Remembering Us (20 page)

The mirror over his dresser is cracked, pieces missing from it. The window to his room is shattered like he threw a chair – or a boulder – through it. Everything that sat on his dresser has been thrown to his floor and his smaller dresser has been knocked over.

The drawers have been thrown all over the room and his clothes cover the nasty stained carpeting. There are holes in the drywall sprinkled all over the place. Holes that are clearly from him punching the wall.

“What did you do?” I ask, my voice hitching over his word when I finally find him breathing rapidly in a corner.

Blood drips from his hands and his shoulder. His chest is slick with sweat and all he’s wearing is a pair of gym shorts.

“What happened, Adam?” I ask, but stay in the doorway, too afraid to approach him.

He’s completely trashed his room. Nothing is salvageable, except for maybe his bed.

He doesn’t look at me. He says nothing.

He doesn’t even move.

“If this is about Brendan, I can explain.”

His head snaps to mine, and his eyes narrow. His nostrils flare and his hands tighten into fists. His chest raises and lowers and his cheeks are bright red.

“What do you mean, you can explain about Brendan?”

I shake my head, “Nothing, Adam. I just thought …” I look around the room. If I’m not the cause of his anger, than what in the hell happened to him?

“What in the fuck happened with Brendan!” He shouts so loud his voice vibrates off the walls in the room.

I hear footsteps coming from the stairway.

“Nothing! What did you do?” I shout equally as loud.

If being with Adam has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes it’s not only okay to yell, but it actually helps.

This time it doesn’t.

“Get the hell out of here, Amy. I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

He stares out his broken window. I don’t understand what’s happening, but it’s the first time in months I feel like we’re miles apart. Misunderstandings and miscommunications pulling us apart from each other. Again.

He turns his eyes on me again and bites out the words with such venomous anger, my eyes immediately fill with tears.

“Get. The. Hell. Away. From. Me.”

“Adam.”

“NOW!”

He roars, and I turn, running straight into Zander. He holds me with one arm, and shuts the door to Adam’s room.

He doesn’t look any more pleased with me than he did before.

“I didn’t do anything,” I choke out quietly over my tears and the thickness in my throat.

Slowly, Zander nods, like he finally believes me and his arm falls away.

I walk away, moving slowly down the stairs as another loud crashing sound echoes from Adam’s room.

“What made you come by yourself today, Amy?”

Dr. Jamison is wearing an ankle length denim skirt and a lime green t-shirt. It’s the first time I’ve seen her match. Her hair is still braided, but she’s wearing lip gloss, which is also new. I almost want to ask her if she has a date.

I chew on my bottom lip nervously, not sure where to begin.

“I had a rough dream last night.”

“Did you ask Adam about it?”

“No, he yelled at me in it. His eyes looked so mad at me, and I obviously did something to make him mad.” I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes and remember the feral look in his angry eyes. “I just … I wanted to get your opinion on something other than my memories.”

She scribbles something on a notebook and leans back in her chair. “Okay. What is it?”

“Is it possible for someone to grow up in an abusive home and not repeat the pattern?” I swallow the lump in my throat and squeeze my eyes shut. I almost feel like I’m betraying Adam by simply asking the question. And yet I haven’t stopped wondering about it since I woke up from the dream, alone, in Adam’s bed.

For the first time since I’ve seen Dr. Jamison, she stops smiling.

“What do you mean?”

“I just.” I exhale slowly and try again. “In my dream, he destroyed his old room. I mean, he was really, really mad about something. He screamed at me and I left, but he’s punched a wall in our hallway and he always seems so angry.”

I roll my shoulders trying to release the tension, but it doesn’t help. My skin feels two sizes too small. “He told me his dad used to beat his mom; that he threw his mom down the stairs and Adam watched her die.”

Tears fill my eyes immediately as I tell the story. They fall down my cheeks and drip from my chin before I can wipe them away. I reach next to the couch and blot my face with a tissue.

“Has Adam hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No, not that I know of, or remember anyway. But what if he has? What if he does and I just don’t remember? What if … what if he hurt me?”

Dr. Jamison picks a non-existent piece of lint off her skirt and leans back in her chair. She presses her lips together. My stomach rolls and then flip-flops again. I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I keep talking.

“He drinks a lot. Whenever he gets frustrated with me, the first thing he does is head to Zander’s bar. He comes home drunk, punches holes in the walls, and destroys his furniture.” I wipe my eyes again. I can taste the salt from tears in the back of my throat. “He scares me.”

She nods, waiting for me to be done. I don’t know what to do.

I believed Adam when he told me about his dad. I feel like I’m betraying him by being here, after he was so scared to tell me about his dad in the first place. He was worried it would put distance between us, but it didn’t. For the night it brought us closer together, or at least I thought it did.

“Tell me something.” I sniff through my tears and blink the rest away. “How does he make you feel?”

“What?”

“When you’re with Adam. Tell me the first two things that come to your mind when you think of him.”

“Confused and safe.”

She smiles softly, knowingly. I frown.

How can I feel safe with him when I have so many questions?

“From what you’ve said, and from what I’ve observed, I don’t think Adam has ever hurt you …”

“But does he have the ability to?” I interrupt.

She presses her lips together. “Maybe. But I’ve been doing this a long time, Amy. And there’s a way that people in an abusive relationship interact with one another, even when they don’t realize it. I don’t think you and Adam have that relationship. Now, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be concerned. At the very least, perhaps you – or me – if you’d feel more comfortable, could suggest Adam take some anger management classes, or I could see him one-on-one as well. I could discuss his history with him privately and help him work through some of the things you said he’s seen.”

I consider it, at the very least, like she said. Maybe it’d help me feel better about being around him.

“I’d like that.”

She leans forward and rests her hand on my knee. “If you don’t feel comfortable with him, then the most important thing is taking care of yourself until you’re ready. You’ve been through your own trauma and you still need to heal. Maybe there’s somewhere you could stay until you feel better about being with Adam?”

I shrug. Not really, unless my parents are willing to have me move home again.

“I’ll think about it.”

I’m not sure how my car finds its way into my parent’s driveway, but I’m here. I drove around Denver for hours after I left therapy.

Not ready to go home, not wanting to unload everything on Kelsey, and not feeling like spending the afternoon pouring over the books at Hooka Joe’s either.

So here I am, my hands clenched around the steering wheel in the curved driveway of the house I grew up in. An unfamiliar Acura SUV sits in front of me, and I stay in the car for who knows how long, debating whether or not to go in and interrupt whatever company my parents have.

Maybe Dr. Jamison is right. Adam and I just need some space.

Maybe some time apart will be good for me until I can remember what he’s truly like without the stress of making him more upset or being uncomfortable in my own home.

Because my parent’s home feels oh so comfortable to me.

I snort, feeling ridiculous. I’m trading one jail for another. But it’s for the best, I remind myself as I blow out a breath of air.

I’m just climbing out of my small BMW sedan when my parent’s front door opens. I look over the top of my car and my mouth drops open.

My sister, Ann, looks at me wide-eyed and with a baby bouncing on her hip. My niece, Tilly, who I have yet to meet.

I brace myself against my car door, hesitating to shut it. Maybe I should just leave. I can’t believe my sister and family are in town and my parents didn’t even bother inviting me over to see them.

I shake my head in disgust. Some family I have.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Ann says as she reaches the front of my car.

Her eyes flick back to the front door before returning to me. Tilly looks adorable. She has the slightest hint of my sister’s blonde hair and huge bright blue eyes. She coos and bubbles come out her little mouth and then she squeals, throwing her arms in the air.

“Do Mom and Dad know you were coming?”

I reach out and hold Tilly’s pudgy hand, still unbelieving that no one bothered to let me know my family was coming. My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall.

“No. I didn’t know you were in town.”

She frowns. “Mom said you didn’t return her calls.”

I scoff. “Mom never called me.”

I can’t take my eyes off my niece. She’s at least four months old and I’ve never seen her. Without thinking, I reach out and pause right before I yank her from my sister’s arms without permission. I look at Ann. “Can I?”

“Of course.” She hands me Tilly and smiles. “I came out to get her diaper bag.”

“Oh.” I make a face and my sister laughs.

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t put you on diaper changing duty yet.”

I hold my niece awkwardly, still unable to understand why I’ve been cut off from my family. Why Mom hates me so much and why Ann has always been able to please her. I follow her back to the house, but when we hit the steps she turns to me.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Some memories are coming back, but there’s a bunch of holes.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit you.”

She looks like she means it. I don’t know why she’d care. She’s five years older than me and we’ve never been more than two similar looking girls who share a house together.

“No worries.”

I follow her into the house where it seems as if time stops as soon as we hit the kitchen. Ann’s husband, Roger, is holding their son, Cooper. My mom and dad both turn to me, and my mom’s face pales instantly.

She looks embarrassed that she just got caught in a lie. It pisses me off and my hold on Tilly tightens.

“So nice to be invited for dinner with the family.”

My mom recovers and her mask of indifference and superiority is back in place in seconds. “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“But you’re my family.”

My mom smiles, but it looks awkward on her perfectly made up face. “You chose a new family. They can apparently give you something I never could.”

She waves her hand in the air, as if I should be impressed with the marble floors, furniture so expensive that you’re afraid to sit on it, and artwork that lines that walls that are so beautiful but can’t be touched unless you want to damage them.

“Carol,” my dad scolds.

I throw up a hand and hand Tilly to Ann. “It’s fine.”

None of us move. Like we’re not sure what to do with the redheaded stepchild that showed up uninvited. I suppose that’d be me. Uninvited into my home. Now where am I supposed to go?

I feel Ann pull on my hand and turn to face her. She’s handed Tilly off to my dad and he’s watching me, concerned, but not enough to stand up for me.

“Let’s talk outside.”

I follow my sister out because I know staying inside will only cause more arguments.