Next to You (Life) (3 page)

Drew continued with his explanation of how victims of extensive abuse needed a more extensive treatment than a casual weekly—or monthly—visit to a therapist. He over used the word extensive through the entire explanation of my childhood upbringing and the rapes. “Dan needs to back off, Raj, he might have good intentions, but one of you needs to explain to him that he’s not God.”

They began to discuss what would be the best way to help me, once I calmed down and explained what happened with Mrs. Patrick and Greg’s encounters; my behavior made sense to them. Though, I refrained from telling them about the conversation I heard earlier when Ty came in his pajamas to see you. That was the last drop to spill all the contents from the glass of sorrows that have accumulated for two decades. Raj agreed that you wouldn’t want me in isolation. What we did, they said, was necessary for my survival. One day, hopefully you will understand. I had to detach myself from everything and concentrate my energy on me, one day at a time. To cover up what happened during that day, I let Raj sedate me.

Now I’m about thirty seven hundred miles away from everything… six thousand kilometers if you use the metric system. I’m fighting to shake off the victim title Ian, Mom and Lisa engraved in my brain. It’s time to battle for my survival, recovering from my past is a long process, one I decided to accelerate by coming to this place. The main goal is to heal those wounds that bring me so much pain, learn to love myself and most of all, learn to live. They warned me, that they’ll touch all those bruises that I like to hide in the dark, expose them and maybe create more pain before they heal.

They aren’t kidding. The sadistic bunch makes me re-live, through hypnotherapy and other ways, those harrowing moments time and again. As I’m living it, the lacerations are coming to the surface. You know what’s the downside of all this? The injuries can only be licked and I have to learn how to soothe them myself. There’s no Dan Brightmore next to me. You have no idea how much I need to hear your comforting voice, feel your arms around me, protecting me from the outside world, but I need to fight this one on my own if I ever want to be whole again. What calms me, is that one day I’ll be next to you—if you don’t find someone better while I heal.

Hope this letter finds you well.

Love,

Becca

The letter tells me shit. Limbo, that’s where I float since she left. Or there was where I have been since our lives took a sharp turn onto the highway that took us all the way to the heart of where Armageddon happened. Yes, I’m in hell. Certainly my soul has a taste of sulfur, no doubt the works of the devil that wants me to stay next to him. The big sign telling me to abandon all hope appeared not long ago. Before heading to the desk of the hotel suite I had moved into three weeks ago, I grab a bottle of Jack Daniels and drink the rest of its contents. Dazed; my state of mind.

Rebecca:

That’s quite a letter you wrote. What happened to us against the fucking world? Geneva, Switzerland, really? There are plenty of places in the country, and great ones in the heart of Boston. Save your stationary and empty words, I’m done with you.

Daniel

P.S. Why are you using regular mail? I sent you several emails that remain unanswered.

Chapter 4

T
he drive from
my office to Sudbury didn’t do much to simmer my temper. As I take off my helmet and turn off the motor of my bike, I’m aware that Nate—my bodyguard—came along with Nick. When will it sink in that I don’t need caregivers, this is merely a friendly exchange with Mr. and Mrs. P. Those two need to get the message that no one messes with what’s mine. If it hadn’t been for them, my girl would be right next to me. Blowing off a little steam would help, maybe punching someone in the face—Mr. Patrick. Yes, definitely my soul insists on visiting the seventh outer ring and the third circle of the underworld—violence and gluttony, though the latter is in the form of alcohol instead of food. I turn to the house next door and wonder what Becca will want to do with it once she comes back home—and if she’ll come back to me
. Fuck, I need a shot of tequila, followed by a bottle of Jack Daniels. No, I need her—Becca.
The effects of the last drink I had dissipate too fast; reality is striking me.

“What are you two doing here?” I ask Nate and he looks at Nick. Neither one answers. “Setting the Subaru on fire was a once in a lifetime thing. A way to… fuck she’s going to go nuts when she learns about it.” There are a few things she dislikes, the word hate for starters. Alcohol and drunken assholes top the list, followed by being disrespectful and vengeful. So far I’ve been tapping all of those. “She’s going to crack my nuts.”

Nate and Nick nod.

That white car, which she bought with her own savings, was partially my first gift to her. As usual, the gullible girl believed a friend found the four month old car with only two thousand miles at an auction for almost nothing. In truth, it had been a brand new car we used for that many miles so she would accept it. Either way, the money she saved had been part of her hard work for years and she valued it not for what it was, but for the fact that the fruit of her effort gifted her a little freedom.

“Have you been able to find a replacement, Nate?” He shakes his head. “Damn it, how hard can it be?”

“The car was almost nine years old,” Nate begins. “Pristine condition and low mileage for a car that old, try impossible.”

“When you bought her the Lexus,” began Nick, “Becca didn’t take it well. I can only imagine what she’ll do. Torch something of yours, the Aston Martin or something else.” Both look at my bike and begin to laugh. “I’ll help her if she decides to go for it,” he adds. “I hope that was the only temper tantrum. Getting you out of trouble wasn’t easy.”

Though I took it to one of my empty lots that had nothing around and torched it, the police weren’t as receptive as one would hope. They called the swat team, and put me under custody until they had proof that I
only
torched my girlfriend’s car. In other words, that she wasn’t inside the car when I set it on fire. Not my proudest moment, but her letter did a number on me. She fucking left me. The idea of seeing her with a new identity in Alaska, trying to blend with the natives, had bothered me the most. The image of her falling in love with a Mr. Lumberjack or a fisherman drove me crazy. Alaska had been one of the places she had chosen to run away to, after finishing high school—before I convinced her college was a possibility. Now, knowing she’s spending her time between therapists and others like her calms me some—not much.

“Who gives any crap about it, both of you can go.”

“This is how we see it, Brightmore, you received a letter from Miss Trent,” Nick says with a humorless smile. “You take off immediately after reading it and land here. Whatever it is, we need to make sure it is only an exchange of words and not… something else. You become a liability and as your partners, we can’t let a load of crap take us down and jeopardize our business. Then there’s her, she’s going to read me my rights when she’s back if I let something happen to you.”

Not wanting to argue my current life or Becca, I head to the Patrick’s house. Mrs. P. opens the door with a wide smile just as I’m about to knock on the door.

“Hello, Mr. Brightmore,” says the woman while smoothing her hair and clothes. “Would you like to come inside?”

“Your husband?” I ask her without acknowledging her greeting. My presence has one purpose and repeating a message isn’t my favorite game. “We need to have a chat.”

“He’s watching the game in the family room,” says the tiny lady opening the door wider to let me go through. No one gave her a lesson about strangers in her house. The fact that we shook hands twice and she has seen my picture everywhere doesn’t make me a safe friend. Hell I can get rid of them and my men can hide the bodies without a second glance. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No, if you will lead the way, please.” Her eyes switch from the friendly stare to a more guarded look.

“Honey,” she says to Mr. Patrick who sits on the sofa watching the Bruins playing against the Islanders. “Mr. Brightmore is here to see you.”

“Actually,” I tell her before she leaves the room, “I’m here to have a little candid talk with the both of you. If you don’t mind turning the television off, I don’t appreciate being ignored. Mrs. Patrick, please take a seat, this won’t take long.”

Mrs. Patrick pulls the hem of her blouse down before walking toward the couch where her husband sits. All lady like, she holds her skirt while she lowers herself onto it.

“It has been brought to my attention that Connor, your son released some confidential information.” I pause and look at both, then walk toward the fireplace to cool down. “Of course you two can deny the knowledge of what he communicated, or say it came from another source and my lawsuit will be thrown. However, to make things simple for me and my lawyer, you have two weeks to leave town. I’ll pay you for the house—market value,” I stretch the words. “As for your son, well he’ll need some help getting back on his feet since tomorrow he’s losing his high paying job and custody of Ryan. If either one of you try to contact Becca, your next home will be a shelter.”

Mrs. Patrick gasps, while her husband raises from the couch and walks to where I stand.

“I’m not scared of you.” He tries to push me. “This is my house and you bullying us—”

“Not bullying, only protecting my own.” I point to Nate so he can get him away from my face before I do something stupid. “Protecting the woman who’s a fucked up mess because neither one of you gave a shit about her. Your son had no right to tell you what happened to Becca, your wife shouldn’t have gone to our house and give her shit… the lack of parenting on your part destroyed my girl.”

“If it hadn’t been for her, Ian—”

“If it hadn’t been for your lack of parenting,” I jump to interrupt the woman, Nick stops me because I am seeing red and might not care that she’s a woman. “Your son would be alive. Let me repeat this one more time so it’s clear for the two of you. If you contact my girl again, I’ll destroy you. The two of you have two weeks to leave, or I’ll make sure your life becomes a living nightmare, like the ones Becca has nightly because of your fucking son. Have a good evening.”

With that I let myself out, my men walk behind me and I check my cell phone which buzzed while I was inside.

Randy:
I took care of Connor, however I can’t access Becca’s files. They don’t believe in electronic filing.

DBrightmore:
Can you find a loophole?

Randy:
If her doctor from the US calls they’ll talk to them about the case. I recommend you get a real doctor.

DBrightmore:
Raj or Drew might do it. Found Greg?

Randy:
No, I’m sending my people to California, perhaps Ty knows, but he’s not taking my calls.

Now why didn’t I think about that?

DBrightmore:
I’ll call Tyler, thank you.

“Where to now?” Nate asks.

“Get the plane ready, we might fly to San Francisco.” He nods and begins to make some calls. I pull the keys to my bike out of my jacket and Nick snatches them. “What the fuck?”

“You’re drunk,” Nick sneers. “Again. Why didn’t I see it before? You have a death wish?”

“Dan?” Ty answers the phone before I can talk to Nick, who jumps on the bike and leaves. “Brightmore?”

“Where is your father?”

“What did he do now?” he asks, the tone of exasperation and the big sigh reminds me of when we were in college and he couldn’t take any more shit from Ash’s family. “Because honestly if you’re about to shoot him, I’ll be happy to give you one of his guns.”

“Becca sent me a letter that shed some light into her escape.” I walk from one side of the car to the other, my legs are restless. “She said that your fucking father attacked her in the elevator and—“

“Um, that,” he pauses and I wish I could be there to give him a piece of my mind. “Dealt with it, Dan, he’s back in Arizona. Not allowed to contact me unless it’s an emergency and with a life threat from Nick. You never told me Drew advised you to keep a close eye on her, I almost lost her, asshole.”

“Shut the hell up,” I say grinding my teeth. “You helped her. Everybody knew what happened except me?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he answers. “She said to give her time. That it would come out when she was ready. We all knew you wouldn’t understand, Dan. How are you managing? The last time we spoke you were drunk and torching some of her belongings, along with the Subaru. Pretty impressive, I thought you’d go for a more dramatic approach though. Like finding her, flying to Geneva and trying to kidnap her.”

“You sure he’ll stay away, Ty?” Not in the mood to get into my personal shit I went back to his father.

“Dan, believe me, one step outside of Arizona and his monthly allowance disappears,” Ty says. “I might not be you, but she’s family to me, my little sister.” He takes a deep breath. “Greg’s under my care because, hell, he’s my father. The only money I send him is purely to buy groceries; I pay the rest of his expenses. Of course, if I have to choose between the two of them, it’ll be Becca. She matters to me, and I know how important she was and is to you since… well, practically since you met her. I need to go, I’m swamped with work.” With that he hangs up, not a cordial goodbye or any other statement.

“Cancel the flight, Nate,” I tell him before hoping into the Rover. Once he sits in the driver seat and starts the truck, we jet from the place where everything started. The good and the bad. “Take me to my hotel. I’m not in the mood to go home.”
Again.

Chapter 5

F
rom Becca’s list,
I have accomplished two things: I didn’t look for her and I haven’t dated Trish. At the moment I’m at Sotano—Buddy’s night club—with a blond draped on my left, a brunette on my right and another blond next to her. One is slim, one curvy in the right places and the other in-between. All types, so no one gives me some shit that I have preferences or a type, because I don’t. Before we began this encounter, I asked them if they were sluts—Becca was very specific that I shouldn’t date that type. Of course, while we made the introductions, I omitted the part where my ex asked me not to date skanks—or easy women—I’m not an idiot. With a giggle the three of them shook their heads about the slutty part. Though the barely there material covering their bodies made me wonder if they were being honest. Of course, as a gentleman, I didn’t question them any further. Three at the same time should shorten the amount of women I should date. Though Becca didn’t give me a specific number of females I should go out with. As of right now, she hasn’t answered any of my fucking emails. There are several unanswered questions. Like duration of the dates? Can I fuck them? I don’t know, because Rebecca refuses to give me any further instructions. Perhaps, next time I’ll send her a letter to that address she gave me in her six page correspondence—front and back. Geneva, quite a trip and whoever helped her will pay. I just need a moment to regroup and plan my vengeance.

“Ladies, if you excuse me.” I run both hands through my hair when I hear that. Buddy is interrupting one of the girls, she was telling me something about her career in communications. That is rude. He should be thankful that I’m not at my best. If not I would beat the hell out of him for sticking his nose where nobody wants him. My fucking friends, brothers and security personal believe they are my sitters. Buddy—my foster brother—is looking all shades of pissed. Next time I need to take my dating to a place he doesn’t own. “D, out!”

Not so gently, two of his bouncers move the table in front of me while two others gently remove the women whose names I don’t recall from my side. Worse, the first ones, the two that removed the table, drag me out of my seat. I feel like one of Buddy’s drunken patrons, as they shove me out of the club. However, instead of taking me through the exit, they thrust me inside Buddy’s office.

“What was that?” Buddy questions as he crosses the threshold of the room and closes the door. “You’ve never had more than one woman with you. Why now?”

“Speed dating,” I reply as I plop myself onto his couch. “Rebecca said, and I quote: Date, yes date other people. Well, wrote, because she didn’t have the fucking balls to break up with me in person. Not that she has balls, she’s all woman and…” I cease the conversation before I let myself think about her magnificent breasts, that perfectly round ass… and my pants get tight in the groin. Too late it is happening, and ironically it’s something that didn’t happen earlier while I spoke with those women. Damnation, Becca has me under some love spell that I can’t shake off.

“You’re drunk, again,” he says and I ignore him. “Go home—“

“She hasn’t answered any of my emails,” I interrupt him. “She asked me to email her, even if I’m upset. Did I show you the fucking essay like letter she sent me? It was pages and pages written front and back that never told me when she’ll be back. It is easier via email, like what I send her on a daily basis.”

Then I pull out my phone and though the blurry screen is moving too much, I get it to work. I’m smarter than it. I read them out loud.

Rebecca,

What do you mean date? Did you break up with me? No one ever dumps me. You—

“Dumped me,” Buddy interrupts and snatches the phone before I get into the ones where I ask her to give me more information, or the ones where I beg her to come back. Should I go down to Switzerland and plead for her prompt return? “You’re hurting and with your history it is understandable, D. When I came back from New York, after everything went down, I had no idea what was going on or how to help you understand. But now, I think I have some insight. Becca was in a bad place during those days.” A flash of anger begins to boil my blood, why the hell is he saying that? He wasn’t around when it happened. “Take it easy, D. Bex sent me a letter too, and I get it. Just like I get why she had to give me an overview and ask me to help you… if you were in that overlord, destroy the world mood.” I cock an eyebrow because that’s something only she would say. “She knows you better than anyone.

“Use that brain of yours that has gotten us out of shitty situations since we were little.” He taps his temple and then crosses his arms. “Give it a try, even with the gallons of alcohol you’ve consumed in the past month; it should be able to function again. Though, I think your liver is about to give up or is it give in? Either way, you’re killing yourself. All those fucked up places we lived in didn’t kill you, but lately it appears to be a DIY—do it yourself.

“Driving drunk, that’s wrong, bro.” He sighs and drops his head.
Mother fucker, what was I thinking?
His parents and sister died in a car accident; hit by a drunk driver. That took away his suburban life and dropped him in Satan’s household—better known as our first foster home. “Do you have any fucking idea how many people would’ve been destroyed if something had happened to you? You selfish bastard. You are my brother, what do you think it will do to me; let alone anyone else. Yes she left, yes she didn’t think it through; but what was there to think. That control you exercise pushed her to the edge too. Tell me how drinking yourself into oblivion is going to help Becca, you or anyone around you? There are other ways to forget her, if that’s what you want.”

Is that what I want? I ask myself resting my arms on top of my legs and my head on top of my hands. Forget we were once friends; that I once loved her and I hoped…

“My manager will be arriving soon,” he says. “I’ll take you to my place… I think this is enough time to blow off steam. Fuck, that’s coming from me, the irresponsible one. But, D,” I lift my gaze to see his piercing dark eyes staring at me, “promise me this tangent is over, man. I love you but I can’t see you doing this to yourself anymore.”

As we wait for the manager to arrive, I pull the letter I received from her today and read it with less liquor drowning my mind.

Hi Dan,

To answer your email related question, there’s no internet access for patients—part of the organic approach. One of the therapists explained how emails give you an instant gratification that in some cases is counterproductive. Also, the old fashion way of correspondence gives you a deeper connection to who you’re trying to reach. Is it true? I’m not sure. Somehow the note you sent with those delicious chocolates—thank you, I love you—doesn’t connect me to you in any way, au contraire –surprise, I’m learning some French. Though he also mentioned what you write comes from the heart if you do it by hand. That I believe, because that chicken-shit handwriting screams furious, pissed beyond all reasons.

Us against the world? Most times it feels like you against the world while dragging me along. It might not be that way, but my perspective is different from yours. I need to take off this veil or get my eye prescription checked before we can call this an us.

Then, there’s this thing called self-love. You and I know that my DNA coding information doesn’t have it. How am I supposed to love others when I can barely stand myself at times? My sneaking away has a lot to do with you, this powerful overlord that can convince me to do just about everything. Even when I’m not sure what I want.

What’s that?

You want me to give you an example… Moving back to Boston—no, Massachusetts. Several times we fought about my re-location after college, you called me ridiculous for not wanting to be where the memories were… ridiculous caught up with me and made my life miserable.

If only I had stayed away… no, I won’t go back to the ‘if’s’, they are my frenemies. Seem friendly but keep you stuck in the past. So now I’m trying to move on. You know most of my secrets, mainly those that I should’ve dealt with long ago, and that’s my current status—working on my crap.

For the past few days, I’ve been trying to get to the root of what happened to me and how to overcome what the doctors call traumas. I’m dealing with an unloving mother who died without giving me that little thing called love that I needed so much. A rapist ex-boyfriend who died for me… the following statement sounds moronic, but it makes me feel guilty, dirty and yet there’s this want for me to hate him. We both know I’m not a fan of the h word—or feeling. Also, I have come to realize is that I was lucky. When I lost Ian, someone else picked up the slack and kept me going. The books I’m reading mention that sometimes one person who cares can make the difference. And it did, I had you.

No, I hope with all my heart that I still have you.

My ogre, who is upset, filled with rage and perhaps pondering a little vengeance because he thinks I abandoned him. I would never abandon you. That touches a sensitive spot. One I think you should look into while I’m away. Do you know that the story of how you lived with the Swansons since the age of five and being in more than one home doesn’t fit? What really happened, Dan? Boy, I’m not gone long and I can see a little light. That light makes me want to ask for a few modifications to the letter I left. Though you’re free to ignore me, don’t date other people…can you wait for me? Or better yet, please, wait for me.

Love you forever,

Becca