Scars from a Memoir (26 page)

“Maybe,” I said.

“You can feel love in every part of your body. It's not just a sexual connection, although there's that too. Your feelings for him will completely consume you. You'll know it, and you'll never doubt it.”

“Asher's saved me from some bad situations.”

“You want to feel protected because of what happened to you in college.”

Jesse was talking about the rape. And he was right. The feeling of being protected had been more important to me than love. The two men I'd dated while I was a junkie, Raul and Dustin, were in gangs. They were tough, covered in tattoos and battle marks, probably carried a gun—and nothing had happened to me while I was with them. Asher and Mark weren't as rugged, but they kept me safe. Suddenly Mark's words echoed in my head:
Give your heart to me, Nicole. Relive with me who you wanted to be.

“After you dropped out of college, you turned to drugs,” Jesse went on. “Heroin helped you with your pain, and I understand that. But was Asher giving you the protection you didn't have that night?”

“I think so.”

“You deserve to know love.”

Mark had told me that right after my lips had left his mouth. He said it again while we drank our coffee in the morning. Was Mark trying to say I wanted him but wasn't willing to give him my heart?

“I told Asher everything. I haven't lied to him once, and I trusted him.”

“I don't doubt that, but don't confuse trust with love.”

“Asher led me to you,” I said.

“And now?”

“I finally have all the answers I need about Michael.”

“Is that why you didn't give Asher a chance to explain last night? Because you never loved him in the first place?”

My eyes moved to my hands. Jesse deserved to hear the truth, but when I looked back into his eyes, I couldn't give it to him. Things were clearer, but the resolution still wasn't obvious. Did I love Asher, or was he filling something that I was missing?

“Asher was never the man you were after. It was Michael. You wanted your brother back, and Asher gave you a taste of him.” He paused and searched my eyes. “You deserve to know love, and if you and my brother never have that, that's OK. You will know when it's right.”

-30-

ASHER WAS SITTING ON THE COUCH when I got home. The news was on the TV, and his cell phone was in his lap. Before I even had my keys on the hook, he stood and was at the door. His hands were on the counter and the wall, blocking me so I couldn't duck underneath. When I stopped moving, his fingers went to my cheeks, and he stared into my eyes. “You're not high…”

“Are you kidding me? That's what you have to say to me?”

I should have cared that he was worried about me. He was watching the news, which he never did, to see if my name appeared on the screen, and holding his cell in case I called. But I didn't care. The only thing I felt bad about was having sex with Mark. I should have waited until after Asher and I had talked because, from the way he was acting so far, he didn't think our relationship was over. Was it? He had destroyed my trust, but I wasn't any better. Were we even now? I didn't know if that even mattered. I didn't know much of anything.

“I'm—”

“No, I'm not, and I didn't use,” I snapped.

“I never would have forgiven myself if you had.”

Michael would make sure that never happened, but Asher didn't need to know that. I didn't think my brother's voice was ever going to disappear, especially when I got into one of those situations in which I needed some reasoning.

“I shouldn't have let you leave.” His hands dropped from my face and reached for my waist. “Come here, I need to—”

“We need to talk.” I slid past him and moved over to the couch, waiting for him to take the seat across from me. “I know I didn't give
you a chance to explain last night, but I won't apologize for that. I don't think I need to.”

“You were angry,” he said. “I can understand why. I should have told you about the book instead of throwing it at you when it was completed. That wasn't fair, and I'm sorry.”

From his expression, I could tell he had a lot of questions: where I'd spent the night, why I was wearing a man's shirt, and how I'd stopped myself from using. But I had questions of my own.

“Why did you write my story?”

“There are so many families who don't understand why their children are addicts. Your story could teach them about the power of your disease. Your struggles could give them some clarity.”

“Isn't that up to me? Not you?”

“That's why I changed the names of the characters. It's your voice with my twist.”

Asher's main character was named Nikki, and her best friend was Aaron, instead of Eric. I wouldn't count that as a major change because everything else he covered was almost identical. The melodramatic moments he threw in were probably his way of filling in the gaps on the parts he didn't know. And the book left out the things I had never told him, like how one of the squatters who lived at my dealer's house tried to kidnap me when he bailed me out of jail, or how Dustin had killed my old roommate, Renee, and most of Que's gang members because one of them had beaten me up. I hadn't talked about those things even during my therapy sessions at rehab. I wanted to forget I had ever been involved with those people.

“You said you needed my approval for the book? Why? Aren't you going to send it to publishers anyway?”

“My editor wants you to sign a legal document; technically, I can't send it out without your permission.”

“So I won't sue?”

“It's an adaptation of your story. So yes, it's for legal purposes.”

It sounded as though an attorney were answering these questions, not the man I'd been dating for the last six months.

“You're unbelievable.” I got off the couch and walked up the stairs to my bedroom. I grabbed my backpack from the floor in my closet. When I turned around, Asher was behind me.

“I know this is hard for you to understand, but I wrote this book to make a difference, to—”

“I don't care what your reasoning is.” I took my black pants out of the hamper and stuffed them in the backpack. “If you wanted to make a difference, you should have started with me instead of going behind my back.”

“I was wrong.”

“You had no right to put my secrets out there. Do you know what it feels like to know people are going to read about Richard raping me and my brother getting shot by the pimp I worked for?”

“Nicole—”

“Don't you see how this looks? Like the only reason you got close to me was to air my pain?”

“I know how it looks. I promise you that wasn't my intention.”

“What was your intention?”

He combed his fingers through his hair and stopped when he reached the ends, pulling the strands with his fists bunched. “I was doing what Michael would have wanted; I was watching over you, but I didn't know my feelings for you were going to grow.”

“What about your parents? You're just going to ignore their feelings?”

“My parents will learn to accept you.”

“When? They can't see past the pain I've caused your family. They don't want us together, and I can't blame them. I wouldn't want my son with me either.”

My phone rang from the kitchen, and I ran downstairs to answer it. Melissa, my attorney, was on the other end. She told me the district attorney had contacted her and that I was being subpoenaed to testify in Dustin's appeal. The court date was in six months, and she wanted me to come to her office a week beforehand so I could review my statement and prep for my testimony.

“There's no way around this?”

“Unless you want to go back to jail for failing to appear in court, you don't have a choice.”

I told her I'd call her to set up an appointment and hung up. I wrapped my arms around the counter, my heart too heavy to carry. Dustin was expecting me to disappear. What if I didn't?

“Are you OK?” Asher asked.

“Dustin's court date was set.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

“My attorney,” I said.

“The same one you used when you took the plea?”

“Yes, the ‘Megan’ in your book.” I pushed off the counter and moved toward the stairs. I had to get out of this apartment and away from Asher's questions. Work would keep my mind busy for the next eight hours, and I could deal with Asher and Dustin when I got out.

“How did she get your cell phone number? Have you been in contact with her?”

I threw my white button-down and some clean panties and a bra in my bag, but Asher stopped me at the top of the stairs. He blocked me from going any farther. Suddenly, I remembered that Mark was picking me up from work. How would I explain that to Asher?

“Will you talk to me?” he pleaded.

“What do you want to know? Yes, I've been in contact with Melissa. I went to her office after Dustin's messenger came to the café.”

“Dustin's messenger? What are you taking about?”

He didn't know anything about Dustin's messenger paying me a visit because I'd never told him. Mark had been at the café at the time, and he had gone with me to Melissa's office. Mark was the one who asked whether I'd heard from Melissa and whether the state had subpoenaed me. It was Mark I spoke to about the things going on in my present. Asher was the one I spoke to about things in my past. The past I was trying to forget.

“Cole?”

Jesse had told me not to confuse trust with love. But was that what I had done? I was comfortable with Asher; I could be myself and not hide my scars. That wasn't love; it was trust. Asher's protection had initially replaced the hole Michael had left. But now, with Jesse in my life, he was the one who filled that space. Plus, things with Asher had changed. We didn't talk like we had in the beginning; Asher had all the information he needed to know. And what he had done with that information had shattered the trust I had in him. He wasn't the one I thought about when I was at work, in bed, or staring into emptiness.

Asher didn't want new memories. He didn't want me to give him my love, my future. If he had, he would have asked for my heart. He asked for my past instead. He didn't care who I'd always wanted to be; if he had, he wouldn't have trumped my news with his own. He was looking for a muse, and he found one. I was looking for clarity, for how to transition out of rehab and find my place in life, and for answers about how my brother had found me the night he'd been killed. Asher gave me those answers.

“Nicole, are you just going to ignore me?”

Michael had led me to Asher, but it wasn't for the reason I'd thought. Michael trusted Asher and Jesse, and he knew they would watch over me and keep me protected. I was never supposed to fall in love with Asher. He wasn't the reason I smiled, although his friendship, what he had done for me, and what I had accomplished because of his support had set me on my way.

Mark was the reason I smiled. His touch and his words filled me. He had given me everything I needed, and he was finally asking for something in return. He didn't want only my body; he wanted all of me. He wanted me to have the future I'd always dreamed of, and he wanted to be a part of that.

“I can't be with you,” I said.

“Is this about the book? I won't have it published. I'll tell my editor—”

“This has nothing to do with your book. I'll sign whatever papers you need me to sign.”

“Then what is it? You don't love me?”

“Can you look me in the eyes and honestly say you love me? I know you care about me, as I do about you. But Asher, do you really love me?”

His expression gave me the answer I needed.

-31-

I SAT TO THE LEFT OF THE PODIUM, waiting for my name to be called. I'd never heard this part of the ceremony before. Last time I'd spent most of it in the bathroom, throwing up my breakfast and then counting my steps to the rec room and shaking with anxiety as I walked down the aisle. The addicts were telling their stories, and all I could do was nod my head. Some were only ninety days sober and just graduating rehab; others were further along like me. But I had things in common with all of them: causing my family pain, selling my body for dope, overdosing, and watching my friends die. Addiction was like a big game of fill-in-the-blanks; if you changed the names, faces, and our drugs of choice, almost everything else was the same.

Dr. Cohen called me to the podium. I didn't have a hard time breathing as I made my way over this time, and my breakfast was not threatening to make its way back up. There were so many faces smiling at me. My parents sat a few rows back, Jesse was next to my mom, Mark was on the other side of my dad…even Al and Jami, from work, had come to celebrate. I hadn't prepared a speech. I didn't need to.

I gripped the podium to make myself a little taller. Even with heels on, I barely topped the edge. “My name is Nicole Brown,” I said. Jesse winked at me, and I couldn't help but grin. “And today I'm three hundred and sixty-eight days sober. Nine months ago, when I graduated from rehab, I didn't know what lay ahead for me…if I'd give in to my addiction again, if I'd lose more people I love.” I glanced over at Allison, and she nodded. She knew I was referring to Sunshine and Tiffany, friends I thought about every day. I hadn't
been able to stop their addiction from killing them. “I now know what it takes to stay clean—the voices I have to ignore and the ones I need to listen to. For the first time, I know what lies ahead and where I'm going. I'll always be a recovering heroin addict, but heroin no longer owns me.”

After a round of applause, I stepped off the platform. As I passed Dr. Cohen, he reached for my arm and pulled me back to the podium.

“As most of you know, we award our patients with chips when they reach ninety days and one year of sobriety. This year, we're adding something else.”

Allison joined us and stood at my other side.

“We've decided to recognize one of our graduates who has not only shown an exceptional level of dedication to the twelve-step program but has also supported and mentored addicts, assisting in their sobriety while maintaining a clean lifestyle.”

Allison pulled out a long, black velvet box. She smiled at me as she opened it, flashing it in front of me before holding it up for the audience to see.