Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  “You can, you know.” I reach out for his hand. I’ve been doing that more. Making contact with him. I don’t know why, but it happens. Is this what it’s like to care for someone?

  “Sure as hell hope so.”

  “I believe in you.” I smile softly.

  “Thanks, Red.” He closes his eyes and breathes in. When he reopens them, he moves his hand from under mine and finishes his meal.

  “Want to listen to some of the songs I’m working on to show the label?” Tyler stands and washes his bowl, then grabs mine when I nod that I’m done.

  “Yeah!” I love listening to him play music, especially when it’s his raw voice and guitar. It’s different than what I’ve heard being played on radio stations.

  Although Tyler says I’ve become better at playing the few riffs he’s taught me, I know he’s only being nice. There’s no way I’ll ever play the guitar the way he does. It takes so much coordination and thinking. I do enjoy trying to learn though.

  “I’m showing them a demo tomorrow. It needs to be perfect so I can hook them. They think I can only pull off the bad boy image and my fans won’t fall for something different. I’m more than that image.”

  He is. He’s so much more, but I have a feeling he never let’s anyone see that side of him. To the world, Tyler is hardcore and doesn’t need the world by his side. He’s got it all and that’s all he needs. In reality, Tyler is a man in need of affection. I’m grateful he has his mom.

  I’m grateful I have him and Sam.

  The next morning, I meet with Matthew, the director of Healing Hearts. He’s nice enough and skims my resume. He asks a few questions that are related to the job, but he’s getting a feel for who I am and how I communicate.

  The job description is about the same that Gene mentioned the evening before. I would have to answer the phone, review schedules for the different programs, assist people that come in looking for information about what Healing Hearts offers and sign them up. I would have an email to manage, and I would do any other clerical work that they ask for. It’s pretty basic. Definitely something someone straight out of high school can handle. The fact that I am also a customer attending their ceramics class didn’t faze him. He promised I would still be able to attend pottery.

  The pay is pretty normal, I think. I don’t know what a job like this would pay, but from what I saw online while I was researching, ten dollars an hour is basic pay. Especially since this is a non-profit organization. I will be working thirty hours a week, so I won’t quite be full-time, which I think is great. It leaves time for me to paint, meet with Sam, and have time for myself.

  I agree to start tomorrow morning. Gene said she would show me around before “leaving me to the wolves.” I laughed at her exaggeration.

  I drive to meet Sam after my meeting with Matthew. This is the first time I go to her house, but I figured it would be easier since it is on my way home.

  Sam’s house is not exactly what I had envisioned. I sit in my car a second analyzing the small cottage. It has a blue door. I shrug, thinking a person shouldn’t be judged by what you perceive. I only know who Sam is in her profession.

  “Hey.” Sam smiles when she answers the door.

  “Hi.”

  “How did your meeting go?” She motions for me to walk in.

  “It was good. The director seems nice enough and the job itself is manageable.”

  “I’m glad. We can talk more about it now.”

  Sam’s house is simple. There are a few frames with pictures, no real décor flowing through the space, and her furniture is normal. I don’t know what I was expecting. She is such a mysterious person, that I imagined something more eccentric.

  I sit on the couch in her living room. The gray sofa contrasts with the white walls. It’s a clean look.

  Sam and I pick up from our last session. She tells me she finished reading Electrified and we discuss some themes that are present throughout the novel. It helps to talk about it and about my reintegration into society.

  “Have you always lived in Nashville?” I ask Sam.

  “No.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  She looks away for a second. “I lived in Amsterdam before this.”

  “But you’re American? So did you do, like, a study abroad?”

  She laughs coolly. “No, I worked there. I’m originally from Florida.”

  “Wow . . . you worked abroad? That must have been amazing.”

  “It was okay. Let’s . . .”

  “How did you make friends once you moved here? Tyler suggested I make friends with some of the people in my ceramics class. Friendships lead to people knowing about you and your past.”

  Sam smiles sympathetically. “I know it’s difficult to allow people in and share what you’ve lived, but you don’t have to. I have two friends. Bale from Amsterdam, and Suzy, who I met in my kick boxing class.”

  “I know I don’t have to share about my past, but once people start mentioning things or experiences people my age should have lived through I’ll seem like some weirdo. Unless I explain myself, people will think I have no social skills. They won’t be completely wrong though. I don’t know how to socialize.

  “Mikayla.” Sam stops me from continuing my babbling.

  “Yeah?”

  “Breathe.” I take a few deep breaths to slow my heart rate and look at her. “Now, not everyone lives the same experiences. You are a smart girl. It’s not like you were hidden from the world.” I kind of was. I had no idea who Tyler was, and apparently, everyone knows Tyler Hunt.

  I nod. Maybe she’s right. “How come you only have two friends?”

  “Those are the people I connect with. If someone else comes by and I connect with that person, then they will become a friend. I work odd hours, and I like my alone time.”

  I know what that’s like. “Who’s that? Is that Bale?” I nod towards a frame.

  “Someone I used to know.” Sam doesn’t even look at the frame.

  “He’s handsome.” The man must be in his mid-thirties in that photo.

  “His soul is even more beautiful.” Sam looks nostalgic.

  “What happened?” I whisper, hoping I’m not crossing a line.

  “Some people are meant to leave after they teach you what you need.” Her smile is sad but genuine.

  “Don’t you want your happy ending?”

  “Endings aren’t always happy. I had a happy middle. I like my happy middle.”

  “What was his name?”

  “His name is Max.”

  I’m no one to judge another’s relationship or lack thereof. I’m the person who least understands them or even thinks she could ever have one. Do I want one? It’s impossible. I’ll never be able to be open with someone. Even Tyler, who knows all I’ve been through, I couldn’t give him what he needed. I shiver at the thought of someone touching me, especially there.

  My eyes shut close hard and I breathe.

  “Mikayla?”

  “Yeah?” I say, keeping my eyes closed.

  “What’s going on?”

  I finally open my eyes. “Sorry . . . I was thinking . . .”

  “About? Let’s talk it out. That’s why we’re here.”

  I swallow hard and nod. “Relationships. You could have one Sam. I, on the other hand, will never be able to experience that. Even if the person knows what happened to me, I could never . . .” I trail off not able to finish my thought.

  “Mikayla, you are not the first nor the last, unfortunately, that will live through abuse. You remember it, but many others block it from their memory. In a way, you have a head start to work through it instead of waiting for a trigger to bring back all the memories and your perfectly sculpted life shatters. I’ve seen that too many times.”

  I listen carefully. I can’t imagine someone thinking their life is perfect to suddenly realize they had been abused. I can’t imagine someone who is married realizing that. How can you forget that? I wish I could, but I a
lso know remembering can let me work it out. Since I decided I was going to continue living this life.

  “Sex wasn’t introduced to you in a normal way.” Sam goes straight to the point. She never sugarcoats things. “Instead of understanding it as an intimate connection of love, you see it as danger. An intrusion. I don’t blame you, but I refuse to let you continue thinking that. With time, you will get there. Right now is not the time for you to experience it, but one day you will heal and be with someone you love and trust. His touch will be gentle and safe. You will want to experience all things with him, and you will do so happily and by choice.”

  I nod as my lower lip trembles. I hope she’s right. Because I want to heal and not be a captive of my past.

  I arrive home after meeting with Sam and grab my sketchbook. Despite having a therapy session with her, I could use some time alone to gather my thoughts. That’s what drawing does for me. Mostly because I let go of the conscious mind and allow what’s inside of me to flow. I’ve learned a lot in therapy.

  Since it’s a beautiful day, I sit outside on a blanket. Tyler’s house has plenty of space out back for a patio and still have greenery galore.

  When the pencil hits the paper, I’m gone. The only thing that matters are the marks the lead makes. The heat of the sun gleams down on me, but it’s comfortable still, in the spring. I notice the portrait I’m sketching. From earlier on in the drawing, I can tell that the expression on this one will be different than my other portraits. I draw the girl, her hair long and her eyes big. It’s the expression on her lips that surprises me. They’re set straight, but peaceful.

  Normally, my portraits have furrowed brows, or fearful eyes. Their lips are set in a grim line, or they have opened mouths, yelling. This one is different, yet still full of emotion. I continue shading the image.

  Around her face and neck, I begin to draw a floral design, filling every part of the paper. Her face stands out in front of the design. It looks almost as if she was lying in the middle of a meadow full of flowers, bits of flowers overlapping with her hair.

  Hours later, I’m done and walk into the house. It is still day out, and I decide to do yoga out in the patio instead of in the gym. I change quickly and grab the mat, setting up a space outside.

  Tyler gets home earlier than usual. I watch as he walks in and smiles tentatively before dropping on the sofa next to me.

  “Hey, Red. How was your interview?”

  “Good. I start tomorrow.”

  “That’s great. I’m proud of you.” He squeezes my knee gently and his head falls back on the top of the couch.

  “Did they like the song?” I’m not sure what to make of his entrance.

  “They liked it.”

  “That’s great!” Why doesn’t he look excited?

  “Yup.” He closes his eyes and rolls his neck.

  I give him the moment he clearly needs and inspect my nails. I pick at the corner of one of them, biting it off. The scar on my left hand catches my attention.

  When I started cutting, I never intended to take it further than a release. They were superficial cuts that felt too good, but I didn’t want to take my life. You’d assume that would be the case, considering what I was living. But when I heard that laughter in the diner, I was determined to stop anything from happening, and that meant no longer living.

  Something happens when you’re given a small taste of freedom and the past comes knocking on your door. Back then, I didn’t know that it was my mind triggering the memories. I thought it was him. I was damned if he took anything else from me. I’d take the pleasure from him, even if it meant dying. Dying didn’t sound so bad. It was better than being dragged back into the evil.

  “Stop biting your nails.” I look up at Tyler. I shrug and release my finger from between my teeth.

  “I’m glad they liked the song.”

  “Yeah, they did. They were surprised. I’m showing them a few more songs tomorrow. Give them a feel for what the album will sound like and stuff. My band liked it a lot.” I nod, still unsure why he seems so torn.

  “But?” I finally ask.

  “But . . .” His eyes roam the room. “I’m not so sure now.”

  “Why?” He was hell bent on making them see there’s more to him.

  “Because they’re personal.”

  “I thought that was why you wanted to share them.”

  “It was, but now people will know more than I care to say. People will read between the lines and learn my story.”

  “That may not be a bad thing. Business aside, it may allow people to relate better to you. Give you a more human feel, than rock star. You’ve got a voice, and people love it, but I think they will love your courage. Hell, it might even help you overcome what you’re still struggling with.”

  Tyler nods silently.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he says after a few minutes. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I think back to what Sam told me earlier, about caring about people. She is so sure that some day I’ll be able to live out a normal relationship and have things other people have. I’m not so sure, although I like having someone I can talk to. I like having a friend who understands, well kind of, what I’ve been through. Or at least acknowledges it without judgment.

  But I’ll never be able to be what Tyler would need. I contract my muscles, the thought of being touched making my skin crawl.

  “Are you okay?” Tyler asks.

  “Fine.”

  I’ll miss him when he’s gone.

  “Dinner?” I ask as I stand.

  “I’ll help.” He follows me into the kitchen and we decide what we want to make.

  Having Tyler in my life is so different than what I first thought it would be like. He was so rough and angry when I first met him. He scared me. I can’t remember when our relationship shifted to a positive one, but I think it was some time between when I apologized for insulting him and listening to him play the guitar that first time. There was something about seeing him vulnerable in both situations. It made him real.

  After dinner, I ask Tyler to practice some of the new songs in front of me. I watch him get lost in the music, singing words that speak of him and his life. Even if you don’t know his story, watching him perform these songs will show you they mean something to him. He changes while singing these. His eyes focus on mine intensely as he sings. I can’t look away, but I feel as if he’s ripping into me. I have never known anyone who could see through me so powerfully. I don’t think it’s only because he knows me.

  As Tyler sings to me, my heart leaps. I’ll never be able to give him what he needs, I repeat.

  “Red . . .” my name trails off his lips as he puts the guitar down. Instead of saying what was evident he wanted to say, he places his head in his hands and tugs his hair. When he looks back at me, his eyes are torn. I want to comfort him. I want him to understand that sharing these songs with the public is brave. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to share my art.

  Tyler and I both hide in different ways. I keep to myself, camouflaging. He has created a different person, so his true self wouldn’t be discovered.

  “You can do this,” I reassure him.

  “If I release this album, you put your artwork for sale.” He reads my mind.

  “I . . .” I shake my head.

  “Red, people will identify with the emotions you put into it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If I can do this with words, you can do it with images. We’ll do it together.” He smiles, and I relax. “We got each other.” It’s his turn to reassure me.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “But the album has to be ready before I do. We do this together.”

  “Yes.”

  I freeze when Tyler pulls me into a hug.

  “Relax, Red.” He chuckles. I take a deep breath and hug him back, wanting to hold on to him as long as I can. Because although I may not be able to be the woman he needs, I don’t want to lose him eith
er. We have something different. Or that could be my idea, because I have never had someone I could count on before like I can with Tyler. Flaws and all, he’s the best person in my life.

  I have been working at Healing Hearts for a week now. I like the job, and it’s easy enough where I don’t get overwhelmed. It has been exactly what I needed. Some hours are a little slower than others, but I draw during that time. It has helped me get to know more people, even if superficially, for now. I feel normal. For the first time in my life, I feel like I belong. I feel like I can live my life without a secret clouding over me, waiting to pour down on me.

  The secrets still exist, but I hope they don’t come back. Right now, they’re secrets of who I was instead of who I am. Sam and I worked on that the other day—making sure I understand that the past paves our path and molds us but doesn’t own us. She tried to get me to do ho’oponopono with him, but I’m not ready. I’m not ready to honor him. He doesn’t deserve it.

  Who are you to judge what he deserves?

  I remember Sam’s words. Judgment. She continues to bring that up.

  I roll my eyes and put away the dishes that were left drying from this morning. I’m glad today is one of the days I get home earlier from work. As much as I’m adjusting to my new routine, I’m tired and looking forward to a relaxing weekend.

  It has been a long time since there has been a difference between weekdays and weekends. Before, I used to crave for the weekdays to drag on so I would have school as an excuse to escape.

  I put the utensils away in the drawer when there’s a knock on the door. I stop and look around the kitchen as if the cabinets would whisper the person’s name. I think about ignoring it, but the second knock is a little louder. I search for my phone, finding it on the seat of one of the stools. I don’t have any messages from Tyler saying someone was coming over.

  At the third knock, I look through the peephole and see a woman. I hold my phone tightly and open the door a bit.

  “Hi?” I look at the woman.

  “Oh, hi. I am Abby, Tyler’s mom. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I exhale, noticing the similarities in their eyes.