Rock Bottom (Bullet) (14 page)

Chapter Twenty

“I JUST CAN’T do it anymore, Sophie.”  Jenna adjusted on the sofa that was too soft, looking her old friend in the eye.  “It’s time to talk.”

Sophie, a woman the same age as Jenna with brown hair and matching eyes, nodded her head.  “I’m glad you decided to deal with it.”

Jenna let out a slow breath of air, running her hands through her hair and then pulling it together in one hand as though she were going to put it up into a ponytail.  “I seriously thought I had this licked, Soph, that I could just bury it and go on.”  Sophie raised her eyebrows but allowed her friend to continue.  “I guess I figured since I’ve studied psychology and since I’m a counselor that I could bend the rules and be all right…because I
knew
why I was doing what I was doing.”

“But you could only fool yourself for so long, right?”

Jenna let out half a chuckle.  “Actually, I think I could have gone for a long time the way I was…except for one thing.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows.  “And what would that be?”

Jenna almost laughed again, but there was no smile on her face.  She closed her eyes.  “A guy.”

Sophie sat up. 
“Seriously?”  Jenna opened her eyes and nodded.  Part of her was ashamed to even admit it, but part of her felt ecstatic.  “Do tell.  How the hell did iron-clad Jenna let a guy past that chainmail?”

No sense lying anymore, especially to herself.  “He got in through the backdoor.”  Sophie smiled and nodded but said nothing.  Jenna looked at her and said, “
The chainmail?  It was up, in place, and he was a real cocky son of a bitch.  No worries there.  Didn’t matter how good looking or charming he was—he wouldn’t get through.  But then…one night in group, the story he told hit a nerve, because he’d never—”

“Wait a minute; wait a minute. 
Group?
  Is this guy someone in rehab?”

Jenna scrunched her nose.  She couldn’t very well lie. 
“Yeah.  He was going to start coming to one-on-one counseling too, but I called it off
because of my feelings
.  Anyway, that night…just—something he said struck a chord with me, and I had a hell of a time holding it together.  I’ve never lost it like that in a session before.  After, he was asking about it, and it was like he could see right through me, like he’d always known me and knew…
knew
I was hurting, had been hurt, and was closing myself off.  And under that scrutiny, I just lost it.”  She let out another breath.  “And then he kissed me, and it was all over.  But…I kept my distance.  I did.  But he got sly.  He figured out I was avoiding being alone with him, and he caught me by myself before group one night…last week.  He said he had tickets to a concert and asked me to go with him.  I…realized I’d really started to care about him, and I threw caution to the wind and just told him yes, and, well…one thing led to another.”  She didn’t want to have to flat out admit she’d slept with him.  She hoped Sophie could figure that out herself.

Sophie sat in silence for a few moments pondering something.  She finally sucked in a breath and asked, “So…what was it he said that resonated with you?”  Jenna didn’t quite understand what Sophie meant, and her friend-slash-counselor could tell.  “You said he was talking about something in group that, I believe you said, struck a chord with you.  So what was it?”

Jenna nodded.  She’d wondered that herself at first.  But two nights after Ethan’s revelation, it dawned on Jenna exactly what it was Ethan had said that had gotten to her.  He’d described his father raping his mother, commenting that she was a stupid woman who would never learn.  When Jenna’s ex had raped her, he hadn’t made a similar comment, but for months and months prior to that event, he’d been telling her she was stupid.  “Senseless” was a word the man had often used when describing Jenna.  So, just having Ethan pull her into the past with his story, allowing her to relive that with him at such a deeply emotional level and then thinking of how his mother must have felt—not just at that moment but on a regular basis—pulled at memories she’d buried but also brought her own emotions to the surface, raw and untamed, because she hadn’t properly dealt with them.  So she told Sophie that.

“Well, the damage has already been done, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Sophie smiled.  “He’s opened the floodgates.”  Jenna nodded.  Sophie was right.  Inside, she’d been a raw mess since that session when Ethan’s story had left her in tears…and in his arms.  “So…what’s going on with the two of you now?”

Jenna looked at her thumb.  It was safer than looking in her friend’s eyes.  “I’m not sure really.  I guess we’re dating.”

“Why do you
guess
?”

“Because
dating
is the word he used.  But I’m still not sure it’s a good idea, considering where he is emotionally.”

Sophie leaned forward again.  “You’re already together, right?”  Jenna half smiled at her friend.  “So what’s the harm in moving forward?  You seem pretty taken with this guy.  Why not just see what happens?”  Her voice was calm and steady.  “Even if things don’t work out between the two of you, it’s good for you to get back on the horse, if you catch my drift.”  She paused.  “Are you safe with him?”

Jenna let out a slow breath.  She knew what her friend meant; she was asking if Ethan was the abusive type.  “I think so.”

“So tell me about the guy who snuck through Jenna’s fortress.”

Jenna shook her head, smiling.  “Do you know the band Fully Automatic?”

“I know
of
them.”

“Do you recognize the name
Ethan Richards
?”

Sophie’s eyes didn’t light up in recognition, but why would they?  She didn’t
listen to metal like Jenna did.  But she must have heard something—the woman didn’t live under a rock.  “He the one who nearly died from a heroin overdose?”

Of course
, she could put two and two together.  The guy with the heroin addiction would be the guy in Jenna’s group.  She nodded.  “He was in some inpatient rehab program for months before coming to me.  He’s been clean for a while, and he seems to have a good idea of what his triggers are.  He’s not even playing in his band, and I think that might be why.  I think he associates it too much with his addiction.  Clearly, he has a lot of issues, but he’s dealing with them.  I know I can’t say a whole lot as his group leader, but I can tell you, speculating, I think maybe his band is most of the problem.  They probably partied too much on the road or something.  I don’t know, but he doesn’t seem to be in any big hurry to get back to it.”

“Well, you know the first thing you tell them is to remove themselves from situations that will put them right back into the lifestyle.”

Jenna nodded.  She wasn’t talking as his group leader now; she was speaking as his love interest.  “He…is a lot like me, I guess.  He has this front—all tough and no nonsense.  He even comes off as an asshole…a lot.  And I didn’t break through that by any conventional means.  I think he saw me as a kindred spirit the night I couldn’t hold it together, and…that’s how it happened.”

Sophie took a deep breath.  “Jenna, I’m not going to tell you not to.  As a group leader, you’re not bound to any ethics per se.  I just…don’t want you to get hurt, and you definitely don’t want to disrupt his tenuous grip on sobriety…if it’s tenuous.  Just one
thing, and this is as your friend—remember that it might not work out, but that doesn’t mean to solidify walls around your heart.  The only way to experience life—the only way to
live
—is to be open to new experiences, to be open to receiving love.  Yes, you’re going to get hurt sometimes, but…you need to take that chance, or you’ll never be whole.”

Jenna knew her friend was right
…and that was when she decided she’d take that chance.

Chapter Twenty-one

SLEEP…IT HAD become the answer for everything.  He couldn’t handle the brightness of life anymore, and H was no longer dulling its edges.  It was harsh and bright and relentless.  He couldn’t make decisions anymore, couldn’t work up the motivation to do anything, and even his guitar wasn’t taking the pain away.

He should have been happy.  He should have found comfort and strength in his wife and new son.  Instead, they just added to the feeling of being buried under a mountain of have
tos.  He had to do this; he had to do that; he wasn’t a good person if he didn’t do x, y, and z.

It had always been a cloud that had been with him, but the chemicals
usually helped, often taking the edge off the shit life threw his way.  But now…having that dark cloud along with more responsibility than he felt he could handle made him feel completely lost.  The only thing that helped anymore was sleep.

If he could, he would just sleep
the remainder of his life away.

It didn’t take away the needs, though.  When he woke up, he still wanted a beer or a hit.  He’d still go find some nasty girl who’d let him fuck her in a way that was probably illegal in most states,
even though she’d happily consented, and he always found new things to do to get himself off.  And then he’d gorge himself, because when he went back to sleep, he’d go for what seemed like days without eating.

And then he’d go back to sleep.
  It probably
was
days.

Sleep
was his savior.

Yeah, he was being a shitty dad, husband, and friend, but he knew he’d be worse if he were awake and trying to deal with it.  He knew
his family and friends wouldn’t understand anyway.  It was evident in all their dealings with him that they’d never had a clue.  Maybe he’d played it off all too well all those years.  He’d acted like a disinterested asshole for so long, made them not care, so they had no idea how badly he’d been hurting inside.

Only anymore it didn’t hurt.  He didn’t know that he’d ever be able to explain it to anyone, but it was a feeling of detachment and of needing to feel detached.  It was sleep that took away any anxiety he might have felt; it was necessary for him so that he didn’t have to look at his son anymore, knowing deep inside how much he was failing
the child but feeling unable to do anything about it.  He knew what Brad would say…he’d tell Ethan to stop being a lazy son of a bitch and do something about it, but that was the problem…he was helpless to do anything.

And after a few months of the same pattern—sleep
ing for eighteen-plus hours a day, eating, talking for a minute or two with Val and Chris, maybe finding something to make the cloud lift a little, and every third or fourth day going to find someone meaningless to fuck—he realized something really bad was happening with him.  Sure, he’d heard Val’s questions, sensed her worry, but it was like she was behind soundproof glass.  He could see it but couldn’t do a damn thing about it.  It was bad, though, worse than it had ever been, and he was afraid that now the rest of his life he was going to have to deal with whatever it was.  He knew his life sucked.  No one would want to live that way, but he also had no answer as to how to change it.  So he kept sleeping.  It was the only thing that helped him survive.

Val wasn’t helping.  She was constantly harping on him to get out of bed, to spend time with her and Chris, to do something.  Couldn’t she see he was dying?

He had no name for whatever it was that was overtaking him, had no idea what to call it or how to describe it.  It only was what it was, and it had become a permanent fixture in his life.  Hell, it had
become
him.

He thought once or twice about getting help…but only pussies did that.

One day, he was still sleeping in the afternoon, and he felt Val sit on the bed next to where he lay.  He was on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow.  She touched his shoulder and then he heard her voice.  “Ethan, wake up.”  A little louder.  “Wake up, Ethan.”  Her voice was quieter again when she said, “I can make some coffee if you want.”

He didn’t want to
get up, and coffee was no motivator.  He wanted—
needed—
sleep.  She didn’t understand.  She had no idea what he was dealing with, but he didn’t feel like explaining it to her.  He only wanted her to go away.  “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Her voice was firm again.  “Ethan, it’s two o’clock.  You should get up.”

Now he was getting pissed.  That she just couldn’t get him, couldn’t empathize, wouldn’t even try was irritating.  Like getting out of bed would solve shit.  It was childish, but he said, “What for?  Just leave me alone,
mom
.”

“We need to talk, Ethan.  Please.  Please just get up for a while.”  No change in her voice.  He wasn’t getting through to her at all.

It was frustrating enough.  He’d fallen in love with this girl who was day to his night.  She’d never be able to comprehend any of the thoughts or feelings going through him.  Yes, he knew she loved him too, but they just didn’t fit together.  Not at all.  And for some reason it was pissing him off this morning.  “If I have to tell you one more time…”  But sweet sleep grabbed him by the brain again, and let him float away, away from the problems, the anxiety, the pressure, and Val’s insistent voice.

Until she spoke again, this time, more firmly.  “
What,
Ethan?  You’ll
what
?”

That was it.  He was going to have to be mean to get through to her.  He just wanted to sleep…nothing else.  No conversation, no analysis, no interaction.  “Just get the fuck out of here.”  He knew she wouldn’t believe what shit was going on in his head, so he managed to piece together a bullshit argument for why he needed to sleep.  “I’m tired.  You and that little brat were so goddamned noisy this morning.”

She didn’t let him go any further.  “
Brat
?  You’re calling your son a
brat
?  That precious child who wants nothing more than his father’s love?”  Oh, she might change her mind.  If only she knew.  His kid didn’t need to be exposed to the shit in Ethan’s head or whatever the fuck was going on with him.  It was better Ethan be in bed than infect his son with whatever was going on with him.  But she wouldn’t stop.  “Did you know he’s talking now, Ethan?”  Fuck, yes, he knew his son was talking, and if he hadn’t been so deep in this hole, that sentence might have made him cry.  “He says real words, communicates.  But I suppose you think that’s just noise.”

She just didn’t get it.  She was making it worse, whatever was going on.  Trying to make him feel guiltier than he already did wasn’t going to get him out of bed.  It was making him angry, and—on one level—Ethan preferred that to feeling nothing or feeling numb.  “
Goddammit, Val.  Just get the fuck out of here.”

Maybe that worked.  She was quiet and Ethan suspected, because of her sigh, that she was going to leave.  Then he could just slip back into that cocoon of nothingness he’d created for himself.  He could disappear again.

But no.  That’s when she hit him harder than ever with her words.  “Can we talk about your depression, Ethan?”

That punched him in the kidneys.  She knew.  She
knew
something was wrong.  Was that what it really was—just depression?  That didn’t seem to cover it all, though, because he didn’t always feel sad.  That didn’t seem entirely accurate and yet…  “Who says I’m depressed?”  He didn’t want to talk about it anyway.  Giving it a word somehow made it worse.

“What would you call it, Ethan?”

No way in hell was he exposing any weakness to his wife.  No way.  He was pretty sure her opinion of him was in the toilet anyway.  “You’re bothering me.  You’re
always
bothering me.  That’s what my problem is.”

She still wouldn’t leave.  “How am I always bothering you?”

Jesus.  “The kid constantly screaming.  You constantly harping on me about shit.  I just want to be left alone.”

But she wouldn’t.  Her voice was more strained now.  He could hear that through the haze.  “A little solitude is good for a person, Ethan, but you’re taking it to the extreme and you know it.”  She didn’t understand.  He
needed
it.  It was all that was keeping him alive anymore.  “Fine.  You can treat me like shit.  You always have.  But you need to spend time with your son.”

Seriously?
  He had
always
treated her like shit?  And to bring his son into it…didn’t she realize that not interacting with his son was probably the best thing he could do for the child?  “Goddammit.  Just leave me the fuck alone, Val.  How many different ways do I have to tell you I don’t want you around?”

It was like she’d turned off the emotional part of her brain. 
“Fine.  I’ll leave.”  He felt her stand as her weight left the mattress, but there was something about the way she’d said it.  She was just turning herself off, giving up on him instead of simply doing the one thing he’d asked for, the one thing he’d needed—time to himself.  She wasn’t going to help him fight.  She was just giving up.

As though someone had possessed him, he got out of bed.  There was no thought involved.  He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around to face him.  God, she was beautiful.  She was still like an angel to him after all these years.  His muse…  But right now, she looked cold and cut off.  There was no anger in her eyes, no passion,
no love.  She looked cold.  Did she still love him?  Did she care?  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Let go of me, Ethan.  That hurts.”

She was lost to him, and it was as though his father was taking over his body…that part of him, that animal that he’d fought to keep down, the part he’d drugged senseless, but there it was and it took him over.  The look of fear and sadness in her eyes couldn’t stop it.  “Not until you answer my question.”

She was near tears
, and it still couldn’t shake him out of the dull rage inside him.  “I’m getting away from you.  That’s what you wanted, remember?  How many times did you tell me to just leave you alone?”

He managed to let go of her arm
, and she turned to leave again, but then it was as though he had absolutely no control over his body.  That same hand, no longer under the auspices of his own brain, grabbed her arm again, and he pushed her against the wall. 
No.
  That wasn’t him doing that, was it?  It was as though Ethan were watching his father all over again.

He could see Val’s strength.  She was tough
, and she was trying like hell to hide her fear, but there it was.  She looked like his mom and somewhere deep inside he felt that old ache.  But he was deep in there.  He couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t tell her he loved her, needed her, wanted her.  He heard his father’s voice when the words came out of his mouth.  “You still love me, don’t you, Val?”  She struggled, but he tightened his grip.  “Val?”

He could hear it in her voice, not just anger and
strength but desperation.  She was like a cornered animal, and he could see it in her eyes, that moment where she was unconsciously deciding if she wanted to fight or flee.  It made him feel desperate too, as though she were his only link to reality.

She struggled against his hand but was no match for him.  She found her response and that was to flee.  She tried wrenching her arm from his hand clenched around her arm but couldn’t.  She looked angry too, though.  “Let me go, Ethan.  You wanted me to leave you alone, so I am.”

The part of him buried deep inside wanted to pull her close, hold her, beg her to stay, beg her to never stop loving him, but the shell, that other part, the part that felt like his dad, wouldn’t let him do it.  That part of him bitch-slapped the part of Ethan that loved this woman and sent him reeling across the room.  It took over him completely, and Ethan felt like he was watching helplessly as his hand pressed against her neck, starting to squeeze.

He could see her, though.  She looked scared as she said, “Stop it, Ethan,” but he was unable to stop.  He could feel his fingers closing in on her neck harder, as though it would shut her up forever, and he sensed, rather than felt, her hands pushing against his chest, slapping at him, then turned into fists, beating on him.

He fought it.  He had to.  He was watching himself kill the only woman he’d ever loved, the woman who’d brought him a beautiful son.  Down inside there somewhere, he fought and clawed to get loose.  He had to, before he did something he’d regret, because as much as he wanted to blame his behavior on his father or some other entity, he knew it was himself.  It was the darkest part of him, the part that would never be happy, would never love or care about anyone.  And he fought against it, afraid the better part of him would never win.

But it did.

The conscious part of himself was able to stop it.  He regained control of his mindless emotion and forced himself to let go of her neck.  Oh, that beautiful, delicate neck…and what had he done?  She looked hurt and afraid.  He wanted to pull her into an embrace, assure her he loved her and tell her this would never happen again.

Instead, as soon as he took his hand off her, she got out of his reach.