I inhale deeply, let it out slowly, and continue on bearing out my bottomless soul. “I know I have oxygen in my lungs and the choice to make decisions, but how do I do it? How do I breathe? How do I get what they did to me out of my head and learn to like myself? I’m an addict, Ronan. I want more than anything to help myself. To find the lost person inside of me. I’m afraid I’ll die if I don’t and…” I sigh, my heart pounding up against my ribs. My words stuck, clawing up my throat and lying flat on my tongue to escape. “I really don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to know who the real Amelia is, and I’m asking you to help me.”
8
Zeke
I run my hand over my slick, shaved head in frustration, wondering why in the hell Ronan isn’t saying a fucking word when Amelia had up and poured out her soul. I’m fucking livid, but even in this gray state of life I know I can’t burst in there and ask to let me help her. I’m not familiar with how all this works. All I know for sure is, every fiber in my body wants to take her in my arms and tell her that what they did to her isn’t because she’s beautiful, which she clearly is. It’s because they are sick and twisted and fucked up. They deserve to die, and one way or another I’m going to find out who they are and they will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.
Amelia is wrong, completely wrong, because she’s not sterile. Not even close to it. I would be the man to know going over and over her records with a fine-tooth comb. I left no stone unturned making sure she was healthy and would have every single chance to live a happy life with only her internal scars left for her to battle.
She’s lost. The things she allowed those men to do to her she didn’t do on her own. She did them because of what happened to her. It was her only way to survive.
I grind my teeth; my need to burst through this doorframe once again assaults me with a vengeance. I trust this guy; he came highly recommended, and I need to trust my gut that he knows what the hell he’s doing.
All of this is a swift sidekick to my temple. I shouldn’t even be standing outside of his office door. I’m glad I am, though, because even though I know it’s wrong of me, I’m asking Katch to kill those two sons of bitches who damaged her soul. Stole her innocence and screwed her head up into believing what she’s saying.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My knuckles grow white, my mind fucking explodes, and the haze of death consumes me.
Saxon’s words of encouragement float back in. I pull my cell phone from my suit jacket and text in the favor to both him and Katch. The two motherfuckers will pay. Pay with blood and pain. Amelia will never again have to worry about the sick bastards who hurt her again.
She needed help, and that’s my professional duty, but with her, there’s more. And the black and white picture of my life has just been colored by Amelia Moore. The murky gray areas are turning into vibrant shades giving my life meaning.
“Dr. Hartley.”
I turn to see the woman from the front desk heading my way.
I clear my throat, straighten up, and meet her down the hall thanking God that Amelia and Ronan didn’t catch me.
“Ronan must still be in session. I’m sorry, but I really must ask you to wait in the reception area.”
I reach down to adjust my watch on my wrist knowing it’s taking everything in me not rush in there and save her. It’s the way I tick. The shit I imagined doing for my sister but never had the chance. I steady my thoughts then force myself to smile.
“I’ll come back at another time. If you’ll let him know I stopped by, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
No good would come of me storming into that office and taking care of her problems. Amelia is safe here and at least from the sounds of it beginning to heal. She needs to be here, I keep reminding myself as I walk toward the waiting area and out the door with a silent promise to both Amelia and myself to return tomorrow.
I do not return until two months later.
* * *
She’s sitting at a table all by herself studying the other patients and their families. The scene freezes me in place. Agony and longing are clearly written all over her face. She’s lonely, broken, and figuring out how to move on. I know I’m about to not only blur the line of ethics. I’m about to Goddamn obliterate them.
I called Ronan shortly after I left here holding back the urge to rip his non-existent tongue out of his mouth for not comforting her. I shut up quickly when he told me he knows what the hell he’s doing and just because I’m the one footing the bill for her to be here that it doesn’t give me the right to call the shots.
Well, frankly, he put me in my place by telling me her treatment is his expertise and not mine. He also informed me that he didn’t think it was wise for me to visit, but that hasn’t stopped me from calling daily to check on her progress. So, I’ve been busting my ass at work. Digging my heels into this charity function and going out of my ever-loving mind trying to help Saxon and Katch find her family. It’s a dead end. She said it was her stepfather and his son. But who in the hell are they?
Just because she was found in an alley in LA doesn’t mean this is where she lived, nor does it mean that Laguna Beach, the town she was born in, is where she resided. There are thousands of surgeons in LA. Hell, it could be anyone of them, and I won’t rest until the one who destroyed her is buried and rotting in hell right along with his son.
I clutch the two coffees in my hand hoping they’ll work similar to stress relief balls. The only piece of comfort I have right now is knowing the fact Saxon and the club won’t give up. They didn’t even blink twice about helping me out. Their loyalty is priceless.
“This seat taken?”
Amelia peers up at me with confusion covering face. Her forehead creased in concentration as if she’s trying to place who I am.
“Um, no. But I thought today was a free day with no counseling.” Her voice has lost all of the bitterness and anger. It’s soft and tender, in stark opposite of the last time I heard her speak. I look down at my scrubs. She has no clue who I am.
“I just wanted to visit you, Amelia.” I slide one of the coffees over to her, take a seat, and study her.
She truly is beautiful. That’s not why I’m here, though. I’ve stayed away from her too long. The urge to get to know the real Amelia is lodged in me deep.
She looks good. Healthy. And she’s gained weight. A long blond braid rests across her shoulder; the makeup on her face is subtle and suits her. I’m mesmerized.
She stares at the coffee cup for a long time, then those eyes that remind me of the color of a bluebird hit mine. Intensely. My insides rattle and her expression changes to try and figure out where she knows me from.
The woman was so sedated with all sorts of medicine, which is why I can see the reason she wouldn’t. It sucks, because I know so much more about her than she does me. But if things go according to the way I hope, we will get to know one another. Professionally, that is.
“I found you in the alleyway.” I recoil at my own words. Jesus, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But the one thing I’ve learned while studying up more about addiction is, in order to heal they have to be honest with themselves and those around them have to be just as honest. If not more so.
“Oh.” Her face flushes as she shifts her eyes away from mine. Then they dart down to the watch on my wrist. “You’re the man who would eat across the street frequently.”
“Yes.” I nod. Happy she’s remembering. “I’m also a doctor and worked on you in the hospital.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her everything. It weighs heavily in the back of my throat, but letting her in on my plans for her stepdad wouldn’t be beneficial in the healing process.
She tilts her head examining my face. “You look familiar, but honestly, everything about that day seems to be a cloudy haze.”
“That’s okay.” I glide my palm over my shaved head. “I used to have hair.”
That gets a small and quick s
mile from her. “What’s your name?”
“Zeke,” I reply.
“And, of course, you know mine.” She pauses sinking back into a nervous shell. “And probably more than you’d ever like to know about me.” Not even close.
I’m losing her. I see it happening right before my eyes. I’m breaking her.
“Amelia.” I place both my palms on the table in a gentle manner. “I’m here as a friend, not a doctor. I really hope that you can accept that.”
She wraps her arms around her middle, continuing to close herself off.
“I don’t do friends.”
“Well, you have one now.” I push her cup closer to her. “We’ll drink coffee together and don’t even have to talk.”
She remains silent staring at the coffee cup with daggers. It takes long moments for her to soften up, but it feels like forever. “It’s been years since I’ve had good coffee and never one from Starbucks. I used to walk past them every day.” She picks up her cup, smells it first, then takes a tentative sip.
“Now, you’re bringing on the pressure.” I smirk.
“Oh, wow. That’s the best thing I’ve tasted.”
“It’s a vanilla latte.” I guessed at what she might like.
It seems my guess paid off when she takes another long swig then sets the cup back down and peers at the people around us.
“I like to sit here and listen to the others chat with their families. I feel like I’m learning how it all works. You know, the healthy, social interactions.”
I nod. It’s hell to remain quiet. Amelia’s made it clear she doesn’t want me here, and I’m not going to ruin it. I relax back in my chair, spreading my legs out in front of me. My shoe hits hers, but she doesn’t move or even acknowledge it. In fact, she keeps her train on the people around her, not once looking back over to me. I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t sting. It does. I’ve got to ease into this friendship on her terms. I’m not giving up. I refuse to allow her to shelter herself and push me away.
“Thank you for this and for saving me.” Amelia finally speaks, holding up her cup. This time, she looks so deep into my eyes that I see strength wanting to emerge from behind them.
“You’re welcome,” I answer. She smiles, but I know it’s forced. I watch Amelia and who she studies, trying to pick up on what she’s thinking. Deep down, I swear she’s wishing to have what the people surrounding us have. I will give that to her even if I’m not part of the picture.
She tells me ‘Thank you’ one more time before silently standing up from the table and walking away. I watch her backside as she walks in the direction of the private rooms. It’s apparent even in her stride that a newborn confidence is slowly blooming in her.
I grab her empty coffee cup, rolling it in my hands, knowing her fingers touched it. The same way she’s touched something deep down in my soul.
“Zeke.” I lift my head and swallow at hearing her say my name.
“Yeah,” I answer, a lump caught in my throat. My Bluebird, I think in my head.
She slowly walks back toward me. Every cell in my body lights up when she smiles so brightly, so beautifully that it grabs ahold of me in a way I can’t seem to understand or shake. What I feel doesn’t even matter. It's the mere fact this woman has changed right before my very eyes, and Christ Almighty, if it doesn’t do something to my heart in a way I’m beginning to understand. I care about her. More than I’m admitting to myself.
“I may not remember everything. A part of me hopes I don’t. There is one thing I do remember, and I need to thank you for it. It was you who paid and is still paying for everything, isn’t it?”
She sits back down. My heart lurches in my chest.
“Yes,” I simply reply.
“Why would you do that? I mean, surely, you know I don’t have the means to pay you back. My counselor, Ronan, told me that I’m free to leave here anytime I’d like. I’m still working on what I’m going to do when I leave. I have choices, options out there waiting for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve never once in my life had anyone do anything for me without wanting something in return. I’ll never be able to give you your money back, but I can pay you back with being your friend.”
She leaves me speechless. Never have I ever had my thoughts and the oxygen in my lungs taken away like this woman just did. The coffee cup in my hand crunches in my palm. Everything inside of me wants to reach out to touch her. There’s no way in hell I’d ever do that to her, but it’s the urge deep inside of me that makes resisting her a powerful storm.
9
Amelia
“Stop fidgeting, Amelia. You're making me nervous,” Ronan says from beside me.
I want to tell him I can’t help it. My fingers are always fidgeting, my mind racing with thoughts, and my body unable to relax. I’ve learned it’s a part of me, and I do my best to release that extra energy in a positive way. But once again I’m struck mute as I hold the white envelope in my shaky hands.
These past two months have been some of the hardest and the easiest months in my life. Admitting you are an addict and the reasons behind becoming one have torn me down and lifted me up. It freed me from the bonds of my own hell, and now I’m left here with choices to make. I hate to say it, but making the wrong choice is simple, which scares the shit out of me.
I’m traveling on a rocky road. However, the smooth pavement grows closer every day, and that’s my focus. Most of all, it’s my need for survival.
I’ve endured all the feelings and emotions an addict can experience. The ups and downs. The sweating. The itching. The wanting to claw at my skin to make it all stop. I’m not letting the tantalizing thought of numbing my body tempt me anymore, even though I think about it hourly still. That’s when I know I have to keep my body and mind busy. Shooting hoops and working out has become my new drug of choice. My new addiction. And in my mind, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthy.
I’ll always be an addict. There’s nothing I can do to change that. This envelope in my hand is the first giant step I’ve taken on my own to make sure my life continues walking toward solid ground. Both feet planted on a smooth surface.
Not only have I changed my way of thinking when it comes to every aspect of my life. I’ve been studying my ass off for the last month to get my GED. It may not be a high school diploma, but it’s mine, along with the state ID with my name on it. It wasn’t an easy task to get trying to acquire a birth certificate with no form of ID. But somehow, I believe Ronan had everything to do with it, just as he has everything to do with why I’m here and why my hands really are shaking.
“Amelia. Are you going to open it?” Ronan asks, his voice thick with worry.
He’s been a hard-ass on me, and that’s putting it mildly. But it’s because of him pushing me that has made me face the facts. It’s because of him and the now sessions with the others in here that I’ve learned to love myself.
“Sorry.” I flip my braid over my shoulder. “Zoe is supposed to be coming. Can we wait for her?”
He nods. “Of course, Amelia. Even though I’m wondering what’s inside of that.” He points to the envelope, and I giggle.
It used to piss me off the way my name would roll off his tongue, but now in an odd way, it’s soothing, reminding me of my future and all the possibilities that are yet to come.
The three-minute wait for Zoe feels like a damn eternity.
“What’s up?” Zoe bounces up in her cheerful scrubs. I love that she always wears vibrant colors with intricate patterns on them.
I hold the envelope up and feel a huge smile spread across my face. It takes me long moments to gather my thoughts and begin to speak. “I studied online for my GED. I had Zoe take me to the testing center, and now I have the results.”
Ronan’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “Wow, Amelia. So, that’s why you are always on one of the computers.”
“Yes. She’s been kicking some major ass. You’ve got this, girl,” Zoe squeals.
I have friends. Sounds silly, I know. To me, it’s a part of living. A step in having a normal life.
“Open it!” Zoe nudges me in the shoulder.
With trembling fingers, I slide them under the sealed envelope. “I’m nervous, and since I’m nervous, that makes me more nervous. Terrified. It’s exhilarating.”
Ronan leans against the wall and lets out a deep chuckle. “You’ve got this, Amelia. Remember, if you didn’t pass, you can take it again. Feeling nervous is good. It makes you feel alive.”
I shake the folded crisp white sheet out. Even though it’s light, it feels heavy in between my fingers. I begin reading the words, speed reading past all the formalities. The air in my lungs freezes. My eyes bulge, and my heart sings for the first time in a very long while. It’s a sweet and victorious melody.
“So?” Zoe asks, hopping from foot to foot.
“I passed. I have my GED. I did it.” Tears of joy and accomplishment take over the room. I’ve actually done something on my own. My nervousness changes to happiness. Ronan was right. These new feelings and emotions make me feel alive.
Zoe wraps me up in a tight hug and begins bouncing up and down. A very girl thing to do, but I’ve realized girly shit can be fun. We jump for a long time, squealing in delight like big goofballs. I’m also discovering the lighter side of life is sweet.
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