Page 110 of Close Match
I had to get him help before the darkness that fell that night never lifted and it was too late.
For all of us.
Crawling into bed, I fluff the pillows as much as I can tolerate. I pick up one of my mother’s journals, this one from long before she met Bristol’s father, before she met mine. Flipping to where I left the bookmark, I continue reading. Her deepest fears are laid bare on these pages. The words are so dark, I’m sad but not surprised she often sought a bottle to take away the pain.
Much like Monty did when he felt he needed to carry the burdens of the Parrish family.
I read my mother’s words aloud. “In the darkest moments, I wonder if it’s easier to give up. It’d be so easy. The promises the stage offered are a damn lie. The glow of the lights are only bright from one side—if you’re on it. Otherwise, it’s so lonely. There’s no such thing as friends because we’re all enemies fighting to get on the boards.”
Until that moment, I don’t think I ever gave deeper thought to what Mom truly meant when she used to tell me to look beyond the stage lights. I always thought she was trying to tell me to be considerate of the patrons we performed for, but was she reminding me to consider the people less fortunate than we were who were still trying to break into the business? The actors, the technicians, the musicians? How many of them feel what she did at this very moment in time?
How many of them turn to the bottle or worse to get through the despair?
Placing the silk marker to hold my place, I put the journal back on the stand and turn out the lights. My dreams that night are a twisted mess. I’m standing in the middle of a performance of Monty, Mom, and me. There’s no light. I spin around as hands grab me as I try to dance and sing, their voices discordant with the melody.
I wake up breathing hard, my hand pressed against my chest.
I’m scared, and I’m heartbroken. Nothing about what I’m feeling is right, but I know for sure I’m not alone.
Sixty-Seven
Montague
Thirty days. I run my fingers over the smooth beard fully covering my face. I feel like a stranger’s living in my body. A body that’s been through worse hell in detox than when I was in training during the bitch of the summer heat of San Antonio. That long-ago agony seems like a cakewalk in comparison to nausea, anxiety, complete irrationality, and broken sleep I’ve endured. All I want to do is collapse against the nearest wall in fatigue and shame.
But it’s nothing in comparison to what I imagine Linnie’s feeling.
Dr. Riley—Victor—finally showed me the police report. That sent me careening into the hall to heave up the lunch I had eaten not an hour before. I have absolutely no recollection of even seeing Linnie after I went to the hospital that night. I read her statement she gave to the doctors, the words I’d hurled at her, the unusual way I was driving. The only thing that prevented me from being charged was that by the time we were found, my blood alcohol level was significantly under the legal limit and they couldn’t pinpoint my exact blood alcohol level at the time of the crash. As the owner of the property, Ev could have pressed charges, but Linnie wouldn’t let him.
Instead, she insisted I be given this chance, for myself. Only for myself.
After being discharged from the hospital, it was my mother who drove me to where I am now, a rehabilitation facility just outside Spotsylvania County. We didn’t say a word between us on the two-hour drive. It wasn’t until I signed the papers with a hand that shook so hard due to the lack of alcohol in my system after only three days that I opened my mouth to speak, and she laid her fingers across my lips. “I will always love you. No matter what happens. Please, please, use this time to get well.” Standing on tiptoe, Mom cupped my cheek on one side, before kissing the other.
It was the last time someone I loved touched me.
Being in rehab isn’t easy. I was stripped down physically, emotionally, and mentally. It wasn’t for the therapists to break me, but a way for them to ensure me not self-sabotaging myself. They took my clothes off, had an onsite physician check all of the cavities of my body like I was a prisoner, while an orderly looked in all of my clothes—hems and all—for contraband. I wince remembering the cavalier way they tossed everything aside, letting me know they’d all be sent through scanners and laundry before they’d be returned to me. My harsh breathing reminds me of the invasion of privacy I invited by getting myself in that condition.
The humility of my situation didn’t penetrate then. It hit when I was sobbing in the corner of my room, when alcohol began to leech out. I could smell the foulness of my own stench but was too afraid of moving to crawl to the shower. I was dependent on those same orderlies for wellness and care as they held my shaking body while I vomited out bile and pain. And they stayed close by while I showered off the first layer of my indignity.
Four weeks in, I still don’t understand why charges weren’t pressed but she’d instead insisted I come here. I’m not entirely certain if I would have been able to resist. But she was adamant. If I agreed to stay and get help, she wouldn’t.
The images of her face so bruised from where the airbag deployed haunt me. Her face was so swollen on one side, it was distorted. Her chiseled cheekbone was missing as puffiness helped redefine it. The blood from where her head smashed against the window sent me searching for the nearest trash can. But it was her eyes that haunt me. Hours before I had kissed them delicately as I pushed into her body, assuring her of my love. Now my last image of them had one swollen shut, but the other? The other was filled with such pain.
Linnie didn’t have to worry about my wanting to be here. I’m doing everything I have to do to make sure I’d never be capable of being that man ever again.
I haven’t been able to speak with any of my family, though I do know Ev is back at home with Mom. I don’t remember a damn thing that night other than walking up to Ev’s door. The rest of the night is a complete blank. I hurt so many people, but for what reason?
Then again, would I ever have admitted I had a problem if it wasn’t for what happened?
Victor’s had me writing letters to my family, a therapy of sorts. Even though I’m positive there’s no way they could still love me the way I love them, it’s another weight off my chest to know Ev’s survived.
I pull on a pair of jeans and grab the first sweater I find. Slipping on socks and driving shoes, I grab my jacket and messenger bag, quickly checking to make sure my notebook and most recent letters are tucked inside.
As I walk from dormitory-style housing encased in an antebellum-style outbuilding to the main mansion that holds the offices and common areas, I spy a dark Suburban with tinted windows pull in.Good luck, I wish to whoever is about to enter the facility.You’re going to need it.
Opening the back entrance, the enticing smell of bacon takes me back momentarily to the farm when Mom would cook up packages of it for us. A bittersweet nostalgia shifts through me as I head toward the dining room. Even though I haven’t been super hungry since I got here, I might be able to eat a piece or two of that.
Because I know my Mom would want me to.
