the people who helped get you to where you are rudely and accusing them of using you … all of these things are symptoms of a bigger problem.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says, his voice not as loud now but just as emotional. “What’s that, Miss Know-It-All?”
I shrug to ease the sting. “Lost. You’re lost. You’re wandering around in a scary place and you don’t know how to find your way back. That’s why I’m here. Let me be your guide.”
He jerks his eyes back to me glares. “Fuck you. I’m happy.”
“Be honest. You’re not happy. You’re miserable.”
He frowns at me, frustrated. “Who the hell are you to tell me I’m not happy, huh? You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”
“I knew a man like you. Once.”
“What’d he do, dump you?” He laughs at his own cruel joke.
I look down in my lap, gripping my hands tightly together in the hope it will keep me together too. “No, he didn’t dump me,” I say softly. My strength has abandoned me temporarily. I lift my head, tears making my eyes bright. I will them not to fall.
Tarin loses his smile. “What happened?” His voice is softer this time. I catch a glimpse of the humanity inside him, the man his friends tell me he is when he’s not high and drowning in darkness.
“He was a brilliant musician. The love of my life, actually. But he got caught up in the fame-and-fortune part of the life and got lost. I never got him back.” And I never brought him back, either.
“What do you mean, you never got him back?” He’s scoffing at my pain, trying to remain cruel and unconcerned, but I recognize it as a protective measure so I didn’t take offense. I try not to let it hurt too much.
“Or maybe I don’t want to know,” he finishes.
“His name was Austin Betzer.” I pause, waiting for the words to sink in. “You tell me what happened.” I want to hear him say it out loud. He won’t listen to me, but maybe there’s a chance he’ll at least listen to himself.
Tarin looks like he’s seen a ghost. He whispers, “Fuck me,” as his entire body goes slack, the aggression draining out of him in an instant.
His reaction is stronger than I’d expected, but I don’t let that stop me. “So now you know. Now you know why I’m here. You and I are going to work together and get your shit fixed, so you don’t end up in a body bag like my boyfriend did. It’s time to pay the piper for all the mistakes you’ve made. Time to man-up and turn your life around.”
Tarin leans over and grabs the orange juice, gulping it down. His gaze never leaves my face. When he finishes, he leans back, using the back of his hand to wipe the orange juice mustache off his upper lip. “So what’s that mean, exactly? Like what is it you want to do? Are you the fucking ghost of Christmas past or something? Are we getting lawyers involved?”
His abrupt change of attitude makes this situation completely different than the ones I experienced with my other clients. I hadn’t expected it to go this smoothly, so I’m temporarily at a loss for words. My silence seems to make him nervous, so I throw something out there until I can collect my thoughts. “Lawyers?” is all I can manage.
He gets a burst of energy and starts gesturing with his free hand while he talks. “You know, shit happens with people, right? I mean, you go out and you party it up … and shit happens. You have no idea when you’re about to go too far. You do one more hit or drink one more shot. No one ever knows when it’s too much until it’s too late, right?”
He leans forward suddenly and puts the empty glass on the table before dropping his head into his hands. He runs his fingers through the hair above his ears, like he’s massaging the sides of his head because he’s stressed out. “Fuck! … Fuck!”
I begin to wonder if he’s
“Oh, yeah?” he says, his voice not as loud now but just as emotional. “What’s that, Miss Know-It-All?”
I shrug to ease the sting. “Lost. You’re lost. You’re wandering around in a scary place and you don’t know how to find your way back. That’s why I’m here. Let me be your guide.”
He jerks his eyes back to me glares. “Fuck you. I’m happy.”
“Be honest. You’re not happy. You’re miserable.”
He frowns at me, frustrated. “Who the hell are you to tell me I’m not happy, huh? You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”
“I knew a man like you. Once.”
“What’d he do, dump you?” He laughs at his own cruel joke.
I look down in my lap, gripping my hands tightly together in the hope it will keep me together too. “No, he didn’t dump me,” I say softly. My strength has abandoned me temporarily. I lift my head, tears making my eyes bright. I will them not to fall.
Tarin loses his smile. “What happened?” His voice is softer this time. I catch a glimpse of the humanity inside him, the man his friends tell me he is when he’s not high and drowning in darkness.
“He was a brilliant musician. The love of my life, actually. But he got caught up in the fame-and-fortune part of the life and got lost. I never got him back.” And I never brought him back, either.
“What do you mean, you never got him back?” He’s scoffing at my pain, trying to remain cruel and unconcerned, but I recognize it as a protective measure so I didn’t take offense. I try not to let it hurt too much.
“Or maybe I don’t want to know,” he finishes.
“His name was Austin Betzer.” I pause, waiting for the words to sink in. “You tell me what happened.” I want to hear him say it out loud. He won’t listen to me, but maybe there’s a chance he’ll at least listen to himself.
Tarin looks like he’s seen a ghost. He whispers, “Fuck me,” as his entire body goes slack, the aggression draining out of him in an instant.
His reaction is stronger than I’d expected, but I don’t let that stop me. “So now you know. Now you know why I’m here. You and I are going to work together and get your shit fixed, so you don’t end up in a body bag like my boyfriend did. It’s time to pay the piper for all the mistakes you’ve made. Time to man-up and turn your life around.”
Tarin leans over and grabs the orange juice, gulping it down. His gaze never leaves my face. When he finishes, he leans back, using the back of his hand to wipe the orange juice mustache off his upper lip. “So what’s that mean, exactly? Like what is it you want to do? Are you the fucking ghost of Christmas past or something? Are we getting lawyers involved?”
His abrupt change of attitude makes this situation completely different than the ones I experienced with my other clients. I hadn’t expected it to go this smoothly, so I’m temporarily at a loss for words. My silence seems to make him nervous, so I throw something out there until I can collect my thoughts. “Lawyers?” is all I can manage.
He gets a burst of energy and starts gesturing with his free hand while he talks. “You know, shit happens with people, right? I mean, you go out and you party it up … and shit happens. You have no idea when you’re about to go too far. You do one more hit or drink one more shot. No one ever knows when it’s too much until it’s too late, right?”
He leans forward suddenly and puts the empty glass on the table before dropping his head into his hands. He runs his fingers through the hair above his ears, like he’s massaging the sides of his head because he’s stressed out. “Fuck! … Fuck!”
I begin to wonder if he’s
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