Page 12 of Be Your Somebody
I smile at that memory. “Yeah, she didn’t give me much of a choice when it came to being her friend. She was my first real friend.” It’s one thing to have that thought in my head, it’s another to verbalize it out loud. I messed up. And I’m not just talking about what just happened. My eyes burn and my vision blurs as more tears threaten to spill.
My gram squeezes me one, two, three times before turning our bodies to face each other. Her hands cup my face as she gets ready to tell me some hard truths.
“You had a rough day yesterday,” she says. The comfort from her words feels like drinking hot tea when you're sick. “You and Avery are hurting and have a right to your feelings. You both said things in the heat of the moment, but—" I find myself sitting at the highest point of a roller coaster, waiting for the inevitably steep drop. She noticed the sudden change in my body language because she squeezed my shoulder, offering reassurance before continuing.
“But it seems like you weren't viewing things from her perspective. Your anger and hurt shoved your empathy aside, and you weren’t able to understand her pain. Maybe you needed time to process that letter and the feelings it brought up in you,” she says.
A laugh escapes my mouth all too quickly. Gram gives me the same look she used to give me when she caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to growing up. The look has the opposite effect on me now, and I laugh even louder. “You sound like my therapist. He said something along those same lines when I was getting ready to leave rehab. I expected her to forgive me right away like she always did.”
“Do you think that's fair of you to assume that? Maybe you wanted things to goyourway, and when they didn't, you threw a fit.” Her sharp tone causes me to wince.
If you can count on Gram to be anything, it’s honest. Her words swirl around my mind as I try to understand things from Avery’s perspective.
Rehab taught me a lot about addict behavior and how we crave the instant gratification of the high. It was the perfect escape from the monsters hiding in my closet. I found myself deep in the throes of the addiction cycle. Manipulation was my weapon of choice and it caused me to burn many bridges—especially the friendship bridge I had with Avery.
Panic threatens to put me in a chokehold, so I begin to pace around the room. I think about the dream life I had with Avery and the promise I made to myself. Shit, I just broke that promise.
You’re a no-good, stupid child and no one will ever love you. You’re just a fuck up like me.I stop mid-pace when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in a while. He has no space in my head. As much as I want to cave into those hurtful thoughts, I won’t. I allow myself to wallow in my self-pity, giving negativity its moment in the spotlight before kindly telling it to fuck off. I'll never grow if I keep listening to the negative voices in my head.
Am I disappointed in myself for going back on the promise I made? Yes. But I have to allow myself a sliver of grace, knowing I can’t be perfect out of the gate. So the best I can do is own my shit.
“Gram, I messed up. I told myself that I wasn’t going to hurt people intentionally. The second I got home, I broke that promise. She has every right to be upset with me. She has every right to neverspeakto me again.” The last words come out behind a sob. Well, the dam has officially broken again.
My gram brings me into her arms, letting me soak her shirt with my tears…again.
“You two have way too much history to have it all thrown away now. So you said some things and didn’t hear what Avery was saying. What are you going to do about it now?” she asks.
“I-I don’t know. Maybe I just have to live with what I did. Maybe I’ll have to be without the most important person in my life,” I whisper.
“I don't buy that for one second. You need to own up to what you did and then fix it. It won’t be easy, but you'll find a way if Avery is as important to you as you say she is. First, take a few days to let her calm down and work through her stuff while working on yours. You love Avery, don't you?”
“Of course I do. Avery’s my best—" She shakes her head, cutting me off.
“That's not the type of love I mean,” she responds with a knowing look.
My gram is wise, but my feelings for Avery were my best-kept secret. I guess Avery is the only person who doesn’t know my true feelings. I look at my gram and nod my head in confirmation.
“Then you’ll have to show her how much she means to you. You took advantage of her kindness. She's afraid you'll do it again. The question to ask yourself is, are you willing to be patient with her? Most importantly, are you willing to be patient with yourself?” she asks.
I let her words sink in for a minute. Am I patient enough to do this when all I know how to do is be impulsive and demanding? Can I give Avery what she wants, hell, what she deserves? I’m not sure of the answers to those questions, but there’s one thing I’m sure of.
“She's worth it. Avery is worthy of having the best version of me. And I'm going to try my hardest to give her everything she deserves,” I say.
My grandmother smiles and nods her head. “That's what I thought.” She kisses my forehead before leaving me alone with my thoughts. I have no idea how to win her back, but I’ll do everything in my power to show her that this time, I'm serious. I will be the man she always thought I could be.
Chapter 10
Avery
Cas thing? What Cas thing?
Mid Spring, 2023
It'sbeenweekssinceour argument and Cas’ radio silence speaks volumes. After an emergency session with my therapist, my conflicting feelings disappeared. Thank goodness for therapy, it’s been a lifesaver. I’ve been going to Olivia on and off since I was fourteen. She knows my whole life story. She calls me out when I need it, but does it in a gentle way as she knows how sensitive I can be. I still stand firm in what I said to him.I worked too damn hard to put my own needs first, only to crack the moment Cas uses my childhood nickname.
My body tingles with a familiar sensation that hasn’t happened in years. I could go into my bedroom closet, grab my journal, and write, but it holds too many painful memories. And to be honest, I’m not ready to revisit the feelings that the journal will bring up. I used to love writing, but that part of me died long ago.
My feet must have a mind of their own because I find myself in my childhood bedroom. I made the move to my parents’ old room as a way to remain closer to them, but also as an escape. Reminders of Cas fill every inch of the room and my eyes sting with sadness. One wall has a timeline of photos throughout various stages of our lives. One picture in particular catches my eye, causing me to linger.
