The last time I’d seen his mother, she was happy and in love, so I had no idea what the fuck Ethan was talking about. She was still with Jason, a man who appeared to love her back and only wanted the best for her. So I just said, “What about her?”
“My dad…he abused her for a long time, and she just took it. She laid down and took it. Over and over. Love isn’t a good thing, Val, no matter what the fuckers tell you. It makes you vulnerable and weak.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“No, but it is. Just look at me. I’m so fucked up, it’s not even funny. But I love you so much, Val, I’d do anything for you. Anything. I’d even take a bullet for you. And that’s fucked up.”
I tried not to get judgmental on his ass, but his thinking was messed up. “It doesn’t have to be, Ethan. You still have your values and your own good sense. If I asked you to kill someone just because you loved me, would you?”
He just looked at me, and his eyes scared me. He would. And, yeah, that was fucked up. So I quit talking. Instead, I rested my head against his chest, one of my favorite things in the world to do, and rubbed the smooth skin on his pec. “Val, you and me…we come from different worlds. I’d bet you never had to wonder if you were gonna get breakfast after not having dinner the night before or how the hell you were gonna hide the big bruise on your arm so your teachers wouldn’t see it. You didn’t have to dread the fuck out of coming home one night ‘cause you got another D in class…and the very person who made sure you couldn’t study the week before was the reason you got the goddamned D in the first place.”
He was right. I might have complained about being sexually repressed, but my parents had been loving, kind people who had wanted the best for me. I’d never known starvation, neglect, or abuse, some things Ethan had apparently survived. But these were the kinds of things he rarely talked about. So I just nodded my head slightly, but I didn’t want to say a word. After a few seconds, he said, “I’ll bet you never had to see your mom getting the beating of her life, just laying helpless on the kitchen floor, while you had to watch…and just listen to her begging that he wouldn’t touch me. Jesus…you’re little, but you try. You grab him around the knees and cry and beg, but he just swats you away like a fly. Like you’re nothing. And you watch while he just unleashes on her. Her eye gets so swollen she can’t see through it…it’s black and purple and so ugly, you don’t even want to look at her. It makes her look…ugly, so ugly. But at least it blocked out the scared animal look in her eyes.
“And I’ll bet you never had to hear that the only reason why they ever got married in the first place was ‘cause the stupid cunt let herself get pregnant. And so that makes you the most worthless little stubborn sperm alive.”
He was quiet for a while before he resumed. “But…one day he left her for dead. She was on the concrete floor in the garage…blood everywhere. I called 911 first, then my grandpa, and Burt was never to be seen again. I find that fucker, though…he’s dead.” He whispered, but I heard him say, “And I’m comin’.”
What should I say? What could I say? Anything would sound lame at that point. He was right. I’d never seen or felt any of those things. And, knowing what little I did from basic psychology courses in high school and college, I supposed I should count myself lucky that he didn’t think beating women was normal. What the hell kind of relationship would we have had then?
But I felt like I had to say something. I couldn’t just say nothing. I wanted him to feel like he could talk to me and that I was there for him. I stroked his chest again and said, “I will never hurt you, Ethan.”
Then he snorted. Actually snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause women are innocent, right?” I took in a breath, but I didn’t want to look in his eyes. I knew the look that would be in them—that distant, angry, mean look, the one his face reverted to when he wasn’t trying.
“I didn’t say all women, Ethan. But I will never hurt you.”
He was quiet. I was too. He was in a dark place, a place I couldn’t save him from. I knew that already. He was too far away. Only Ethan could choose to save himself. And he had to reason it through without me. So I decided I’d be there, but I wasn’t going to say another word. “Heidi…she was a hot little thing. She liked to wear these short skirts, and she’d drop her pencil in front of me and bend over to pick it up, just so I could see how her underwear hardly covered anything. She didn’t have a reputation as a bad girl. I know. I would have known, because…we dated. For a long time. I found out later how much she liked older guys. Lots older guys. Teachers, coaches, some guy at the bank. But she just had to make a move on Brad. I hadn’t said a word.
“She started sleeping around on me…but she stayed with me, still trying to get to Brad. She knew my weakness, and…I guess she was right. As long as you love somebody, why should you let it bother you if they’re with someone else? But Brad…that was like a punch in the gut.”
Did he not see how he was doing to me what this girl had done to him? I stayed quiet, hoping he would come to that same conclusion himself. But he didn’t say anything else, not a word, and I fell asleep wondering if he would ever see that he had become that which he hated. In the back of my mind, though, I also wondered how long I would be able to hold on, to fight to keep him…to fight to keep on loving him.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Present
THE BABY WAS a year old in what seemed like no time to me. He’d already passed so many milestones in his short life, and I was glad I’d been home with him to enjoy them all.
Now, though, he was experiencing one of his worst illnesses. He’d been feverish and throwing up, and I called the pediatrician. It was evening and, while I knew I could take him to the emergency room, I wanted to find out if that was actually warranted or if there was something I could do at home to care for him. It was cold and snowy out, and if I could keep him out of the weather and then take him to the doctor in the morning, I’d feel better about it.
The doctor on call asked me lots of questions and gave me plenty of advice too. Bottom line—I needed to keep my baby hydrated or I would have to rush him to the hospital. The doctor recommended that I give Christopher Pedialyte, among other remedies.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have Pedialyte at the house, so I was back to square one: taking the baby out in the cold. Ethan and the band had started getting together two or three nights a week again as they started working out new songs, writing and practicing before recording. I decided to call Ethan to ask him if he could pick up some Pedialyte on the way home. Maybe I could persuade him to come home early too, explain that the baby was sick. I could use his moral support if nothing else. I’d been nervous and almost sick myself with worry over my precious child.
I held Chris in my arms as I speed dialed Ethan’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. That wasn’t surprising because he hated to be interrupted when they were working on music. I’d always known the music was the most important thing in Ethan’s life. I respected that, but I knew he would want to know what was happening with his child. I left a message, but called again fifteen minutes later. Impatient, I finally decided to call Brad. He could let Ethan know what was going on.
Unlike Ethan, Brad answered his phone after two rings. “Val. How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. What about you?”
“Can’t complain. And what about the little guy?”
“Well, actually, that’s why I’m calling. He’s been really sick tonight, and I can’t get hold of Ethan. I wondered if you could pass a message on to him.”
His hesitation was palpable. “I haven’t seen Ethan since Tuesday, Val.”
My heart sunk. I didn’t want to give away the ideas already forming in my head. “Uh, well…if you see him, would you please ask him to call me right away?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Goddammit. I knew what Brad was thinking, because I knew his mind had already formed the thoughts mine had about where Ethan was and what he was doing. It
had to be one of two things: either drugs or women.
Knowing Ethan, it was probably both.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Past
IT WAS ONLY a matter of time, but now that it was here, we were nervous as hell. An indie paper reviewed one of our concerts. Jet called Brad to let him know. Brad pulled up the paper online and found that we’d have to find the actual fucking hard copy to read the review. The website listed locations of where the paper version could be found, one of which was at a nearby Chipotle. Ethan and Nick couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed, but Zane, Brad, and I got in Brad’s van. We had to wait a few minutes for the restaurant to open, but as soon as they did, we went in and found their newspaper racks.
The little paper was free. To be cool, we all bought a drink and then sat down to find the review. It might have been excessive, but we each had a copy.
I was painstakingly turning each page, afraid I’d miss it. Zane finally said, “Found it. Page forty-four.” Brad and I both turned the pages of our copies in haste.
But I was nervous too. I got there and saw a grainy black-and-white photo of us onstage. Wow. That was pretty cool. I read through part of the review and wasn’t sure if it was positive or not. It described our band sound as gritty and raw, unrehearsed and unpolished. I started feeling angry. And then I saw my name. “Oh, God…I can’t read anymore.”
That didn’t stop Zane. “At first, Quinn seemed to be holding back. By mid-show, however, her vocals were strong. Her style alternates between singing and screaming, and she can hold her own doing either.” It also mentioned that by about song three, I’d whipped the crowd into a “headbanging frenzy.” Whew. That was it. Short and sweet. There were also some other small compliments about the band and some of our songs. The reviewer mentioned that (as I’d observed in the past) it seemed like Ethan was in another world while onstage but he didn’t say if that was good or bad.
But the reviewer heaped the praise on Brad, complimenting him on his precision, his energy, and his shredding abilities. But Brad was humble about it. He almost acted embarrassed by it. “Brad,” I said, “you should be proud. Everything he said about you is true.”
He looked down at his hands. “Not everyone in the band is going to be as enthusiastic as you, Val.”
“Yeah, well, he needs to get the fuck over it. It didn’t say anything bad about him, and you deserve every word the article said.” I smiled and patted his hand, resting mine on his. “I’m proud of you and glad to be your friend.”
He smiled back. I looked over at Zane. “And you too, Zane.”
Zane rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but the article didn’t gush about me like it did Mr. Guitar Man. I know. I get it. Guy who plays bass is the low man on the metal totem pole.” He chuckled. “At least it doesn’t affect how much pussy I get.”
I snarled at him. “Yeah. God forbid.”
Brad looked at us both. “Let’s get the fuck out of here and let the guys know. This is just one of many things that will help us get recognized. No time to rest on our laurels, ladies.”
And that’s why Fully Automatic would never die—because Brad kept it alive. Every move was calculated, and not only did he have us working steadily, he was constantly pushing us to add to our repertoire, to try new things, to learn something different.
And we’d survived our first review. That felt pretty good.
* * *
One day late spring, Ethan was in a worse mood than usual. He’d been suffering from one of his bouts of depression, where he’d be glum and quiet most of the day. He’d also sleep a lot, but that’s when he’d indulge more in the illicit substances too. I was never sure what triggered those spells, but they seemed to be coming more and more often, and I didn’t know how to handle them.
He got up that afternoon, and it was a day I wasn’t working. After playing around on Brad’s computer a bit, he got dressed and announced that he was going out. I was convinced he was going on a drug run. I didn’t know how to stop his self-destructive behavior, but I thought maybe I could play his conscience. “Want some company?”
He scowled. “No. Not really.”
I wrapped my arm around his. I was trying to be playful, but it wasn’t working. “Come on, Ethan. I’m your girl, remember? Why wouldn’t you want to bring me along?” It was time to call him on his behaviors. If his drug and women habit were nothing for me to worry about, then he could bring me along.
“I don’t want you to come.”
I just stared at him. It hurt at first…a lot. But then I grew angry. Not only did he have no problem doing things that were damaging to our relationship, but he was mean about it too. I don’t know if it was the look on my face or the fact that I just backed away without a word, but he relented. He sighed and grabbed my hand before I got completely out of reach. “Okay, okay. You can come. But you’re not gonna like it. And keep your fucking mouth shut.”
I wasn’t going to say a word…not now, at any rate. But he couldn’t stop me later. So I quit talking, right that second, and just followed him to his truck. We drove for a long time. I wasn’t sure exactly which city we were in, because one just blended into another in the Denver Metro area. I’d seen that already in the short time we lived there. Aurora and Lakewood might have been their own cities, but if you weren’t paying attention to the signage, you’d have no idea you’d crossed a border. All I knew is we’d gotten off the interstate a while back and were in an area I’d never been in before. Well, maybe in the dark driving to a new concert venue, I might have. I wasn’t always paying attention when we were getting ready to play, but I usually caught most of it. Riding shotgun had afforded me a better view of the city than the other guys.
We parked in front of a bar, and I just knew Ethan was going to conduct a drug transaction. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and joined me on the other side of the truck on the sidewalk. I was shocked when he laced my hand in his and led me not into the bar, but toward a door beside the bar. He had a piece of paper in his hand, and he glanced down at it. Satisfied, he pulled on the door and let me pass through first.
It led to a tall staircase. Next to the door was a series of mailboxes, and that’s when I realized there were apartments above. Of course. A drug deal wouldn’t take place in a bar. Once again, my naïveté was showing.
And I couldn’t believe he was going to go through with it with me right there. Unbelievable.
Well, I thought, at least I’d know some of what he was taking.
As I’d promised, I didn’t say a word. I just held on tightly to his hand and followed him up the long flight of stairs. When we got up the stairs, I let my eyes adjust. The hallway was dark—or was it dingy? It was probably both. But it was so dark in there, it was hard to tell.
It was quiet. As we walked down the hallway, I could feel boards give under the threadbare carpeting. That carpet had once been a rich mix of beiges and burgundies, but today it was stained and thin and only my imagination helped me see its former beauty.
We stopped near the end of the hall, and Ethan looked at the number for several seconds as though trying to make sure he was at the right room. Then he lifted his hand and, with deliberation, made it into a fist…a fist so tight, his knuckles turned white. I wanted to ask him why we were here, why he was tormenting himself. Maybe he was finally agonizing over his addiction and wanted help.
That was a conversation for another time. For now, I was trying not to regret my promise to be quiet.
At last, a man answered the door. He had brown hair, although it was thinning a little, and he was probably about twenty pounds overweight. He wasn’t bad looking, though, even though he was quite a bit older than we were. He examined Ethan and then glanced at me. His eyes were cold. He looked back at my boyfriend. “You Ethan?”
Ethan just nodded, his jaw clamped closed, his eyes glinting. The man stood back, inviting us in. We stopped just inside the doorway, and as the man closed the door, Ethan asked, “Burt?”
The man acknowledged his question with a nod, and then realization washed over me, why this man had seemed familiar. This man was Ethan’s dad. And then I understood why Ethan was angry.
We stood in a tight doorway that led two ways—one to a living area and the other to a kitchen. The man led us into the kitchen and asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”
Ethan shook his head. I thought it would be polite for Ethan to introduce me, but I wasn’t going to worry too much about it. He was struggling with a lot at the moment.
I tried not to look around the kitchen, tried to keep my judgments to myself. This was a guy who knew how to not accumulate a lot of clutter, but it was evident that he wasn’t much into cleaning. It looked clean enough, but it felt…sticky and dusty. Maybe it was just my perception, but I didn’t feel comfortable there. Burt looked at me. “Would you like something?” I shook my head. Nope…I didn’t want to be rude, but I imagined there would be a thin film of grease on any glass he handed me. “Please, sit down.” He waved us at the table. Ethan seemed reluctant but he did and I followed suit. Once Burt sat down, he asked, “How’s your mother?”
I hadn’t expected Ethan’s reaction. “You fucking bastard. You don’t give any kind of a shit. Not one. Why are you even asking?”
His father was calm. “Why are you here?”
Ethan processed it as though he hadn’t fully considered it. He blinked twice and then said, “You’re lucky I don’t kill you.”
His father stayed cool and folded his hands together on the top of the table. “We all have our crosses to bear, Ethan. You don’t know me. Oh, I’m sure you think you do, because everything you’ve ever known about me you’ve condensed and warped and carried around as a little ball of hate for most of your pathetic life.” Ethan’s eyelids lowered. Yes, his father had it right. Ethan was full of hate for this man. “But you don’t know me. You remember a few ugly scenes from your childhood before I left. And those, to you, equate to knowing who I am. You probably don’t remember me playing in the backyard with you, rolling the ball. You probably don’t remember when we went out for ice cream after you got your shots one day or the time I took you to a Rockies game.” His quiet stare penetrated Ethan, and they were quiet for a few seconds. But then he said, “Do you?”
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