way he was watching the interaction was pretty close to being full of pity. Yet there was just as much sadness there too, which lessened the impact but confused him just the same.
Gabriel spoke to Susy, but kept his eyes trained on Tristan. “Have a good Thanksgiving, Susy. I’ll see you on Friday,” effectively dismissing her. He walked her to the door, and Tristan heard the lock click before Gabriel came back and sat at a stool on the other side of the bar.
“Line ‘em up, kid.”
Tristan smiled, but gave him a puzzled look. “What? I gotta get home yet, boss. I don’t drink and drive.”
“Neither do I.”
Gabriel stood up in his place, and reached over the bar to grab the whiskey bottle out of the well. Tristan slipped two shot glasses over from the shelf and Gabriel yanked the bar pourer out of the bottle and poured them each a slug. They clinked glasses before shooting them, and the cheap whiskey burned on the way down, but he didn’t expect any less. Whiskey from the well was for mixed drinks, but he could tell from Gabriel’s demeanor that there would be no arguments.
They did two more shots each before Gabriel finally spoke. “I had a daughter when I was just eighteen years old. My ex-wife was the same age as me and we got married straight out of high school.”
He scoffed, “We were stupid kids. Didn’t know what the fuck we were doing, but God damn, I loved that little girl. Darcy was ten years old before we realized she had a problem.”
Gabriel paused for a moment and poured another drink for the both of them. Tristan already had a good buzz rolling from the first shots, so he set his to the side and filled a glass with soda instead.
“She was in and out of the Children’s Mental Center in Boulder for a year before she was finally diagnosed as bi-polar. We didn’t take it seriously enough until she tried to kill herself when she was just barely twelve years old.”
Hazel St. James - Fighting For You (Redemption#1)[ Page 13