Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (17 page)

I opened the refrigerator door and the night before came barreling back. The delicious smell of garlicky take-out from Arte de Dello’s restaurant made my stomach growl in hunger. I opened one of the pretty white containers and ate the Pesto Gnocchi with my fingers. I was in too big a hurry to waste time getting a fork. I needed to feed this sense of shame that was my mother. I shoveled the shit in, hoping to bury the guilt along with it. I ate to forget; I ate to remember. It was psychosis in its rawest form. It was self-mutilation. I hated who I was, hated how I felt. I would do just about anything not to feel. My feelings ran too deep. Superficial ones I could do. I stayed far enough away from the deep end … but still, I was envious of anyone who had the courage I lacked.

Before I could put the carton down, I had to purge. Afterwards, I forced the pasta down the drain with my hand.
Gross.
Robotically, I started rinsing out the sink, when all of a sudden a gasp caught my attention.
Cindy!
She ripped the squished carton free from my hand.

“What in the fuck, Gia? This again? What’s gotten you this upset? That incubus who calls herself Mom?” she asked, grabbing her car keys.

“Please. Please don’t. You’ll only make things worse for me. I’m fine. Really. I promise.” I smiled joylessly.

“What? Make things worse? How could they get any worse? Scratch that, stop making promises you don’t mean, Gia.”

She retreated to her bedroom, slamming the door.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I didn’t need this today. I. Did. Not. Need. This. At. All. I brushed my teeth and brewed coffee from the Keurig. I figured I must be one of the only people in the world who could puke and drink coffee right after. My stomach was used to the abuse.
I
was used to the abuse. Cindy was not.

I was standing in front of Medusa’s lair with the
Halloween
theme song playing in my head. She was my Michael Myers. The ever-present knot in my gut broke off into multiplied tiny herniated ones. The window curtain moved slightly.
It was time
.

I made my way up the walk of the old Victorian I used to call home, my breath steaming my sunglasses. Fuck, it was a cold day. This home housed many of my demons. And the biggest one would be on the other side of that door. The house was never a home. It was a mausoleum. I was never allowed to touch any of my mother’s prized possessions, never allowed to use the living room. I was segregated to my room. She even had control of the color scheme. But as long as I had my shelves filled with books, I was fine. My books were my escape. It was a nerdy escape, but an escape nonetheless. My hand shook as I unlocked the door. I leaned my forehead against the wood for a moment.
One breath in. One breath out.
I opened the door and walked inside. The smell of Tiger Balm hit me hard. I associated that smell with Medusa and pain. And when Medusa was in pain, I was in pain.

“Are you going to come in? Or just stand there like an idiot? Close the damn door, Gia. Unless you’re paying my heating bills now.” She rolled across the parquet floor in her wheelchair. I winced at the sight of her. She caused me physical and mental pain. It was hard not to dwell on my past. That was why I didn’t like coming here. It was easier to just text or phone her. Today I wouldn’t have that luxury, though. I wouldn’t be spared. So I closed the door, somberly hoping that if I showed obedience this visit wouldn’t be too bad.

“Is your pain that bad that you’re in the wheelchair today? Didn’t you take your meds?” I asked, walking over to the one chair I was allowed to sit in while visiting.

“Isn’t that a moronic question? To think I birthed you,” she tisked. “Of course, the pain is bad. You’re making it worse with your ridiculous questions. Now, tell me what I want to know and leave.” She wheeled closer. She was a human lie detector. I couldn’t lie to her face.

“I met Abel when he stopped by work. Then I was invited to his concert. There was an after-party, to which Cindy and I both went. And I um … um … went to his penthouse for a visit.”

I waited for her retort. My palms were sweating, my knees knocking, and my nose running. I was definitely allergic to her. My body reacted strongly to her presence. I was told once by a school counselor that the mind is powerful, that it can make you symptomatic of anything it wants. Right now it wanted me safe from her clutches—so much so that my anxiety took on physical form. And then there was that other, healthy side of me that fought her at times. I relished those moments. But I needed to be in the right head space to be able to tackle her head-on. And today I was not in that space.

“Is he a freak like I read? Did you do everything he asked? Men like him are very particular in their needs. If you give him whatever he wants, whatever it is he wants, he will give you the world—which would put me in a great position.” She reached for her bottle of Percocet, shaking a few in her mouth. She chewed them like tick-tacks. Christ, she was a twisted druggie bitch.

“You need a glass of water, Mama? That medicine has to taste nasty.” I went into the kitchen to get some for her. The dining room table was filled with unopened bills. It was a mess. Returning with some iced water, I handed it to her. She took a sip, gargling with it before swallowing. I couldn’t help but shudder.

“Sit. When will you see him again? You should try to make yourself available whenever he calls without looking needy and pathetic. Can you do that? Not look pathetic?” She scowled at me. Her words carried the weight of mortar. I started twirling my hair—a bad habit I had picked up as a kid, a habit that drove her into a fit. I knew it was unwise to do it, but I couldn’t help it.

“How many fucking times, girl.” She slapped my hand away from my hair. “How do you expect to get a man to bed and keep you, acting like you do?” she barked. “You like an immature ill-mannered little girl. Next you’ll be rocking back and forth thumb-sucking.” She wheeled her chair to the window, peering outside. I wanted to stab her in her fucking eye.

“I’m not immature or ill-mannered. I’m not a little girl, either. And I’m certainly not an idiot. I’m a college graduate. Did you forget that, Mother?” I moved quickly for the door.

“Gia, don’t you forget who paid for that diploma. Make sure you pick up the phone when I call. I want updates on your progress. I want to see an announcement in the paper about upcoming nuptials. If it were me, I would have wrapped it up already. But I keep reminding myself you’re not as bright as me. Be a good girl and lock the door on your way out,” she smirked.

“I’m always a good girl,” I said, slamming the door. I wanted to cry—cry and rip my hair out. I needed food. I needed to make this pain go away. I drove to McDonald’s, ordering enough food for a college dorm. I parked my car behind the dumpster. And then I shoved Big Macs into my mouth faster than a fox in a forest fire. Four Big Macs, two large fries and a sundae later, my gut was percolating. My brain was on sensory overload. I couldn’t deal with the weight of these feelings, the hatred I had for my mother, the need to prove her wrong. I wanted to prove her wrong, and shut her the fuck up. The time bomb was ticking. I needed release.

So I opened the car door and puked all over the pavement. My esophagus burned. The acrid juice seared the tender tissue. Fat tears streamed down my face as I stared at my spew. How very representational of my life it was. Shame chilled me to the bone. I needed a warm shower and some wine to rid myself of this … this
thing
I called my life. It was time for a change. Tonight I would try to find the courage to embrace the life I wanted. I’d slip on the mask I had worn last night as Gia the Vixen.

We were on lunch break from our Saturday afternoon jam session. I was journaling some lyrics that were dancing across my mind, begging to be recorded.

Promise me you’ll try
To leave it all behind
You … you … you …
The only way is to let my guard down
Stay with me …
This is what we need
This heart, it beats
Beats for you
My heart is your heart
What am I gonna do with you … everything

Now I just needed Jake to work his magic to make it shine. Today had been a productive day, so far, despite my lack of sleep. The boys were having a rough go of it. It was hit or miss being hungover. We either played like shit, or we sounded great.

They left for our favorite lunch spot, while I hung back. They refrained from commenting. But their sideways glances were as plain as day. Just as well. I didn’t really feel like sharing. It was none of their business. Ender would be the first to argue that point. Anything to do with a member of the band personal or otherwise
was
band business—as per
my
rules. Which was why he had strutted in here like a peacock this morning. He, Jake, and I had exchanged some heated words in the mastering suite. Until I had gained control of my temper, I couldn’t talk to him. Brother or no brother. Band or no band. This was fundamental. She was fucking
mine
. He knew that, and he fucked around regardless. He needed to be kept away from me today. I would find my way to him when I was ready. The studio wasn’t the place for fighting. However, he and I were going to sort this shit out one way or another before tonight. Dave was in the booth keeping a watchful eye.
Feelings:
that word I had true distain for. There was no way around it, though. I was
feeling
something for this chick. She had become my muse. And because of that, I rocked it hard today, and wrote some great tunes.

“You writing again, dude?” Ender entered the studio sucking a blow-pop. What was it with him and lollipops? Some kind of oral fixation. Chicks dug it, but I thought it was a punk move. I didn’t need props to gain attention from the babes. He insisted Dave keep a bag of them around the studio.

“Is that what you really want to ask? Am I writing? Are you going to start this convo insulting my intelligence? Really, bro?” I uncrossed my knee, moving to my feet quickly, my fists balled at my side.

“Yo, dude. Chill the fuck out. I’m not looking to insult you. I was honestly asking. You’ve been struggling these past few months. I was happy to see you with your journal today. That’s all I meant.” He was holding his hands up defensively, yet his eyes never wavered. “I want to apologize for last night. I meant no disrespect, bro. Truth.” He pounded his chest, his stance pensive.

“And you know damn fucking why I’ve been blocked. That cunt Morgana playing media games with my life. I can’t write when my head’s in a bad space. Other than Gia, I haven’t had many chances to get my shit off. And you meant no disrespect? What would you call grinding your dick on my girl’s ass?” I stepped forward.

“Your girl?” he taunted, leaning in. “Now she’s your
girl?
Since the fuck when?” We were nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, neither of us wavering.

“Hey! Back the fuck off, both of you,” Dave broke in, his cigarette ash hanging long from the side of his mouth. “You break any of this studio-owned equipment and you’ll pay for it. You break each other—you’ll live with it.”

“That’s right,
esse
. I stuck my cock in her, which makes her
mine
.” I said, grabbing my cock.