“No. Can you please leave, Tyler? You’re making me uncomfortable.” I hear him sigh and slump down when I hear the door close. I needed a release. I turn off the shower and dry quickly. I place my elbow on the countertop and put my head in my hand. I close my eyes and breathe.
I just needed a release.
I walk past him, but he follows me. “What the hell happened?” he demands.
“Nothing, Tyler. Nothing fucking happened. I needed to yell. I needed to release.” He visibly relaxes.
I walk away. I want to be alone. I lie in bed and turn to my side. My hands tucked under my head, I close my eyes. Will I ever be normal?
I shouldn’t have run in like that. I crossed a line. I can’t show up panicking over what she’s going through. I run my hands through my hair and down my face. I feel protective of her. I want to keep her safe, even if that means safe from herself. I know I can’t, but I want to.
What’s gotten into me? Is this some way of making up for the fact that I couldn’t defend my mom? Is this some type of redemption for my dad? I shake my head and lean my head back against the gym wall.
Mikayla is becoming more. I tug my hair with my eyes shut. I need her to survive this. I don’t bother to open my eyes when I hear someone enter the gym. Not until the person sits next to me. I move my eyes to the side to see who it is and sigh.
“Don’t be so happy to see me,” Sam chuckles.
“What do you need?”
“Checking up on you.”
“No need to babysit me, Sam.” She isn’t one to feed my bullshit to because she walks right through it.
“I know, but I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m not your client. I’m Grace’s client. If she doesn’t bother to check in between sessions, you don’t need to.”
“You like her.” I shake my head. “I’ve seen it. Everyone has. People notice when any of you make a shift. It’s part of our job to take in those details.” She lets that sink in a bit. Then, she continues. “I’ve seen the change in her as well. The way she carries herself differently. With purpose. It’s not because of me. It’s because of you.” I turn my head to look at her. “You’re already helping her a lot more than you think. Don’t drive yourself crazy thinking you aren’t.”
“How can you develop feelings but not act on it because she’s so messed up?” This is new territory for me.
“Allow yourself to feel and be what she needs.” I nod.
“You gonna tell her your story?”
Sam shakes her head. “That’s not why I’m here. If I had a story to tell, I’d be a writer.”
“I may not know what it is, but I’m not stupid. Maybe it’ll help her.” She pats my arm.
“You’re a good person, Tyler.”
I’m left with the thoughts that Sam has clarified. Has Mikayla shifted since she first got here? I see a change in her from then to now. But she’s been doing yoga and therapy and painting. It’s not because of me. On the other hand, she has changed me. She has resurfaced parts of who I used to be. She’s made me protective like I haven’t been in a long time. She’s made me feel emotions I haven’t felt since I was younger and it was only my mom and I.
The drinking started in college and never ended. Before then, I wouldn’t have a drop. It took my father dying for me to begin drinking. Ironic.
Mikayla’s smiling face pops in my mind. It’s rare to witness it, and I have been lucky enough a couple of times. She doesn’t need a man like me, but dammit if I want to be the one that makes her forget what’s she’s suffered.
She’s not in a place where she would even recognize feelings like this. This has complicated written all over it, but she’s Red. I’m drawn to her.
I slowly begin to roll my neck from side to side. It hurts like a bitch. I rub the back of my neck with my hand, still not fully awake. I groan and open my eyes.
“Fuck, Red, that’s creepy.” She’s sitting across from me, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Did you sleep here?” I look around the gym.
“I guess I did.” Her eyes are focused on me. “What are you doing here?” I clear my throat from the sleep lingering in me.
“I have no idea.” I chuckle at her honesty.
She scared the shit out of me when I opened my eyes. I must have fallen asleep here at some point in the night.
“Maybe I’m hiding out, too.”
“I’m not hiding. I came here last night and fell asleep at some point after talking to Sam.”
“Oh?” Her curiosity is evident.
“She saw me sitting here and stopped by.”
“It’s like she knows exactly when to appear.”
“Tell me about it.” I stare at her. She’s looking around the entire place without focusing on me. It’s obvious she has something to say. “Spit it out, Red.”
“You can’t run into the bathroom like that.” I sit silently waiting for more. “You scared me. I appreciate the concern, but there are limits, Tyler.”
“I scared you? You scared the shit out of me. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. And when it comes to you, there are no limits. I’ll be there.” She shakes her head. Clearly, her approach didn’t work the way she hoped for.
“I was okay. I needed to yell. I was angry and anxious. I needed to scream. Like when you hit a punching bag. It’s a release.”
“But you aren’t alone at home. You’re here. I’m surprised no one else showed up.”
“I was fine.”
“I know that now.”
“You’re not always gonna be there.”
“I’ll be there, Red.” It’s a promise I need to figure out how she’ll let me keep.
Tyler’s words toss around my head like an unhinged merry-go-round about to fly off and hit the side of a fence. Chaotic and unrealistic. But there they are, taking space in my mind. I’ll be there. He won’t. I know it, and he knows it.
I roll over into fetal position on my mat and take a few deep breaths. I could barely focus in yoga today. Growing up, I wasn’t exposed to the things people my age were. I never had a crush or a boyfriend. I never had the group of friends who hung out in parking lots drinking. I kept myself distant. I kept a tall fence around me so no one would know my secrets. The people here all have problems, but all of them have lived somehow. All I’ve got to show for my life are scars.
I don’t even know if I will ever be able to have a normal relationship. I shiver at the thought of sex. No. I’ll never be able to. The slightest touch makes me uneasy.
I crouch further into the position, holding my stomach as memories move through me.
Ho’oponopono. Ho’oponopono. Ho’oponopono.
Stupid phrase. I roll my eyes at my attempt to use it to soothe me. After a few deeps breaths, I relax and stand. Is this what contractions feel like? Sudden pain and then nothing.
“Are you okay?” Carrie approaches me as I roll my mat.
“Yeah.”
“Is yoga helping?” I shrug. “You’ve improved a lot on your poses.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I offer a tight smile and walk away.
I arrive at art therapy and Tyler nods at me, pointing to the empty seat next to him. I sit down and notice his smile. We don’t speak, but he said everything I needed to hear this morning. Something changed in him.
“Today we’re going to use a new technique. I want you to grab a canvas and paint a line down the middle. On the left you’re going to paint the negative thoughts or experiences you’ve lived. After thirty minutes have passed, you’ll turn to the right side of the canvas. Here you’re going to paint happy memories, positive things that make you feel good.”
“Stop twisting your fingers,” Tyler whispers. I stay still and look at him.
I’m the last one to get a canvas. I sit and begin painting the bad. I’m tired of painting the bad, but I have no idea what I will put on the right side of the canvas. I paint most o
f the left side with my eyes closed, not wanting to see the face I know I’ll paint. Let alone my mother’s eyes looking at me. I paint the house where I lived.
When it’s time to paint on the right side, I blank out. Nothing is positive. I haven’t experienced good. I sigh deeply and close my eyes. Books. Those were good. I begin there. The brush moves against the surface, creating images in my mind. I allow it to happen without focusing on each thing until I finish. I step back from the easel and slowly put the pieces together. Books, a blooming flower, Sam, and Tyler.
Shit, shit, shit. I don’t want him to see that. I try to cover it before anyone can look. It wouldn’t be anything new. I keep everything private.
“From now on, I want you to focus your energy on the things you painted on the right side of the canvas. Those are the things that fulfill you.” The art therapist dismisses us, and I keep my canvas close to my body without staining my clothes. I drop it under my bed where no one will see it. I run my fingers over the end of my mattress but decide to leave that sketch where it is.
I skip lunch and sit outside. I sigh contentedly. This bench has become my favorite place. It’s the same bench I found Tyler on when I came to apologize for being a bitch. He said he’ll always be there for me. How can he when we leave here? The way he looked at me when he said it was promising.
The wind flows through me as I close my eyes and ignore everything. Tranquility. That’s what I have found on this bench. It was such a foreign concept for me before. Maybe I’ve also shifted since I’ve been here, but it’s easier to observe the outside than the inside, even for a positive thing. The leaves from nearby trees rustle as yellows and oranges spiral behind my lids. I smile to myself.
I focus on the playfulness of the colors and follow them with my mind. I giggle at the absurdity of what I’m doing, but I continue to keep my eyes closed and follow them, observing how the colors turn to greens and blues. The warmth of the sun covers me until the heat becomes uncomfortable, and I go back inside.
“I was looking for you.” Sam furrows her eyebrows.
“I was outside.” I shrug and quirk my lips.
“Are you ready for our session?” She raises her eyebrows.
“Shit. Am I late?”
“A little. Let’s go.” I follow her into the room and sit on the couch. I don’t want to draw today.
“How much time do I have left here?”
“Three weeks.” She doesn’t need to look at any notes.
“Quick response.”
“I’ve been following your case closely.”
“Why?” I lean forward.
“It interests me. I suspected a few things when I first saw you.” I nod.
“I’m scared of what will happen when I’m kicked outta here.”
“You aren’t getting kicked out,” she clarifies. “And what have we spoken about your choice of wording?” I roll my eyes.
“Fine. I’m unsure about what will happen once I leave this amazing place.” I don’t bother hiding my sarcasm.
“Mikayla, believe it or not, the words we use and the attitude we portray will be what we bring into our lives. Fear isn’t real unless you allow your imagination to make you believe it is.” I know she means well. Hell, Sam is the only person in my life I have ever felt close to.
“I know, Sam. Sorry. I’ve gotten used to being here. I have no where to go when I leave.” I don’t mention Tyler’s offer yet. She nods.
“You understand you’ll still need to continue your healing process once you leave here.” I nod. “I am more than happy to continue working with you.”
“But—”
“Free of charge.” I begin to protest and she shakes her head, silencing me. I press my lips together.
“Thank you.”
“I want to help you. I know your situation. I didn’t become a therapist to be rich.”
“I appreciate that.” I wring my fingers and look at my shoes. I dry my clammy palms on my jeans and look up at her. She’s patiently waiting. “Tyler offered for me to stay at his house. He won’t be there of course!” I jump straight to that explanation to avoid any misunderstanding.
“How do you feel about that?”
“Confused. Why would he even offer that to me? I’m nothing . . . to him,” I add at the end since I am working on my self-worth.
“You’re more than you believe you are. You’re a wonderful person, Mikayla. You deserve people who care about you in your life. He wants to make sure you’re okay once you’re out.”
I sit back on the couch and relax my shoulders. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
“Think about what will be best for you.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Now, we can make a plan for when you leave. I want you to be prepared and confident as well as independent. That’s not to say you won’t have people to turn to, but I want to make sure you’re able to move forward confidently.”
We talk about getting together to continue our sessions and she recommends I continue doing yoga, something I’ll be able to practice on my own with what I’ve learned while I’ve been here. My living situation is still up in the air.
“How do you feel about Tyler?” My eyes widen and my eyebrows shoot up when I hear her question.
“Uh . . . I don’t know?” I say quickly and cringe when it comes out like a question.
“You two spend a lot of time together. That must be new for you.” I nod. “It’s good to form a bond with someone.”
“I know. This morning he said he would always be there for me. I know he can’t and won’t. I don’t expect him to.”
“Your relationship with him doesn’t end because you’re leaving here.”
“We’re not in a relationship.”
“You have formed a relationship. It doesn’t mean it’s intimate, but it is a relationship.”
“I don’t know how to distinguish the difference.”
Sam leans forward and folds her hands. “Let’s talk about it.”
“The other day I was sketching in my room and I sketched his face. I have no idea where it came from. I got nervous and hid the drawing under my mattress.” Sam smiles softly.
“Our subconscious holds things we want to block. You already know this. Tyler is a part of your life because you see him every day. We make connections with people this way. Although you may not recognize it, your subconscious mind does. You may not remember having friends, but I am sure the three-year-old girl in you had a friend. You weren’t always isolated. That’s what you’re doing with Tyler.”
“I can’t be in a relationship with him,” I blurt.
“Mikayla, these are two different things.”
“How can I tell the difference? I painted him again today in art therapy. And you.” I avert my eyes.
“What do you feel for Tyler?” This time she looks at me closely.
“Scared. Hear me out.” I hold my hands up when she raises a brow. “Scared that he’s too protective. Scared that he’s always there. But I’m also scared he won’t be.” She nods and grins.
“He’s helped you begin your healing. If that weren’t true, you never would have asked him to join me when you told us what you had experienced. Tyler means something to you, and it’s perfectly okay to feel that way.”
“Okay.” I sigh. He has helped me. I don’t want to lose him, but our worlds are so different.
Three weeks.
Time is moving quickly. I begin to breathe rapidly as anxiety kicks in. What do I do if he finds me? What do I do if I fall back into that and am unable to protect myself?
I take a deep breath the way I’ve learned in therapy and exhale slowly. I breathe again, slowing my heart rate until I am settled. I apply an essential oil that Sam gave me on the back of my neck and the inside of my wrists. I think it is lavender. Whatever scent it is, it soothes me. I lie back on my bed. My options are staying at Tyler’s house or finding a hotel within budget until I have a better formed plan, also know
n as a job.
I reach for my sketchbook and hope that it will help me find some clarity.
Some time later, I finish my drawing and look at it. I shift through the pages of my book and look for another drawing. I analyze it before tearing it out and placing it side by side with the one I just drew.
It’s the same field from a month or so ago, but today’s field has flowers, leaves on the trees, and less shading in the sky. I turn my attention to the first drawing, noting that the trees were bare and the land looks barren. How I can create this with only a pencil is beyond me. My hidden talent.
I stretch my body and walk out of my room. I’ve been kind of out of it today. I’m usually more measured and observant. I’m one of the first people to grab dinner and sit down. My stomach growls, so I quickly begin eating.
“Where have you been all day?” Tyler sits across from me. I shrug and continue chewing my food. He narrows his eyes but focuses on his food. I take a moment to look at him.
His hair has grown since he’s been here. Although not long, it seems uncharacteristic for him. He still has his ear gauges and signature rings and leather bracelets. He hardly takes them off. As if he won’t lose himself because he’s in here. He’s handsome, in a rough way. He scratches his beard and looks at me. I quickly avert my eyes, but I see him smirk.
“What do your tattoos mean?”
“Different things.”
“You only have the sleeve?” I ask when he doesn’t add anything else to his comment.
“Yeah, for now.”
“Which was the first one you got?”
“This one.” He twists his arm a bit and points to a Jack Daniel’s logo. My shoulders slump and I look to the left, where a group of people are sitting together and talking. “It’s not what you think. I got it as a reminder to never be like my dad,” he explains. I smile sympathetically. “I’m more like him than I think, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think I am, though. Because of the drinking. I don’t know how it went from fun to a need. He had died already.”
“Maybe you snapped?” I shrug my shoulders because I have no idea what would lead someone to behave that way. Again, I’ve avoided it at all costs because of the drunk I lived with.
Twisted in You Page 10
