“I have no idea. I don’t want to go back to the diner, especially since they know what I attempted to do. I think something where I don’t deal with strangers as much. At least for now, while I work on my triggers.”
“How about at an office as a secretary? It will help to get you out there in the world, and it won’t be demanding.”
“Tyler had mentioned he could get me a job at the record label, but I don’t know if I want that or to let him provide more than he already has.” I look down at my hands, my fingers twisted.
“Tyler cares about you.” I look up at Sam with creased eyebrows. “He does. He wants to help you, let him. I know any form of relationship is difficult for you and you recoil, but there are people in the world that are capable of love. There are people that are good. Not everyone is evil, and many times it’s evil vices that take over, rather than the person himself.”
“I don’t know how to ‘people.’”
“You do. You ‘people’ fine with Tyler; I’ve seen it. You two have a bond. I’m not telling you what to do, however, I’m asking that you trust someone. Work where you want, but if he’s offering a good opportunity, then listen to what he has to say.”
“How is he?”
Sam smiles. “You want the truth?” I nod. “He’s going crazy. He’s so worried about you.”
“He doesn’t have to be,” I say quickly.
“I know that. But he is sticking to his therapies. I know it’s only been two days, but I think that means something.”
“I found his stash of liquor last night. I freaked. How do I know he won’t go back to that? I can’t live here.”
Sam reaches over and places her hand over mine. “Mikayla, we’re all trying to be the best we can be. Give Tyler a chance to come and figure out what life he’ll be leading from now on. He leaves in two weeks.” She tilts her head.
“How do I know . . .” I shake the idea out of my head. Sam squeezes my hand.
“We meet people for a reason. Things we live are part of our journey, no matter how much we wish they weren’t, and we have the choice to release it or hold on. Sometimes we can use someone by our side as we do that.”
“I don’t know what I feel, but I miss him, too. It’s so lonely without having him to talk to or sit with.”
“Don’t stress it and feel. More importantly, let’s get you out in the world.”
“You’re right. Yesterday I thought I heard footsteps upstairs when I was working out in the gym. I think it was all in my head. At least I’m recognizing that?” I shrug sounding less than confident.
“It may happen. It could be part of your mind tricking you into parts you lived. You were alone in the house. That could have brought about the sensation of an old memory without reliving the memory itself.”
“Yeah.”
“Now, what book were you reading?”
“I put it down . . . Not sure I can finish it.”
“Why?”
“The main character was raped and beaten by her husband.” I squint my eyes when Sam tenses. “It had its mystery when I started, and I have never read a romance, but thought I’d give it a try. When I got to the point where the character shares part of her past, I put it down. It’s been sitting on the coffee table ever since.”
“I want you to finish it.”
“What?”
“Read the book. Take your time if you need to, but read it. I’ve learned literature will teach us so much more than we can imagine.”
“Then you have to read it with me. As my therapist, you’ll need to know what I’m reading.” Sam breathes in deeply and agrees.
“I’ll buy it this weekend when I’m not working.”
“Do you work tonight?”
“Yes.” Sam nods her head.
“Can I give you something for Tyler?”
“Of course.” Her smile rarely lights up her face, but it’s nice when it does. “Do you want me to ask him about the job as well?”
“I guess.” It’s the best bet I have at the moment. Without knowing anyone here, it would help if Tyler could recommend something. I was relieved when I saw my driver’s license is still active, so that is one less thing to worry about.
I scribble something on a paper and fold it, handing it to Sam. “I’ll make sure he gets this as soon as I get in tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“If you need anything, let me know. I’m going to leave my address as well. The phone has a GPS you can input my address into and it will guide you. Or anywhere you need to go.”
“Okay.” I watch Sam go, and I lock the door.
The book is taunting me from its place on the coffee table, so I walk over and take a deep breath before opening to the page where I left off and continuing to read the story. Despite my racing heart, I push through the words. I wonder how Sienna could think about having a relationship after what she went through. I guess because up until that point she thought love was real. I shrug and continue reading, ignoring my inner debate.
Knowing I should put the book down, I continue reading and gasp. Fucking gasp. It’s intense. I set the book down and begin to pace. This can’t be happening. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. I’m stronger. I have a different view of life now. This is a book. But it feels so real. I always get attached to characters, but Sienna has lived through so much to have it ripped away from her.
I take a few deep breaths and do some downward dog poses before I sit back down on the couch. I want to yell at the characters. I want to jump into the book and tell them what to do, but I guess that’s the thing with life, we don’t always have an outside perspective. I wipe away a tear of anger and finish the book, shocked by the revelations but hopeful about the outcome. Carson was a good guy.
I’ve never put thought into relationships. I never thought I could have a normal one, and I’m still not sure I can. I shiver at the thought of sex and clench my legs tightly together. It is nice that Sienna had Carson by her side.
I walk upstairs to put the book back on the shelf and the painting back on the easel. This is the third day that I am out of Chasing Freedom and I am surviving. The need to cut myself in order to cope has diminished a bit, even if I’m still struggling with getting images of the past out of my mind. He can’t find me in this house.
I miss her.
I hit the punching bag harder this time as sweat runs down the side of my face. What is she doing? Does she like my place? Is she doing okay alone? I want to be there to make sure she doesn’t do anything crazy. I want to be there to take care of her if she’s triggered. Soon, I will be.
Grace told me yesterday that I couldn’t make up for my mom’s experiences by being Mikayla’s savior. I know I can’t make up for one with the other. This is different. It’s something inside me that wants her in my life, for the good and bad. I wish I could have seen her face when she saw the library and art room. One hundred bucks says she went straight to painting. I smile at the thought and wipe my brow.
I grab my notebook by the wall and jot down the few verses that came to me while I was working out. I need to stop obsessing about Mikayla and focus on what I’m doing here. I’ve decided to take therapy seriously and work through my anger with my dad, so I need to focus on that. I don’t want to turn out like him. I refuse to.
After a quick shower, I head to dinner. Who would have thought a person can become such a permanent thing in your life so quickly? Mikayla hated me when she met me, and I resented her for speaking back to me instead of staying quiet. Now, I want to see her brown eyes again and try to make her laugh so the sound can echo off the walls and into my soul.
“Tyler.” I turn to see Sam call me over.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, this is for you.”
I furrow my eyebrows and look at her. She hands me a small piece of paper. “I’m not into love notes, Sam.”
“Don’t be a smartass with me. I saw Mikayla this morning, for our session.”
�
��How is she?” I interrupt her.
“She’s good. Thank you for providing a home for her. She’s adjusting.”
“And no . . .”
“No, she’s doing okay. A little out of sorts, but that’s normal in her situation.” I sigh, relieved to hear she’s taking this seriously and not falling back into her old ways.
“Thanks, Sam. Is this from her?” I smile when Sam nods. “Red . . .” I shake my head, smiling, and walk into the dining room.
I open the note and read her scribble.
I have a shit-eating grin on my face. Red. My Red. I pocket the note and eat dinner, wishing she were sitting across from me.
I hum a new song as I shower. I have been working on it, and although I usually don’t write more romantic songs, this one hasn’t left my head since the tune entered it. Music helps me reflect. It’s what I turned to when I was younger to clear my mind and what later became my escape. Except, I became a man barely recognizable to those who knew me before and used my career in music as an excuse to do whatever the fuck I wanted. This new song shook me in a different way. I whisper the first verse to myself.
Is a whiskey night worth
Losing sight of her?
But the taste of amber
Makes the pain surrender
My inner battle—whiskey or her. It’s a new battle since I have been here, because before I swore I had no problem. Will the whiskey be what tears us apart or will Mikayla not even give me a chance because of the shit she’s lived? I know it’s wishful thinking, but I can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever be at a place where she’ll let someone care for her like she deserves. Can I leave the bottle forever if she does allow me to be that person? Most importantly, will I leave the bottle even if she doesn’t?
I think back to that first verse and realize that Red also makes the pain surrender, and I wake up feeling better each day, instead of running to the toilet and taking pills to ease the discomfort. I scrub my face forcefully to rub away all my thoughts. I have been this person for so long. It’s not easy teaching an old dog new tricks.
I wrap a towel around me and get dressed before going back to my room. I’ve been restless for the past two nights. I tried to get Sam’s phone again to send Mikayla a text message, but Sam almost caught me and I had to give up my efforts. Instead, I grab my guitar and begin to sing in the quiet of my room.
Is a whiskey night worth
Losing sight of her?
But the taste of amber
Makes the pain surrender
I’ve never found anything
Stronger than whiskey nights
Until she came into my life,
Beautiful and quiet
Subtle and hidden
The damage in her eyes
Shine her inner fight.
I used to escape into whiskey nights
Now I find comfort by her side.
The bottle doesn’t stand a chance
Against the high she hands.
I can turn my life around
Because with her I have found
The kinda life whiskey can’t break
And endless nights with her for me to take.
I used to escape into whiskey nights
Now I find comfort by her side.
The bottle doesn’t stand a chance
Against the high she hands.
Is a whiskey night worth
Losing sight of her?
But the taste of amber
Makes the pain surrender
The bottle doesn’t stand a chance
Against the high she hands.
No whiskey night’s worth
Losing the sight of her
I chuckle to myself as I imagine Mikayla’s face if she heard this song. She’d freak, and I’m not sure that would be a good thing. I wish I could hold her, grab her hand in mine and show her what she means to the world. At least, what she means to my world.
“Come in,” I say when I hear someone knocking on my bedroom door.
“Hey.” Sam walks in, leaving the door open.
“What’s up?” I look up at her from where I’m sitting on the floor.
“Doing some rounds before it’s lights out and wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m good. Really,” I reassure her. I may be a dickhead most days, but Sam’s always had my back and I’m grateful for that.
“You miss her.” It’s not a question. Fuck her and her intuition.
“I do. It’s weird.”
“Nah . . . It’s pretty normal—finding someone like that, who makes you see your world differently.”
“You speak from experience?”
Sam shrugs. “We all have that person. Mikayla is adjusting to more than a normal lifestyle. She’s adjusting to seeing the world differently, as well. No longer a victim. You know this, so I can tell you. Be that person for her if you can, even if it’s only for a short while.”
“If she lets me, it’ll be longer than a short while.”
Sam smiles sadly and shrugs. “Sometimes that’s not the case, but take each day and learn from it. You two have a reason for meeting.”
“Who was he?” I know it’s none of my business, but Sam has always been somewhat out of her element here, despite her knowledge and skills working with people.
“Goodnight, Tyler.” She smiles as she closes the door of my room, leaving me alone again with my thoughts.
Sam has a way of shaking you until you crack open and confess your feelings to her. I don’t know how she does it, but I guess her personal experience has something to do with it. I’ve been too busy being angry with the people here to pay attention to them. Tomorrow I’m going to talk to Grace about cleaning up. If she has any way of coping when I get the itch to sip the bottle, I’d appreciate it. I also owe my mom a visit when I’m out of this place. And I’ll be damned if this isn’t the last time I come back here.
I wake up and rush to meditation, knowing missing it won’t be in my favor. I look around the room and watch as everyone is already breathing slowly. I roll my eyes and inhale, counting to four before exhaling. Let this all be for my good.
Meditation, sobriety, and therapy. I’ve been questioning my sanity. And let’s be honest, no sex either. Fuck, I’ve become a pussy. Then, I think about Mikayla and remember. She has no idea how much I’ve come to care for her in the last couple of months, but she will one day. All this for the love of a woman. I close my eyes and listen to the guide intently.
“I want to do this,” I tell Grace. I came straight to her office after meditation, skipping breakfast. Her eyes widened when she saw me, but then she smiled slowly.
“It’s important that you want to. No one can do this for you. It’s also a lifelong commitment.” She arches an eyebrow.
“I know that.” I roll my eyes. Then, I remember my meditation. “Doc, I need to learn how to live in an alcohol-driven world and stay dry.”
“It’s important to be realistic, but optimistic. I’m sure there are people that were a part of your life that you may have alienated yourself from. Knowing our roots is important in knowing who we are. When we know that, we don’t need any kind of substance to create another version of ourselves.” I nod as she speaks.
“Take it a day at a time, instead of overwhelming yourself with a lifetime goal. And forgive the people who have wronged you, including yourself. This is key. It’s time, Tyler. It’s time you look at your past and forgive yourself, your mom, and your father.” I sit still.
“I don’t blame my mom for anything. My father on the other hand was a fucked up bastard.”
“Breathe . . .” Grace gives me a few minutes to compose myself. I clench my jaw at the same time as my fists and close my eyes tightly. I open them slowly some moments later and stare at the wall behind Grace.
“Tyler, it’s time to let go.” I nod, while still focusing on the wall. Thinking back to my meditation, I realize she’s right. Unless I want to end up like him. Unless I want my
biggest fear to become real.
“Tell me what to do, Doc.”
“I can only guide you and offer the tools I know. Although you aren’t what I would consider an alcoholic, alcohol has controlled you in some ways. You’re a writer. Here.” She hands me a paper and pen. I take it and raise my eyebrows. “Write a letter to your father. Let it all out. Every anger, hurt, hatred, positive memory. Bleed it all out onto the paper and be done with it.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
“Of course not, but it’s a start. It will help you recognize where you hold your resentment from your subconscious mind instead of your conscious judgment.”
“That sounds like a bunch of mumble jumble.”
“So continue drinking, toasting to the anger you hold against your deceased father and lose the girl.” Her arched eyebrow pisses me off more than her words.
“Fuck . . .” I place the paper on the side table next to the sofa and begin writing, letting out words unconsciously. Words I wasn’t even aware I held within me go onto the paper but I pay no attention. This is different than song writing, where my words are measured and rhythmic. This is chaos in all forms, but I don’t challenge it.
I finally place the pen flat on top of my illegible writing and look at Grace. She smiles slowly.
“You’ll need some hobbies. I know you like working out, which is good because exercise helps to channel your anger. Music is your career; therefore, I suggest doing something else besides that to take up your time.”
“Music takes up a lot of my time.”
“I know, but you’ll want something in between that when you’re on the bus or in between shows to help fill the void alcohol would fill. Is there anything you loved doing as a child?”
“As far as I can remember, it’s always been music.”
“We’ll explore some ideas tomorrow. Take that letter.” She juts her chin towards the paper. “Go to the fire pit we have outside and burn it. I’ll make sure they give you matches to light it with. You’ll have someone supervising, but I want you to do this. Release all that resentment you wrote down and start on a clean sheet of paper. Do this for you, not only for the girl.”
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