Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (10 page)

            “Try to pause and take a few deep breaths,” the doc instructed.

            I did, and it was calming, just like it was designed to be. I continued talking when I felt composed again. “I fought my father until I physically couldn’t fight anymore. I don’t remember many details once we began our confrontation with each other. I just know that when I felt like I could no longer pick up my arms to throw another punch, I stopped.” I took two slow, deep breaths and settled my nerves again. “I hit him until he was dead.”

            The doc sat patiently, making sure I was done talking before he asked, “And your mother?”

            “I climbed off of my father and went to her. She was breathing, but just barely. I called 911 and tried to go with her, but they arrested me. I couldn’t go with her to the hospital.”

            “Continue the breathing and tell me what happened next when you’re able,” he implored. “In and out. Slow and steady.”

            “I was questioned at the police station and held for a few hours until they released me. I went straight to the hospital, still with his blood all over my clothes. They weren’t going to let me in, but I finally got to see her. I never left her side after that. Until…until she passed.”

            I breathed this time without being prompted to do so. I felt myself getting riled up and the breathing helped almost instantly. I cleared my throat and finished my story. “It was three days later that she died. Her body was just too far gone. I held her hand as she passed away.”

            A long minute went by before the doc spoke. I gathered that he just wanted me to have my moment.

            “How long ago did this all happen?” he questioned.

            “Nine months ago,” I replied, not feeling the need to specify that it had been nine months

and five days exactly since she died.

            “Well, that’s quite the story, Drew. Thank you for sharing it with me. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me in.”

            “Is that it then?” I barked. “What’s wrong with me?”

            “Well, we have more to talk about before I can make a definitive diagnosis, but I suspect that you are, in fact, suffering from PTSD. Such a traumatic event is sure to leave a lasting impression on anyone, but in watching your behavior and how your body physiologically reacted to you reliving the memory while you told the story, you surely are troubled mentally, emotionally, and even physically from this trauma.” He wrote a few things into his notepad before looking up again. “Drew, can you acknowledge that you felt physically stressed while telling me of the events? Can you recognize that you didn’t even realize that you stood and began pacing while talking?”

            “Absolutely. Yes.” There was no argument. It was alarming and somewhat crazy, but he was right.

            “And your heart rate…did it feel like your heart was racing? Were you out of breath or starting to sweat a little?”

            “Yes. Yes, all of that. Oh my God.” I was absolutely flabbergasted. “What about the nightmares?” We might as well get it all out on the table.

            “I would need to have you complete a polysomnography record—a sleep study—to confirm, but I highly suspect that you have what is called parasomnia, with night terrors directly related to your PTSD, all of which are treatable with therapies and medications.”

            “No meds,” I bellowed firmly and loudly.

            “Pardon?” he asked, caught off guard by my adamant declaration and refusal of medication.

            “I don’t want any meds.”

            “I see. While medication is never my initial method of treatment, they’re sometimes important in getting this condition under control. May I ask why you’re opposed to medication?” He waited for my response while swiftly writing away in his notebook.

            “I’m an MMA fighter. I’m tested by the UFC commission regularly for my fights and I don’t want any trouble. I also need to be completely focused for my training. I refuse to be drowsy or not all checked in. I mean no disrespect to you and your methods, but this is simply non-negotiable. We’re going to have to find a different way.”

            “I understand. Thank you for explaining. We have other therapies we can try.” He stood from his armchair, arching his back in a stretch, and said, “I think we’re at a good stopping point to call it a day, don’t you think?”

            “Sure,” I agreed. “Thank you so much.” I stood and offered my hand. “So how soon can we set up this sleep study?” I eagerly quizzed while shaking his hand.

            “I like your enthusiasm. I’ll make some calls first thing tomorrow morning and give you a ring once I know something. Shall I call Mick’s number or your cell?”

            “My cell would be good,” I replied, giving him my personal number. “My schedule is wide open, so please just schedule it as soon as possible and I’ll be there. I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” I promised.

            “That’s good to hear, Drew. I’m actually going to give you one little task to complete before our next meeting. Somewhat of a homework assignment, if you will,” he said and my eyebrows rose in interest. “I want you to write your father a letter. Handwritten, not typed. Write him a letter as if he were able to read it in real time. Tell him everything you always wanted to say but didn’t. Tell him how he made you feel and how you feel now about his being gone. Let it all out on the paper—while practicing our relaxation breathing technique from today—and bring it with you at our next visit.”

            I reluctantly agreed and we set up another session for two days later. I walked out of the office to my car at 7:40, over four hours after I walked in. And for the first time in almost a week, I felt hopeful.

Chapter Thirteen

BREE

            Dinner was uneventful. We all just sat around and pretended like nothing had happened. On one hand, I was relieved, thankful that I didn’t have to be interrogated or have to defend myself or Drew for what went down. But on the other hand, it was awkward and uncomfortable and I found myself just wanting to scream. Neither my father nor Liam had much to say. They just focused on eating what was on their plates, which left Sue and me to fill the silence. Thank God Sue was there. It was nice to have her comic relief. I caught Liam looking at my face a few times, quickly diverting his eyes once I met them, embarrassed that he had been caught. He was like a child who’d been taught not to stare at people who are different but whose curiosity won over the lesson—he couldn’t help but look. I would’ve paid a big chunk of money to be able to tap into his thoughts.

            I thanked Sue for coming over and thanked her again when I hugged her goodbye for everything else. She knew what I meant and nodded. She truly was a great friend. I felt somewhat guilty for putting her in a bad position with the burner phone but I had good reason. And I honestly would’ve done it for her.

            As I was finishing up the dishes from our meal, my mind found its way to Drew, of course. I needed to somehow get through to him, but I wasn’t sure of the right way to go about it. I wanted to just call and tell him I loved him and I would always love him, no matter what. I wanted to run out of the house and drive to wherever he was, then run into his arms and never leave. I wanted all of this to just go away. But it wasn’t going anywhere. The more time that passed, the more perspective I was able to gain, which I was realizing was exactly what my dad and Sue wanted to happen. I needed to really
talk
to Dad. I reached for the faucet to turn off the water and turned to grab the dish towel to dry my hands when I caught something in my peripheral vision. I turned to fully face him.

            “Can we talk?” he asked curtly. He was never a man of many words, but it looked as if it was actually paining him to talk to me. This was obviously an awkward topic of discussion. Borderline disturbing, probably.

            “Sure. Where?” I questioned, cutting my eyes toward the living room where Liam was watching television. I hoped he understood my gesture; I didn’t want to be within earshot of my brother when we had this conversation.

            “Out back?” he suggested.

            I followed him to the back deck and closed the sliding glass door behind myself. He sat at the patio table so I followed suit, taking my own chair directly across from him.

            And we sat. Still. Quiet. Staring.

            After a few hard swallows and me watching his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, he spoke up.

            “I just feel like we need to come to an understanding.” It was easy to observe by his expression that this conversation wasn’t exactly going to be a smooth, cooperative exchange. He was wearing his figurative “I am the Boss of You” hat and I knew after twenty-two years of being his daughter that this was not the moment to challenge him.

            “Okay,” I answered in agreement, feeling like I was about to be punished for something.

            “Like I said before on the phone, Drew is staying with Mick and Joan. Mick has set him up with some sort of therapist. He’s going to be there for a while until he can get his head right.”

            The image of Drew sitting on some couch recounting the horrors of his life that haunt him to some stranger made me instantly choke up, but I knew it was what he needed. I nodded, continuing to listen without interruption.

            “I’ll be talking to him frequently, checking on his progress, maybe even commuting out to Baker County on occasion to work in some training sessions if his doctor permits it.” Hearing this made me smile slightly. “You are not to contact him in any way. He is not to contact you. Do you hear me, Bree?” This brought my eyes up to meet his, stern with condemnation and unwavering. He meant business. “This has been made clear to him and now I’m telling you. I want what’s best for him, but you’re my daughter. You’re my priority. I will
not
stand by and allow you to be hurt. I will
not
know what I know and ignore it. I won’t tolerate any hiding, sneaking, or lying. None of it,” he mandated.

            I felt the tears welling up behind my eyelids and bowed my head a little to break eye contact. That phone, that little red phone hidden under my mattress. Using it would be in direct violation of my father’s wishes.

            “I mean it, Bree. I don’t know the right way to handle something like this. There isn’t a manual for this sort of thing. But I am one hundred percent certain that whether it’s right or not, this is the way it’s all going to go, without negotiation, or I won’t coach him.”

            “But, Dad!” I objected. “You’re being ridiculous!”

            “No. Don’t even start. This isn’t some privilege I’m trying to take away. This isn’t me grounding you or taking away some possession. This is your life!” he argued. “I’m not trying to punish you. You did nothing wrong. I’m trying to protect you. I’m trying to help him.”

            I felt the lone tear slide down my left cheek and cursed it under my breath. He was right. And I hated it.

            “This isn’t going to be easy for any of us, but it’s what we have to do. It is what Drew needs from us. Sometimes the right decision isn’t always the easiest to make. But if we’re all on the same page, we can get through it, together.”

            He paused, giving me a moment to collect myself. I stared at my hands, shaking and ringing themselves together under the edge of the table. Finally looking up, I asked the question I already knew the answer to. Only it didn’t come out as a question. It came out as a plea.

            “I need to talk to him. Just one more time,” I insisted. He began to shake his head in rejection. “Please? Dad, I just need to let him know that I’m okay,” I begged pathetically.

            “No, Bree. I’ll talk to him and he’ll know that you’re okay. Any correspondence you have will be through me. Any communication at all will have to go between Mick and me. It’s for the best. You have to trust me.”

            “You can’t do this! I won’t stay away,” I threatened. “You can’t keep us apart.”

            I took a few deep breaths, my thoughts immediately migrating back to the disposable phone in my room, calling to me like a beacon. As if he could read my thoughts, he spoke again. “If either of you violate the rules I’ve set, game over.” My head rose to see a determined man. A steadfast, take-no-shit father who meant business. “I’m serious,” he said slowly and clearly, sitting perfectly still. “I won’t coach him. I won’t help him. He’ll be all on his own—truly and completely alone in this business and in life. Don’t cross me. Understand?”

            “Yes, sir.”  It was all I could say. I had no more moves. It was sad and scary and awful, but the stakes were too high and I knew he meant what he said. I knew that these weren’t idle threats.

            He scooted his patio chair back, making a loud scraping noise against the wooden deck, and stood up. “Now, when will you be ready to return to work?”

            I laughed. It was humorous how quickly he was able to switch gears when I felt my world crumbling around me.

            “What?” he barked. “Something funny?”

            I composed myself and declared, “I can’t go to work like this. Looking like this. I won’t.”

            “Listen, I understand that your face isn’t exactly in pristine condition right now, but you have a job to do and I need you to do it.” He swatted at a mosquito that had landed on his arm, the slapping sound startling me.

            “I’ve already forwarded the gym phones to the house and answered all of the emails from the past few days. The order for supplies was placed this morning and will be there in two days. Liam can bring in the boxes and knows where everything goes.”

            “You can’t hide forever, Bree. People are already asking where you’ve been.”

            “They can ask all they want. They would ask even more questions if I showed up looking like this. The absence of your
prize
fighter, who also happens to be my boyfriend, in combination with my black eyes will surely turn in to a great story in the Dirty Dina gossip mill,” I hissed, venom in my voice.