Pull

Chapter Four
Demetri
Damn, that girl was hard to read and hostile to boot. One
minute I thought we were flirting, the next she looked like she’d
rather cut off my balls than say another word to me.
I never claimed to be the smartest guy when it came to the
opposite sex, but she seemed like she was in to me, and then like
flipping a switch, she turned indifferent.
I shrugged it off and went into Mrs. Murray’s office. It was a
familiar place for me over the past year, especially since she had
single-handedly been responsible for giving me the ability to move
through my twelve-step program without jumping head-first into
the ocean.
“Demetri, you’re early.” Mrs. Murray said sarcastically.
Okay, fine. So I was rarely early to anything. Crap, I bet I
was late to my own birth. But in my defense, the whole job thing
had me running on a different schedule. I started getting up at
seven, eating lunch at noon like most people in this world, and
going to bed at a decent hour in order to keep myself from falling
asleep once I had to start work. Clearly it was a good idea,
considering all the drama that took place at the taffy shop today.
I had only been at my new schedule for a few days, and
already I was feeling a bit suicidal, like any minute the boredom
would finally get to me, and I’d wake up to find myself actually
crazy. You know, the type of crazy where drool flows out of a guy’s
mouth and he think cats talk to him.
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Murray pointed to the usual couch. I
laughed and sat on the floor as was my custom. Something about
sitting on the couch made me uncomfortable. I mean, I’m sure it
was a comfortable couch — it was leather after all, but it made the
whole situation seem too real.
If I sat on the couch, it meant I was actually in therapy.
If I sat on the floor, I could convince myself I was just at
Nat’s house hanging out. Most the time I would go into the kitchen
halfway through our session, grab some popcorn and soda, then
return and spill my guts.
I was always like that.
Lucky for me, Mrs. Murray didn’t mind, as long as I stayed
out of trouble and actually participated in our sessions.
I leaned my back against the couch and sighed, running my
hand through my still wet hair.
“How has work been?” Mrs. Murray asked once she took a
seat and grabbed her notepad.
“Well, let’s see.” I cracked my knuckles and laughed. “I sing
a taffy jingle on a street corner like some cheaply paid whore, and
today I almost got my car towed.” I ended with a little smile and
waited while she wrote stuff down.
“So it’s going well then?”
“I haven’t been arrested yet for public intoxication or selling
drugs to little kids, so sure. It’s going well.”
“Two sarcastic appointments in a row. How did I get so
lucky?” Mrs. Murray mumbled behind her notepad. I don’t think
she meant for me to hear.
“What was that?” I cupped my ear. “You weren’t just
complaining about your favorite client, were you?”
Mrs. Murray rolled her eyes. I laughed at her expression. She
knew me far better than even Alec these days. I told her everything.
It helped that her daughter was my best friend, even though it
made Alec want to punch me most the time.
“So, this taffy job… do you feel like it’s keeping you out of
trouble?”
I leaned forward. “That’s a dumb question.”
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“Watch.” I cleared my throat. “Asking if it’s keeping me out
of trouble is like asking a kid if school keeps him from joining a
gang. Or if joining the football team keeps you from doing drugs
and having premarital sex. Staying out of trouble has nothing to do
with keeping your hands from being idle.”
I cleared my throat.
Mrs. Murray scribbled a few things down. “Now I’m
intrigued, Demetri. What does it have to do with?”
I shrugged. “Color me weird, but I don’t think giving away
condoms keeps kids from having sex. I also don’t think parents
who allow their kids to drink at home are keeping their kids from
underage drinking. And keeping me busy doesn’t keep me from
doing stupid shit.”
“Then what does?”
I grinned. “It all comes down to my self-control and my
desire to be a better person. Occupying my time with tons of busy
work just irritates me. If I’m going to do something stupid, or if any
kid’s going to do something stupid, they’ll just wait until they have
time to do it. Like after football practice, or after their job. Anyway,
to answer your previous question, the job makes me want to kill
myself, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.” I
exhaled and popped my knuckles again. “Half the time I want to
get high, the other half I wish I was drunk, which leaves like an
hour in my day when I’m not thinking about those things, and
during that hour all I can think about is the fact that the one woman
I’ve ever truly loved, died, and I could have saved her.”
Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened.
I hadn’t meant to say that much.
I blamed the fact that my head was constantly clear. I was
getting more and more honest about my emotions. I couldn’t figure
out if that meant I was getting weak or that I’ve always been that
guy, I just never knew.
The silence was deafening. I cleared my throat. “I’m just
going to go make some popcorn if that’s cool?”
Mrs. Murray nodded.
I pushed to my feet and nearly ran out of the tiny office into
the kitchen. Within seconds I felt like I could breathe again, but it
didn’t change the fact that I had just admitted, not only to my
shrink, but to myself, how completely screwed up I was.
In a few minutes I had popcorn and a soda. I glanced back at
the office door and took a deep breath, hoping to God that she
wouldn’t make me talk any more about my feelings.
It was quiet when I walked in. Mrs. Murray sat, legs crossed,
waiting for me. I plopped onto the floor and tossed some popcorn
into my mouth.
“We have about fifteen minutes left of our session, Demetri.”
She always did this, mainly because the first time we had a
session I would ask how much longer we had, like every five
minutes. Now she just told me, so I wouldn’t interrupt her.
“Okay.” I sipped the sugary soda. It was nothing like beer. It
made my stomach almost sick, but ever since I quit all my
addictions, I needed something to drink that wasn’t bad for me —
not that high fructose corn syrup was good, but still.
My obsession with Starbucks had also skyrocketed over the
last year. It was the only way to keep the cravings at bay. I would
drink soda during the afternoon and evening, and in the mornings
I had at least three cups of coffee. I added non-alcoholic Kahlua
creamer in order to get my fix.
Keeping my fingers occupied, when all I wanted was a
cigarette, also proved a problem. At nineteen, it wasn’t like it was
illegal, but smoking went hand in hand with drinking for me. If I
had one, I wanted the other, so I had to cut everything out of my
life.
Nat had suggested licorice. It helped sometimes. Most of the
time I just felt like beating my head against a wall.
“Demetri, did you hear me?”
“Hmm?” My head snapped up. I reached for more popcorn,
but the bowl was empty. I really needed to start running or doing
something so I didn’t blow up from all the stress-eating.
Mrs. Murray set down her notepad. “I think we made a lot
of progress today, Demetri.” She cleared her throat. “I also think
you’re right.”
“Pardon?” I sputtered.
“What you said about people making choices. I think you
were spot on. Not only that, but it’s a very wise thing for you to say
at such a young age.”
“I’m nineteen,” I growled.
Her smile was patronizing. The type of smile you give a kid
when they hold up their hand and say, “I’m five now!” I closed my
eyes and rested my head against the cold leather couch.
“Yes, you are,” she agreed. “I think you’d be a good group
leader too, Demetri.”
Was she high?
“Um, you know I’m kind of in a group, right? As in, my
brother and I are in a group, and I’m the lead singer?” I was
looking at her like she’d lost her mind.
“Got that.” She winked. “I mean a group leader in group
therapy.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I think I’m a little too messed
up in the head to lead anyone right now.”
“Which is why you’re perfect.” She stood and brushed her
hands on her skirt. “The rest of the group will relate to you, and I
think you’re ready for the next step.” She sighed and looked
straight into my eyes. “Demetri, can I be honest with you?”
“Aren’t you always?”
She gave me a hand up. I was towering over her as she
slipped off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt. “I don’t think
you’re going to keep making progress until you start to heal, and I
don’t think you’re going to start healing unless you deal with the
grief you went through. I think you need to be around people who
understand that grief. Maybe together you guys can work through
stuff. Besides, you’re a natural leader, which makes you either the
most powerful man in the room or the most dangerous.”
“Why the most dangerous?” I drew my eyebrows together
and shoved my hands in my pockets.
Mrs. Murray returned her glasses to her face. “Because, you
can lead people to success, or you can bring them down with you.”
“Kind of how Alec brought me down with the whole drugs
and alcohol thing?”
She nodded and grimaced. “Yes. Though when you remind
me of things like that, you make the mom side of me want to check
up on him and Nat.”
“Nat’s fine.” I rolled my eyes.
“Right.” She patted my arm and led me to the door. “Just
think about it, okay?” She pushed a small, yellow paper into my
hand. Did that mean I had to read it?
I stuffed it into my pocket. “Fine. Hey, is Nat home?”
Mrs. Murray tilted her head. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“One of the shows was canceled, so Nat flew down early to
be with Alec.”
“Oh.” A stab of disappointment jammed my chest, irritating
the hell out of me.
“Demetri?”
“Yeah?” I turned back around.
“You need to find some friends.”
Find? She made it sound like a Where’s Waldo game. Crap. At
this point I’d even settle for Waldo, but there were next to no
normal people in this small town. Most of them partied anyway.
How did a person even make friends without partying? I laughed
and shrugged her off. “Story of my life. I’ll let you know how the
search goes next time I’m out and about, singing my taffy song.”
“Okay.” She smiled warmly, and I left the house.
The warm summer air whipped my hair against my
forehead. I pulled out my cell phone and sent a group text to Nat
and Alec.
BOTH OF YOU SUCK. I HATE U. O, AND I ALMST CRIED
IN MY COUNSELING SESSION. YOUR FAULT. BOTH OF U. P.S.
I TRIED THREE FLAVORS OF TAFFY TODAY. SCORE!
I jumped into my car. Within seconds the phone buzzed. I
looked down, and there was a picture of Alec and Nat both making
sad faces, and below the picture it said, WE LUV U. STOP BEING
A BABY. MAYBE IF U EAT THE ALCOHOL-FLAVORED TAFFY,
YOU’LL STOP BEING SUCH A GIRL. KIDDING. STAY CLEAN !
“Right.” I rubbed my eyes and started the engine, then
remembered I lived next door. What the heck? Maybe I was losing
my mind. The last place I wanted to be was home by myself. Bob
might get pissed, considering he’s kind of like my babysitter, but
still. I wanted to go. Out.
I put the car into drive and headed toward city center.