Still Into You (28 page)

She situated herself in a chair opposite Mia and pulled a folder from the table next to her. “Your therapist in Chicago forwarded her notes. There’s not much here . . .”

Mia wasn’t surprised by this. The lady at the Chicago office said as much. “I didn’t say much.”

Simone laughed. “No, you didn’t. She said you were belligerent.”

“She was judgmental. I didn’t want to tell her anything.”

Simone looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. “So . . . it was a personal reason for not talking?”

“Partly.”

She cocked her head at her. “And?”

“I wasn’t ready,” Mia admitted.

“Are you ready now?”

Mia focused her gaze on the plant sitting on the coffee table between her and Simone and shook her head.

“That’s okay,” Simone said. “You don’t have to be. We can take as much time as you need. Whenever you are ready, Mia. You made it here. On your own. You will get to your end point.”

Mia couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t expect that she wasn’t going to be made to talk. She definitely liked the idea of going at her own pace.

“What is your end point?”

“I would like to not have what happened during my childhood rule my life. I want to work through that and all the issues that it caused.”

“By not talking about it—”

“I know,” Mia interrupted. “I’m letting it rule my life. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight it. I don’t know how to get past it. Hell . . . I’m afraid to get past it,” she admitted.

“Okay. It’s fine to not trust me yet. We will schedule some sessions. I made notes to work on some skills to handle your anxiety and panic attacks that you had mentioned to the other therapist. We’ll then see how that goes. Then we’ll reassess, okay? This does not have to be hard, Mia. Not now. So, does this sound like something that you’d like to do?”

Mia felt so much more comfortable with Simone than the other therapist. There was no judging, just a woman trying to help her.

“Yes, it does.”

For the rest of the time, Simone went over how her sessions would go, giving her every opportunity to ask questions. Mia didn’t; she just absorbed what the therapist said, telling herself she could do this. With a glance at the clock, Simone smiled and then stood up. “Come on. Let’s go to reception and get those appointments set up.”

It worked out that Mia would see Simone weekly. So, in between those appointments, Mia kept herself busy. She pushed herself. Ran five to eight miles a day. She jumped into the Hollywood scene—the parties, the events. She said yes to anything Allie told her to do for the album, which made Allie happy, but it also concerned her. Mia was a goddamn machine. She didn’t want to feel. If given the opportunity to think, she would know what she was still doing, so she didn’t stop. All her feeling would happen in therapy.

Mia did the awards circuit, the after parties, promoting their new album. At one of the after awards parties, she met a movie producer, Blake Thomas, and talked to him much of the night. His current movie was a box office surprise, raking in millions upon millions of dollars. Insiders hadn’t thought a movie about an aging rock star trying to reconnect with his estranged daughter would be a draw for audiences. Not only had it drawn them in, it now had phrases such as “Oscar-worthy” and “award-winning” attached to it.

Mia and Blake holed up in a booth near the bar and hit it off. He was very interested in her last two albums. He mentioned her overdose but glossed over it—no big deal as he expressed his thoughts about their albums.

Blake discussed his new movie,
Burn for You,
in detail. It sounded very interesting—a woman coping with an abrupt breakup with her boyfriend. Her methods were very similar to Mia’s after she and Ethan broke up.

During a short lull in the conversation, while Mia sipped her drink and regarded the party, Blake asked her to audition for the movie, telling her she would be perfect for the part.

Mia shook the cobwebs out of her head. “Me?” she replied, reaching out for her drink.

“Yeah, you,” Blake said with a smile.

“I have no acting experience,” she remarked.

“That’s a bunch of crap. I think you’ve been acting all your life.”

Mia sat there stunned, her hand gripping her drink, and stared at Blake, a man she had known for two whole hours, yet he had amazing insight into her. It kind of freaked her out. But Blake was right. From the moment her mother left, Mia had been acting, hiding her feelings from her father, her happy face one prime example. Her friends . . . Luke . . . Ethan.

Blake saw the realization in her face, and with a smug grin, told her he’d send the script to her the next day.

True to his word, the script arrived the very next morning. And lucky (or unlucky) for Mia, Allie was there when the messenger put it in her hands. Allie sat and read the script over her shoulder. With each page, Mia felt Allie’s excitement, and as they read the final page, Allie turned to her. “You should do this, Mia. You know you should.”

Reading the full story and seeing how it had a happy ending, despite all the bad choices the main character, Sophia, made, gave Mia hope for her own life, and that made her excited. Allie was right. She could do it. It would be huge and it would be paid therapy.

“Set it up for me, Allie.”

Mia

Malibu, November 2009

Promotion for
Undone
cut into her running time, which was fine, because the beach was crowded for summer. But now that the weather was cooler and she had a break in her schedule, Mia wanted—no, needed to go for a run. Two and a half months until filming started. She had to get into shape especially if she was going to be in various degrees of nakedness on the big screen.

Standing outside her front door about to lock it, her phone started to ring. It was just a touch after five in the morning—a little early for a call. She locked the house, slid the key in the small zippered pocket in her shoe, and glanced at the screen of her phone. When she saw that it was Marc, Mia immediately answered it, a little knot forming in the pit of her stomach. It was the weekend and this call was way too early.

“Marc? It’s early, man. What’s up?”

“Ah, fuck, Mia. I hate having to be the one to tell you this.”

Her heart started to race, her throat constricted. Her gut told her this wasn’t going to be good news. Her first thought was something happened to Clark. “What’s wrong, Marc? Is Clark all right?”

“Clark’s fine. He’s with me right now.”

“Then what is it?”

She knew it was bad when she heard Marc start to cry, his tears washing over her from over a thousand miles away. “Marc? What is it?”

“Baby girl . . . Tom died last night. He was on his motorcycle when he got hit by a car—”

Tom.

Died.

Dead.

Tom’s dead.

The phone crashed to the ground as Mia tried to keep herself standing. Then her body was on the move as she bolted down the stairs, down the driveway, and out to road. She ran hard and fast to the beach, trying not to think of what Marc had told her. She shed no tears. She couldn’t. It wasn’t real! She held it in as she set a brutal pace along the beach. Mia had no idea how long she ran. How long she pushed herself while holding in the pain that wanted to escape. Needed to escape. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

She doubled over and vomited, throwing up all over her shoes. “Oh my God!” she screamed into the early morning light. “No! Noooo!”

How could he be dead?

Her Tom.

Tom was dead. Her baseball cap wearing, bright wide smile, naughty Tom. Gone.

He should not be dead. It should be her. She was the bad person—not Tom. If anyone deserved to die, it was her.

God, why him? Why did You take Tom? Why?

The knowledge that this man that she loved was gone, dead, was too much. Processing it was difficult. She didn’t understand how he could be dead.

How?

She needed to clear her head. Running hadn’t worked. Maybe the water would wash away all these thoughts, these feelings that were pulling her down.

After kicking off her vomit-covered shoes, Mia headed into the water. She knew it was cold, but her body didn’t react. With each step further into the ocean, the tears flowed harder. She knew what she was doing, knew what she wanted.

To end the pain forever.

But was that really what she wanted?

Mia kept walking until she was deep enough to swim. She pushed off with her feet and swam, one arm after another sluicing through the water, taking her further and further away from shore. She pushed on until her arms ached from the effort. Treading water, she spun around. She could barely make out her landmarks—the boulder where she often sat to think, the pathway to the Pacific Coast Highway. Her life full of pain was over there.

As the water pushed its way to shore, Mia fought to stay where she was, but that tired her out. So as she drifted, the thoughts flooded her of all that she had lost. Her mother, her father, Ethan, Todd, and now Tom. All these people she cared about—loved—out of her life. All these people who had abandoned her.

Why did
everyone
leave? Was it her? It had to be.
She
was the common denominator. Her head fell back as she screamed out her pain, purged it from her body.

The pain of Tom’s loss threatened to finish her. She couldn’t handle anymore. Life was just too much pain. She hadn’t found the right escape yet. Maybe there wasn’t one. The pain was still there after all her running and hiding. It followed her every single goddamn place she went. Would it ever go away or would it only get worse? God, could it get worse than this? She knew it could and that was something she just couldn’t handle.

The water hit her constantly, beating her with its crushing force, knocking her under. She fought against it, but she was swallowing too much water. She was tired. She was done trying. Letting go would take away all the pain. There would be nothing.

Mia took a few deep, shuddering breaths to calm her tears. She looked at her surroundings, the beach, the hills above. Closing her eyes against the beauty, she let her body go limp until she was slowly sinking in the ocean. With an uncontrollable sob, she let go of her breath and inhaled, the water flowing through her nostrils, burning her throat and lungs as she took another breath of liquid death. Oh God, it hurt, she frantically thought, fighting the natural urge to expel the water and save herself.

She opened her eyes as she went deeper underwater and saw Tom, his mouth spread into a sad smile. The same smile he had the last time she saw him. She held out her hand to him and he shook his head. “I’m sorry,” she said.

And then the billowing cloak of Death enveloped Tom. He then reached out his bony fingers for her. The pain could be gone and she could be with Tom.

The water pushed her closer to him and she gasped when she felt the hard, bony fingers grip her forearm, yanking her towards Him.

Death wanted her.

No! Mia! Fight! Don’t do this! Please don’t . . .
Tom’s voice echoed in her head. She shook her head.
No, it’s not Tom! He’s dead! He’s dead!

Mia! Fight! Don’t give up! Come on, baby girl!

Each word felt like a punch, a wakeup call, jarring pictures of all the people she loved: Luke, Kaitlyn, Marty, Todd, Clark, Allie, Marc, her grandmother, Ethan—hell, even her father. Ten reasons not to give up, to live.

Fight.

At that moment, she knew she didn’t want to go with Death. She would not let Death win. She would fight. She would fight for her life. Fight for the things she wanted. Fight for happiness, because if she didn’t there would be no Luke, no Kaitlyn. No more joy of that beautiful little smile.

No wrapping her arms around that precious girl.

No more love.

There’d be no Ethan ever again. No more laughter. No smiles. No kisses. No one to tell her how beautiful she was. No more holding him, loving him.

There would be nothing.

Mia Devereux would cease to exist.

The ones she loved would know the pain of her loss, that despair.

As bad as she hurt, she couldn’t do that to them. She couldn’t give up their love.