Page 68 of Low love Low fidelity

She turned and took off.

Shit…

I refused to get used to this creeping shit. It was fucking unnatural.

ChapterEleven

I paced off of my exit with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. One ambiguous text from Tobias had me forgetting my real world. Scott. Tobias had brought his down here with him. A man of his status could. He’d told me while we ate how this trip was being expensed by Dale’s record label. It was all in Dale’s budget. Tobias was able to pack up a few instruments, electronics, two people on his staff, and commandeer Dale’s team down to a random North Carolina town to work.

How could I be so stupid?

I berated myself all the way to my neighborhood. I knew what was really going on, though. Tobias was that one thing with the power to let down my guard and force me to live in the moment, something difficult to do as a survivor. The more I allowed joy to wash over me, the less control I had. And as I turned down my block and felt my stomach twist, I realized I had to manage joy, too.

It was just after ten when I pulled into the driveway. The lights on the first floor all appeared to be on. When I texted Scott back, he said his grandmother must have taken her meds, and had fallen asleep early. That to me meant Kelly-Ann had taken her SSRIs prescribed for her anxiety years ago. She’d take them at night sometimes to ensure a good sleep. I didn’t always agree with when and why she took them, but never judged. Sometimes, I’d go out on the small balcony off my master bedroom and smoke a blunt after a long day, just to cope with the adult male-energy in my own home. That was typically when Scott was either knocked out in bed or spending the night out.

As I entered the living room, my mother-in-law was in her favorite spot, passed out in front of the television. Scott came down the stairs, eyes wide.

“You okay?”

“How long does it take you to workout? I was scared shitless!”

My nostrils flared, but heart shredded. “Scott. Your mouth. Please. You have me scared, too.”

His head snapped to the left, attention jumping to Kelly-Ann. She stirred in her sleep, licking the roof of her mouth before going back out. Scott placed his index finger over his thin lips, hushing me. Quietly, I closed and locked the door behind me. Something was off.

“What’s going on?”

He motioned for me to follow him. We traveled out of the living room, by way of a short hallway, and into the kitchen. It was there that we stopped. At the door, which led to the backyard, Scott pulled back the curtain of the window.

“Look!” he ordered.

It was dark, with only a night post light from a neighbor, providing a dim view into my yard. After seconds of swiping back and forth over the full vicinity of the property, I saw it. A “new” tree swaying without the wind. A six-foot, seven-inch-tall, thin, tree zombied out. Kelvin’s mouth was wide open as he rested on his feet, in and out of consciousness. He was without a doubt high, unspeakably vulnerable, and blissfully, mentally absent of any threats.

“Why is he like that?” Scott sounded unusually like a thirteen-year-old kid. He was terrified. “What is that?”

Fentanyl…

He’d grown into it; mixing the substance with his heroine and other candies. The types of drugs he’d been on had been changing over the years. That part I knew from several attempts at getting Kelvin clean, and participating in some of his counseling sessions. The inclusion of fentanyl was a natural progression for an addict like Kelvin. I’d made myself familiar with the pulse of the streets between articles I’d find and conversations with the second head of the emergency room unit at work. It was sad.

“I guess we’ll never understand. I don’t ever wantyouto.”

I watched my husband of eight years sway back and forth while standing near the gate of our yard with his eyes closed, spine on a slant, and mouth hung open. This. This was it. This was why I couldn’t have Tobias follow me home. It was why I didn’t want anything associated with him to see this ugly side of my life. I had been embarrassed. I’d been ashamed. Tobias, for all of the calm, nurturing qualities he demonstrated to me and others in his circle—for all of the patience and endurance he’d exhibited over the years—was still a possessive man from Irvington, New Jersey. All that passion used to produce heartfelt music was akin to the thuggery infused into his upbringing. And as he’d shown today, Tobias was a possessive lover.

So, hell no: I didn’t want him near this jarring reality of my life. I’d been transparent about my issues with my husband; however, I didn’t want him to see the ugly for himself. Perhaps a part of it was to protect Kelvin. He was thinner, face darker, and posture far from a professional athlete.

No!

No…Tobias couldn’t come near this shit show.

And here I was, again, stuck with all the emotions of disappointment. Embarrassment, shame, and fear of being found out didn’t accompany it, though. All those times when he lied, saying he wasn’t high. The countless occasions when he’d make me feel wrong for questioning what was so obvious. The many events where I ignored his intoxicated cues just to preserve peace. The years I spent with anxiety, waiting for the next shoe to drop because of his drug use.

All of that shit had taken a toll on me. It robbed me of my youth. I knew how to survive being lied to—manipulation, isolation, and loneliness. Possibly the worst of it all was never having been tended to. I’d never been a wife emotionally. Yeah, when Kelvin worked, I was listed as his spouse on some paperwork. Even now, he’s listed as a beneficiary of my health coverage plan through my job. But I’ve never been doted on, dated, revered, or even appreciated for not bolting back home the first year or two of marriage. I stayed even when he’d lost his job with theLeague.

Oddly, this was the very moment I realized the one ingredient missing from my relationship with Kelvin was love. While I’d never been in love with him, he’d never loved me. I could have fallen in love with my husband; I was wired that way. But jumping into marriage when you’re hardly an adult without a fully developed brain doesn’t yield itself to the vows. At twenty-eight years old, I was now ready to love a man—something of my own. And I’d been working on myself to be able to receive love.

“C’mon,” I whispered, taking Scott at his shoulders. It was time to turn away from this circus we’d been living in. “Let’s get to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.”

We walked away from the window. My days of living with this toxicity were counting down.

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