“And how do you feel about that?”
“How do I feel?” I repeated, feeling the familiar anger
thump through my chest. “I feel fan-freaking-tastic. I mean, I’ve
learned so much about myself in these past two years. I’m going to
take up watercolors to share my feelings. And hopefully, later this
afternoon, I’ll frolic across the beach and giggle until I fall to my
knees and pet a mermaid when it joins me on the sand.”
“Sarcasm.” Mrs. Murray scribbled something on her
notepad and glanced back up. “Good. At least you’re not burying
your anger inside anymore. What else?”
Sweat began to pool at the back of my neck as I fought to
keep my emotions in check. My eyes flickered to the ground, and
my breathing grew more and more shallow. “I hate it here.”
“We’ve been over this, Alyssa.” Mrs. Murray sighed. “I
know you hate it here, but do you really think the best thing for
you to do is escape your current situation? So, what? You run away
instead of facing your fears? Your anxiety? Tell me how that will
help you, and I’ll be all for it, Alyssa.”
I bit my lip in response and tucked my hair behind my ears.
Biting my lip was a nervous habit I developed when I was either
trying to keep myself from talking too much or crying. It was
usually the latter these days.
“Listen, Alyssa.” Mrs. Murray set her tablet on the table next
to her and leaned forward. “I’m going to be doing a summer grief
group. I really want you to think about attending.”
“You’re not going to make me?” I snapped. I didn’t mean to
sound so harsh, but I always felt defensive, because I knew the only
way I could please my parents was to come here. And in all
honesty, I also knew that I probably wouldn’t be here in the first
place, if I hadn’t gotten into that truck.
I owed them.
Just like I owed Brady.
“I’ll think about it,” I mumbled.
Mrs. Murray smiled. “I think you’ll really enjoy it, Alyssa.
There will be some other kids your age. Support groups offer
exactly that, support. When was the last time you even went out
with friends? Or went to a movie?”
“I work.” I shrugged.
She lifted an eyebrow and grabbed her notepad to scribble
something else. “Right, so you work twenty-four seven, can’t drive
more than ten miles outside of town, and you think you’re just
fine?”
My eyes flickered to hers then back to the ground, and I
swallowed slowly. “I know I’m not fine.”
“Go on.”
“It’s just… I don’t think I’ll ever be fine again. I feel broken.”
Oh, crap. Now I was going to start crying, and I hated
crying. Hated feeling any sort of weakness.
“What does broken feel like, Alyssa?”
“What does it feel like?” I laughed bitterly and clenched my
hands together. “It feels like hell. It feels like I’ll never be normal
again. Every night I relive the accident, and every morning it’s the
same. It takes every ounce of energy I have to keep myself from
crying when I brush my teeth. I can’t even bring myself to listen to
music because it reminds me of him. I can’t get into trucks. And
whenever I even hear a football game, I nearly have a breakdown.
So yeah, I would say that’s broken. When you can’t even function
in a normal world. When you can’t breathe without your chest
hurting.”
It was silent in the room except for my ragged breathing.
Mrs. Murray wrote a few things down then looked at me.
“Wow, Alyssa. I’m proud of you for being brave enough to share
that. You realize we’ve never talked about your other fears before?
Only the anxiety about long car rides. I truly think you are making
progress.”
“Right,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly drained.
“And…” She wrote a few more notes down. “Since you were
late, our session is going to have to be cut short. I have another
client expected in a few minutes. But Alyssa, I really want you to
think about this grief group. The first meeting is a week from
Saturday.” She pulled out a small yellow flyer. The fact that it had
smiling people on the front did nothing to ease my misgiving that
this was a bad idea. The meeting place was TBD.
I lacked the strength to argue at that point, so I swiped it and
stuffed it into my messenger bag before saying thanks and stepping
out of her office.
Needing escape, I stumbled toward the door and jerked it
open.
And walked straight into a wall of muscle.
“Whoa there.” Strong arms came up to steady me.
I recognized that voice. Slowly, I raised my eyes and met
Demetri’s horrified gaze.
I jerked away. “Are you stalking me?”
“Are you the famous one?” he stated. Quite snidely, I might
add.
“Clearly not, considering I actually have humility.”
He smirked. “Little girl’s got a big bite.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed
my shoulders again. “So, I guess that begs the question. Are you
stalking me?”
Rolling my eyes, I clenched my teeth and jerked away from
his touch. “Yes, rock star. I love you. I want to have your babies. I
draw hearts around your name, and tonight, when I get home, I’m
hoping to create a love spell that will make you fall in love with
me.”
He smirked and his dimples framed his all-too-perfect face. I
couldn’t pull my eyes away, even though my mind screamed for
me to do so.
“I think you’re bad for my ego.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Touché.” His eyes flickered to my lips and then back to my
face.
“Can I go now?” I pushed past him. He finally released me,
but the sensation of his touch remained.
“What’s your name?” he yelled after me.
“None of your business,” I said without turning around. The
car roared to life, and I was off. Though I’ll admit I did glance in
the rearview mirror… maybe once or twice. Any living, breathing
girl would. He was a god among boys, but he knew it. And his
reckless type of lifestyle would be like my poison and my drug.
Staying away from him was necessary. I needed to protect myself
at all costs.
Chapter Four
Demetri
Damn, that girl was hard to read and hostile to boot. One
minute I thought we were flirting, the next she looked like she’d
rather cut off my balls than say another word to me.
I never claimed to be the smartest guy when it came to the
opposite sex, but she seemed like she was in to me, and then like
flipping a switch, she turned indifferent.
I shrugged it off and went into Mrs. Murray’s office. It was a
familiar place for me over the past year, especially since she had
single-handedly been responsible for giving me the ability to move
through my twelve-step program without jumping head-first into
the ocean.
>
“Demetri, you’re early.” Mrs. Murray said sarcastically.
Okay, fine. So I was rarely early to anything. Crap, I bet I
was late to my own birth. But in my defense, the whole job thing
had me running on a different schedule. I started getting up at
seven, eating lunch at noon like most people in this world, and
going to bed at a decent hour in order to keep myself from falling
asleep once I had to start work. Clearly it was a good idea,
considering all the drama that took place at the taffy shop today.
I had only been at my new schedule for a few days, and
already I was feeling a bit suicidal, like any minute the boredom
would finally get to me, and I’d wake up to find myself actually
crazy. You know, the type of crazy where drool flows out of a guy’s
mouth and he think cats talk to him.
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Murray pointed to the usual couch. I
laughed and sat on the floor as was my custom. Something about
sitting on the couch made me uncomfortable. I mean, I’m sure it
was a comfortable couch — it was leather after all, but it made the
whole situation seem too real.
If I sat on the couch, it meant I was actually in therapy.
If I sat on the floor, I could convince myself I was just at
Nat’s house hanging out. Most the time I would go into the kitchen
halfway through our session, grab some popcorn and soda, then
return and spill my guts.
I was always like that.
Lucky for me, Mrs. Murray didn’t mind, as long as I stayed
out of trouble and actually participated in our sessions.
I leaned my back against the couch and sighed, running my
hand through my still wet hair.
“How has work been?” Mrs. Murray asked once she took a
seat and grabbed her notepad.
“Well, let’s see.” I cracked my knuckles and laughed. “I sing
a taffy jingle on a street corner like some cheaply paid whore, and
today I almost got my car towed.” I ended with a little smile and
waited while she wrote stuff down.
“So it’s going well then?”
“I haven’t been arrested yet for public intoxication or selling
drugs to little kids, so sure. It’s going well.”
“Two sarcastic appointments in a row. How did I get so
lucky?” Mrs. Murray mumbled behind her notepad. I don’t think
she meant for me to hear.
“What was that?” I cupped my ear. “You weren’t just
complaining about your favorite client, were you?”
Mrs. Murray rolled her eyes. I laughed at her expression. She
knew me far better than even Alec these days. I told her everything.
It helped that her daughter was my best friend, even though it
made Alec want to punch me most the time.
“So, this taffy job… do you feel like it’s keeping you out of
trouble?”
I leaned forward. “That’s a dumb question.”
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“Watch.” I cleared my throat. “Asking if it’s keeping me out
of trouble is like asking a kid if school keeps him from joining a
gang. Or if joining the football team keeps you from doing drugs
and having premarital sex. Staying out of trouble has nothing to do
with keeping your hands from being idle.”
I cleared my throat.
Mrs. Murray scribbled a few things down. “Now I’m
intrigued, Demetri. What does it have to do with?”
I shrugged. “Color me weird, but I don’t think giving away
condoms keeps kids from having sex. I also don’t think parents
who allow their kids to drink at home are keeping their kids from
underage drinking. And keeping me busy doesn’t keep me from
doing stupid shit.”
“Then what does?”
I grinned. “It all comes down to my self-control and my
desire to be a better person. Occupying my time with tons of busy
work just irritates me. If I’m going to do something stupid, or if any
kid’s going to do something stupid, they’ll just wait until they have
time to do it. Like after football practice, or after their job. Anyway,
to answer your previous question, the job makes me want to kill
myself, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.” I
exhaled and popped my knuckles again. “Half the time I want to
get high, the other half I wish I was drunk, which leaves like an
hour in my day when I’m not thinking about those things, and
during that hour all I can think about is the fact that the one woman
I’ve ever truly loved, died, and I could have saved her.”
Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened.
I hadn’t meant to say that much.
I blamed the fact that my head was constantly clear. I was
getting more and more honest about my emotions. I couldn’t figure
out if that meant I was getting weak or that I’ve always been that
guy, I just never knew.
The silence was deafening. I cleared my throat. “I’m just
going to go make some popcorn if that’s cool?”
Mrs. Murray nodded.
I pushed to my feet and nearly ran out of the tiny office into
the kitchen. Within seconds I felt like I could breathe again, but it
didn’t change the fact that I had just admitted, not only to my
shrink, but to myself, how completely screwed up I was.
In a few minutes I had popcorn and a soda. I glanced back at
the office door and took a deep breath, hoping to God that she
wouldn’t make me talk any more about my feelings.
It was quiet when I walked in. Mrs. Murray sat, legs crossed,
waiting for me. I plopped onto the floor and tossed some popcorn
into my mouth.
“We have about fifteen minutes left of our session, Demetri.”
She always did this, mainly because the first time we had a
session I would ask how much longer we had, like every five
minutes. Now she just told me, so I wouldn’t interrupt her.
“Okay.” I sipped the sugary soda. It was nothing like beer. It
made my stomach almost sick, but ever since I quit all my
addictions, I needed something to drink that wasn’t bad for me —
not that high fructose corn syrup was good, but still.
My obsession with Starbucks had also skyrocketed over the
last year. It was the only way to keep the cravings at bay. I would
drink soda during the afternoon and evening, and in the mornings
I had at least three cups of coffee. I added non-alcoholic Kahlua
creamer in order to get my fix.
Keeping my fingers occupied, when all I wanted was a
cigarette, also proved a problem. At nineteen, it wasn’t like it was
illegal, but smoking went hand in hand with drinking for me. If I
had one, I wanted the other, so I had to cut everything out of my
life.
Nat had suggested licorice. It helped sometimes. Most of the
time I just felt like beating my head against a wall.
“Demetri, did you hear me?”
“Hmm?” My head snapped up. I reached for more popcorn,
but the bowl was empty. I really needed to start running or doing
something so I didn’t blow up from all the stress-eating.
Mrs. Murray set down her notepad. “I think we made a
lot
of progress today, Demetri.” She cleared her throat. “I also think
you’re right.”
“Pardon?” I sputtered.
“What you said about people making choices. I think you
were spot on. Not only that, but it’s a very wise thing for you to say
at such a young age.”
“I’m nineteen,” I growled.
Her smile was patronizing. The type of smile you give a kid
when they hold up their hand and say, “I’m five now!” I closed my
eyes and rested my head against the cold leather couch.
“Yes, you are,” she agreed. “I think you’d be a good group
leader too, Demetri.”
Was she high?
“Um, you know I’m kind of in a group, right? As in, my
brother and I are in a group, and I’m the lead singer?” I was
looking at her like she’d lost her mind.
“Got that.” She winked. “I mean a group leader in group
therapy.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I think I’m a little too messed
up in the head to lead anyone right now.”
“Which is why you’re perfect.” She stood and brushed her
hands on her skirt. “The rest of the group will relate to you, and I
think you’re ready for the next step.” She sighed and looked
straight into my eyes. “Demetri, can I be honest with you?”
“Aren’t you always?”
She gave me a hand up. I was towering over her as she
slipped off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt. “I don’t think
you’re going to keep making progress until you start to heal, and I
don’t think you’re going to start healing unless you deal with the
grief you went through. I think you need to be around people who
understand that grief. Maybe together you guys can work through
stuff. Besides, you’re a natural leader, which makes you either the
most powerful man in the room or the most dangerous.”
“Why the most dangerous?” I drew my eyebrows together
and shoved my hands in my pockets.
Mrs. Murray returned her glasses to her face. “Because, you
can lead people to success, or you can bring them down with you.”
“Kind of how Alec brought me down with the whole drugs
and alcohol thing?”
She nodded and grimaced. “Yes. Though when you remind
me of things like that, you make the mom side of me want to check
up on him and Nat.”
“Nat’s fine.” I rolled my eyes.
Pull (A Seaside Novel Book 2) Page 3
