Progress (Progress #1) (19 page)

I was there with her, and she was there with me.

We didn’t speak a word.

And so Charlie claimed a piece of me that afternoon.

A piece I never wanted back.

***

I woke two hours later and found Charlie’s hand in the same spot: pressed against my chest. I lifted her palm to my mouth, kissed it gently, and moved to face her.

Her eyes were open, and her red hair splayed over our shared pillow. Her mouth wore a relaxed smile, and our bodies were covered with her comforter.

I inched forward and tucked her hair behind her ear, studying her features. Then I leaned in and set my forehead against hers.

“You should go,” she said.

No.

Not yet.

I’m not in the clear yet.

“All right.”

“You can come back later if you want,” she added quickly, sensing my disappointment. “But Mom and Dad are going to be coming home soon. I should probably explain what you’re doing here. At least give them a heads up. I don’t usually bring people around much. Especially guys.”

“Yeah. Probably. I sort of told your dad that he was lucky he didn’t find me asleep—”

Shit. I don’t think we’ve talked about that night yet.

She let a soft giggle escape. “Dad told me about that. What were you doing here?”

I shrugged, scratching my head. “Would you believe me if I said I’d come over late the night before and didn’t want to wake your parents by knocking?”

“Sounds plausible.”

I laughed. “Good. Then that’s what happened.”

“Do that often, do you?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Just once so far.”

“Stalker,” she giggled.

“Totally.”

After we stopped laughing, I added, “You have good folks? I mean, they seem like good people. They treat you okay?”

“They’re the best kind of people.” She smiled. “They’re the reason I have so much faith in the good. They’ve always been that way. Not a mean bone in their bodies.”

“They’re keepers then,” I whispered.

She nodded. “Keepers.”

I sat up, looking around the room. After my head stopped spinning, I stared at the chessboard on her dresser. “We’ll have to finish that game sometime.”

“Maybe tonight?” she offered.

I nodded, but knew I wouldn’t be back. Not that night. Once I got home, I wouldn’t be leaving again. Not until I felt like myself. As it was, it was too difficult to be with Charlie, even for how easy she made it. Resisting touching her would eventually become too much to bear, and trying to keep my thoughts away required too much energy.

My vulnerability had taken hold of me that afternoon. I’d damn near cried twice. It was a side of me I had no intentions of showing her again.

“Maybe.” I nodded, rising from the bed.

I passed the dresser, slipping the red queen in my pocket, taking a piece of that day with me while her back was turned. Then I followed her up the stairs, back toward the front door, and the space seemed narrower than it had been when I’d first arrived.

It took all my strength not to grab her hand and lead her back down to her bed where we were safe again. But I didn’t have the courage to tell her I wanted to stay. Because I wanted to go, too.

Before walking out, I stopped in front of her. “What are you doing next Saturday?”

She looked down. “Is that the next time I’ll be able to see you?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she closed her eyes. Her expression broke my heart. She was thinking the same thing I was:
Saturday is over a week away.

“I don’t know. There’s no telling with this kind of thing.”

“Which thing? This thing?” She pointed at me. “Or this thing?” She pointed her finger between the two of us.

My jaw tightened and my brow furrowed. “All things.”

She ran a hand through her hair and looked out the screen door. Closing her eyes, she covered her mouth and wrapped her other hand around the back of her neck. “I can see you next Saturday. I don’t think I work that night,” she said curtly.

“It’s a family reunion kind of thing. I usually take Jake, but he and Julie are—”

“I’d be happy to go with you.” She scratched her forehead. “What happened here today, Jess?”

I licked my lips and cleared my throat. “Not as much as I wanted, but more than should have.”

“I don’t understand,” she spoke quietly. “What did you
want
to happen?”

I blinked slowly, keeping my eyes on her mouth. I ran a gentle thumb over her lips, taking a ragged breath. “So sweet,” I whispered, showing as much frustration as I could by slapping my hand down to my hip and shoving it in my pocket.

She was
too
sweet. Too sweet for a son of a bitch like me. She was innocent. Pure. And nothing about what happened that afternoon made me feel better about it.

I wasn’t her knight, no matter how much I pretended I could be.

“What did you want to happen, Jess?” she repeated, pleading.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” I opened the door and walked out. “I’ll see you next week,” I mumbled over my shoulder and walked to my car.

She ran out to meet me, knocking on my window once I’d gotten in. With hard eyes, she shivered in the cool breeze. “I have one more question, Jesse.”

I nodded in defeat. “One more question then.”

“Why would you give me a dozen phone numbers of women you’d been with? What was that supposed to tell me? I’ve been trying to figure out your motivations, but I just can’t seem to narrow it down.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “The outcome ranges from really good to really bad to really scary.”

I chuckled. “Which one is the scary?”

She wrapped her arms around herself and pleaded with her eyes. “Why did you do it?”

I looked straight ahead at her garage door and cleared my throat. After putting my car in reverse, I looked back up. “The numbers weren’t what I wanted you to see.”

“But most of the handwriting on the back was indecipherable. I couldn’t read it.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” I closed my eyes and eased my head to the side. “Gotta go, Red.”

“Are you being cryptic on purpose because you can’t seem to say the words? Because I need you to say them. Tell me I’m not crazy. Please, tell me what’s going on. You can’t keep me in the dark for too much longer before I walk…”

I scratched my jaw and opened my eyes to look at her.

“Is that what’s going on here?” she added, tears stinging her eyes. “Too much emotion? Or is it just some silly crush bullshit?”

“That’s not fair,” I whispered.

“It isn’t? Because you’re the
only
one who could possibly have that depth of emotion? You’re the
only
one capable of having a range of happy to sad to frustrated to mad in a matter of minutes?” She nodded with a smirk, and a tear dropped. “I get it.” She sniffed, rolling her eyes to dry them. “Like it’s a big shocker you’re jonesin’ for my pussy,” her lips quivered in a sad smile, “so why don’t you go home and stroke your cock over the thought of a woman who will never actually have a shot at getting you off.”

“Charlie—”

“Sucks having someone spit the words at you when you’re vulnerable, doesn’t it? I guess the world is filled with assholes. And I’m not exempt.” She nodded and ground her teeth in frustration. “Have a good night then.” With another sniff, she walked back up to her front door.

I guess I’d asked for it. I wanted her to feel like her feelings were valid. So for as proud as I was that she stood up for herself, I couldn’t help but feel the flood of failure once more.

I’d have to figure out a way to make it up to her.

Some other day.

Chapter Eight

Jesse

It had been a few days since I’d spoken to Charlie, but when I got home the evening after I left her house, I slept for almost twenty-four hours straight. When I woke, I called my shrink right away.

Remembering it had been three months since I’d seen him last, I would need a new prescription for my meds in a few weeks anyway.

It wasn’t a cure, but it was progress.

I still worked and went through all the motions of my day, replaying the tune I’d created in my head the night of the painting. I kept my head down and people left me alone.

Work.

Sleep.

TV.

Sleep.

Work.

I hadn’t decided if I had the fight in me or not. Charlie was something special—she’d always be. But there were some things that were too hard to fight for. The calculated risk was too high. If I stayed, I’d struggle. And if I walked away, my life would go back to normal but I’d always see those flashes of what life could be like with her.

Hard problems with harder solutions.

I could try. That’s all I could manage. And if I failed, so be it. At least I had done what I could.

I was in no mindset to make any firm decisions; I could barely tie my fucking shoes. I’d made the appointment, and that was the best I had at the moment.

“Hey,” Jake said, coming down the steps and spotting me in the kitchen. “You’re up. Isn’t this your day off?”

I popped three pills into my mouth and washed them down. “Yeah. I have an appointment.”

“Shrink?”

I nodded and walked to the stairwell and down to the entry. “Yeah. See you later.”

“Oh, Jess!” Jake ran to the edge of the steps. “I saw Charlie the other night.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Where?” I asked.

“I was at The Crimson with Julie.”

“Was she working?”

“No.” He scratched his forehead. “She was sitting in the bar alone, writing.”

I nodded. “Yeah, she does that.”

“But she looked…” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “How much weight has she lost?”

My head snapped back to meet his curious stare. “I don’t know.”

I’d seen that look in his eyes before. Funny how a few weeks ago she was a ‘fat chick,’ and now that she’d lost weight she was suddenly worth a second glance.

She was still my sweet Charlie, no matter how much she weighed.

She’d always be.

I took a step toward him, grinding my jaw and jingling my keys. “You have something more to say about her?” My chest heaved with heavy breaths, my nostrils flared, and I cocked my head to the side.

“Yeah. I have something to say about her.” He grinned.

We stood in silence for a moment, and I waited for his arrogance to arrive. I didn’t have the energy I needed to beat the shit out of him, but if I could warn him enough with my eyes to keep his mouth shut, perhaps we wouldn’t get to that point.

“Careful—” I choked out.

“She’s pretty,” he interrupted me, softening his expression. “She’s really pretty.”

I let out a breath. I didn’t know how to respond. There was a part of me that had no interest in seeking his approval of my friend, but there was another part of me that sought his validation.

So I let it slide.

“Yeah, she is.”

We were quiet, but his silent apology for his misperceptions about her was evident. Yet there was a part of me that stood on guard.

“Listen to me, Jake.” I took another step toward the stairwell. “You can have all the fun you want with any woman I’ve taken into my bed, but you’re going to keep your dick in your pants when it comes to Charlie.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You
would
. And I’m just making it perfectly clear to you right now. You touch this girl—
ever
—and they’ll never find your body.” My face burned and my body stiffened. “I don’t care if I’ve been dead for twenty years and you’ve taken four Viagras… Off. Limits.” I flexed my jaw. “I’m not fucking around here. She’s
mine
to decide what to do with, not yours.”

“To decide what
to do
with?” He laughed. “Do you hear yourself? I mean, can you really tell me what you plan
to do
with her? Because other than the past two weeks of ‘woe is me,’ nothing has changed. You’re still fucking every slut you can. It seems as if you’re just toying with her.”

“It’s none of your business. But it’s…complicated.”

He shook his head. “Ahhh. So it’s flipped, has it? Jesse Anders is a simple guy with a complex life?” He snickered. “It’s fine. I won’t touch her. You have my word.”

I was hesitant to believe him, but it would have to do.

I gave a curt nod, set my jaw, and walked out the door.

The psychiatric office was two cities away, and I kept rolling the conversation around in my head, hearing Jake’s words again and again:
“She’s pretty. What do you plan to do with her?”

I wasn’t sure if my meds were keeping the dark days away or if it was thoughts of Charlie. It could have been a combination of the two. I hadn’t hit the lowest point of the depression yet, and wondered if it would even come this time around. I hadn’t ever kept up on my medication before, and had always stopped taking it once the Whirl hit.

And yet there was still an underlying fear—something I hadn’t truly considered until last week. Charlie was always there when I needed her, or easy to find. I couldn’t push her much further away, or one of those days she’d walk out for a cigarette and never return.

I just wanted to feel normal again. I hadn’t felt it since I was a kid. This life became my new normal; something not many people claimed as their own. I guess everyone’s definition was different, and we longed for the moments when everything was just okay. Felt like too many people fought hard for those days—those moments—feeding their minds and bodies with pills, drugs, booze, just trying to ease the pain. If the pain was the only thing I had to manage, I would’ve considered that my normal.

Instead, I was off to manage something people labeled as a psychological defect; the chemicals in my body didn’t work the way they did for others. Was it so wrong to think I was born to live on this earth as defective? Furthermore, was it wrong altogether? Was what they called
bipolar
just man’s way of adapting to survive?

Seems like Charlie was the only one I knew that didn’t abuse the system; she was afraid to feel, but she didn’t use the kind of vices the rest of us did to get rid of those emotions.

Everyone I knew worked that way; it wasn’t some big secret. Oh, you’re sad? Take a pill. Oh, you’re mad? Have a hit. Oh, you’re happy? Take another drink.

Exist.

And when that became too much to handle, numb it.

Live.

And when that became too much to cope with, numb it.

Fight.

And when that became too much to bear, numb it.

There was a drug for everything. Since when did living our lives become something we had to dull down? And if it was always that way, what were we really doing? What kind of fight were we fighting?

Something had to change, no matter how much I detested compromising. It only solidified my decision to make the appointment that day.

I sluggishly walked through the doors, barely looking up to give the receptionist my name and then finding a seat in the lobby. I didn’t feel it necessary to wait for her approval; I’d walked in and out of that room for a decade. Doctor Jackson didn’t ask many questions and had always been quick to update my prescriptions. As far as I was concerned, that’s as familiar with his offices as I needed to be.

“Jesse? You can go right back,” said the silver-haired fossil from behind the desk. “He’ll be there in a minute. You’re a little early.”

Slower than I was used to, I rose from my seat again and walked through the gray halls to his office. Past the burgundy door sat his mahogany desk and a six-hundred-dollar, ergonomically-correct swivel chair. Twenty-dollar horizontal blinds were slapped up on the picture window.

The only file that sat on his desk was mine. So I grabbed it and took a seat on the white over-sized chair in the corner.

Case File:
121774-3249

Subject Name:
Jesse James Anders (Jesse James Sanborn)

Address:
1816 Burnsville Parkway, Burnsville, MN  55337

Phone:
857-443-4309 (last known)

Email:
n/a

Emergency Contact:
Lily Lamoureaux  552-775-7558

First arrival/General Notes:

Patient first seen by Doctor Jackson after complaints of previous doctor not using effective treatment methods. After refusal of psychotherapy, patient has been seen regularly by Jackson to monitor prescriptions.

Initial
Diagnosis:

ADHD, PTSD from severe physical abuse by biological parents and two foster fathers before the age of 15. Other detachment disorders noted, but not specified as patient is reluctant to discuss childhood.
(Note: Initial diagnosis by Doctor Ralph Carlson, MD., who treated patient between ages 11-14.)

Current
Diagnosis:

Bipolar I (initial diagnosis retracted after prescribed medication failure to ease symptoms). Some of the patient’s symptoms are atypical of a standard bipolar I diagnosis and I have urged the patient to explore psychotherapy.

History:

Born in St. Paul, MN to John and Melinda Sanborn. No known complications with childbirth or mental health history before ten years of age. Father, John, worked for a manufacturing plant, and mother, Melinda, a domestic engineer. Mother had a bipolar diagnosis but remained unmedicated throughout patient’s childhood.

Patient describes his social life before ten as ‘normal.’ Received good grades, had many friends, adjusted well to new situations, etc. Patient refuses to discuss the death of his sister, Mandy, and when asked general questions about his family life through childhood, he chooses not to respond.
(see attached interview with father and Dr. Carlson, discussing initial diagnosis and circumstances surrounding Mandy’s death.)

Marriage, Education and Occupational History:

Patient is single, but dating. One significant relationship to date. Patient is heterosexual with a history of promiscuity with multiple partners. High school diploma and one year complete of community college. Social situations through later schooling presented challenges for patient in communication and focus.

High-Risk Behaviors:

Alcohol abuse, marijuana abuse, aggression, and a history of police confrontation.

Current Living/Social Situation:

Lives with friend, Jake, and Jake’s father, Dennis, in a single-family home in a southern suburb of Minneapolis. He rents out a single room in the home. Patient describes social situations as solitary or few friends of note. Patient is highly intelligent (
see attached MMPI and Weschler results
), but prefers an environment of low risk and low challenge.

Summation and Notes:

(
Initial visit on audio file. #A3328
) Patient was brought by acting foster mother, Lily Lamoureaux, to our offices at fourteen years of age. Patient’s overall appearance was clean and appropriate. Eye contact minimal and very few words spoken. Ms. Lamoureaux described patient as ‘sad, confused and broken.’ Patient evasive and bouncing knee with arms folded in front of chest. Posture was slouched and showed indifference. Patient was alert, but hostile when asked specific questions about state of mind, depression and previous foster care. Ms. Lamoureaux described his past situation as “unfortunate and unloving” and “abusive, neglectful and punishable.”

Anxiety visibly increased in patient as Ms. Lamoureaux described previous foster living arrangements and previous biological parental abuse, along with the death of patient’s sister, Mandy.

Initial diagnosis of ADHD by Dr. Carlson was in question.

Hospitalizations and Interventions:

No known hospitalization records before fourteen years of age while under another doctor’s care.

Head trauma, stitches,
June 2009/social altercation

Stitches,
August 2010/social altercation

Broken finger, head trauma,
November 2010/social altercation