Page 19

FIFTEEN

WESLEY

“Would you like to have a seat?” my therapist asks me, tucking her legs under her body on her wide, fluffy chair. I look back at her and give her a small grin.

I really like her. She’s the complete opposite of Doctor Steinfeld, who is an older white guy with short cropped gray hair, rigid and uptight, always following the rules and doing things step by step.

There was never a hair out of place, and he was as buttoned-up as they came.

He reminded me of the drill sergeants I would see in movies.

Doctor Amira Banks, or Mirrie as she wants me to call her, is a younger Black woman about my age that dresses in flowy dresses with a lot of long chains and wears her hair in a beautiful afro.

She has a permanent smile on her face, and her sleepy eyes always make her look as if she’s on the verge of some great discovery.

While Doctor Steinfeld worked well and helped me when I needed it the most, I like Mirrie’s approach better. During our sessions, we talk, going back and forth instead of her firing off questions at me and making me feel like I’m under a microscope.

I shake my head as I look out of the window, the overcast sky matching my mood. Swirls of gray twist in my belly, and I question everything.

“Is it okay if I stand here for a moment? My head is all fucked up.”

“Did something happen?” she asks conversationally, and it sets my shoulders at ease. I don’t get the vibe that she’s asking me because she’s paid but because she might care about what I have to say.

I scoff, clenching my fists tight at my sides. “Nothing bad, no. But…I talked to my old friend.”

“The one that blew the whistle on your abuse.”

I wince, but say, “Yeah, him. He…he scares me. It’s been fifteen years, and I still felt like he was the same boy I had a crush on, whose bed I would sneak into when I had a shit time at home, the same boy that could calm my panic attacks.

” I lower my head, emotions swirling around and around in my chest. “I wrote songs for him, you know? I thought about him even when I didn’t want to.

A lot of the songs in the early days were about him.

Especially the angry ones. But he was always there. ”

“What’s wrong with that? Does being around him bring up bad memories?”

“Not really.” I move over to the couch and sit across from her. “Mostly the good. That’s what scares me. He’s…he’s not like me. He’s good . Not polluted like me.”

“Negative thoughts, Wesley.”

I scoff. “Yeah, I know, but I am, Mirrie. I put shit in my body that I shouldn’t have, and now I have a lifelong addiction that I’ll never get rid of. I don’t want him living in fear that one day I’ll relapse. He deserves better than that. ”

Mirrie gives me a pointed look. “Can I be blunt?”

“Aren’t you always?”

“You’re putting a lot of thought into something that isn’t even established. You’re making rules for a relationship that doesn’t exist. Have you talked to Jaxon about being more than friends? Or being friends in general?”

I shake my head. “No. He said he wanted me to think about it.”

“And your thoughts were he wouldn’t be able to handle being friends with or dating an addict?”

Even though I know what I am and have come to terms with it, it still stings when someone calls me an addict. I’ve earned the title, many times over, but it hurts when my failures are pointed out to me.

“Yeah, exactly.”

She reaches for my hand, and when I nod, she grabs it. She learned early that I don’t like people touching me without my express permission, and she’s respected that.

“Wesley, you need to take your recovery one day at a time, but you also don’t have to wall yourself off from people.

Take things slowly with Jaxon, but don’t make decisions for him.

He might have the same reservations as you, but then again, he might not.

Have you considered that he’s waiting on you to make the first move? ”

My shoulder lifts in a defeated shrug. “Maybe. He asked me to think about it, just in case being around him would trigger me. But he doesn’t. I’m triggered that I might fuck up and hurt him worse than I did when we were sixteen. We’re not kids anymore. If I go to him, I have to mean it.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Mirrie asks.

That question rings in my mind the entire drive home.

What is stopping me? Besides my own baggage.

I’m still a work in progress. I’ll probably be a work in progress for the rest of my life.

But maybe being around someone like Jaxon will…

I don’t know, make me want to be better.

Disappointing him would fucking kill me.

Maybe Mirrie was right. I can take things slow. Maybe start by asking for his fucking number. I’ve been such a fucking coward that I haven’t called his office to ask for his cell number, so I have no way to reach him after he goes home from work. Maybe I’ll reach out tomorrow.

Maybe.

I spend the rest of the night unpacking some of the boxes Zed brought here for me.

He came to visit last week, and he had the moving truck bring up the stuff from my LA condo.

He personally went through everything he packed meticulously to check that there weren’t any pills stashed anywhere.

Everything is cleared by him, all the important things I’ll need for however long I’m going to stay here.

After I’m done unpacking the bedroom, I gather all the trash and boxes to take down to the recycling bin at the end of my driveway. The house is isolated enough that I can walk around the property freely without fear that someone will recognize me at a distance.

Just before I step outside, my gaze catches on the black case I didn’t notice Zed bring up.

The boxes tumble from my hands as the breath whooshes out of my lungs.

Even though the case is closed, I know what it contains.

It’s the guitar Jaxon gave me all those years ago.

I take cautious steps over to it, like if I move too fast, it’ll disappear.

I kneel in front of it and flick the latches, lifting the top so I can look at it.

It’s still as beautiful as the first day I saw it, sleek and black, carrying a sound that can’t be replicated by guitars made in later years .

Even though I was pissed at Jaxon, I’d never gotten a gift like this before, so I cherished the guitar. After we signed with a label, I was able to afford another, and I put this one away so I wouldn’t have to look at it again.

I missed it.

With gentle fingers, I rub along the surface. I haven’t played it in so long. I’m not even sure the strings are any good, as the guitar’s been locked up for close to ten years.

I sigh and close the case. I’ll come back to it later. Not right now.

I go over and collect the boxes I dropped and take them outside.

The wind is blowing softly, lifting my short hair slightly. I toss everything in the recycling bin and walk slowly back to my house, shoving my hands in my pockets.

My fingers bump against my keys, and I pull them out, twisting the key ring around on my index finger.

I stop when I take in the large brass key, the one to Suzette’s house. My house now.

Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I start in the direction of my old home. If memory serves, it’s only about a fifteen-minute walk from the place I’m renting now. The night is cool, and the chilly night air will help keep my head from getting all clouded with what I’m about to do.

The closer I get to my old home, the tighter my chest feels. I shouldn’t go. It’s not a good idea. Not when my head is already fucked up from wondering what to do about Jaxon and me.

I keep walking.

When I get to the house, I stand at the base of the porch, looking at the rundown structure. It was shit when I lived here and went downhill since I’ve been gone. Fifteen years isn’t long enough .

On shaking legs, I walk up the steps of the porch, hearing the familiar creak. My stomach roils as I inch closer to the door. My palms sweat as I reach out to the doorknob, wanting to open it but not wanting to enter at all.

Sweat dots my brow as I stick the key into the lock and twist it, then turn the knob to grant myself access.

I walk inside, the smell of mold and neglect seeping into my nasal passages.

The light from the window illuminates the interior, and I have to strain my eyes to see.

I know the layout of this house like the back of my hand, even though I’ve been gone for over a decade, so I don’t click on the light.

I don’t want to see what this place turned into, since I remember what it looked like when I lived here.

Boxes are strewn about around the living room, and I skirt them, looking around at the filth Suzette lived in.

When I get to the hallway, my eyes lock on my old bedroom door, which is cracked open. My heart sinks, and I’m pulled into the past, memories assailing me.

The thudding of the mattress against my wall makes my stomach tighten.

I wish I could be anywhere but here, forced to listen to my mother have sex for money.

I overheard her and her boyfriend, Perry, discussing the easiest way to finance their habits, and it was for her to fuck some of his friends that had enough money and drugs to spare.

I tried to sneak out about fifteen minutes ago, but Perry caught me and told me to stay put, since it was so late.

I don’t give a fuck how late it is, I don’t want to hear what she’s doing.

But the window to my room is practically welded shut from age and disuse from previous tenants, so the only way out is through the front door .

When the sounds started, I covered my head with my pillow and sang some of the lyrics of a song I wrote loud enough to drown it out.

But Perry came into the room and snatched me to my feet, shaking me hard enough for my teeth to rattle.

“Shut the fuck up with that shit. They can’t concentrate on fucking your mom. ”

My stomach clenched, and tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them away as I stared him down. I tried to keep my face blank, since he saw anything like signs of anger as a threat, and he’d beat me for it.

He struck me for the first time two months ago, and since I didn’t tell my mom, he kept doing it, ramping up every attack, but careful not to leave bruises on my face.

His gaze bores into me threateningly, and I nod. He drops me on the floor, and I scurry back onto my bed, covering my ears with my hands and singing softly to myself so only I could hear. It helps moderately but not nearly enough .

When I’m was sure Perry has gone into my mom’s room to watch or participate, I pack some stuff in my backpack so I can go to Jaxon’s house. He’ll sneak me in and let me sleep with him in his soft bed and I’ll wake up without the fear of being slapped around.

But when I step out of the room, Perry is walking down the hallway. My stomach drops when his eyes dip to the bag I have slung over my shoulder.

He storms over to me, pushing me in the chest with both hands. I land hard on my back, but my pack takes the brunt of the fall so I don’t hurt myself. I try to scramble away, but Perry runs at me, and his fist connects with my jaw.

I cry out and drop to the floor, shocked he hit me in the face.

“Didn’t I fucking tell you to stay put? You got a fucking problem listening?” he asks and kicks me in the stomach. I curse and roll over, holding my middle.

“I’ll fucking show you to fucking listen to me,” he growls in a voice I don’t recognize. I hear the jingle of his belt, but I assume he’s going to strike me with it.

He kicks me three more times, in my back and along my side, until I’m a crying, blubbering mess, begging him to stop. When his steps recede, I let out a breath of relief, The worse is over. He’ll go back to my mom and leave me alone now that he’s kicked my ass for disobeying.

My bedroom door clicked shut, and I relax marginally, thinking he was gone.

But I’m wrong.

One of his hands clamps around the back of my neck, and he hauls me to my feet. Perry tosses me onto my bed. I groan a curse when my bruised body hits the exposed springs of my mattress.

Before I can curl myself back into a ball, Perry is on me.

He pushes me onto my stomach and presses my face hard into the mattress, cutting off my airway.

I fight against him, but I can’t shake him off.

My pants are pulled down, exposing me. I try to dislodge him, but my struggling is a fruitless effort.

“You’ll fucking learn,” he said, pushing my face even harder into the mattress. “When I give you a fucking order, you’ll fucking listen!”

I manage to turn my head to the side and pull in a lungful of air just as his hardness slid between my ass crack.

A scream tears from my throat when he enters me, the white-hot pain of his intrusion so intense that it blots out every other sense.

He pushes forcefully inside of me, and I nearly black out from the pain. The agony is unbearable, and my screams only serve to heighten his arousal, judging from his loud groans and taunts.

Perry continues to attack me with his fists while he assaults me, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but surviving the pain. I beg and pray for someone, anyone, to make him stop, to make him go away.

But nothing saves me. Nothing but him finishing and warning me if I tell anyone, he would kick me and my mother out on the streets.

I curl into a ball and cry, my faith in God shattered, and my innocence stolen.

With effort, I pull myself from the past and stumble backward, falling over a box in the living room. I race out of the door, tripping down the stairs. An errant scream tears from my throat, and I take off down the street, running and running, trying to get away from my past.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have gone there. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have.

I stop running long enough to drop to one knee and vomit, the memory of Perry’s hands on me making me sick. I can still feel the burn of his palms as he held me in place, the pain of myself tearing open as he took me in a manic frenzy.

My past assaults me, and all I can do is purge my system and fight against the tumult of memories.

Fuck, I need to get high. I need something to take the memories away. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to work through my trauma. I want to forget .

Wiping my mouth, I get to my feet and stumble forward, needing something that will take the edge off, something that will keep my mind from cannibalizing itself with the shitty memories of my childhood.

I need something that will make me feel better.

Taking the familiar street, I pick up the pace and run flat out. Hopefully I’ll be able to get out of my own head.

Just for tonight.