Four Shades of Recovery: Boxed Set (6 page)

Like any good night, you usually don’t want it to end…so you after party.

We went to his friend’s place that overlooked the ocean. Muy bien. Clemente started getting a little mad and proceeded to tell me “tu disinvitation mi casa. tu y mi amigo” I mean damn. I know those were meant to be harsh words, pero it didn’t really have the effect he was trying to get…probably because it was in Spanish. I said okay, and then he changed his mind and said I could stay. I was not going to put up a fight either way I was just tired and wanted to sleep.

He said the next day “I sorry, I crazy when I drink”…this is all too familiar…kind of reminds me of someone I know…Bahaha.

I was then trying, for the love of god, to get some sleep. ALL I WANTED WAS SLEEP. I was starting to get awfully grumpy, because it was like he was purposely trying to be loud to prevent this wish of mine. “Tu kiss me?” he started to ask repeatedly. After the 20th NO or lo siento pero no from my mouth, I was getting extremely fed up. I knew I was on the verge of snapping….then I snapped. The 21st time he asked, he became my punching bag. A quick combination of two punches to the kidney with all I had left were played out. “Ambulance… call ambulance” he began to say. I don’t think he knew the series of curse words that were soon to follow from my mouth. Good times. Good times.

MATT

Megan’s blog from Ibiza stuns me. She sounds like another person entirely,  a superficial college undergrad out for a good time. The clubbing, easy pickups and snarky attitude reveal an entirely new side of her. One that I can’t fathom. I know I’m a bit of an uptight dude but her attitude makes me heartsick.

My phone buzzes as I head to my Porsche in the parking garage outside of Dr. Stone’s office. It’s Megan. I want to ignore it. Maybe I should use a translation app and tell her to flip off in Spanish! But, I need to know what her blog comments mean. Perhaps she developed multiple personalities on her trip abroad.

“I just read your second blog, Megan.” My voice is low and threatening. “What the hell was that about?”

“I can explain some of it. Can we talk about it, in person?”

“There’s really not much to say,” I state coolly. “Your behavior on Ibiza and the ferry ride over was rude and crude.”

“Matt, I know…I’m sorry. Can I take you to dinner?”

My heart shudders. “I don’t want to see you just now, Megan. My image of you has been altered forever.”

“What do you mean? Yeah, I know I sounded like a bratty college student. I picked up Clemente and he showed me a great time on Ibiza. I didn’t sleep with him, however. I thought that was clear from my attack on his kidneys.” She sounds defensive and surprised at my interpretation. “That’s exactly why I need a face to face with you, now.”

“What was the adjacent ferry cabin comment and “aweeee” about then?” I want her to understand some of the heart wrenching hurt she caused me with that entry.

“I’ve always been such a solitary, quiet little book worm. My European trip helped me to understand what most typical 22-year-old young women experience. At least when they explore the world outside of books, college and work. I’ve never been able to embrace that world before and with the help of my peers, I did. I was trying to write and talk like they do.”

“Well, the Megan I fell for was the quiet, lovely, studious but troubled 22 year old college graduate. Not this selfish, drunken party girl.” My temper builds as I speak. 

“Please, Matt. We’ll both feel better after we eat and talk.”

“Not tonight,” I insist. I wrestle with a series of urges to punish her, hold her, run away from her, toward her, and then back again.

“Well, that’s unfortunate because I’m staring at you as we speak,” she announces. I look up to see my beautiful Megan barreling toward me on the sidewalk and not ten feet away. We both close our tech  toys and stare at the other. She continues to approach as I stop and stare. I think my jaw drops.

She’s flushed and her mahogany hair cascades around her shoulders like a fountain. Her beauty and appeal take me by surprise once again. She’s in my face and grasping me around the neck before I can react. It takes all my strength to put each of my hands on her arms and remove them from me.

Her mouth puckers in disappointment. “There’s a fun little Italian Trattoria across the street,” she indicates with a jerk of her head in the proper direction. “Hungry?”

I hesitate but then fold when the thought of leaving her alone surfaces. After my session with Stone, I intended to take her to dinner after all. “Not for much, Megan. However, since you’re here let’s at least have a bite.”   

She sighs in relief and then whispers. “I wanted to explain my blogs before you went ballistic, Matt.”

“Dr. Stone helped me process your first one. I actually came to terms with your London adventure but the second one really threw me.” We walk, without touching, toward the restaurant.

“I’m sorry if the blog gave the impression that I slept with Clemente or anyone else. I can assure you that we did not have sex.” Megan has the nerve to roll her eyes at me.

I glare at her and try to remain silent. “It’s not just the idea of sex. More that you crassly want to use and abuse the generosity of these young men. They let you stay in their home, fed you, and carted you around and you…,” I say before she interrupts me.

“I know it’s such an arrogant, self-absorbed, bitchy thing to do. However, as I traveled, it seemed all the attractive young women behaved in the same way. It’s sort of a game we play. Sometimes sex is the reward and at other times, it’s not.”

I huff in frustration. “Let’s see if I get this right. The local guys meet an exotic young thing from elsewhere. For the pleasure of your time and company, they often give you space, food and drink. They show you around the area and everyone’s happy.”

“Well, exotic may be the key concept here,” she persists. “Some of the guys, not all of them, enjoy showing me around, telling me about themselves, showing me off and besides…what else do they have to do with their time?” Her voice soothes me and the explanation makes sense. These young men are clearly not movers and shakers; not like me.

We’re in the restaurant now and the hostess seats us at a corner table. Megan orders ravioli and a salad. I order an expensive bottle of cabernet sauvignon and some gnocchi.

“Is the rest of your blog about the good times that you had with the men you lured into your net?” I inquire in an almost clinical manner.

She shrugs and looks down with shame now, “I’m afraid so. I wanted to embrace the party girl spirit.”

Another fear seizes me as I think about her blogs. “Is that how you thought of me last year? Someone who could show you a good time for a while? Then, you simply moved on to your next adventure?” I’m suddenly feeling like an idiot for getting my hopes up about our future.

“Of course not! I lived in Portland, and with you, for most of that time. I wasn’t touring around or clubbing when we were together. I happily gave myself to you in the psychological and sexual sense – which was incredible by the way. And, we’re from the same culture.” She sounds offended and surprised about my fears.

“But you left me. I can’t make sense of that move. I wonder if you weren’t behaving like some self-absorbed superficial young woman; incapable of really caring for another person.” I state and feel heartbroken all over again.

“Matt, you’re not in that camp in any way, shape or form. Stop this obsessive brow beating, now,” she commands and looks directly into my eyes. Her voice calms me and I begin to relax. She places her hand over mine at the table.

“I missed you so much, baby,” she whispers. “I wanted to give you up because I didn’t think I deserved you. I care about you so much, though, Matt. Please, give me a chance.”

I close my eyes and sigh with relief. I want her to have this effect on me. I’m melting again. The rest of our meal passes without drama. She reassures me.

I drive us back to my place. We sit in my living room and drink more wine. Before long, her weight is on my lap. I stifle a groan. Her arms encircle my shoulders and her lips find my mouth. We make out passionately for several minutes. Hell, this feels great. I love holding Megan and soothing her.

Then I force myself back to my conditions and the discussion with Dr. Stone.

“Megan, we’re breaking my rules,” I manage to blurt out. She’s so damn tempting. “I should drive you home, now. However, I haven’t heard about all of your adventures.” I’m sure there’s more heartache to come.

“Do you want to read another of my blog entries or do you get the general idea?”

“Maybe I’ll just read one more and then we can move on to what happened, once you returned to the states.” She nods and I note that there’s fear in her eyes.

“Well, then, I’ll show you my riff on Barcelona.” She enthuses and gives me one of her dazzling smiles. She opens her IPhone and calls up her blog.

BARcelona…..is what my newly purchased sunglasses said until I lost them in the ocean surf five minutes later….I was not even supposed to be in this amazing city yet, but I missed the bus for Pamplona, Spain so I said eh…Barcelona it is. It’s the best travel decision I ever made.

So I get here, have real issues explaining to the cab driver “any hotel/hostel” and he finally drops me off at, literally, the dirtiest place I have ever seen. Since it was 5am, I didn’t have much of a choice. After a few hours of shuteye, it was time to see what this place offered.

Walked around ‘til I finally met the beach. Took a boat ride…severely burnt my arm…from sticking it out of the boat window…and then walked around a little longer until I spotted a perfect little spot to relax and have a drink.

Mimosa it was. I sat at yet another table by myself until, as I call him, “hot pants”, said something to me. Just picture an older man in something a 15-year-old girl would wear. This was also the moment I met my new friend, Scott. He too was sitting at a table by himself and we discovered we were both traveling Europe, solo. But wait, there’s more….

The rest of the day was pretty much drinks and some appetizers until we decided to get into the water. I was not wearing a swimsuit at this time nor was my stuff with me. I stopped in a shop to get a cheap one…I was just between tipsy and drunk. I really didn’t care what the suit looked like…I just picked the first little yellow one/Barcelona sunglasses/swim shorts without even trying them on and  regretted that, later.

After changing in the restroom on the beach, I discovered both the swimsuit and the shorts were meant for a 5 year old, aka they were way too small….maybe that’s what happened to “hot pants”.  I was still in the “I don’t really care” state so I took my happy self into the water in this redic attire. This was okay though people, because I was in Europe…and there were tons of women walking around topless.

After an hour or two of swimming in the saltiest/roughest water thus far, and losing my sunglasses to the waves, I was ready for a nap. Or, so I thought. Scott’s hostel ended up having an opening, so I moved my stuff there and got ready for a night out.

Couch surfing and hostels are really the way to go. I met all kinds of, mostly Australians, doing the same thing as me. I could say that the drinking ended at the Hostel’s 2-dollar mojito night, but I would be lying.

When I have a plan in my mind, I’ll do anything to make it happen. My plan for this evening was to see Barcelona’s lights at night. To do that meant a hike up one of the larger hills in town. Soooo… after we drank our mojitos and talked to a German guy, the three of us set out to find other pubs that eventually led to this hike.

Pub after Pub. Live music. The German guy commenting to me “you can drink”, and then later saying that he “might throw up”. We also went dancing. We were finally ready for this hike….or, I should say, cab ride… hahaha.  The cab driver took us up this hill and then apparently I started speaking gibberish to him and being “a brat” said Scott…so he left us up there. No worries, though, I found a random to take us back down. Then, I ate a muffin and called it a night.

Today we went sightseeing. Gaudi is an architect who designed the most amazing buildings in Barcelona and we had the pleasure of visiting a few, including the still incomplete and beautiful Holy Family Cathedral. I then spent the rest of the day resting at the beach. Now we are off to a Spanish  dinner. Toodles.

Again, I feel unsettled as I complete reading Megan’s blog. There’s something disturbing about her attitude that comes across in the language and habits she embraces. She’s flippant in her blog and so unlike the Megan I know. Perhaps she was reveling in the party girl mode. I let it go, as there’s been too much drama today. Maybe I should think of her travels the way a parent thinks about their rebellious teenage daughter.