Julian: A Dark Angel Series Companion Novella (Dark Angel #3) (8 page)

“I can only imagine Eric would have been devastated,” I respond at ease.

“Gutted doesn’t even cover it. I believe he dropped the F bomb and let me tell you, Amelia repeats what you say so Eric got an earful from us that night.”

We laugh for a little while longer before Lex walks over to us. He stands beside Charlie, taking baby Ava off her and moving his lips to her forehead. I see Charlie watch him in awe, but her eyes do this thing, as if she is trying to get him to say something.

We all remain silent; only the sounds of the children screaming and the occasional rustle in the trees from a slight breeze can be heard. The clouds have formed into a cluster, the shades of gray warning us of what’s to come. In the distance, a roar of thunder startles the children and parents scramble to collect their family and belongings before the rain.

For me, there is a different kind of storm brewing, and it is just about to strike

Lex clears his throat. “You saved my wife and my baby.”

It’s not a thank you, more of a statement.

I don’t say a word.

Charlie places her hand on mine and the touch makes me
ache
. “Thank you, Julian. Give yourself that. Despite whatever your intention was, you saved us.”

I look directly into her eyes, watching her stare back at me. She stands up and leans in to embrace me.

My strength, my weaknesses, every emotion possible is swirling in my head, and not wanting to linger in this moment, I pull away and give her the smile she deserves.

Lex continues to stand beside her, watching us intently.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

It’s as clear as day.

I give them all a final smile before walking away for good. Another chapter in my life closed. But this part of the book ended happily…for them, not me. I still have a lot of soul searching to do.

I no longer have Chelsea, I no longer have Charlie, and I refuse to die in a heap of white acid.

But I need help.

Who is going to save me now?

I shuffle my legs in an attempt to get comfortable. Whoever invented plastics chairs was a dickhead. Perhaps it’s not even the chairs, more the fact that I am sitting in a circle surrounded by complete strangers who, just like me, sit on these shitty plastic chairs. On one side of me is my baggage, and on the other, my demons. Is there a savior in the room? That’s why we all sit here, praying that someone will save us from our inevitable death.

The support meeting is located in a quiet hall behind one of our local churches. I think fate stepped in when I stumbled upon the small ad in the newspaper. I didn’t want some big-shot rehab facility. Call me naïve, but I wasn’t that fucked-up.

An older lady with gray-streaked hair sits down and smiles at each of us. She looks at peace, and there is a calm aura that surrounds her. I don’t want to stare at anyone, but the curiosity gets the better of me. We are all puppets in this freak show. Maybe I’m not so screwed-up, or worse yet, maybe I’m the most insane person sitting in this room. Something tells me the tranny sitting across from me has bigger issues.

The lady clears her throat and on closer inspection, she has a Bible in her hand.

“Good afternoon, friends.” Her voice is soothing; she reminds me a lot of my grandmother. “My name is Hazel and I’d like to welcome our new friend.”

There are a few smiling faces in the group, and then there are those that stare blankly into space.

“I’d like to tell you about myself and why I am here today.” She takes a deep breath; I sense I’m not going to like what she’s going to say. “Twenty years ago, in the front of this building, I lost my husband and son.”

An eerie silence falls over the room. The tranny is clutching a handkerchief, dabbing each eye, careful not to smear the excessive amount of blue eye shadow smeared across his eyelids.

“We had just finished Sunday morning mass and were walking out of the church to our car. My son stopped to tie his shoe and my husband waited for him. I was only a few feet ahead when I heard the loud bang. The next minute, I see my husband and son lying on the ground.” Hazel traces her fingers along the engraved crucifix that sits on the cover of the Bible. “It was a boy who took my family away from me. He was only thirteen years old, bullied into a gang, and he did what he needed to do to survive on the streets. I have spent so many years asking why I was punished, why would God take away my family? The pain comes in waves, but somehow I have to find purpose in why I have been spared.”

My heart is breaking for her. To have your husband and son shot in front of you was unthinkable!

“I’m not here to preach the lord, despite that I carry this around.” She lifts the Bible, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “This was my way of finding peace. Everyone is different and that is the first step to healing.”

A man sitting beside her is rocking back and forth. He scratches himself, annoyed, and Hazel recognizes his impatience. His hair is ginger-colored and covers his face so his eyes are barely seen. He is wearing brown baggy jeans and a dull green t-shirt. It’s an inappropriate moment to be thinking that he looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, but he sure does.

“I still haven’t found it, Hazel,” he complains.

Hazel smiles at the man. I suspect this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. “Jerry,” she softly scolds. “You have found that first step; you just need to accept that.”

He continues to be irritated, scratching like a madman. Something about his scratching is contagious. Soon I find myself scratching my arms like I have chicken pox.

“
I need to the get out of here,”
he huffs.

Hazel walks over and places her hand around Jerry’s shoulder. At first he flinches, then his body visibly relaxes, and he remains quiet for the remainder of the session.

What the fuck was that about?

A slight creak of the door interrupts whatever the hell just happened with Jerry. A girl sneaks in and sits at a chair near the exit. We all turn to her direction, though with her head bowed down and face covered by a hood, we cannot see her face. Hazel looks pleased, although the girl does not look up.

I can’t help but watch her; it’s boiling hot outside and in the room so why is she wearing a jacket? A part of me is hoping she will look my way, but nothing. I give up and focus my attention on Hazel and the rest of the group.

An older man, perhaps late sixties, pipes up. “My name is Fred.”

“Hi, Fred,” everyone greets in unison.

“It was 1992, the Barcelona Olympics. We were celebrating the US winning gold and a bunch of us holiday folk were crossing a busy street to get to the local bar. As we cross the road, this taxi comes out of nowhere and I watch it, frozen in the middle of the road. My friend pushes me out of the way, saving me from my death.” Fred falls into a digestive silence, his story appearing to be more tragic than his near brush with death. “I have agyrophobia,
the fear of crossing roads,” he admits. “At first it wasn’t a huge deal, but as time went on I struggled to go to work, out for groceries, or even just visit my neighbor across the street. My wife ended up leaving me and took my daughter with her. She had enough of my paranoia.” The sad tone in his voice only mildly projects the turmoil he is facing, and the bitter disappointment in himself for losing his family.
The poor man.

“Fred, last week you told us about your journey to the local store by foot,” Hazel says encouragingly.

Fred stares at the ground, nervously clicking his scuffed brown boots together. “Yeah, I walked. But I stood watching the store from across the street for an hour.”

So many questions run through my mind. How on Earth does he get anywhere? Is it even possible to not cross a road? My fear of coyotes seems so insignificant right now.

“I know what you new folk must be thinking…how do I get anywhere? Well, I drive. If I have to go to the post office across the road, I get in my car and drive.”

Jerry mumbles under his breath which starts a heated debate with Fred. Not paying attention to either of them, I find myself drawn to the mystery girl who continues to sit in silence near the door. From what I can see of her face, she is quite pale. Her cheekbones are prominent, and not in a healthy way. Although she is wearing loose articles of clothing, her frame appears to be emaciated. I don’t want to stare, but there’s something about her that intrigues me.

“Honestly, you two fight like cats and dogs. Grow some balls and shut up already!” The tranny has had enough of their bickering. He, she, hell I don’t know, is wearing a low-cut dress with a visible bust. My instincts would say ‘he’ due to his Adam’s apple that was practically jumping out at me.

Stop fucking staring.

“Like you’re one to talk,
Penny
,” Jerry mocks. “If I need balls, I’m sure you’ve still got a pair tucked into your panties,” Jerry notes with dark amusement.

“Jerry, Penny,” Hazel softly calls their names and, like magic, they shut up, although still angry from their argument. I suspect Hazel is the mother hen to everyone in this room; they seem to respect her and the calming influence she has over them is likely the exact reason they come back every week. “I always like to give individuals a task to take home with them, a step to healing. I want you to focus on one thing that made you smile this week. It could be a delicious ice cream you ate or maybe someone you saw. Something that makes you smile, even for just a moment.” Hazel smiles hopefully at each of us.

“Does having sex with a cab driver count?” Penny sighs dreamily.

“What is it with you and sex? I swear, Penny, sometimes you are such a wh—” Jerry is interrupted by a furious Penny.

“A what, Jerry? A whore? Just because I like sex doesn’t make me a whore!”

Whoa!
We had entered awkward territory.

“Stop being such a jerk in front of our new member, Jerry.” Penny looks directly at me and shoots me a wink. Jerry rolls his eyes.

“Thank you…Penny?” I ask politely.

“Yes, Penny…Penny Tration.” She bats her eyelashes at me this time.

I accidentally let out a small laugh, and obviously I’m not the only one as Fred is bowing his head with a smirk on his face.

“Nice to meet you, Penny Tration.” I hold in my laughter as best as I can. “My name is Julian…Julian Baker.”

The sound of a chair screeching along the wooden floor echoes through the room; my head turns to the noise that comes from the hooded girl. She lifts her head slightly and I am eager to see her face. Only her lips are visible, a pale pink with the right corner raw from where she’s been chewing, most likely due to the anxiety that was this meeting.             

What the fuck is it about her?

Whatever it is needs to stop right here, right now. I came here to heal and find peace, not to hook up and sleep with someone in the group. Next time I sit in this chair, I am almost certain it will be my turn to open the vault of my past and lay it bare for everyone to see.

It terrifies me to the core.

As if Hazel can sense my trepidation, she casually walks over and places her palm over mine. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll happen when you’re ready.”

“I think I’m ready, I just…I don’t know,” I blurt out.

“Julian, dear boy, you will know when you’re ready to speak. Your heart and mind will be in sync. Don’t force yourself.”

My heart and mind need to be in sync.

Repeat, my heart and mind need to be in sync.

I slam my laptop shut; my frustration and anxiety over not receiving a response from Mr. Grimmer has sent me into a spiral of self-doubt. Fuck that ‘no news is good news’ bullshit. No news means I’m a big fat failure and my dreams, once again, have been flushed down the drain along with my last stash of coke.

It is a quarter to seven in the evening, only fifteen minutes till I have to leave for the weekly meeting. The majority of this week I had spent in the office without any leads, and I was pretty sure I would be fired any day now. Considering my paycheck wasn’t enough to cover my rent, an eviction was imminent. Life sure was one big bowl of roses.

Once again I find myself sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Note to self—
invent comfortable plastic chairs.
How can you open your mind to healing when your nuts are squashed against your dick and shoved somewhere up your ass?

Hazel walks in and sits down with her Bible in her lap. She closes her eyes and I watch as her lips move. Making the sign of the cross, she opens her eyes from what must have been a silent prayer.

Fred walks in and takes his usual seat, followed by Jerry and Penny arguing again. I don’t bother to listen to their conversation, assuming they will air it out for everyone to hear shortly.

Penny takes a seat beside me. Today she is wearing a bright yellow dress that has pictures of candy on it. Her platform pumps, which are painted with the union jack, give her height and she is towering over everyone in this room. Her hair is bright blue; maybe not hair, more like a wig. I am disturbing myself with how much attention I am paying to detail.

Hazel welcomes everyone back, but I am quick to scan the room and see the mystery hooded girl is not here. I am a little disappointed; I hoped I would have gotten a glimpse of her face today.

Jerry is profusely scratching and telling everyone he’s out of here. Once again, Hazel goes through the motions to calm him.

Fred tells his story again.

It was Groundhog Day and I was Bill Murray.

Perhaps the only thing keeping my attention is Penny trying to pull her dress up above her thigh to entice me.

Scrotum and dick. If you got them, I ain’t interested.

Sometime during Fred’s story, mystery girl walks in. Her hood is off and her bright red hair stands out. It’s cut short with her bangs a longer length that falls below her eyes. She continues to wear the black hooded jacket in the sweltering heat. I need to look away before she catches me.

Hazel begins to ask us about how our task went, the one thing that made us smile this week.

Fred is first to answer. “I watched a rerun of Seinfeld. It was the episode where George ate an onion. I laughed for an hour. Then my neighbor banged on my door and we got into argument, so maybe I shouldn’t laugh so much.” His smile fades from wry to pensive.

Hazel is quick to praise him. “Fred, laughter is the best medicine. Don’t be discouraged by your neighbor’s discontent.”

Jerry grunts, prompting Hazel to ask him the same question. “Nothing made me happy, except for when I saw this kid fall off a bike. Yeah, maybe then I snickered. Kid deserved it, was showing off and all.”

Hazel chooses her words carefully. “Jerry, we talked about seeking joy in others’ pain.”

“Yeah, so what? Kid thought he was King Shit.”

“He is just a child, he has yet to learn the consequences of his actions,” Hazel reminds him.

“Big fucking deal. I was a kid too, okay? Do you think they cared about what they were doing to me?” he answers back in a sinister tone.

“Jerry, who was there to show them right from wrong? They knew no better. Your brothers felt the pain you did, and unfortunately, their way of dealing with the hurt and resentment was to take it out on you.”

Jerry pulls his knees to his chest and begins to rock back and forth.

Hazel softens her tone. “We must understand that a cycle can be broken. The actions of the past do not need to repeat themselves. We need to look at the whole picture, understand the story and what lies beneath.”

She turns to look at me and gives me a slight nod. Great. It’s now or never, right?

My throat feels dry, god, what I would do for a Scotch on the rocks right now.

“I was sitting in a café. The lady beside me ordered a red velvet cupcake. Reminded me of this woman I was fond of…well, was in love with. At least I thought it was love, I think.” My thoughts and words come out jumbled; I sound like a moron.

“I hear hesitation surrounding the word ‘love’?” Hazel asks.

“I don’t think…” I struggle to get my words out. “I thought I loved Chelsea. She was my neighbor and I was crazy about her. She would tease me, taunt me, and I just took anything, any scraps she would throw my way. I was convinced I loved her. But I was seventeen. Who falls in love at seventeen?”

“I fell in love at seventeen…with my hand.” Jerry laughs.

Penny slaps her hand on her knee, letting out a huge roar.

“Ignoring your age, what feeling do you remember about her? What feelings do you associate with love?” Hazel’s questions leave me stumped.

“She was beautiful. She had long brown hair, the kind that looked like it belonged in a commercial for shampoo. It was so silky and smelled like vanilla. Used to make me weak in the knees every time I was near her.

Chelsea was a daredevil, everything I wasn’t. It scared me, yet excited me at the same time. It would make me so angry when she would sneak guys home and screw them in her room when her parents were in the living room watching The Price is Right.”

“Sounds like my kind of girl!” Penny giggles.

“She liked sex, alright. Maybe too much.” The knots in my stomach tighten, leaving me slightly out of breath. “The night she died, I told her I loved her….” Bowing my head, I attempt to fight back the pain that threatens to invade every part of me. “You should have seen the look on her face. I had never seen that side of Chelsea, like she was honored. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but that face haunts me to this very day.”

“Haunts you, or eases the pain?” Hazel asks for clarification.

“Both. Sometimes my memory of her face is so clear, and other times I can’t remember and it frustrates me. Those are the times I can only see the flames.”

The group is silent for moments on end. Great, I am the lunatic in here.

“It’s common for many people to forget the good and remember the bad. It’s important that you try to remember as many good things as you can. For instance, I try to remember every Sunday when my family would leave church to head down to the ice cream parlor.” She smiles.

“The same church where your family was shot?” Jerry asks in shock.

“Yes. Every Sunday for ten years we walked down that same path and every Sunday was a joyous occasion until that very last one.” Hazel’s face doesn’t change, and I wonder how she can remain calm while reliving that disturbing memory.

I start to find my voice. “The nightmares plague me, the same scene over and over again. Chelsea driving the car into the tree and the flames engulfing it before my eyes. The feeling of being helpless, watching her body dragged from the wreckage and hearing the paramedics pronouncing her dead. The only thing that stopped it was a woman I met named Charlie.”

There is a cough in the room, but I am too late to see who it came from.

“Tell us about this Charlie?” Penny places her hand on mine, conflicting me in every which way.

“She looked like Chelsea, beautiful, smart, god she was perfect.”

“
And?”
Penny waits in anticipation.

“She was in love with someone else. I had no chance.”

“Women think with their kitties, I should know after all.” Penny flicks her hair behind her shoulder.

“Honestly, Penny, you’re such a—”

“It’s getting old, Jerry, much like your outfit,” Penny mocks.

I interrupt the both of them. “Charlie isn’t like that. She loves him, always loved him. You can’t compete if there was no competition to begin with.”

“So then why are you here?” Fred asks.

Million dollar question.
Why am I here?

“Because losing Chelsea and Charlie forced me to do drugs. I was my own worst nightmare. I know I need to find a way to move forward in my life without using people to replace what I lost.”

Hazel places her hand on her heart. “My boy, you’ve just passed that first step, accepting what you need to overcome.”

It was exactly like in school, the teacher praising you in front of the whole classroom. Inside I feel the relief wash over me, Penny leaning over to squeeze my hand with delight. Fred begins to clap, acknowledging my achievement. Jerry sulks, as per usual, then in a bold move leans towards me and sticks out his fist; I knock fists with him, weird but okay, whatever.

My eyes wander over to mystery girl. With her sleeves up, I can see red marks just above her wrist. There is no mistaking them; some are old scars and others look raw and new.

They are cuts.

I beg her with my eyes to look my direction. She is a girl in pain, maybe more so than the rest of us in this room. With every cut that scars her pale skin, I want to mend her and give her the hope she needs. Whatever it is about this girl that pulls me in, I need to control it. Something has a hold of me, and with alarms bells ringing in my head, once again I have to stop trying to find the next obsession.

Everything comes to a halt when I watch her head lift and her eyes stare directly at mine.

There is something familiar about them; I’ve seen them before. I wrack my brain but come up with nothing.

This is a huge fault of mine; this is exactly what I do every time. I think I see people from the past in my present.

Breaking her gaze, I shake my head, clearing my thoughts.

“Darling, you up for a drink at the bar round the corner? My treat.” Penny pulls a twenty out of her cleavage.

I nod and laugh at her antics, only to miss the mystery girl leaving the room, vanishing without a trace.