Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  I understand that our bodies react to our senses, but I still hate that I did. I still hate that because of that scientific fact, he was fueled to keep going. Thinking I was enjoying myself.

  Sick. That’s how I’m starting to feel.

  I close my eyes. It’s in the past. I can’t control that. I can only focus on right now. To cope, I imagine Tyler’s smile. I’m instantly calmer and I read the lyrics again. They are beautiful.

  “Trust me,” Sam says as she stands before me.

  I resist rolling my eyes because that’s rude and she’s trying to help me. Although I have been staying with her for the past three months, we still make time for our formal, weekly sessions. I’m glad, too, because they help a lot. And even if we talk daily, this allows for my routine to continue and for it to separate between conversation and actual therapy.

  Right now, I’m wishing it were conversation with what’s she’s requesting.

  “I do trust you Sam, but I’m not doing that.”

  “You want to live your life controlled by the past?” She lifts a brow and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Do you talk to all your clients this way?”

  “I have my way of doing things. And it’s very effective.” I’ll give her that. Sam doesn’t follow the traditional form of therapy.

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts! Close your eyes. I’ll guide you.” Knowing that it will be useless to argue by the tone of her voice, I close my eyes and pray that I can get through this.

  Sam guides me through a meditation, visualizing colors to relax my mind. I listen carefully and let her do what she does. If it becomes too much, I know I have the choice to stop.

  She guides me through a meditation different than others I’ve done, visualizing myself, my stepdad, and some higher power above our heads. Connecting our hearts with light and sending it upwards, I begin to think of every excuse why he doesn’t deserve this. Then I remember this is not for him, it’s for me.

  I let go of my thoughts and act, no more thinking.

  It may take more than one try to break through the wall of hostility keeping me from walking away from the prison I built. At least I was able to stick through the entire thing.

  Sam has been telling me it’s time to work through this part of my healing, and I have been putting it off.

  If you want to see Tyler when he gets back and have a chance at a happy life, then you need to do this. She had told me this the other night.

  Tyler.

  I think about him every day. I know his tour is going well. He tells me as much. He also keeps me up to date about this own recovery without getting too into it. I’m learning to deal with my stuff and not lean on him, but I think that lesson is harder for him.

  He had wanted Bill, a man he’d been talking to, to go with him on tour as a mentor or something, but Bill had told him he was too old to be on the road and didn’t want the other guys to be jealous of some old man when the groupies wanted him.

  That’s the most detail Tyler has told me; so instead, he checks in with Bill daily. The bus is completely dry, and while I’m sure the other guys are drinking, Tyler deserves praise for what he’s doing.

  “How was it?” Sam asks after my eyes are open and refocused on my surrounding. In other words, I’m done thinking about Tyler.

  “Better than I thought. I couldn’t picture him, and it was hard to agree that he deserves this. After I cleared my head, I was able to let go a bit more.”

  “Good. You don’t have to picture him as you remember him. As long as you visualize a form, it works. Remember, you’re working with his soul not his physical form.”

  Sam talks about all this stuff as if it were normal. Who says, let’s talk to someone’s soul? It’s odd, but I go with it because if it worked for a strayed prostitute in Amsterdam, it could work for me. If she could forgive her ex-husband and grandfather, then maybe I could find forgiveness. If she was able to love after all that, maybe I could, too.

  I know better than to compare myself to someone else, but we learn from those around us. Right? I sure as hell hope so.

  Sam and I finish our therapy a while after, and I take some time to finish a painting I started earlier in the week.

  Outside, the fall weather is much cooler. I set up an easel Tyler let me take from his house and the paints. I have expanded my supplies, buying a little with each paycheck. I close my eyes, and prepare to finish this piece.

  A few hours later, I walk into the house with paint brushed on my skin and place the canvas in my room to let it dry. After I shower, I sit next to Sam in the living room. I’ve been meaning to ask her something, and I don’t want to offend her by overstepping.

  I figured I could go straight to it. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, she won’t answer. I’ve gotten to know Sam much better lately. She doesn’t say what she doesn’t want the world to know.

  “Do you still think about Max?”

  She cocks her head to the side and looks me straight on. Her lips tug slightly to the side.

  “Everyday, especially when I read this stupid book.” She lifts her iPad in exasperation, but there’s a smile in her voice.

  I lean over and read the title on the top of the page. It’s a small font, but I recognize the title.

  “You’re reading The Alchemist again?” She mentioned not too long ago that she had read it about a dozen times.

  “I learn something new each time.” She gives the same reasoning.

  “So the book reminds you of Max?”

  “Yes. He is the one who told me to read it. I swear, it’s like he wrote the book himself,” she chuckles wistfully.

  “How did you know you loved him?” I bite the inside of my cheek while I wait for her response.

  “Something clicked inside of me. I wanted him around, even though I didn’t need him.”

  I nod.

  “You know, when I saw you and Tyler starting to get to know each other I didn’t think you were like Max and I.” My stomach drops. “I thought, here are two people who don’t realize what’s in front of them. Here are two people who don’t even realize their effect on the other. It was beautifully innocent to observe. The trust blooming between the two of you when you’d both gone through so much was admirable.

  “We all saw it. It was transformation as concrete as it could be. And then, when he was the only one who could talk you down from that incident with the scissors, I knew.”

  “What?”

  “I knew that rarely do people get to experience the connection you two have, and I hoped you’d both see it one day. Because experiencing time with someone on that level is beyond words. No matter how little time you have, it’s worth it. So yes, I think about Max each day and I know he thinks about me, but our purpose in each other’s lives is complete. We understood that, and sometimes that’s how it works. I’ll never regret it. You and Tyler? You’re beginning, and I have a feeling it’s going to last a very long time.”

  I blink quickly trying to swallow the soreness of my throat away. My breath comes in shaky.

  “But what do I know? I’m a whore turned therapist.” She shrugs, and I can’t help but laugh because she is so much more than that and she knows it.

  “Can I borrow the book sometime?” I ask.

  “You can read it now.” She stands and hands me a worn paperback.

  “You sure?” I eye the book in her hand.

  “Read it.” Her words are demanding, so I grab the book.

  “Thanks.” I lean back on the sofa and open to page one. Let’s see what this book is all about.

  Sam’s words about love have been ringing in my mind all week. It’s when you want someone, not when you need them. I have also read The Alchemist and am fascinated by the tale. A much more spiritual story than I imagined, but healing nonetheless.

  I have set myself goals to work with. I’m ready for this final one to be accomplished. Ultimate forgiveness. I’m ready to feel love and give it to some
one. I’m ready to care about another person wholeheartedly.

  More than all that, I’m ready to live free of restraints.

  The razors no longer call my name, except for when I need to shave. The past no longer controls me and the fear of him finding me no longer consumes me. Fear has been the most difficult thing to work through besides forgiving him, but I’m working through it. When I realized that fear was all in my head, I was able to accept that it was only as powerful as I made it.

  So because I want to be done with this, every night before falling asleep I try that triangle connection Sam did with me last week. I visualize myself forgiving him and feeling compassion.

  I may not understand why I had to live that and he may always be the villain in my life, but not every villain comes out the winner of the story. I’m the heroine of my own life, and it’s time I start fighting for the life I want.

  Going to kickboxing regularly has also helped. I continue my yoga practice at home, and painting is still my favorite form of therapy.

  I finish up at work and say bye to Gene before walking to my car. I look around my surroundings and climb into the car. You can never be too careful.

  A smile tugs at my lips when I hear my phone chime and I glance quickly. Since Tyler and I don’t talk often, I like hearing from him when I do. I’ll check it when I get home.

  The drive from Sam’s house to Healing Hearts is shorter, and I have gotten used to being out of the house more. Weekly trips to the supermarket. Some basic shopping. Buying art supplies. I have incorporated myself into society and it feels good.

  I pull into Sam’s driveway and put the car in park. Before I even turn off the car, I unlock my phone and open the text message.

  Tyler: Hey Red . . . Hope you’re doing well. The tour is great and the crowds amazing. Everyone loves Whiskey Nights. Wish you could see all this. We’ll see each other when I get back?

  I grin as I read his message. If having feelings for someone is having tingles in your stomach, then I feel for Tyler. I’m still not sure how intimate I can be with someone or what reaction being touched will cause. It’s something that worries me. It has me broken up, but I definitely care about Tyler as more than a friend. My yang.

  I type back a quick response telling him I am doing well. A few quick words about work and a confirmation that we will see each other when he’s back in Nashville during his break.

  It will be good to see him. It will be fun to hear about the tour.

  The phone interrupts my thoughts. The air chills me, but I read his message as I walk into the house.

  Tyler: How’s the art?

  Mikayla: Good, have a few new pieces.

  I place my purse in the room and stare at the growing pile of canvases. Okay, maybe it’s more than a few pieces.

  Tyler: Expose them.

  I shake my head and eye my paintings. I know I told him I would put them somewhere to sell. Maybe it’s time. I can always keep the ones that are more personal. I flip through the canvases, choosing which ones I would sell if given the chance. I can look into it tonight.

  I’m surprised when I get another message from him right away.

  Tyler: I miss you, Red.

  My heartbeat picks up as I read the words for the third time. I miss him too. I hope that he’s getting done what he needs in between shows.

  Mikayla: Besides music, are you good?

  His recovery entails more than alcohol. I pray that Bill has words of wisdom that will allow Tyler to move on.

  Mikayla: And I miss you, too.

  My heart races out of my chest when I send that second text. I throw my phone on the bed and borrow Sam’s laptop.

  I begin researching ways someone could sell personal artwork. A lot of websites that come up at first are websites that people use to sell used items. Not exactly finding what I’m looking for, I take a break before I get frustrated.

  I lie on the bed and grab my sketchbook and pencil. Not paying attention to what I’m drawing, I let my hand do the work.

  It is a simple drawing of a woman’s features—closed eyes, pointed nose, and shaded lips. Sometimes I amaze myself with my drawing abilities. Despite scarcity of the sketch, it is peaceful.

  Before I put my sketchbook away to make dinner, the corner of a paper catches my eye. Unaware of what it could be, I pull it out. My body relaxes as I look at the first sketch I made of Tyler back in Chasing Freedom. Analyzing it for some time, I wonder how my life would be if I had never met him. If I had never left Georgia.

  I’m pretty sure now that nothing is an accident. At some point, Tyler and I were meant to meet so we could help each other. Maybe Tyler would still be drinking, or worse. I shudder at the thought of what could have happened to him had he never admitted he had a problem. And me . . . if I had never left Georgia.

  I don’t finish that thought. I did leave. I found something else in life. There’s no space for what ifs.

  I make dinner, taking my phone with me into the kitchen. Tyler must be busy preparing for a concert. I will hear from him again when I do.

  I am ready to go home. We have had a great tour so far, but I miss the comfort of my home. Of my space. How different an experience can be when we have different views of life. Before, I would be too busy drinking and hooking up to be homesick. Now, I know better. And I have the person I want to spend time with back in Nashville.

  We’re almost at the end of the first leg, and I have made it a few months without a drink. I don’t even crave it. If the guys want to drink, they go to a bar. The bus has remained alcohol-free throughout the entire tour.

  I have also found myself talking more to the man upstairs. It had been a long time since I had a one on one with him, but after I walked into the church and bowed my head I have found a new perspective on prayer. One that was taught to me at a young age, and I abandoned at an older age.

  “Hey,” Cash says as he sees me stretching. Rebel Desire has impressed me. Despite some personal issues Cash has got going on, they have been professional. They are full of energy on stage and levelheaded off it.

  “What’s up?” I throw my chin up in greeting and stretch my calves.

  “Going for a workout,” he tells me.

  “Yeah, finishing up mine. How you holding up?”

  “I’m good. Thanks for setting me straight.”

  “Hey, I know what it feels like to be in a low place. That bottle wasn’t going to solve your problems. If anything, it would have multiplied them.” I chuckle good-naturedly, despite knowing he’s going through some hard stuff.

  “I know. I don’t get it, but I’ve let it go. I need to focus on the band right now.”

  “Remember, don’t stop chasing the girl,” I throw his words back at him.

  He smiles forcefully and heads off for a run. I hope he gets that all worked out. I like that guy, and I want to see him rise in this career. You don’t come across guys like Cash Knight often, and I’ll make sure Nashville Records knows that.

  I hop in the tiny shower on the bus after I finish cooling down, and then grab my notebook to get some words down.

  Talking to Bill the other day, something clicked. For whatever reason, whether I was finally ready or some other reason, I finally understood that my father’s behavior was not for me to take on. With his death, I felt like I needed to carry his cross for him. I guess I took it upon myself to feel the guilt he didn’t.

  It was no longer mine to carry. Actually, it never was. It wasn’t my responsibility to take over his role, even if partially.

  It is my responsibility to be myself. To move on and be happy, like my mom has. Also, hearing Bill say how he lost it all hit a chord. I refuse to wake up one day in the future and realize I lost my career, the passion for music, and the girl. Especially the girl.

  My father died. He did what he did. I hated him for it. But, all that’s left right now is to live my life and stop worrying about everyone else’s.

  I don’t even bother going home when the bus ar
rives in Nashville. The cold air slices my face as I race down the street on my bike, but I don’t care.

  I made sure we hit the road early this morning after our final show last night. Everyone agreed, especially since Rebel Desire has only a couple days before they have to do some other shows. In January, they will go back on the road with me, and I’m sure they want those few days home to rest.

  It all worked out in my favor.

  I have been anxious to see her since I left. Since she asked for some time so she could give us a chance. Since she took the initiative to kiss my cheek when I know how difficult physical contact can be for her.

  We will take it slow, but I meant it when I told her I wanted to heal her scars. From the little she told me while I was away, it seems she’s been doing a damn good job of healing them herself.

  I pull into a spot in the parking lot at Healing Hearts and smile when I see her car parked there already.

  The ground crunches beneath my boots as I make my way to the front door. The anticipation feels like I’m moving at a slow pace, but I reach the door before I can even figure out what I’m going to say to her.

  I walk into the main door and watch as it takes her a few seconds to react. Her eyes widen and she jolts back in her seat. Her eyes don’t leave mine as I walk up to the counter dividing us.

  “Hey,” I greet her.

  A slow smile creeps on her lips. “Hi,” she whispers.

  I chuckle at her reaction. Surprised is an understatement. I raise my eyebrows and wait for more.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally asks.

  “Seeing you,” I state matter-of-factly.

  “You’re back.”

  “I am.”

  “Shit.” She finally snaps out of it and walks around the counter and comes straight to me.

  I pull her in for a hug and hold her to me, feeling her again.

  “I fucking missed you, Red.”