Warmth in Ice (A Find You in the Dark novella) (5 page)

Clay is worth it. Clay is worth it. Clay is worth it.

T
hree
weeks later, I was repeating this mantra over and over again.

I had gotten a job waiting tables at a small Italian restaurant down the road from the university. I somehow, in my exuberance to make money, momentarily forgot that I sucked at waiting tables. That me and trays full of glasses was a match made in hell.

My manager was a dick, the customers tipped like crap and I left work smelling like I had been dipped in garlic. It took days after a shift to get the smell out of my hair.

But
Clay was worth it.

I had gotten two paychecks and had saved all of my tips. I already had enough money for the plane ticket to Florida. Now it was just a matter of getting my parents on board with the plan.

I would be going home for Thanksgiving and I planned to drop the bomb then. I knew my mom was feeling her empty nest but this bird was gonna fly. All the way to Florida for Christmas.

I hadn’t said a word to Clay yet. We hadn’t mentioned my visiting since our argument before fall break. The undercurrent of tension was still there. It was palpable and laced every conversation.

Clay was more abrupt and less willing to engage in long conversations than he had been before. I felt the boy I loved drifting away, just as he had promised me he wouldn’t do.

I would sometimes bring up the distance I was feeling and Clay would apologize, telling me that he loved me and that he had a lot going on. But I was starting to doubt his words.

Which is why this trip to see him was so important. I needed it to reassure Clay. To reassure myself. To solidify the connection that was so essential to both of us.

I had called Ruby and told her of my plans. She was excited and thought it was a wonderful idea. She had originally planned to drive up to see Clay for Christmas. But she thought it would be nice for us to have that time together. Instead, she would drive up December 26
th
.

She agreed to not say a word to Clay about her change in travel plans. Both of us knew how this could have catastrophic effects on his tenuous recovery.

Clay’s feelings of abandonment triggered extremely negative reactions. And that was the last thing we wanted when he was trying so hard to get better.

“Hey,” Clay said tiredly when I called him just before Thanksgiving break. I had a mountain of classwork to get through but I had needed to hear his voice. I was supposed to work tonight and could have used a nap but that would have to wait. Something had been nagging at me the entire day. An inexplicable sense of dread that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Hey, is everything all right?” I asked, trying not to sound as concerned as I was actually feeling. Lately, Clay had been sounding increasingly more tired and stressed. He had decided to take a few classes at the community college. And while I thought this was a step in the right direction for him, he didn’t seem to be embracing his life the way I had hoped.

In fact he sounded entirely too much like the boy he had been when we had first gotten together. The boy I had held after he had destroyed his bedroom and collapsed on the floor. A boy I never wanted to see again. I couldn’t help but worry about how he was coping. Clay’s demons were even more frightening now that I wasn’t there to help him fend them off.

Clay sighed. “No, not really,” he answered and my heart seized. The despair in his voice terrified me. The all too familiar knot in my stomach made itself known.

“Why? What’s going on?” I asked softly, my words barely above a whisper.

“I got a letter from my parents’ attorney today.”

I grit my teeth. His parents. Shit. Why can’t those people leave him alone? It seemed they had a “let’s screw with our son’s head now that he’s feeling good” radar. I had never encountered such a cold and unloving pair of people in my entire life. I hated them with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

“What?” I rasped.

“Well, it was a more of a check with a letter stating I was not to have any further contact with them. It was a fucking pay off, Mags. They want me to stay out of their lives.” He sounded defeated and I had never hated the distance between us as much as I did in that moment.

“I’m so sorry, Clay-” I began but he cut me off with a harsh bark of laughter.

“Don’t be sorry, Maggie. I don’t want them in my life anymore than they want me in theirs. I’m not surprised. I kind of figured by the lack of communication in the last year that I was cut from the will.” He laughed again and the sound sent chills down my spine.

Because for all of Clay’s brave words, I knew this hurt him deeply. What child wanted reaffirming proof that their parents didn’t love them? We all possessed a fundamental need for our parents’ approval and affection. The root of Clay’s problems rested solely on the inhuman people who had callously given him life and then left him to fend for himself.

He tried so hard to move past the emotional isolation and neglect that had defined his childhood. But I knew without a doubt, that this ripped him apart. Because there was still that small boy inside that yearned for a love he’d never have.

“The only people who will ultimately suffer because of that, are them, Clay. They are missing out on the opportunity to know and love a remarkable person. You are beautiful and amazing and that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with you. You have become who you are because of
your
strength and determination in spite of their despicable actions,” I said emphatically, hoping he’d hear me.

Clay was silent, not saying a word. “You have Ruby, you have me. You have people who love you so much. So take that fucking money and put it toward going to school, toward building a future that means something. Shut the door on them for good,” I urged, trying not to sound panicked.

“Fuck their money, Maggie! Fuck them! I don’t want a god damned cent from those people!” he yelled and I winced at his anger. “Five hundred thousand dollars! That’s the price they place on cutting me out of their lives. The bounty on my head, Maggie! Now they can wipe their hands of me and my constant fucking disappointments!” he screamed.

I could hear him sobbing and once again he broke my heart.

And I knew it was one of those times I had to hold him up because I sensed that he desperately wanted to fall down.

“Clay, baby, please don’t let them hold this power over you! Stop for a moment and think about all of the things you’ve already accomplished! You’ve taken control of your life! You are so smart, passionate, talented. You love with your whole heart and you remind me every day what it means to fight for something that matters,” I told him.

Clay had stopped crying and was quiet again. His silence had always made me nervous. It was ingrained in me to wonder what he was doing to fill the void. What thoughts were wreaking havoc in his mind? What he would do to deal with the pain he was feeling.

But I had to trust him. I
had
to. He needed people to have faith in him, even if my instincts cried out for me to be wary.

He deserved it.

“That’s fine, tear up the stupid check then. Light it on fire and watch it burn. Or put it away and maybe one day you’ll be able to take that money and do something positive with it,” I tentatively suggested.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mags,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion.

“Well lucky for you, you’ll never find out,” I promised.

“I love you so much. I swear to god I’ll do whatever I have to do to make things right for us. One day I won’t be such a fucking mess. One day I won’t cripple you with my shit. I’ll do this for you and for me. I won’t let them destroy me. It’ll take more than their hate to sink me,” Clay said, sounding stronger than he had in weeks.

“You can do anything you want, Clay. I believe in you. Now
you
need to believe in you.”

“Well at least now I can buy you one hell of a Christmas present,” Clay said lightly and I felt relief flood my body.

“I’m counting on it,” I teased, thankful that the intensity of the moment had passed…for now.

I
pulled the check from the bottom drawer of my dresser for the millionth time. Five-hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. But it wasn’t nearly enough to erase the bullshit pain I had been dealt by the people who had given it to me.

I was so angry after opening the letter from my parents’ lawyer; I had crumpled up the check and the official letter stating that this money was contingent on having no further contact with my parents. You know, the people who had given me life, for whatever the hell that was worth. Because obviously it didn’t mean shit to them.

I thought I had met my fucked-up-things-parents-do quota for a lifetime. Apparently not. Just when I thought they could no longer shock me, they had to pull out this doozy.

It wasn’t as though I was holding onto the unrealistic idea that one day they’d wake up and decide to be the mom and dad I wanted them to be. They were way too invested in being shitty human beings to be anything else.

But the black and white finality of that letter still hurt. Hell, it hurt a lot.

What to do with the pay off money then? Do I cash it and put it toward something important like Maggie suggested? Do I set the bitch on fire and watch it turn to ash? That seemed like some seriously overly dramatic symbolism though.

So instead, I smoothed out the rumpled paper and shoved it in my dresser drawer, underneath a stack of T-shirts.

But it sat there, burning a hole through to the floor.

There was a knock on my door that made me jump a foot before slamming the drawer closed. I didn’t know my roommates well enough to trust them with the knowledge of a half a million dollars in my room.

I opened the door to find Ryan standing awkwardly in the hallway. He shoved the portable phone into my hand. “You’ve got a phone call. Sounds like a chick,” he mumbled before shuffling away.

It couldn’t be Maggie or Ruby. They only ever called my cell phone. I wasn’t due any calls from Roberta or my therapist. That eliminated all of the possible options. Shit, I really didn’t know that many people. I wasn’t sure if that made me hopelessly pathetic or extremely relieved.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver.

“Clay?” a voice said and I frowned.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me. Um, Maria. Tyler gave me your number. I didn’t want to call your cell in case you didn’t answer.”

My eyes widened and I thought seriously about hanging up. Maria’s head games and bullshit were the last things I needed. Fucking Tyler! He clearly needed a thorough explanation of what
don’t give my number out to anyone
actually meant.

Because clearly something had been lost in communication. Damn it!

“Maria,” I said evenly, waiting for her to talk. I wasn’t going to make this easy on her. She fucking called
me.

“You were right,” she let out in a rush, surprising me. I mean, I could think of a lot of things I had been right about in my life. James Cameron’s Titanic, yeah it was just a movie about a ship sinking and lots of people dying. Kate Winslet’s boob did not make up for the fact that it sucked.

How about my affirmation that Coke Zero tasted nothing like actual Coca Cola. Don’t let the name fool you, people. And the dumbass working for Subway that decided to put turkey and avocado in the same sandwich should be fucking lynched.

So I needed a little clarification as to what I had been right about this time.

“About?” I prompted.

“Everything,” she said quietly.

“Can you be more specific?” I said dryly. I wouldn’t give this girl an inch. I thought Maria had been my friend. She had been one of the few people I had allowed myself to get close to while in treatment. Yeah, I know life works differently when you’re in that setting, but I saw a whole lot of myself in Maria. I thought we were on the same page when it came to the way we saw things.

What I hadn’t counted on was for my so-called friend to show up at Ruby’s house and shit all over our friendship. She disrespected me. And most importantly she had disrespected the relationship I was building with Maggie.

Maria had some messed up delusions when it came to our friendship. I knew that while we were at Grayson’s she had a bit of a crush. But I thought I had made my feelings perfectly clear. Obviously I was about as clear as mud. And when Maria had come to Virginia for a visit after I had moved back earlier in the year, she had been a bitch. She had made things awkward and uncomfortable. Not only for me but also for Maggie and our friends.

Maria had created needless drama and tension and then had taken off without an explanation or an apology. I hadn’t heard a peep from her since.

Maria let out a shuddery sigh. “I was a mess, Clay. I completely fucked up. I am so fucking fucked!” she said shrilly and I hatefully wished I had gone with my earlier instinct to hang up the phone. I had enough of my own stuff going on, dealing with Maria’s was not on the agenda for this lifetime.

“Look, Maria, I’m sorry you’ve had a crap time of it, but there’s nothing I can really do for you. I tried to be your friend. Obviously that wasn’t enough,” I reminded her harshly.

“I didn’t call to hash through all of this,” she said defensively, which in turn made
me
defensive.

“Well, what the hell did you call me for then? Besides to tell me that I was right in calling you a mess that needed to get her shit together,” I barked out.

I heard Maria’s sad little sobs on the other end and instantly felt like a dick. I needed to dial back the jackass a bit.

“Look Maria, that was hateful of me. I’m sorry,” I said, trying to backpedal. I needed to end this conversation about five minutes ago.

“No, you’re right, Clay! I’m the stupid mess that shacked up with a guy old enough to be my father and who turned out to be an abusive asshole. Then the asshole decided to pimp me out to all of his friends and I agreed because I have no fucking pride! No self-respect! What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I make a decision that isn’t shit?” she cried and I didn’t know what to say.

Part of me wanted to make her feel better. This was the girl who had been my friend during a really messed up time in my life.

But the other part of me wanted to tell her to wake the fuck up. We all needed to take responsibility for the choices we make and until she did that, she’d be stuck in the same pattern. I was learning that slowly.

“I’m going back to the Grayson Center. I spoke to Dr. Todd yesterday. He’s set up an intake for me after Thanksgiving,” Maria said before I could say anything.

I hadn’t been expecting Maria to be that proactive. To say I was surprised would be an understatement.

“Wow, Maria. That’s great!” I told her sincerely.

“Thanks. I’m feeling like it might stick this time,” she said genuinely and I truly hoped that for her.

“I’d like to see you before I’m readmitted. You know, for coffee, or whatever. I’ve messed up a lot of things in my life and I’m trying to make stuff right. I screwed up our friendship. I know I was a jerk when I saw you last. I was a bitch to your girlfriend. I just want to see you and try to make amends,” Maria let out in a rush.

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. I was worried what this would mean for Maggie. I could reassure my girl until I was blue in the face but I knew that she felt insecurity and jealousy just as I did. If the tables were turned and it was that stupid ass Jake calling her up wanting coffee, I’d be on the next flight to Virginia ready to kick some ass.

“I understand,” Maria said sadly. Shit, that made me feel worse. Call me a sucker, but I didn’t want Maria feeling bad before heading back to Grayson’s. I couldn’t forget that she was just a fucked up girl trying to get it together. She and I were the same in that respect. We just acted out in different ways. Maria spread her legs and I cut my skin. Who was I to judge the choices she had made?

“Actually, yeah. Let’s get coffee. I have classes on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and I work on Wednesday mornings but just let me know a day and I’ll make it work,” I told her.

“Really? That sounds awesome, Clay! Thank you! How about I text you later and we can figure out a time and place,” Maria said excitedly and I felt guilty for being less than thrilled at the idea.

We got off the phone after that and I went back to my room to grab my backpack. I had a meeting with my therapist and then class this afternoon. I hadn’t been lying when I told Maria I had a ton of crap to do in a week.

Between classes, support group meetings, therapist appointments, medication management, case management, my part time job, I barely had time to freaking breathe. But it was probably for the best. The busier I was, the less time I had to sit on my ass and think about shit. And that wasn’t a good thing for me to be doing. Maybe one day I could sit back and reflect on my life and be all Zen about the mistakes I had made.

But that day hadn’t arrived yet. So for now, I appreciated the chaos.

Ten minutes later I had pulled up in front of a non-descript building with off white siding. I went inside and signed my name on the clipboard at the receptionist window and had a seat.

This place was nothing like my last therapists’ office. Shaemus had decked out his place with fish tanks and houseplants. He had said it was important that patients feel comfortable, like they were walking into someone’s home.

This place was clinical and bland. A place with no personality at all. Though I guess the people that sat on the generic furniture weren’t there because they gave a crap about the décor.

The woman who sat beside me picked obsessively at her thumbnail. Her fingers were red and raw, her arms covered in healing scabs. She was obviously a nervous picker. After a few minutes, she moved from her thumb to her lips, where she pulled at a piece of loose skin until it bled.

“Hi,” I said, hoping to distract the lady from her masochistic lip torture. She didn’t acknowledge me at all. Just kept picking away. It was gross.

I turned my attention to the older guy sat across from me. He looked like he was asleep, his head drooping down onto his chest. He let out a snore every few minutes and twitched involuntarily.

There was another guy about my age sitting in the corner but he seemed preoccupied with getting his finger up his nose.

Jeesh, this place was depressing. Government run mental health care at its finest.

I picked up a magazine from the coffee table. It was dated, November 2009. I tossed it back on the pile and leaned back in my chair to stare at the ceiling.

“Clayton Reed,” a nasally voice called out and I jumped to my feet. The lady sat beside me continued to pick at her lip, sleeping guy stayed a sleep and the nose bandit seemed to have struck gold.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I followed the small woman with the sour expression through a locked door. Her nametag read Chloe. Her name didn’t suit her at all. Chloe made you think of ponytails and big tits. This woman wore a turtleneck, even though it was eighty degrees out. She had a run in her tights and lipstick on her teeth. She made me feel like I was being taken to a time out. Maybe she and Roberta had studied at the same scary bitches school.

She led me to a closed door and pointed to another row of chairs along the wall. “Dr. Cary will be out to get you soon,” she said shortly.

“Thanks Chloe,” I said, purposefully using her name. Hey, I could be charming when I wanted to be.

Clearly my charm was lost on Chloe. She didn’t bother to look at me again before heading back to reception. I sat down to wait some more.

After only a few minutes, the door beside me opened and a woman around Ruby’s age came out, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She was followed by a woman in her late thirties who patted her on the shoulder.

“I’ll see you next week, Robin,” my therapist said. Robin nodded and headed down the hallway, her head bowed down.

Dr. Danielle Cary turned to me and smiled. “Hi Clay. Come on in,” she said smiling. I followed Dr. Cary into her office and sat down on the sofa. I had only been to see the new shrink a few times. Dr. Todd had referred me to her, so I had tried to reserve judgment.

The truth was, I hadn’t connected with her the way I had with Dr. Todd or Shaemus. Dr. Cary (no using her first name) seemed kind of uptight and overly clinical. She was nice enough; she just didn’t put in a lot of time with the whole “make you feel comfortable” thing.

It took me a lot to open up to people I
liked
, so Dr. Cary was having a rough time with me. I wasn’t trying to be oppositional. I had grown out of throwing therapy temper tantrums but that didn’t mean I was ready to throw up my entire life just because this chick was being paid to listen.

Excuse me if I felt she had to earn that trust. Dr. Todd had talked her up, saying I’d do well with her. The jury was still out.

So far our sessions had consisted of me answering a bunch of questions and looking at pictures, describing what I saw. Stereotypical counselor bullshit.

Tell me what you see in this picture…Tell me how you feel when I show you this photograph…

I had mastered the monosyllabic reply over the years and that particular skill was definitely being put to use now.

Dr. Cary sat down in a chair across from me and crossed her legs. Yes my eyes went there. Even though she clearly wore her panties too tight, I could acknowledge that she was a damn good-looking woman.

But that is where my appreciation ended. Because while Dr. Cary may be the focus of her other male client’s wank fantasies, she definitely wasn’t mine. There was only one woman who made my guy parts twitch and the good doctor wasn’t her.

“How has your week been, Clay? Classes going all right?” Dr. Cary asked, sliding her glasses from her hair to sit on the end of her nose. She put a notebook in her lap and clicked her pen a few times.

I settled into the couch trying to get comfortable. “Fine,” I answered. See, I killed it with the one-word responses.

Dr. Cary’s eyebrows pinched together and she wrote something on her notepad. “How are things at the house? Are you getting along with your roommates?” she asked me, switching gears.

“Yeah,” I said, chewing on a hangnail and looking bored. Dr. Cary seemed frustrated as she put down her pen to look at me.

“Look, Clay, you know how this works. Therapy isn’t new to you. So tell me what we can do to make this a beneficial relationship for you. This is a necessary part of your outpatient care. I have to provide monthly reports of your progress to your case manager. I won’t be able to give her anything positive if you’re not willing to talk to me. Dr. Todd says you are a responsive and interactive patient. I have yet to see that Clayton Reed in my office,” she said sternly.