Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  “You’re more than that.”

  “I know, but they don’t. I’m a fast learner, always have been, but people want to hire someone with aspirations. Someone who is going to grow and evolve. Honestly, I have no intention of going to college. Not right now.”

  “You got aspirations, Red.”

  “I want to survive.”

  I place my hand on her cheek. “I’ll make sure you do.” She doesn’t move away from my touch, but she doesn’t lean into it either.

  I can’t help but stare back at Tyler from the corner of my eye as he eats. We had lived in the same space for months, but now, being here without people around makes it different. Although I freaked when I sensed someone in the kitchen, I was glad this time I was on to something and it was not my imagination messing with me. Thankfully it was Tyler.

  What was I thinking running to hug him?

  It hit me then that I had missed seeing him every day. I missed having him around to talk to. This house could be lonely.

  That’s what it will be like when he leaves on tour.

  I shake my head to release that thought. When he pulled me back in for another hug, I clenched on tight. I’ve never had any real kind of physical contact with anyone before besides being younger with mom and the unwelcomed . . . not going there now. Anyway, it has been a long time since I have wanted to touch someone, in any form, but Tyler comforts me. Differently than Sam does, but they are both the people I now have in my life that have worked to be a part of it.

  I am not sure what I felt in that moment, but it felt . . . good. I sigh and push my plate forward a bit.

  “You done?” Tyler asks me.

  “Yeah.”

  He stands, taking both of our plates and dropping them in the sink. I watch each movement carefully, taking in what he looks like in his home. He doesn’t match it—a big, tattooed, pierced man in such a pretty house. It contradicts his image.

  “Come on,” Tyler says, walking out of the kitchen. He sits on the sofa in the living room. Tucking my feet under me, I sit on the chair adjacent to the sofa.

  “Tell me about your ceramics class.” Tyler smiles and takes a chug from his water bottle.

  “It’s good. I’ve only gone to one, but I liked it. It’s a beginner’s class. Well, duh, I’ve never done pottery before. I like that it’s a class to help those in the community struggling with different things in their lives. You’d think after Chasing Freedom I would have had enough of the whole therapy thing.”

  “No, I think it’s smart that you found somewhere to go.”

  “Yeah. I was looking for an art class. Sam suggested it. Instead, I found Healing Hearts, and they were offering ceramics instead of painting. I figured it would be cool to learn something new. I could always take my anger out on the clay and work on my fine motor skills.”

  Tyler chuckles. “You’re funny, Red.” His eyes crinkle.

  I shrug in response and look around the living room. “I go back on Tuesday. I started working on a vase. The other people are a little more ahead, since they’ve been going to the class for a couple of weeks, but I’ll catch up.” Words keep spilling out of my mouth, making up for the time I didn’t speak to him.

  “I know you will. It’s not about how advanced you are. You’re doing something that will help you, without being forced to because you’re in a recovery center that requires therapy. I’m proud of you.”

  I give Tyler a tight smile. “How are you?” I change the subject quickly.

  “Good. I worked a lot with Grace, and she gave me a few resources to look into so I can continue working on the drinking and the anger. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “We’ll see?” I stare intently at him.

  “Yeah. I have a meeting with Joe on Monday. I need to talk to him. A few things are going to have to change. Starting with keeping every bus, changing room, and my house dry. I’m going to have to throw it all away. It’s so natural to grab a drink. I rather not have any available for me to grab.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Yup. I’m not sure how the guys are going to take it, but the label can pay for my own bus if they want to make sure I stay on track. They’re the ones sending me to rehab.” His nostrils flare.

  “I’m sure they want what’s best for you,” I say slowly. Tyler exhales.

  “I went to see my mom today. Did you know she’s remarried? To a great guy. She’s happy.” He looks towards a corner of the room wistfully.

  “Does she live in Nashville?”

  “No. She moved to Alabama a few years ago.”

  “You drove all the way to Alabama?” My eyebrows rise into my forehead.

  “It’s only a two-hour drive, Red.” Tyler laughs lightly.

  “Oh.” I scratch my forehead. “How did it go with her?”

  “Good, actually. I’m close to her, but I don’t see her often with my schedule and all.”

  “So, because you make excuses not to?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “Smartass,” Tyler mumbles. “Anyway, I went to see her. We talked about everything. It hit me to see her happy and healthy. She isn’t angry or resentful anymore. She’s let it go, Red. She’s living. She’s living a life she couldn’t before. And I’m still holding on to our old life for what reason?”

  “I think you’re holding on less than you think. It’s good that you went to see your mom. She could offer some wisdom. She’s brave, to have been able to move on and find peace.”

  “She’s the bravest person I know.”

  I nod and muster a smile.

  “So, show me your paintings?” I breathe easier with his change in topics.

  “I’ll be right back.” I walk up to the room where the paintings are and grab the couple of canvases I worked on.

  I bounce down the stairs and lean the canvases against the coffee table. Tyler grabs the portrait first.

  “This is good. Great, actually.” He looks up at me. “You should do something with your art, Red. I’ve told you.”

  I lift a shoulder. “It’s mostly for me. I doubt anyone would care for it.”

  “No way. I think people would want to buy your stuff.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes. I don’t know who would want the paintings from a crazy girl using art as an outlet for her pain.

  “Wow . . .” I look up and see Tyler staring at the painting with the guitar and rose bush. “This . . . can I have this one?”

  “What?” I screech.

  “If it’s okay. I’d like to hang it up in the house.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I love it. Actually, would you mind if I make this a tattoo?”

  I furrow my eyebrows. “What?” I repeat.

  “Red, this is amazing. Don’t look at me like that.” Tyler laughs. “I’ll give you credit when people compliment it.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Maybe,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

  “If you want to. You don’t have to give me credit.”

  “And I can keep it? I’ll buy it. It will be your first sold art piece.”

  “You’re not paying for it. You can have it if you want it.”

  “No, no. I’ll buy it. You’ll see, Red, you’ll become a well-known artist.”

  “Crazy,” I murmur. “Keep it, Ty. A thank you for letting me crash here until I get on my feet.”

  “Stay as long as you need to. I already told you that. It’s nice having someone around.” His eyes sadden. I must not be the only one that feels the loneliness of this house.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to hang it in my office.” I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

  My phone beeps, causing me to tear my eyes away from him. I read Sam’s message and respond quickly, telling her I am doing well and Tyler is as well.

  “Was that Sam?”

  “Yeah, she checks in periodically.”

  Tyler nods and continues to stare at the painting. He holds up his phone and takes a picture, then types some
thing out quickly.

  His phone vibrates almost instantly and he smiles.

  “My tattoo artist loves it. He’s going to draw it out.” I guess he is going to get the design as a tattoo.

  “Cool.”

  Tyler and I continue to talk throughout the night. It feels good to have him here. It feels good not to be alone anymore.

  After a couple of hours of talking, I head up to my room to go to sleep. Tyler stays behind, but a few minutes later I hear the sound of a guitar. I smile, tucked under the covers, and sigh.

  I jog down the stairs after hearing the doorbell ring three times and stop on the last step when Tyler opens the door. Sam steps in a bit and smiles at me, causing Tyler to do the same.

  “Sorry, tried to get to the door before you woke up.” A sheen of sweat covers his face.

  “It’s okay.” I clear my throat and watch Sam hand Tyler his guitar case and bag.

  “I’ll see you this upcoming week?” Sam looks over at me.

  “Yes, I can come to you, if that’s better.”

  “You can meet here. I’ll have to meet with the record label a few times next week, so I’ll be out of your hair,” Tyler says.

  “Perfect. Bye.” Sam leaves, and Tyler turns to me.

  “Sorry. I was working out and didn’t hear the doorbell right away.”

  “It’s okay. I was awake, but being lazy.” I shift my weight and look out the glass doors. It seems to be a beautiful day. I can draw outside.

  “You want breakfast?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Go finish your workout and do your thing.”

  “I’m done. I was going to stretch and cool down. I’ve been down there for a while already.”

  “You woke up early.”

  “Yeah, I guess I got used to early mornings.”

  “Me, too.” I walk down the final step and go into the kitchen. “I’ll probably go do some yoga.”

  “We can continue our trainings, also.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I nod my head. I head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea while Tyler goes back down to the gym to cool down. I grab the eggs from the fridge, scrambling them in a bowl with a fork.

  Tyler walks into the kitchen as I’m finishing the eggs. I watch as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and chugs half of it. I’m hyperaware of his movements, not because I don’t trust him, but because this is not a situation I would normally feel comfortable in.

  “You didn’t have to make me breakfast,” Tyler says when I set both plates on the island.

  “I was making for myself, so I made some extra.”

  “Thanks.” We both eat quietly.

  I startle when there’s a sudden banging on the door.

  “What the fuck?” Tyler mumbles and goes to answer the door. I hear loud talking and then see a man in the kitchen.

  “Oh, sorry.” He smiles at me and then looks over at Tyler. I shiver and cross my arms.

  “Joe, this is Mikayla. Mikayla, this is my manager.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Joe says.

  “Likewise.” I offer a tight smile. I dump my plate in the sink and try to escape.

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  I clench my jaw when Joe looks me up. Without another word, I walk away and hear Tyler growl, “Joe,” followed by fast talking, but I’m half way up the stairs and run into my room, locking the door behind me. I crawl on my bed and get under the covers, hugging them tightly to me. My hands tremble and my throat feels tight, but I count to ten as I breathe deeply. I dig my nails into the inside of my wrist and try to control my breathing.

  I heart leaps when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. “Red . . .” Tyler’s voice is quiet.

  Instead of answering the door, I change into long leggings and a tee shirt.

  “Red, it’s me.” His voice is uncertain.

  I finally open the door and stare into his green eyes. “Sorry. I had no idea he was coming by. Fuck, Joe is an asshole. I got him to leave as quickly as I could. If he ever . . .” Tyler runs his fingers through his hair. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are angry.

  “It’s okay.” I try to walk past him.

  “It’s not,” he says tightly.

  I lift my arm to motion for him to move and he grabs it, turning it over. “The fuck?”

  “What?”

  “Those your nail imprints?” His nostrils flare and I pull my arm away.

  “It’s better than a blade, wouldn’t you agree? I’m trying, Tyler, and my nails won’t hurt me.”

  “It’s not how much damage they can do. It’s the act of trying to cause any type of pain.”

  “I needed to release my fear somehow. Breathing wasn’t working.”

  “Then breathe more.”

  “I was scared!” He takes a step back and looks grimly at me.

  “I’m sorry, Red. I don’t want to be the reason you’re ever scared.”

  “It’s part of life, Ty. I have to get used to people not always having the best of intentions. Isn’t that how it goes? I can’t let that control me, but I need to take it a little at a time. I needed to feel something else besides the fear that was seeping in. Now, will you move?” He silently takes a step the side, and I run down the stairs and go to the gym.

  Digging my nails into my skin is not self-harm. I could have gone into the bathroom and used my razor. It stares at me temptingly some nights while I shower. I no longer have a reason to do that. I’m stronger. I’m fucking stronger.

  I get lost in my yoga practice, forgetting the expression on Joe’s face and the anger on Tyler’s. This is real life.

  “I’m sorry,” Tyler says when he comes down to the gym. I release the pose I’m in and stand.

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not. I know you’re still healing. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out my own shit, so I’m no one to judge. I want you to be okay. Really, okay.”

  “I am, promise. I am working on my triggers. I may have them my whole life or I may get over them eventually, but it won’t be anytime soon.” He needs to understand that my recovery is life long. Like his. Sobriety isn’t a temporary fix, it’s forever.

  “You want to train?”

  “Not today.” I shake my head. “I’m going to finish up these last few poses.”

  “’Kay. I’ll leave you to it.”

  My lower lip trembles, but I suck it up and blink my eyes quickly. I’m not going to break down now. Raising my arms straight up, I inhale and follow through the yoga pose.

  Make me forget for a little while.

  I wash everything Mikayla used to make breakfast and place the final plate on the drying rack. I could have killed Joe when he stared at Mikayla. I told him the situation was sensitive when I asked him to prepare the rooms for her, but I didn’t go into detail. He’s an ass. I can’t imagine what went through her head. Besides fear, maybe shame thinking Joe assumed something was going on between us. I warned him she was off limits.

  I wipe down the stovetop and countertop. Is she going to ignore me for the rest of the day? I didn’t mean to attack her, but seeing those marks on her arms fired me up. She can’t fall back into that pattern. It starts with nails and next thing you know she’s grabbing a razor and piercing her skin.

  I shake my head and walk into the garage to get a nail and hammer. In my office, I stare at my platinum albums, my guitars, and all my journals stacked perfectly on a shelf. This place is pristine. A false sense of perfection, however, music has been the most perfect thing in my life. It’s the perception that my life is so neat and organized that is false. I keep the exterior this way since the interior is anything but.

  I hammer the nail into one of the walls with more space and grab Mikayla’s painting. Hanging it up, I take a step back and smile. Now this is perfect. The balance of colors amazes me. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was an experienced artist. It didn’t take me long to recognize my guitar in the painting. I’ll need to get her to sign it soon, but
I couldn’t wait to hang it.

  I focus on the shelf and find the journal I was looking for. I sit at the desk and open it. I look through the words written there, the ones I wrote the last time I was in Chasing Freedom and the ones I have written when life’s been harder. This is the journal that holds my true emotions, not the alter ego I share with the world.

  I grab a guitar and begin playing, singing one of the songs. No one has heard it except for my mom, and not even she has heard them all. I sniff and keep going, song after song, playing my life one chord at a time. The beat changes, my hands a mind of their own, and the familiar tune for the song I wrote after Mikayla left slips out of my lips.

  I put the guitar away when I finish and walk downstairs. She’s worth so much more. I go into the kitchen and open the cabinet holding all my liquor. My eyes close and I envision her smile. Bottle after bottle, I throw them away, not bothering to empty the contents. I find the bottle of Jack and stare at it. I hold it, screwing off the cap. I inhale, sniffing it, and close my eyes. Bursts of memories flash in my mind—my dad kicking my mom, her cries, his words, my drunk ass fucking someone I don’t even remember. I hold it up and throw it on the floor, smashing it into shards of glass.

  My body drops to the floor, my head in my hands, and my body shakes with cries.

  “What the . . . ?”

  I don’t even look up at her. I want to yell, I want to hit something, but all I can do is swallow my pride and cry. I hate him. I hate him. I tug my hair in hopes that some pain will help, but it adds to the fury.

  “Tyler?” Mikayla’s voice is soft. “Can I go to you?” she asks when I don’t respond. I don’t care what she does right now.

  I hear her sit next to me in silence. Emotions control me and I slump onto her lap. Her warmth is near me, but I’m lost. Instead of speaking again, she sits next to me and waits.

  I finally take a few deep breaths and lift my head to look at her. Her eyes are soft as she looks at me.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “What happened?”

  I shake my head. “My dad always drank Jack. Did you know that?”

  “No.” Her lips form a straight line.

  “Yeah. I’m like him.”