Watch Over Me (25 page)

I briefly wonder if Dr. Thompson cares about all of her patients as much as she seems
to with me. I also wonder if she even
has
any other patients. I know from the shows I've seen on television that people enter
and exit through different doors so they never run into each other. Dr. Thompson only
has one door so that's not the case in this instance. And obviously life isn't one
big happy television show where problems are solved in thirty minutes or less, so
she probably just schedules everyone far enough apart so they won't meet awkwardly
in the stairwell.

"You just need to learn how to get back up when you fall. Sometimes it's not easy,
and most times you just want to stay down so you don't have as far to go the next
time it happens, but you can't do that. I won't let you do that. Every time you think
of giving up, I want you to think of your mother. I know it hurts, and I know you've
tried to stop yourself from remembering her, but I need you to do it. Think about
how she would feel if she saw you falling apart. Think about what it would do to her
if she knew just how much her death had broken you and changed you."

I nod at Dr. Thompson in agreement, but I don't tell her just how often I do exactly
that. I don't confide in her that sometimes, I just want to continue falling apart,
keep on hurting myself even more because then maybe she'll come back. I know it's
impossible, but it doesn't stop me from hoping that if I disappoint her enough, maybe
she'll find a way to speak to me. Maybe I'll get one more chance to hear her voice,
even if it is just to tell me to suck it up and stop feeling so sorry for myself.

After the fifth unanswered call in a row from my father as I drive aimlessly through
town, I decide to finally go talk to him. It's not like this day can get any worse.
Maybe hearing what he has to say will bring me out of the fog I'm in. Nothing makes
sense right now, and I feel betrayed by everyone and everything.

"Oh, Addison, thank God. Honey, I'm so sorry. About everything. I don't want to fight
with you," my dad exclaims as I walk through the front door of my parents' home, and
he pulls me into his arms.

As angry as I am about my father for all of the things he's done, it all melts away
when he hugs me. It's so easy to forget all of the bad things when something feels
so right. Being wrapped in his arms makes me feel like a little girl again, back when
everything was easy and the only tears I shed were over a scraped knee. I want him
to be that person again. I want so badly for him to be the man I always looked up
to. I want him to take care of me again for once, and I want him to be my strength
and my rock. I'm lost and I'm floundering around, and I need an anchor to keep me
in place. As I burrow into his chest and breathe in the scent of his cologne, there's
another cloying smell that I would recognize anywhere, and the blood in my veins freezes
when it hits my nose. I squeeze my eyes closed and enjoy the last few seconds of warmth
before I push out of his arms and back away. I try to keep the feelings of being safe
and protected with me, knowing I need them now more than ever, as I take a few steps
away from him.

"You've been drinking," I say with a straight face, not allowing my emotions to show,
not letting him see how much it hurts to say those words out loud again.

He waves his hand at me and brushes off my statement, moving on quickly to another
subject, and I know I already have my answer.

"I've been trying to call you since yesterday. I know you really like that Zander
guy, and I'm sorry for being on your case about him, but I finally remembered where
I knew him from. I knew he looked familiar and it finally came to me this morning
when—"

"Stop. Just stop," I interrupt him with a tired sigh. "I don't want to talk about
Zander. I don't want to talk about anything right now but the fact that I can smell
it on you."

He runs his hand through his hair nervously, and I know that he's trying to come up
with an excuse or some kind of valid explanation for why he "slipped" again. You don't
just
slip
when you're an alcoholic and decide to drink again after being sober. The bottle
doesn't just
fall
into your hand and you accidentally take a drink. You make a conscious decision to
unscrew the lid, tip the bottle back, and take that first sip. You know exactly what
you're doing when you swallow the liquid down and continue to pour yourself another
glass. It may pool in your belly like sour milk, and you may regret each and every
drink you take because you know it's a bad decision, but you still continue to do
it.

"What, no excuses? No half-assed explanations as to why you broke your promise again?"
I ask him angrily.

"Addison, honey, you have to understand, it's hard. It's not something I can control.
It's a disease," he explains.

"No, it's not. MY MOTHER had a disease," I shout at him, unable to keep my temper
in check. "She had an infection attacking the blood that ran through her body. She
spent years in the hospital and let them pump poisons into her veins week after week.
She lost her hair, she threw up, she was always tired, but she kept on fighting until
her body finally gave up. SHE had a disease. The only sickness you have is selfishness."

I can't even stand to look at my father right now. Everything about him disgusts me.
I don't understand how he turned into such a weak person, but then again it must run
in the family since I feel so pathetic right now I could collapse to the floor and
never care about getting back up again.

"I know you're angry with me. I'm angry with myself. It's just been so hard, Addison.
I keep trying and nothing seems to work. And then this morning I remembered that I
had seen Zander at the hospital when your mom was in there, and I just couldn't take
the pain of remembering anymore. I'm sorry. I know I've let you down. It won't happen
again, I promise."

I watch my father rub the back of his neck nervously, and I want to feel sorry for
him, but I can't. I know he's sad and I know he's hurting. I know he misses her and
doesn't know what else to do to ease the pain, just like I didn't know what else to
do a year ago at the cemetery. I know all of this and yet I know there's nothing I
can do for him anymore. I've tried to support him, I've tried to give him tough love,
I've kept him close, and I've pushed him away. I've done everything I can to make
him want to be healthy, and none of it has worked. I've spent all this time worrying
about him that I've lost sight of worrying about myself. I've forgotten how to keep
myself healthy and maybe that's why I went into my first real relationship with my
eyes closed. I refused to see what was right in front of my face, and now my heart
is broken.

"It's not like you've been perfect either. For Christ's sake you tried to kill yourself,
Addison. You tried to kill yourself, and I didn't even know about it. I'm your
father
and you didn't even tell me," my dad says angrily, once again turning everything
around on me and trying to make me feel guilty. I've been down this path with him
so many times that I could probably have spoken these words out loud in unison with
him.

"And what would you have done if you
had
known? Left rehab early again? Drank yourself to death this time?" I fire back at
him.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I am still your father, and I deserve respect."

I don't laugh in his face, even though I want to. What exactly does he think he deserves
respect for? Leaving me when I needed him the most? Doing so much damage to his liver
and pancreas that I'm surprised he can even still function and live a normal life?

"I come back here and I want to spend time with you and make all of this up to you,
but you won't let me. You don't need me. You're little Miss Independent now and you
don't need anyone," he tells me angrily.

"Do you think I
want
to be like this? Do you think I want to take care of everything on my own? I'm so
independent because I
had
to be. I don't need you most of the time because I've had to learn how to do this
by myself. You weren't there. You were
never
there," I argue.

"This has been hard on both of us, and I'm doing the best I can. You just have to
be patient and give me a chance to get through this. I'm going to do better, I promise,"
he tells me, his voice turning softer and his mood doing a complete one-eighty just
like it always does when he's been drinking.

"I'm done, Dad," I finally tell him solemnly as I turn and walk towards the door,
knowing that it will probably be the last time I ever set foot in this house again.

"It will be okay, Addison, don't worry. I promise this was the last time," he says
to my back as I open the front door and stare out into the front yard where I used
to play freeze tag and climb trees with my friends.

"You're right. It
was
the last time. I'm done. I don't need someone in my life that can't be there for
me when I need them. We both made a lot of mistakes when she died. We both made choices
that weren't healthy for us, but the difference is I was the child and you were the
adult. Now the roles are reversed, and I just don't want to do it anymore."

I walk out the door and let it close quietly behind me.

I run up the couple of flights of stairs to Dr. Thompson's office and go right to
her door and knock. In my year of coming here, I've never checked in at the front
office. At my very first appointment she met me in the hall and told me I could just
come right in each week instead of wasting time in the waiting room.

When my knock goes unanswered, I pound on the door again and call her name. I don't
have an appointment, but I still had hope that she would be here for an impromptu
visit since she always told me I could stop in whenever I needed to. Right now, I
need to talk to someone and she is the first person I thought of.

I press my ear to the door to see if I can hear voices on the other side and when
I'm met with nothing but silence, I decide to try the handle. As I slowly open the
door, the view on the other side forces my heart to beat out of my chest, and my hands
start to shake. I creep into the empty room and stand in the middle, turning around
slowly in circles and wondering if this is it, if I've finally and completely lost
my mind. I need her advice now more than ever. I need her no-nonsense, no bullshit,
"this is how it is" words of wisdom. I need to talk to someone who really understands
me and can tell me what the hell I should do.

I don't understand what is going on or why she would leave me like this. It doesn't
make any sense that some of what I'm feeling right now reminds me so much of how I
felt when I lost my mother. She wasn't my mother, but I still feel the pain of that
loss all over again as I stand in the room I spent so many hours in, week after week,
and see everything gone. No white leather couch, no light blue recliner, no desk,
no blinds over the windows that need to be closed to block out the sun, no Thomas
Kincaid painting on the wall, no coffee mugs—nothing but an empty room and empty walls.
No sign of anyone ever being here.

I can't do this on my own. I'm not strong enough to do this without her. I can't lose
another person in my life without any warning. As I struggle to breathe in the middle
of the vacant room, a napkin taped to the wall by the door catches my eye, and I drag
my feet over to it and rip it down, tears blurring my vision as I read the words she
left behind for me.