I finish getting ready, rolling the sleeves of my dress shirt up to showcase my tattoos before I give myself one final once-over in the bathroom mirror. I can’t believe how fucking excited I look. Maybe I’m just not used to seeing myself this happy. Tonight, I’ve got a date with a beautiful woman and I’ll be damned if I fuck it up. I’ve got plenty to be happy about. We’re going to Abejas, which is a short drive away in Golden, and afterward we’re seeing a movie. I’m going to be a perfect gentleman in hopes that my good behavior will make her fall for me even more. I’m not going to try any shit with her; I’m making it my mission to treat her like a princess. After giving myself a little pep-talk, I lock up my apartment then cross the hall to knock on her door.
She appears at the door a few seconds later looking like sin incarnate. Jesus, she takes my breath away. It’s like I’m seeing her for the very first time. She looks so innocent, yet, so fucking sexy. She’s dressed in a light green dress, topped with a jean jacket perfect for the early September weather. It fits her body like a glove. I give myself a moment to appreciate her curves before realizing that I’m gawking at her like a complete asshole.
“Is this all right for where we’re going?” she asks, obviously unsure of herself as she plays with the bottom of her dress, which lands a good few inches above her knee.
“It’s perfect, Ronnie.” Hell, it’s more than perfect. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands to myself. “You ready to get going?”
She blushes and goes to grab her purse before hurrying back to me. Although I’m doing my best to be a gentleman, I can’t help but notice the way her tits bounce with her movements. I lick my lips before I can stop myself, and step back into the hallway before I get any ideas I can’t act on. I fist my hands at my side as I feel her walk up to me. She smiles, causing my entire body to relax, and reaches out to take my hand in hers.
“I’ve been thinking about tonight all day,” she says as we walk out to the parking lot to my truck. “I did manage to get a lot done today, though. I guess I was just really well rested after last night.”
I nearly choke on air at her comment. “Same here.” I want to say “babe” but think that it’s just too soon considering she’s not actually my girl—yet. “Maybe we can do it again?”
She laughs loudly and squeezes my hand. “We can sleep together whenever you want, Trev.”
“You shouldn’t say that to me,” I say, my voiced strained, before opening the passenger door for her. “It’s going to give me certain ideas and I’m trying my best to do things the right way.”
She pauses for a moment and gazes over at me where I’ve gotten into the driver’s seat, before saying, “I know you are, Trev, and I really appreciate it.”
The truck roars to life, loudly playing a song from a playlist I’m certain Ronnie isn’t going to like. Aurelio Voltaire fills my truck and I gaze over to my date to gauge her reaction. When I move to change it, she stops me, waving my hand away from the dial while saying, “It’s fine. I’m curious about what sort of music you listen to.”
I shrug, keeping it on, although, she doesn’t strike me as the girl who’d like a dark cabaret band. The ride is shorter than I’d imagine, so we end up listening to my playlist the entire drive. I keep shooting curious looks her way, wondering what she’s thinking as she listens to the different songs. She’s smiling, so I assume she’s enjoying them. I decide that when we’re heading to the movie theater, I’ll let her pick what we listen to.
“What band is this?”
“Coheed and Cambria,” I say, earning a smile of approval from her.
“They’re really good,” she comments as she reaches for the dial to turns up the volume.
So far, I’ve learned that not only does she love classic and independent rock, but she’s also into skate punk and even fucking ska. Could a woman be more perfect for me? Being with her is like a dream and I’m afraid that one day I’ll wake up and realize none of it was real. I just can’t believe a woman like Ronnie exists in the world. She’s probably original—one of a fucking kind; she’s just so perfect for me I can’t imagine there’s another girl out there like her. I wonder if she thinks I’m perfect for her, as well. Maybe I was wrong when I imagined the type of guy she would want to be with. I thought she’d be into a mature, wealthy, and handsome fucker—but maybe I’m her type, after all. Hell, she’s on a date with me, so that should count for something.
By the time we arrive at the restaurant, I’m feeling confident about the way this is going to go. I park and jump out of my truck to scurry around to open Ronnie’s door for her. I’m eager to start this night off right. As soon as she steps out, she slips her hand in mind. Her palm is warm and a little slick, causing me to wonder if she’s just as nervous as I am. She doesn’t look it, but then again, she always looks beautiful and incredibly collected.
My chest swells with pride as we walk into the restaurant. It’s fucking incredible and I can’t believe I’m actually taking her here. She looks surprised as we take in the prestigious décor. She’s practically glowing at my side as we’re ushered to our reserved table in the corner. I’m glad I had the foresight to make a reservation because this restaurant is apparently always booked to capacity. As soon as we sit down we’re presented with menus and the wine list. My body tenses as I look over the choices; I feel sick as I realize how fucking desperately I desire a drink. What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of wine. Fuck, I know something I wouldn’t give up for any alcohol: Grey and Ronnie. If I fall back into my old habits I know I’ll lose them both. I was a mess when I was constantly drunk and I know I can’t go back to that shit. I push the drink menu aside and look up to find Ronnie looking curiously at me. What do I tell her? “Hey, Ronnie. Did you know that I used to be a drunk?” I shudder at the thought.
“Are you all right, Trev?” she asks, reaching across the table to hold my hand in hers.
I feel ashamed. I don’t want her to know about this part of me yet. I don’t want to potentially ruin what we have. What if she rejects me once she finds out? I don’t know if I could deal with that.
“Trev, it’s all right if you don’t want to order a drink. I don’t really drink much and if you don’t either that’s completely okay with me.”
I give her a tight smile and squeeze her hand like a lifeline. “It’s just—” I stop, not knowing if I should be telling her this. I just don’t want secrets between us. She needs to know. “It’s just that I’ve had problems with alcohol in the past.” I sound so fucking ashamed of myself. I am ashamed.
“I understand,” she says after a pregnant silence. “I’ve watched people struggle with addictions. I know it’s hard. Just know that having a problem like that doesn’t make you weak—nor does it make me think any less of you, Trevor. You’re overcoming it and you should be proud of yourself.”
I snort. I don’t feel proud of myself and I tell her so.
“Well, I’m proud of you.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. I haven’t bared my entire soul to this woman, yet, she already accepts me—needing no explanation. She sees me. She looks at me and she sees past the rough exterior, past my bullshit past, and manages to see me in a way I can’t see myself. What on Earth did I do to deserve a woman like her? She’s so beyond my reach, and yet, she’s right here. The only way this couldn’t work out is if I fuck it up. Knowing she accepts me like this… I know there’s no way I can let myself ruin what we have begun.
Chapter 15
where is my mind
Now that I realize how much in my life I have to lose—I’ve decided to focus on becoming a better version of the man I’ve been for so long. The date I had with Ronnie exceeded every expectation I could’ve had. It made me realize that I’ve actually got the possibility of a real future with her. However, if I want to enjoy the future, I’ve got to let go of the past. There are so many things I haven’t dealt with, but then again, I haven’t truly faced my brother’s death,
I haven’t really acknowledged the painful yearning I have for drugs and alcohol, and I haven’t confronted the lack of faith I have in myself. I’ve been a fuck-up for so long; I don’t know how to be normal. Fuck, I can barely think straight at all sitting here in this room!
This waiting room is suffocating. Neutral colors, empty chairs, and a shit-ton of paperwork that makes me want to run for the door. I feel so fucking claustrophobic as I sit alone—just waiting. The tension in my body is so amplified I feel if someone looks at me the wrong way I’ll fucking explode. My agitation must be obvious because the receptionist keeps shooting me glances as if she thinks I’m some dangerous psychopath. The thought almost makes me laugh. I run a shaky hand through my hair, pulling on the roots to ease some of the tension. I can’t believe I’m doing this. The older woman calls my name and I quickly get up and give her the paperwork I filled out. She gives me a curious once over before directing me toward the elevator.
With my heart in my throat, I enter the elevator and punch the button for the third floor. I’m fidgety as fuck on the ride up; unable to control my pathetic nerves. The elevator’s door opens to a stark white hallway lined with several offices. There’s something so impersonal about it, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. It looks so fucking sterile—like a fucking hospital. As I walk down the hallway, I search for Dr. Russell’s office and find it at the very end. Dr. Ethan Russell, Ph.D., Clinical Psychologist. I stare at the nameplate on his door for a long time and rehearse what I’m going to say to him. “I’m fine, really. I’ve never been better.”
Finally, I press the doorbell and try to pull myself together. I’m fidgeting by the time he swings open the door, though it really didn’t take him that long for him to answer. He’s a short man with very severe features. He appears sturdy and somewhat reliable. I’m not sure if he looks relatable but he’s not as threatening as I imagined a shrink to be. He introduces himself with a voice that’s strong and unassuming. It takes a moment for my body to catch up with my mind, but I manage to move into his office and find it’s nothing like I imagined a psychologist’s office would look like. There isn’t a couch designated for patients to lie on or any of the shit I’ve seen in movies. Instead, there’s some chairs situated around a table and a desk in the corner with his degrees hanging above it. There are a couple of windows and plants, as if Dr. Russell was trying to make his office look “homey,” but it does nothing to ease my nerves.
“You can take a seat,” he says, gesturing to a chair across from him.
Fuck, I wasn’t even aware he’d sat down, and I was still standing—staring off into space. I take a seat and cross my arms in front of me as he pulls out a journal and a pen before asking me some general questions. He asks why I came to see him; I’m pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. It’s not like I didn’t come here out of my own free will. However, as I sit in front of him, I find it hard to open up. I don’t like talking about myself. Honestly, I’ve never really had to do it much. Anyone in my life has pretty much already accepted me for the fuck-up I am. So, they don’t bother asking me any questions about why I turned out the way I did or what I plan to do with myself in the future. I tell Russell about my brother’s death and becoming Grey’s guardian, but I don’t give much detail and only say what is absolutely necessary.
“So, have you felt sort of ‘on stage’ since your return?”
I shrug my shoulders, not really understanding his question.
“Do people act nervous around you? Treat your like you’re a dangerous character?” When I don’t answer he looks down at the paperwork I filled out. “I see where you disclosed that you’ve had some trouble with drugs and alcohol in the past.”
Finally, I answer his question. “My parents knew about it when I was in high school, but they’ve got no idea how bad it got before I returned home, here to Evergreen. My mom’s been watching me since I got back. Constantly waiting for me to fuck-up. I’ve changed since then. I’ve had to. She just doesn’t understand that.”
“She believes you’ll go back to your old habits?”
I give him a curt nod and sit up a bit straighter in my seat. “She suspects I will. I’ve been clean since I’ve returned so she has no reason to be breathing down my neck.”
“Do you think that has something to do with you taking care of your nephew?”
“Yeah and I can understand her concern, but it’s just so fucking annoying. How can a person be expected to change, when everyone in their life is waiting for them to fail? She treats me as if I’ve failed already.”
“Do you think about alcohol?”
“All the time,” I say honestly, “but that doesn’t mean I’m drinking. I wouldn’t do that to Grey. He needs me.”
“Have you considered becoming part of a group. Sometimes it helps to be around people who are dealing with the same problems. You stated you don’t believe you were a true alcoholic, but say you’ve abused it for years. Do you think A.A. could be beneficial to you?”
I don’t want to stand in front of a group of strangers and talk about my issues. I’m not one of them. I’m able to let it go and move on. I haven’t fucking relapsed yet and don’t think I ever will. “Maybe,” I finally say, unable to really stomach the idea.
“Your brother died recently?”
“He died in a car accident with his wife. They were hit by a drunk driver and I’ve been taking care of their son ever since.”
“Do you like caring for the boy?”
“Yes, I love Greyson.” Just saying his name calms me down significantly. “To say it’s been difficult would be an understatement. I’ve turned my entire life around for him, and I still feel like I’m lacking in some way. Everything feels like an uphill battle and I can’t see it ever getting easier. It doesn’t help that I’ve got a mother who’s constantly watching me and waiting for me to fail.”
“Do you feel as if your parents aren’t giving you a fair chance to succeed?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve given them every reason to not trust me, so I guess I shouldn’t blame them for their cautious behavior. It’s just so hard to do the right thing when everyone is expecting you to fail anyway. I’ve been working full-time and it’s still hard to make ends meet. My mother just treats it like it’s one big joke. I think she wants me to fail so she can take Grey.”
He stares at me for a long moment before asking, “Haven’t you received some sort of compensation? Greyson should be entitled to benefits after the death of both of his parents.”
I stare at him, feeling so fucking foolish all of a sudden. Why didn’t I look into any of that? Grey being eligible for benefits never occurred to me and I feel like a complete idiot because of that. Of course, my brother would’ve made sure his son was financially looked after. Maybe I was just too busy to even consider it. Fuck, I need to pull my head out of my ass.
“I haven’t looked into it,” I finally mutter.
Dr. Russell nods and there’s not a single bit of judgment on his face as he observes me. “So, Trevor, what are you looking to get out of these sessions? There must be some reason why you’ve wanted to talk to me that goes deeper than dealing with your brother’s death.”
I think for a moment, unable to verbalize what I want since I barely know myself. Finally, I force myself to speak without overthinking things. “I want to feel in control. I’ve never felt like I’ve had control over anything in my life.”
“That’s difficult,” Russell says without apology. “Control will be a difficult thing for you to work on—I won’t lie to you. How about we start with appointments twice a week? That’s my recommendation”
Twice a week? I can’t possibly need that. “I have a full-time job and Grey to care for…”
“Well, you can bring him with you to the appointments if you need to,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“I don’t know. I think once a week would be sufficient.”
He studies me for a moment, before ac
quiescing. “I don’t know if seeing each other once a week will be a sufficient amount of time to work on your control issues, but if that’s what you feel comfortable with, then that’s where we’ll start. We can always re-evaluate things down the line. You can talk to Ms. Martin at the reception desk to schedule your appointment for next week. I think our consultation went well,” he pauses as he stands up, extending out his hand to shake mine. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Warren.”
I shake his hand before turning to leave his office. I walk onto the elevator feeling just as unsure of myself as I did when I got here. I’m still not optimistic about seeing a therapist, but at least I know it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. It just feels so strange to discuss my problems with a complete fucking stranger. However, it’s also soothing in a way because I know he doesn’t care enough to judge me. I can vent to him with no repercussions. The only hard part is letting go of my pride and opening up. I’ve always been a suffer in silence type, constantly wanting to deal with my problems on my own. I believe I had the strength to deal with anything and everything, but now I see that’s obviously not true. I never genuinely dealt with my problems, I just brushed them under the rug and tried to forget about them.
I schedule an appointment for next week and head out. I drive to my parents’ house in silence. I couldn’t stomach listening to music for some reason. It sounded like garbled noise I didn’t feel like hearing. Instead, I listened to the rain splatter against my windshield and the whoosh of my windshield wipers as they push the rain-drops away. It’s a soothing sound and I feel as though I’m completely invisible to the outside world as the rain pours down around me. Just mentioning my brother was like picking at a raw wound. I just need to grab Grey, go home, and focus on something other than the residual pain I’m feeling.
I don’t know how I managed to get to my parents’ house—but I did. As soon as I walk up to the door, I promise myself I’ll be in and out as quickly as possible. I’m too weary to have a conversation with my mother. I really need to find solace in being alone. My mother seems to be on the same page because as soon as she sees me she doesn’t start prattling on about something completely meaningless. Hell, in all honesty, she just doesn’t like to fucking talk to me. I don’t know why I even worry about her wanting me to sit down and have some drawn-out conversation with her. She agreed to watch Grey again today with no questions asked and doesn’t seem to care where I’ve been or what I’ve been up to when I come to pick him up.
The Blessing Page 16
