Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  I had to tell her, though. I couldn’t not mention anything. When I saw Joe pull out the bottle I looked away. I knew what he was looking for—a night like the old days full of alcohol, women, and my credit card.

  I need a new manager. Or to have a very serious talk with Joe.

  I finally had a shot. I figured it wouldn’t hurt. I was also curious to see what would happen if I had a drink and didn’t lose control. I was tempting my recovery, but I smelled the tequila when they passed the bottle in front of me. Then, Zack handed me a shot glass. I hesitated but took it. After it burned a path down my throat, it fell heavily into the pit of my stomach as the guilt instantly sunk in.

  I fled and came straight here. To Mikayla. Except, she left. She fucking left.

  Still in disbelief and unsure if she’s been gone for an hour or all night, I peel myself off the floor. I look at my reflection in the mirror near the front door. I look like shit. Pussy or not, I feel like fucking crying. Instead, I jump on my bike, my loyal gal, and grab a quick bite to eat.

  When I return, she’s still not back. There’s only one place she could have gone. Fuck it. I lock up my house again and then realize I don’t know where Sam lives.

  I grab my phone and call her.

  “Sam,” I say when she answers. The desperation in my voice is obvious.

  “Hey, Tyler.”

  “Listen, is Mikayla with you?”

  “Yeah, she came by.” I gotta give it to Sam for having no judgment in her tone of voice.

  “Can I come over?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I hear her whisper and then a door open and close in the background. “She’s pretty upset. I think it will do you both good if you give her some time. While she does that, I think you could continue going to your support group.”

  “I fucked up, Sam.” I run my free hand through my hair.

  “Everyone risks a relapse. It’s more common than you think, but that means you have to take your recovery more seriously.”

  “I know. I was taking it seriously, but it was there and . . .” I have no excuse.

  “No alcohol, anywhere near you. At least until you’re stronger. You’ll have to get used to living with it surrounding you in the society we live in, but in the beginning, you’re going to have to keep everything dry.”

  “I know. I told the label I wanted every bus, room, and office completely dry. My manager snuck some in. I should have stopped it, but I didn’t think it was fair to punish all the guys because of me. Maybe I should’ve left.”

  “Stop driving yourself crazy about what you could have done differently. Focus on the now and let go of what happened. Don’t let it happen again,” she says firmly.

  “And Red?”

  “She’s okay. A little shaken up. You know her story. Give her time.”

  “How much?”

  “That’s up to her.”

  “I . . . shit.”

  “I know, Tyler. I get it, but you’re going on tour soon and I think it would be good if you have a plan. This won’t be the only time you’re put in a similar situation.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Tell her I’m sorry.”

  “I will. Bye.”

  I stay outside, numb. I look slowly around my neighborhood. Mikayla’s not sure when she’ll be back. I thought telling her how I felt about her would scare her off, but I did that by acting like a fool. She was right; I am a fool.

  I finally walk into my house and look around. In a daze, I go upstairs and try to sleep off this one mistake.

  I stalk into Tom’s office the next morning and shut the door forcefully. He looks up at me bemused.

  “Can I help you?” He raises his eyebrows and gives me a pointed look.

  “We need to talk. Now.” I don’t bother sitting on one of his fancy, leather chairs. “You made sure I stayed in Chasing Freedom and got cleaned up. We spoke about my requirements to make this work. Everything has to be clean of alcohol and drugs. No groupies allowed. You want me to give the label a good image, follow those fucking rules.”

  “We haven’t had any alcohol.”

  “Joe snuck some in yesterday. Either you have a chat with him or I will, and I’m not sure my chat will include many words.” I clench my fists.

  Tom stares at me. I always did like him, but I’m drawing a line. They fucking made me waste time, push back my tour, and keep me in Chasing Freedom, then they better fucking be ready to pull through on their end.

  “Sony is ready to sign me, but I like you Tom and I owe you a lot. You know that. Nashville is my family, but something has to give or I’m out. I’m finally getting my shit together, and I’ll be damned if I ruin it now.”

  “Did you drink last night?” That’s all he asks.

  “One shot. Then I left. And before you beat down on me, I’ve done enough of that all night.” I slept like shit, too, knowing Mikayla wasn’t home. She deserved to be home, and I made that impossible. Who could blame her for running?

  “Alright.” He crosses his hands on his desk and looks me straight in the eyes. “I will talk to Joe. I will make sure everything is clean. You want a bus for you, away from the guys? Hell, I’ll do it. But next time you’re in a situation like last night, you walk before you take the shot. Understood?”

  “I don’t need my own bus, but I do want a mentor or guide or whatever the hell they’re called with me. Someone to help me while I’m on tour. Some kind of traveling therapist.”

  “Like an AA sponsor?”

  “I’m not in AA, but yeah, kinda. It’ll be better than continuing through online forums while I’m on the road.”

  “Done. Anything else?”

  “That’s all.” I finally slump onto one of the chairs and tip my head back. “How’s the album release going?”

  “Good. We’ve had less time than usual, but everyone is anxious to hear this ‘new Tyler.’”

  “Whatever. It’s music.”

  “No, it’s more than music. It’s you. I’ve heard the album numerous times. They tell a story. You’re being vulnerable and people will love that.” I shrug and stand.

  “Thanks for the chat, Tom.”

  Instead of meeting with Joe and the band, I leave and drive around for a while. Riding always makes me feel better. There’s something about open air and endless roads.

  I end up in front of the church that hosts the meetings I’ve been attending. There’s no meeting now, but that doesn’t stop me from hopping off my motorcycle and walking in. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a talk with the man upstairs.

  I inhale the smell of the worn wood from the pews and stale incense. It’s familiar and distant. I walk down the center aisle and slide into a pew closer to the altar. I sit, resting my arms on the back of the pew in front of me.

  I stare at the paintings, the stained glass, and the sculpture of Christ front and center. All show pain, forgiveness, and enlightenment. I bow my head, not feeling worthy of being in this place, but knowing I need some sort of strength beyond my control.

  My eyes close, I clasp my hands and pray. I speak to a God I haven’t spoken to in years. I take time to ask for strength when I thought myself invincible. But I set my pride aside, and ask guidance from a divine power. I seek forgiveness and patience. Mostly, I want to be free from the hold my deceased father has over me. A hold I have created in my mind.

  After a while, I hear some shuffling and raise my head to see who else is in here with me.

  “I didn’t mean to disrupt ya. Tried to tiptoe quietly,” an older man says.

  “’T’s okay. Getting some clarity.”

  “I see.” He looks at me with sympathy. “Anything ya wanna talk about? I may be old, but I’ve got some wisdom I can share.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about me.”

  “You sure look like I should be worried. Come on.” He tilts his head towards a door and begins to walk away from me. I don’t want to talk, especially to someone I don’t know, but who am I to disrespect my elders?
Even more so in the house of the Lord.

  I rub my face and stand. My boots make heavy sounds as I walk across towards where the man went.

  “You want coffee?” He asks as he stirs sugar into a cup.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” He sits on one of the chairs and waits for me to follow.

  “Now, tell me why you came in here today.” He’s direct.

  “To clear my mind, sir.”

  “What’s a young man like you need clarity for? I’m sure you got the world at your feet.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Is it a woman? Those darn females rile us up, but we can’t live without them.” He takes a sip of coffee.

  I chuckle at his comment. “Not really. A woman is involved, but this is greater than her.”

  “Greater than a woman? Son, you’ve got yourself a problem. No wonder you came here. You know, this room here gathers people who need support. They’re sober now, but there was a time that life got them down so hard they thought they’d never see the light. I’ve been sober ten years now. I lost my wife and my kids. I have grandkids now that I’ve never met.” He takes a stabilizing breath and masks his emotions with another drink from his cup.

  “I’ve made mistakes. Real ugly ones, but I found the help I needed. My wife remarried. I still love her to this day, though, and not a day goes by I don’t wish I’d’ve stopped drinking before losing her. We take for granted what we’ve always had because we’re fools.”

  I listen carefully and I stare into his pale blue eyes. They’re a bit misty, but hell if I’m not feeling his pain.

  “Ten years sober and I’m ten years too late. Don’t be like me, kid. Fix what you broke while you still got time.” I nod wordlessly.

  “I come to a meeting here on some evenings. I had a drink last night, though. One shot. Didn’t even want more. When I realized what I’d done, I went home. I’ve been feeling lousy.”

  “The relapse. How long you been sober?”

  “A few months. About four.”

  “Don’t get too hard on yourself. If I’m honest, one shot and a ride home isn’t much of a relapse. Trust me.”

  “She left.”

  “Ah, the girl. You must care about her.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like that. We’re friends. Roommates, also.”

  “Boy, by the gleam in your eyes she’s a lot more than a friend. She know how you feel?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Maybe she should know. Advice from an old man.”

  I smile at him, wondering where the hell he came from. We talk a bit more, and I watch carefully at his expressions. He tells me about his children and grandchildren. I have no idea how he knows about their lives, and I don’t ask. Something tells me he wasn’t going to take their silence as a defeat. I also have a feeling he’s going to keep fighting for them.

  “What’s your name?” he finally asks.

  “Tyler.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tyler. I’m Bill.” We shake hands and after a few more minutes I thank him and leave.

  I thank the heavens for putting Bill in my path at that moment of despair. Hearing him talk gave me newfound hope. Not only for Mikayla, but for myself. It’s time I make myself a priority. Sam is right, give Mikayla time and work on my stuff.

  I sit up on the small bed in Sam’s spare bedroom and look around. The difference between this room and my room are obvious. My room. More like Tyler’s room. That’s not my house and those aren’t my things.

  Sam’s house is low-key. I already noticed that the first time I came. I’m grateful she let me stay. Going back to Tyler’s seemed impossible.

  He drank.

  I bring my knees up to my chest and hug them. He was doing so well.

  When I got to Sam’s house last night, I couldn’t speak to her. I stood in front of her, trembling. So many memories came back. Even though he was sober, what would it take for him to have another and then another?

  For me to keep getting stronger, I can’t be around him if he’s going to fall every time a bottle is placed in front of his face. He needs to be strong for himself. If he doesn’t want to end up like his father. For his sake, and because I care, I hope he doesn’t. I want more for him, but I meant it when I said I couldn’t fix his problems.

  My breath shakes and I bite down on my lips. When I finally told Sam what had happened, she explained a bit more about people who drink and their recovery process. Although it helped me understand Tyler a bit better, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

  Disappointed that he drank. Disappointed that he tried to excuse it. Disappointed that I wanted to hug him when he dropped to his knees and console him.

  He was that person I trusted. He was my person. My yang. Now, all that’s left is darkness with a glimmer of light. Yin. Half of what could be a beautiful whole.

  I get out of bed and see Sam sitting on the couch in the living room with an iPad and coffee mug.

  “Good morning,” she says.

  “Hey, thanks for letting me stay.”

  “You don’t need to thank me. I already told you you’re welcomed whenever.”

  I nod and shift on my feet. “I should get ready for work,” I finally say.

  “I think you should take a personal day. We have to talk.” I hate when Sam uses that tone of voice. There’s no arguing with her when she’s set on an idea.

  “Don’t you have work?”

  “I called in. Told them I couldn’t make it.”

  “But,” I attempt to argue anyway.

  “No buts. Call them. Self-care comes before anything else.” She hands me my phone.

  After I call into work, Sam hands me a coffee mug and we sit for a while in silence.

  “What are you reading?” I can’t take the silence any longer.

  “The Alchemist. Have you read it?” I shake my head. “It’s a great book. I’ve read it about a dozen times or more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because every time I do, I learn something new. Max was the one who told me to read it, actually.”

  “Oh.” She never says much about her personal life, and although she’s technically my therapist, Sam is more than a counselor in my life. She’s become a friend. All I know is that Max was a man from her past in Amsterdam.

  Sam puts her coffee cup on the table in front of the couch and turns to me. She gives me a small smile before she speaks.

  “Mikayla, I know how difficult it is to lose trust in the world. I know what it feels like to have people you trust tear away your hope.”

  I remember Sam telling me about what her mom went through, and I can only think the knowledge that her grandfather did that hurt her.

  “I was married once,” Sam continues. My eyes widen at her confession, but she ignores my reaction. “I got married when I was young, and shortly after John began drinking. The drinking led to hitting and rape. I couldn’t be with him if he was treating me that way, and when I would refuse he would take it upon himself to do what he liked. We lived for years that way. I had no family or any real friends to turn to, so it continued unnoticed. One day, I got so sick and tired of it that I fought back. I fought hard enough that I killed him.” Sam closes her eyes a second and I respect her enough not to comment, but I’m shocked.

  “Anyway, they didn’t charge me, since the bruises were evident. They called it self-defense and I was free to go. Except, I wasn’t free. It was the final straw. I was angry at all men. I hated them all. My grandfather, my husband. They all harmed people. So I booked a one-way ticket, and that is how I ended up in Amsterdam. I took out my anger on men the best way I could think of. I began working in The Red Light District, as a prostitute,” she emphasizes in case I’m not familiar with the neighborhood. I stunned into silence.

  “I tell you this because for many years I let my anger and resentment control me. I only had Bale in Amsterdam, until I met Max. It was hard work, but I finally worked through everything. I foun
d peace. I found forgiveness for myself, for allowing those horrid things to happen to me. I forgave my mother for not being strong enough. At least my definition of strength.

  “I can’t say Max fixed me, because we can only fix ourselves, but he offered something no one else has—unconditional love. Something happens when you witness that kind of love. Suddenly, you want it to fill you up. He encouraged me to finish my degree in Mental Health. He encouraged me to reach out to my dad and meet him after years of distance.

  “I’m telling you this so you understand that you’re not alone. But so you also understand that it takes hard work to find inner peace. I don’t regret what I lived through anymore. I used to, but remember what I told you—our past shapes us but, doesn’t hold us in that mold.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I finally speak up.

  “You don’t say anything. I wanted you to know what I went through. There are a lot of uglier details that I won’t throw your way. I thought you would want to know that I understand your journey. We had different experiences, and I can’t imagine being a child and living through that. I finally understood why my mom took her life. You were vulnerable, but there are people you can trust. People make mistakes, but their hearts are good. Tyler has a good heart, and right now he needs forgiveness, not a guilt trip.”

  “I know that. It’s not that I don’t forgive him. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be, but I need to work on me first. I can’t be the person who pats him on the back and says you’ll do better next time. I can’t. Not right now.”

  Sam nods and smiles. “I can respect that, and I think he can as well. You might want to let him know that, though.”

  I nod. She’s right. Seeing the torture in his eyes last night, I don’t want him to do anything crazy or think he isn’t deserving of a better life. He is.

  I finally get the courage to drive back to Tyler’s house to grab my belongings. I pack the little clothes I own into my duffle bag and sit on the couch while I wait for him to arrive. I’m going to miss this house. I’m going to miss my art room and all the books, but I’m going to miss seeing him daily.