Trials (Rock Bottom) (11 page)

I finally turn my head towards him, a terrified expression on my face. He looks concerned. “I know we didn’t talk about it,” he says, his voice gentle. “I just thought that this is what you wanted. I thought that you were finally over dealing with everything. You’ve been doing well with therapy and you were able to interact with Jeremy
without anything happening…”

Insert knife in stomach…twist…

“I thought, you know, everything was going well…” he trails off. He looks into my eyes, hopeful that I’ll say something.

My breathing has slowed slightly, my shaki
ng subsiding. I take a deep breath. “Everything was going well.
Is
going well,” I quickly correct myself. “I love you and I love our life together.”

Just not as much as him.
No one as much as him.

Scott smiles widely at me and hugs me, obviously taking that as an acceptance of our engagement. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, without
all the spectacle,” Scott says before pulling away from me. He stands, pulling me up with him before Theresa comes through the door.

“Dylan, are you alright?” Theresa asks, running at me and grabbing
my hand. Scott nods towards her, mumbling about going back and checking on the guests.

As soon as Scott is out of sight, Theresa turns to me. “What happened? Aren’t you happy? I thought things were going well?”

I sigh. “They are. It’s just…” I stop, my eyes pleading with her.

Theresa drops my hand.
“Oh, Dylan. You can’t be serious. You can’t be.”

I turn away from her in frustration. “What do you want me to say?”

“Dylan, he’s a hard core drug addict. And he’s about to be arrested. For murder! Nothing happened between you, did it?”

I turn back to her, eyes wide. Her body tenses. “…did it?” Theresa asks, aghast. When I don’t answer, she hangs her head. “Jesus, Dylan. Don’t you know how lucky
you are to have Scott? You could have everything with him. Jeremy can’t do that for you. He’s only a liability, even now. Didn’t you hear a word Scott said to you in there?”

“Of course I heard what he said. But, oh Theresa, don’t you get it? The way he feels about me is exactly the way I feel about Jeremy. From the moment I saw Jeremy, he’s the one that’s had my love and my heart. I’ve never met
his
equal. I love Scott but not in the way I love Jeremy. That kind of love is hard to just get over, okay? And I just wished I had more time to get over it before getting engaged to someone else. I don’t think it’s fair to Scott. Although, I’m not sure I can say no now.”

Theresa shakes her head at me. “Well you need to get a grip. And soon, before you lose that man forever. And tha
t would be really stupid of you.” She turns from me and starts to walk away. She opens the door and pauses, her head turning to me one more time. She makes eye contact with me for a moment, and says quietly, “You need to grow up, Dylan.” She walks through the glass door and back into the lobby.

Really?
Theresa told
me
to grow up?

I take another
deep breath and begin to walk into the hotel. Theresa’s absolutely right- it is time for me to grow up and be responsible. Being with Scott is the responsible and healthy thing to do. He’s good for me. Maybe this will turn out to be the perfect opportunity to move on.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Dr. Spritz says, nodding toward my ring. I look down at it and then back up at her. “How have you been handling that?”

“Well it’s only been a few days. I think it’s going
okay. It’s a lot to get used to for me, but I haven’t talked to Jeremy at all. It’s been easier because he hasn’t tried to contact me. That helps.”

She adjusts herself on her chair. “Maybe that means he recognizes you would like to move on.”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

We sit in silence for a moment. “Dylan, can I ask you a question about your relationship with Jeremy
that we haven’t addressed before?”

“Okay,” I say, instantly becoming uncomfortable.

Dr. Spritz sits forward. “How did you miss the signs of addiction with him? You’ve dealt with drug addiction before. You say your mother battle with her addiction. Do you think there is a reason you didn’t associate Jeremy’s behavior with that of an addict?”

I nod, collecting my thoughts before I answer. “
I guess I just didn’t want to believe it. That’s the bottom line.”

“Maybe that’s something to remember going forward. Don’t let yourself be blinded by
your feelings. It’s important to differentiate between emotions and logic sometimes.” Dr. Spritz scribbles on her notepad.

I sigh.
“Right.”

My dad has been staying with us since the night of
the engagement. Unfortunately, I haven’t been much for conversation. Other than going to school, I basically sleep or zone out in front of the TV. I’ve been casually watching the news, waiting to see if Jeremy has been arrested yet.

Sc
ott’s been working a lot lately at his. He’s also been working for his father’s company here and there. I feel guilty that I’m relieved by this, but the fact is I need space from people for a while. I just feel…off somehow.

As I’m sitting on the couch in sweatpants
again today, watching a show about a bunch of rich women who like to scream at each other, I hear the refrigerator close behind me. I glance back and see my dad walking over towards the couch, beer in hand. I give him a half-hearted smile. That’s all I can manage these days.

He sits down next to me and pats my leg. “Hey, kid.”

For some reason, my eyes swell with tears.
Ugh, what is wrong with me
? “Hey daddy,” I quietly respond.

We sit in silence for a moment. I know he doesn’t know what to say to me because he probably doesn’t know what’s wrong. Hell, I don’t even know what’s wrong. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t asked me yet. Maybe he’s scared to.

I think about the conversation I had with Dr. Spritz earlier this week. “Dad,” I say, before looking up into his kind and comforting face. He looks at me. “When did you realize mom had a problem? With drinking and…the other stuff?”

He squirms awkwardly on the couch, obviously caught off guard by my question. It’s a subject we usually do anything in the world to avoid, but I need to talk about it
today. I need closure with some part of my life.

“Well, I guess I knew from the start. Right when she started drinking.
She would come home smelling like alcohol. She would try to cover the track marks by wearing long sleeves in the summer. But I had been looking for something to happen, honestly. We weren’t happy in our marriage for a long time, kiddo. And I knew she…” he trails off. I see him struggling with the words. “You know, she had her mind focused on other things.”

I nod. “I know, dad. I know about him.”

He nods. He doesn’t seem surprised. “Yeah. I figured you did. The year you went into the school where he worked, your whole demeanor changed towards me and even your mother. Eventually you got back to the way you were before, but I knew you had pieced it together.”

Tears spill over my cheeks. “So
that’s why she used drugs? Because she wasn’t happy?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, it seems that way.”

I know my mother always loved my birth father in the way she didn’t love my dad.

“Do you think if she were wi
th him, she would have used drugs?” My mind flashes to my time with Jeremy after the questioning in the DA’s office. “
Let me make you my life…”

“That’s hard to say, sweetheart. You know what I think? I think there are people who don’t know what will make them happy. I think there are people who have good things and don’t realize what they have and so they focus on everything they don’t. I think there are people who feel
that they can never be happy. Can you imagine what that must be like?” He looks meaningfully into my eyes. I know he’s referring to not only my mother, but himself. And maybe even Jeremy. My dad is a smart man and he knows what sparked this conversation. Is that what Jeremy thinks? That he can never be happy?

He continues.
“So, they use things to make themselves happy. Like alcohol, drugs, sex, money, even other people. But those things are so meaningless and temporary. They’re quick fixes, but not solutions. Your mother learned that, I’ve learned that, and I hope you’ve learned that through watching people like us. What’s important in life is stability, love, and devotion. That’s what’s going to make your life complete.”

I spend hours that night
lying in bed thinking about our conversation. I can’t decide what kind of person I am. Am I the person who won’t ever be happy, because I’ll be busy focusing on what I can’t have with Scott because he’s not Jeremy? Am I the person who won’t be happy because I left the love of my life- a good, talented, genius man- because of some faults that he had? Could I be happy going back to him even though I may be constantly suspicious because of his past and lifestyle?

All of the thoughts turning around in my head just make me more confused. Not knowing what to do or who to turn to makes me panic.
The panic consumes me so much that twice during the night I have to run to the bathroom to vomit. On top of it, I have to do it quietly as to not wake up Scott. The poor guy doesn’t get more than four hours of sleep now. The nausea doesn’t go away, even when morning arrives and I haul myself out of bed. Scott has already left for his internship, but I should at least pretend to be productive. Maybe eating something will help the nausea subside enough that I can get out of bed.

I grab my cell phone off the charger
and stick it in my pocket without looking at it. I enter the kitchen and decide that the only thing I’ll be able to handle is a bowl full of cheerios, sans milk. I pour myself a small bowl and head over to the couch. I place one of the cheerios in my mouth while I pick up the remote and flick on the TV.

I begin to look through the guide to find the nine o’
clock news. As soon as I change the channel, I feel my phone vibrating. I reach in my pocket and pull it out. It’s a text from Mr. Schuster. In fact, I have seventeen texts from Mr. Schuster and Theresa. Just before I’m about to read them, I hear Jeremy’s name spoken through the television.

My head bolts up. The news anchor is on the screen with a picture of Jeremy in the upper right corner. “Jeremy Mason is expected to be brought in any day now that the new report has been filed. Our source tells us that the report specifically mentions that the two
identifiable sets of fingerprints on the bag of drugs found lying by the victim matches both the victim’s and Mr. Mason’s prints…”

My head is pounding so hard
the reporter’s voice fades into the background. I stand up from the couch. This can’t be true, can it? Two sets of identifiable fingerprints on the bag. Only her fingerprints and his. That must mean Jeremy touched the bag just before she died. But to the prosecution and probably the jury, it’s going to mean so much more. It’s going to mean that he gave her the bag.

My initial reaction is to deny that this could be true. Of course he didn’t give her the bag. It’s not something he would do. What reason would he have to give a girl
a drug that he’s not even using? But…is he using?
Damn it
.

The conversation I had with Dr. Spritz plays again in my head. “
Don’t let yourself be blinded by your feelings. It’s important to differentiate emotions and logic sometimes.
”

I know in this
moment, that more likely than not, he
is
guilty.

Guilty.

Of manslaughter.

There’s just too
much evidence to deny otherwise: between the lying about having sex with her, to the drug dealer describing the mixture that came up on the toxicology report, to the fingerprints on the bag. This latest report is exactly what the prosecution was looking for. They have enough evidence now to basically prove, without a reasonable doubt, that he gave the bag of heroin to that young girl.

An
d that motherfucker lied to me. Even after I told him I loved him. That I believed in him. I’ve been sitting around feeling terrible. Thinking about him, ignoring the people who actually care about me, and the whole time he was lying to me.”

Before I know what I’m doing, I have my keys in my hand and I’m running down the stairs outside of my house.
The nausea in my stomach is almost unbearable, but I don’t care. That asshole is going to answer for what he did. To that girl. To me. I want to see his face when he admits to me what he did before he’s thrown in jail. I deserve at least that much.

I turn on the radio that’s set to a news station before I begin to drive. I hear my tires squeal as I make my way down Massachusetts
Avenue and towards Jeremy’s apartment. His name blares over my speakers. “Rock star Jeremy Mason has been dropped from his label. Label representatives said in a news conference earlier today they felt it was necessarily to part with Mr. Mason due to his impending arrest…”

Good
.

I’m so bitter I can almost taste it in my mouth. I smile wickedly as I pull into the parking lot outside of the run down building. I spot his car in the lot and eagerly open the car door and run
into the building. I can’t wait until the fucker sees me. I can’t wait until he knows that he can’t play me as a fool anymore. I know what he did. I know what he’s been doing this whole time. He’s a manipulating, murdering, drug addicted liar. I’m so done with this.

I finally reach his bi
g, wooden door at the top of the steps. With my heart pounding, I reach quickly for the doorknob. I’m planning to just bust my way in there. But when I lay my hand on the knob, I pause. Because above the pounding in my ears I can hear guitar chords…a melody playing softly through the thick door. Not just any melody, but the most beautiful and heartbreaking melody I’ve ever heard. It’s a simple song, slow and beaut
iful, a ballad. The sound makes my heart hum and my mind clear. My blood pressure returns to normal again instantly.

The melody continues and it’s so beautiful
that I’m compelled to stand in silence and listen. I desperately need to hear it more clearly. I’m scared to go in; afraid the melody will stop when he sees me. I carefully and quietly turn the doorknob, cracking the door just a slight bit. I stop breathing for a moment, praying he hasn’t noticed. When the melody continues, I put my ear up to the crack.

The song fills my head like a dream, each note breaking my heart with the emotion
it coveys. Tears spring to my eyes, and I’m not even sure why other than that the haunting tune.

“
In my heart’s sequestered chambers lies truth stripped of poets gloss…”
I hear Jeremy’s voice begin with the melody. His voice, yet not his voice. His voice because it’s still bluesy and rock and roll, but soft and extremely sad. Devastatingly sad. Beautiful…

“Wo
rds alone are vain and vacant and my heart is mute…”
His voice breaks on the end of the sentence, but the song continues. “
In response to aching silence memory summons half heard voices. And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in song…”
Tears fall down my cheeks, his singing changing and warming as if he is actually wrapping me in the music he plays. His voice becomes more beautiful as he continues, pained and tortured.

“Wraps me…in song…If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby. If you would win my heart, sing me a love song
.
If you would mourn me and bring me to God, sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven!
” His voice crescendos as he sings the lyrics, ending in a wounded plea, as if he’s begging for relief from pain.

I’m sobbing loudly now, and I can’t wait anymore to be in his presence. I push the door open and see his shocked expression from the couch in the living room where he sits. He’s holding his glimmering silver guitar in his hand, and I
spot where my name is written in green cursive along the bottom of it.

He looks surprised at first, his eyes wide and breathing rapid. We lock eyes with each other and tea
rs roll down both our cheeks. His fingers move along the neck of the guitar again, not looking away from me.
“Sing me a lullaby. A love song. A requiem. Love me, comfort me. Bring me to God.
”