Bellissimo Rilascio (Beautiful Release): The Family Series #3 (7 page)

“Callie, I’ll be fine. I can drive myself to Dr. Adams.”

“Let me drop Angelo off at your mom’s, and I’ll go with you.”

“Fuck, I don’t drive over any bridges, and I haven’t seen a building tall enough for me to leap from . . . gas is on the right, brake is on the left. I’ve got this.”

“Not funny, Binks.”

“I know it’s not, but y’all are killing me. I mean it. I can’t shit without someone trying to wipe my ass for me. I’ve got to venture out on my own sometime, and I think therapy is a good place to start.”

“You scared me.” Her eyes pool with tears, and I start to feel like shit. I stop myself. No guilt. I’ve apologized and owned what I did. I fight the urge daily to curl up in a ball and allow life to pass me by. I persevere. Everyone in my life needs to recognize my progress and back the fuck off.

“I scared myself, but Callie, I’m done apologizing. I can’t say anything to make you listen to me, to really hear what I’m saying. All I can do is prove it. I love you. I’m thankful you’ve been here for me, but I have to live. You may think you’re keeping me alive, but you’re suffocating me.”

“That’s not fair, Bianca. We’re all worried.”

“It’s been six months, Callie. Six long months of therapy and working through my issues. Six long months of y’all being underfoot, and I haven’t had a moment to myself. I’m not telling you I’m fine, but I think I’m over the hurdle. If it makes you feel better, confiscate my razors, and when I need to shave I’ll come clog your drain.”

“Clog our drain?”

“It’s winter, I only shave once a month.”

“That’s nasty.”

“I don’t have someone rubbing up on my legs, so it works perfectly. I’ve been thinking once a month is too much. I could probably stretch it to six or eight weeks.”

“You have issues.”

“I know. That’s what therapy is for, and that’s where I’m trying to fucking go, but someone is holding me hostage.”

“Promise you’ll call when you get there and when you’re leaving.”

“Holy shit, you want to check the mileage on my car and bank balance before I go? Am I allowed to stop for a coffee?”

“Just don’t bring back that pumpkin shit . . . I want to hurl every time I smell it.”

“You pregnant again?”

“NO! Pumpkin flavored shit is just foul.”

“Mommy, you said shit.” My cheeks hurt from holding in my laughter. “I tell Daddy, and he make you put a quarter in my piggy bank.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll put a dollar in if you don’t tell Daddy.” I lose the battle, and laughter spills from my mouth. “Seriously Bianca, at this rate he will have college paid for before kindergarten.”

“Do you pay him a dollar each time you cuss?”

“Yes, because if Bronson knew I slipped up, he’d never let me hear the end of it. And my words are shit or damn, not fuck or fuck.”

“Mommy . . .”

She quickly cuts him off, “Ten dollars and an ice cream.”

“Stellar parenting. Now what can I blackmail you with?” I squint my eyes at her to study her reaction.

“I swear, Binks, it’s your fault we had to start the deposit system in his piggy bank. You filled up two vases on your own.”

“I’ll file this evidence for a later date. Want anything on my way back?”

“If you stop at Starbucks, I’ll take a graham latte.”

“Now that’s revolting.” She takes a quick look over her shoulder before flipping me off when she sees Angelo is engrossed in cartoons. “Lock up when you leave, and if you want a night out, I’ll keep him tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you can wine and dine my brother. If you’re lucky you can end with sixty-nine.”

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed me. I’m getting my legs underneath me, and it feels fucking great.”

“Aunt Binks, you said a word.”

“Yep, Aunt Binks should probably just write you a check at the end of each month, I don’t carry that much cash on me.”

I walk out of my apartment feeling like I was just released from prison. Dramatic analogy maybe, but my family has taken their role as my handler seriously. I make the short drive to Dr. Adams’ office blaring ‘Secondhand Smoke’ by Kelsea Ballerini. Lynsey left her CD at my apartment last time she was here, and I’ve been hooked ever since. I take my seat in the reception area and wait for him to call me back.

“Bianca, you ready?”

“What’s up, Doc?”

“Are you going to ask me that every appointment?”

“Are you always going to avoid answering?”

“When I start paying for your services, you can ask the questions.”

“Whoa, I’m not that type of girl.” I wink at him when I see his cheeks redden. He just shakes his head and mumbles under his breath. “Am I still your favorite patient?”

“I don’t have favorites.”

“Lie to me all you want, just not to yourself. Denial is the first step to delusion. Then you wind up on some couch spilling your guts and paying by the hour for advice.”

“If this a shell of your former self, I’m going to have to say I’m terrified to see you in full force.”

“Fear has no place in life, you should see a colleague about that issue.”

“Okay, I see you have jokes today. Let’s get started.”

“Sure thing. First, one more question.”

“How can I say no?”

“It’s real easy. They taught us in high school. No means no.” I see he is about to shut down my smart-ass remarks, so I hurry. “Are you single?”

“Bianca, that is highly inappropriate. I don’t get involved with my patients.”

“Uh, I think you’re already at the delusional stage. No offense, Doc, but you aren’t my type. You have your shit together; that’s so not my style. And you’re a tad stuffy for me.” I was honestly thinking he’s perfect for Lynsey. His wire-rim glasses give just a hint of nerdy, and the way his hair is disheveled reminds me of frazzled Lyns.

“No, Bianca. I have a girlfriend.” He pauses, looking perplexed.

“Honestly, I wasn’t asking for me. Not interested. Besides you said you weren’t interested in paying for my services, and I don’t give that shit away for free. I do have standards.” He rolls his eyes, and I internally high-five myself for making him lose composure.

“So tell me what you’ve been doing since our last session.”

“I need you to write me a note. A prescription or something to give to my family. They are guarding me like they’re in the Secret Service, and I’m some dignitary. I feel like I’ve evaded a hostile takeover by escaping and driving here by myself. I even got permission to stop at Starbucks on the way home.”

“Bianca, you’re a grown woman and should be able to come and go as you please. You make it seem like you’ve been on house arrest.”

“Exactly. I promise you today is the first day in six fucking months I’ve left on my own. Someone is there when I fall asleep and within an hour of me waking up. Every. Single. Day.”

“I see you haven’t worked on your cussing.”

“No, I owe my nephew a new car so far, so I curb most of it for our therapy sessions.”

“Lucky me.”

“Are you going to write me a note or not?”

“Not. This is where you can exercise your voice. Your wants. Your needs. You, Bianca, have to stand up for yourself, and you have the right to do so.”

“I know, and I kind of did, but immediately felt like shit. My family went through hell that night, and I don’t want to hurt them.”

“I’m sure they were worried, but what about what you went through? Don’t you think you have a right to own what you faced? This isn’t about one being right and one being wrong. It’s learning to vocalize what you’re feeling, accepting not everyone will be happy, and working on a resolution. Ultimately, you are in control of your life, and the only person you have to answer to is you. I can’t tell you not to take their feelings into consideration, but don’t let it outweigh your feelings and desires. It’s your life, Bianca. Own it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is. This is one of the simplest things you’ll have to do. Your family loves you, and even if they don’t agree, they aren’t going to turn their backs on you. You have a support system, use it if you need to, but don’t be afraid to stand on your own. All they want is for you to heal, and the way to prove to them you are is by showing them. There will likely be arguments and hurt feelings but nothing that time and trust won’t fix.”

“Okay. I’ll try to be more assertive.”

“Assertiveness isn’t the problem. You’re able to express your opinions, champion for others, and put many in their place, but you do that as a weapon of sorts, and you don’t use your power when it matters.”

“I think I’m very selfish when needed.”

“To your needs, maybe. But when it really matters you’ve shown
selfless
behavior and almost become a martyr.”

“I’m not falling on my own sword, Doc. Let’s not go overboard.”

He inhales deeply and exhales loudly. His frustration is apparent, but this time it doesn’t make me feel good . . . it makes me feel like I’m failing at this therapy shit. “I meant in a sense. Consider your wants, your desires as a sword. You’re willing to bury them so deep that they never escape. You’re willing to sacrifice what you want for someone else’s needs, so in a sense, falling on your sword. It isn’t healthy the way you put others’ well-being above your own. It leads to destructive behavior and physical, as well as mental, illnesses further down the line.”

“So how do I fix this?”

“We’re working on that, but you’ve got to want to change it. I’m here to listen, give you the tools, but you have to implement them. It’s a process, Bianca. It’s not going to happen overnight.”

“These sessions keep getting better and better. I thought I was supposed to come sit here for an hour, pour my heart out, and you tell me what to do.”

“No, you didn’t. You knew you needed help and it would be work, which is why the majority of the hour you’re here is filled with bantering, defensive verbiage, coping mechanisms - so you can avoid the issues.”

“Maybe you didn’t buy your degree from the Internet, after all.”

“I can assure you I didn’t,” he actually chuckles at me. “But I’m glad to know you think so. So now that you’ve effectively wasted almost half the time we have, let’s talk about the subject you try to avoid.”

“I don’t think I’m ready.”

“You are. I’ll never ask you to do something I don’t feel you can handle. Therapy needs to be challenging, otherwise it’s just conversing.”

“He used to tell me stuff like that.” My voice barely a whisper, emotion clogs my throat. I tighten my hands into fists, wishing the nails I cut off would miraculously grow and dig into my skin. Just a hint of pain . . . it’s useless. I avert my gaze to the picture hanging on the wall next to me; a beach scene, it’s tranquil, placed there to emit serenity, but it’s not working today. Plastering on a fake smile, I turn my eyes to him and feel like the walls are closing in around me.

“Who used to say that to you?”

“Oh, Doc, we going to play it like that? Heath. Heath used to tell me he’d never ask for more than I could give, never push me beyond what I was comfortable with. But it was lies. It’s all lies.”

“He pushed you? Demanded more of yourself than you were willing to give?”

“NO! He fucking took it without knowing it. He burrowed so deeply inside of me that losing him was something I have no comparison for. I want to blame him for so much, but it was me. I tried to act like he wasn’t as important to me as I was to him, that it wouldn’t hurt as bad when someone left me, again.”

“Do you think he would have left?”

“He did.”

“Tell me about that night. What led to him leaving?”

“We were in Turks and Caicos, and my brother invited Dakota. It was a stupid memory. I allowed myself to dream up a connection to Dakota while I was dancing with Heath. I tried to take him back to the room and seduce him. He called me on my shit and left.”

“You make it sound like it was simple.”

“It was anything but simple. I destroyed his faith in me. I made our relationship insignificant. I took the meaning out of what he felt. I watched his eyes go from lust to devastation in a matter of minutes, and I did nothing to deny the thoughts I had just instilled in him.”

“Was he wrong?”

“So wrong. That night I realized there was not a connection between Dakota and I . . . it was only in my mind. One I was forcing so I could hide behind it. I looked at him and couldn’t get over the betrayal. The fear I felt. Sitting next to Heath, him being my rock, I knew I loved him. Felt it in every inch of my body, but I couldn’t allow him to know it. I couldn’t give him that control, the upper hand. I barely survived Dakota; I knew I’d never survive Heath.”

“Why is that?”

“Because as much as I thought I loved Dakota, it paled in comparison to how I felt about Heath. It’s different. Hard to explain.”

“Try. You may be surprised at the clarity it brings.”

“Dakota was my first love, and I won’t deny that. I had no clue what love was outside of friends and family, so the unfamiliarity of it was unsettling. I fought it, didn’t trust it, and was in a messed-up place in my life, struggling with my dad’s choices. I ran to it and ran from it at the same time. It created the illusion of standing still, never moving forward, and each time we’d cross the line and creep a step toward our future, something else would happen and send us back to the start. I don’t want to diminish what Dakota and I had because I learned a lot from it. No matter what’s been said or done, he will always hold a place in my heart. Heath understood that. He told me he knew Dakota would always hold a place, and he was okay with that as long as the rest was his. Again, he said
no pressure
. But I never ran from Heath; I went through the motions of acting like I was shielding myself, but he never made me feel like I had to. I felt settled but exhilarated with him. The butterflies and excitement never wavered. The calmness that flowed through me each time I was with him was still strong. It was everlasting, and I believed in it, but somehow I managed to reject it simultaneously. See, I’m fucked up.”