Rewired (The Progress Series) Page 8

  Sam nodded. “Continue.”

  “Well, in regards to the young lady, I would imagine it’s quite likely that if she never truly healed from this kind of damage as a young person, she’d get caught up in believing she deserved a cycle of abuse, never believing that she deserved good things in life.” Doctor Paulson exhaled. “Or in another scenario, she could spend years pitying herself.” The doctor looked down and away, then regained eye contact with Sam. “But in the best-case scenario—which is what we all hope for—she found strength in her triumph of overcoming the abuse she experienced.”

  Sam nodded. “Tell me a little more about the cycle of abuse,” he said.

  “Well, it can mean a few different things.” Paulson shifted in his seat. “For some that experience those kinds of things, they will repeat the abuse to others—the insults, the teasing…often to feel bigger or better about themselves.” He leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands together. “And for others, the cycle of abuse can mean that they get stuck subconsciously seeking out those who will hurt them in the same manner as their childhood. For example, a woman who was emotionally abused may continue to date or marry people with whom she feels familiar, thus causing her cycle of abuse to continue.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Sam.

  Paulson smirked. “Because there’s comfort in consistency. We seek out those who can provide us best with what we know, what we’re comfortable with, and what we think we deserve. People with low self-esteem don’t know they’re afflicted with it unless someone tells them otherwise. Most abusers prey on people like that.”

  Sam’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. His knee bounced and he could no longer contain his temper. “So what’s your fucking excuse?”

  “Pardon me?” The doctor sat back in his chair, insulted with Sam’s language.

  Shaking his head, Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want to know who made you feel so shitty about yourself that you had to go and pick on an innocent girl like my fiancée. I want you to give me one tiny reason not to kick the shit out of you right now.”

  “I think you should leave. This appointment is becoming inappropriate. I’m not a psychiatrist; I’m just offering you my opinion as a medical doctor. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now. I suggest you do the same before I call security.”

  Sam laughed. “Security? Right. Because you have security in this building. And why don’t you sit the fuck down, Aaron. I’m not through with you yet. I’ve got more questions, and you’re the only one with the answers,” he said, his voice deep and laced with threat.

  After quickly taking his seat, Paulson failed to remain calm, sitting on his hands to still them.

  “Let’s start over. Hello, Doctor Paulson. My name is Samuel Bordeaux. You don’t know me, but you know someone very close to my heart. She’s the strongest, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. She’s the kind of girl that you wait your whole life for and when you finally find her, you have no intentions of ever letting go. Until one day, someone from her past shows up. And before you realize it, you’re researching the motivations of a girl you thought you knew, and you stumble across some old journal entries of hers.”

  Doctor Paulson shook his head, still unclear about Sam’s point.

  “You don’t remember me, but we have met once before. I was the guy standing behind Charlie Johnson when she told you to go to hell.”

  Aaron Paulson’s eyes went blank and his shoulders dropped. After taking off his glasses, he wiped his face with his hands and scratched his head. As Sam examined the doctor’s expression, he saw the fear in Paulson’s eyes fade to guilt and self-loathing. Paulson nodded. “And I suppose you want an explanation.”

  “You bet your ass I do.”

  Paulson swiveled his chair toward the window and folded his hands across his lap. “Charlie and I had a special relationship.” He paused. “After our little conversation last year, I did some thinking about her. A lot of thinking, actually.” Turning back toward Sam, he threw his hands up and slapped them down on his desk in frustration. “What can I say? I was a total dick! She was one of those people who seemed unfazed about what I’d say to her. No matter what I tried to do…” he closed his eyes briefly, “to bring her down, she never showed any emotion. She never got mean or angry. She never fought back. She was weak. And I fed off that.”

  Sam glared out the window, refusing to look at him. “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” Paulson sighed. “I just explained to you why. It’s a cycle of abuse, remember?”

  Sam sternly nodded. “And that excuses it?” he asked, letting the anger burn through his face.

  “No, Samuel. Nothing excuses it, I know that. I’m not going to tell you that I had any right to do what I did. But I was young, I was jaded, I was going through a lot of stuff at home that no one knew about. I was angry and scared.” He shrugged. “Charlie was there, she was different, and when I made fun of her my friends looked up to me. People laughed at my jokes, and those same people made me a legacy at that school. But once I got to the point where I knew it was wrong to continue, everyone else around me had already followed in my footsteps.” His shame intensified as his voice turned hoarse and he began fidgeting with a paperclip. “Charlie was blacklisted from social events. People avoided her at all costs. And then it trickled down to the younger generations, so that she had to continue dealing with the ridicule long after I graduated—from the brothers and sisters of all my friends.”

  Sam shook his head and stood. “I think I’ve heard enough. If I stay any longer I’ll start to pity you.”

  “Wait. Let me say this. In regards to Charlie, you might want to do some research on your own about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It might help you understand her a little better. I really don’t know anything about her and wish to God I could be more help.” Paulson stood and dropped the paperclip on his desk.

  “Well you’re lucky you’re not the only one who damaged her; otherwise you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

  Sam glanced at the framed wedding photo on Paulson’s desk and looked down in thought. A heavyset blonde smiled brilliantly as a small dimple formed in her right cheek.

  Just as Sam was about to exit the small office, he paused without turning around. “Is that your wife in the photo?”

  “Yes. Yes it is.”

  Sam nodded. “She’s beautiful.” He turned the knob and walked out of the office.

  Chapter six

  But she grew stronger. She survived and said she’d gotten past all of it. I don’t understand.

  Friday morning, Sam lay in bed ten minutes before his alarm was set to ring, contemplating, remembering, and going through all the phases of his grief in the past two weeks. He had been angry, sad, confused, broken, and enraged. But with all of the emotions he had felt, and with all of the things that he had educated himself on in that time, he couldn’t help but consider the possibility of getting her back someday. Because he still wanted it. But he didn’t know how to get past what she had done, unless he caved. He just needed to find the elusive strength that had been buried beneath the phrase he kept repeating to himself: “She cheated.”

  Would that make me a pussy? If I forgave her and we got back together, wouldn’t she just do it again? Wouldn’t she just trample over me for the rest of our life together? And wouldn’t I hold that against her in every fight we got into about who left the basement light on or which one of us didn’t unload the dishwasher? God, I miss those days when that was the worst of our problems.

  His alarm suddenly sounded and his phone rang simultaneously. He looked at the caller ID: Ma

  Wiping his eyes, he answered his phone. “What are you doing calling me at six-thirty in the morning?”

  “Well, you picked up, didn’t you? I’d like you to explain to me why you’ve been avoiding my calls! It was Aunt Betty’s birthday on Wednesday and you didn’t even show up to the party!” Maxie said in annoyance.

 
“Shit. I’m sorry. Tell Betty I’ll call her this weekend. I’ve been…preoccupied lately.”

  “Yeah, I ran into Gabe at the grocery store and he said that there was some heavy stuff going on. Tell me, is it Charlie?”

  He sighed, his gut reacting to the sound of her name. “Yes. But I really don’t want to talk about it now, Ma. We’re in a tough spot.”

  “Did you break up? Oh my gosh, tell me it’s not true! Tell me that you’re still planning for a wedding. I need a wedding, Sam.”

  He rolled his eyes. I’m not getting back together with Charlie just because my mom wants Charlie to have fresh-picked flowers from her medicine wheel.

  “Please, Mom. Not now. I’ve got a deadline today at five o’clock and I need to concentrate. Plus, there are just some things you shouldn’t know about my relationship.”

  “I’m your mother! You should be able to tell me anything!”

  Not if I intend on getting back together with her. Imagine the horror of having Mom glare at Charlie every time she came over… God! Listen to me. As if I’ve already decided I’m going to fight for this.

  “Not this. Not now. I’m sorry, Ma, I really am. We’ll get together next week and I’ll explain as much as I can, okay?”

  She huffed. “Just…tell me you’re okay.”

  “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  *

  With only minutes to spare on Friday evening, Sam completed the CD cover and insert for Mr. Walker. After emailing the final proof, he shrugged on a clean shirt and headed out the door to meet Gabe.

  Walking into the bar, Sam glanced quickly around the room until he spotted Gabe sitting up against the counter. Gabe nodded, taking his mouth away from the beer mug only briefly.

  “Hey,” Gabe said.

  Sam ordered his drink from the bartender, and after taking a sip he finally said, “Hey.”

  Gabe laughed. “For real? Still wound up, eh? I see you ordered the heavy stuff.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “I mean, is that pure orange juice? That shit’ll mess you up.”

  “Funny.” Sam showed no sincerity.

  “Why don’t you just go out and find a revenge fuck?”

  Sam abruptly set his glass down on the bar-top and in a sharp tone replied, “Again, not funny. That worked out real well the last time, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, come on now. Lighten up or I’ll beat some sense into you.”

  Sam’s brow twitched upward. “Right. I’m the lethal weapon here, trained to know how to kill people. Shit, you’ve never even pushed someone down.”

  “Well, would that make you feel better? You wanna fight?”

  Sam shook his head. “No. I’m not sure what could make me feel better anymore.”

  “You were ready to forgive her a few weeks ago when you showed up at that work party she had. I told you not to go, but you just wouldn’t listen to me; but that’s beside the point. What changed? I mean, why did you want to forgive her then, but won’t forgive her now?” Gabe asked.

  “Because she left me!” Sam shouted. The crowd in the bar all looked at Sam momentarily before returning to their conversations. Hushed now, Sam continued. “I don’t understand. I mean, I may have rushed into forgiving her by showing up, but she left. I mean, poof!—fucking gone. I went inside to get her coat, and when I came back out she’d vanished. I’m starting to put a few of the pieces together, and her motivations over the past few weeks, but I still don’t know who this guy is.”

  “Why are you worried about the guy? I don’t understand you at all! Who gives a shit about the guy?”

  “It’s the only way I’m going to figure out this whole mess.”

  “Here, let me help you.” Gabe began sternly. “One, she cheated. Two, you forgave her. Three, she left.” His hands raised. “I’m sorry, man. But it seems like she’s not interested.”

  “You forgot, four, she won’t stop texting me. Five, she was still wearing my ring a few days ago. Six, she can’t forgive herself. Seven, there’s a whole shitload of crap you don’t know about her past…”

  “Okay, enough! Listen to yourself. You’re a madman! I’ve never seen you like this. You don’t even bother putting your contacts in anymore. And when was the last time you took a shower? Shit, you’re obsessed!”

  “She was…my life. She was the only thing I needed. I could live without a job. Or a place to sleep. Hell, I probably could’ve figured out how to hunt for food with my bare hands. But without her, I never thought I could survive.”

  “And yet here you are, still breathing.”

  “I’m gutted, Gabe. I don’t have the will for any of it anymore.”

  “Why don’t you just talk to Charlie about it instead of playing detective on the computer? You don’t think I notice, but I do. You’re not the kind of guy that researches bipolar disorder and PTSD for fun, Sam. Shit, you try to stay the hell away from that damn computer unless it’s for work. So why don’t you just call her and get it over with?”

  “I know. I’ve been kind of an asshole about it. I ran into her a few days ago at our apartment, and I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be to look at her.”

  “Because you’re still in love with her?”

  Sam stopped, rubbed the frost around his glass and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well, think about it. If you still feel the same way in a week or two, then I think it’s clear what you need to do. That is, if she wants you back too.”

  Sam’s head snapped up. “What makes you think I want her back?”

  “I’ve known you since you were twelve. I can read you like a book. You keep going back and forth from wanting her to not wanting her, being mad to being sad, forgiving her to not forgiving her. You sound like a broken record.” Shrugging, he continued. “Like I said, give it a week or two. I’m sure your answer will become clearer. That, or you could ask your mom to bust out her Tarot cards.”

  Sam forced a laugh and gave a curt nod.

  After returning to Gabe’s place that evening, Sam sat on his bed staring at the painting of Charlie. His eyes slowly swept the room, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle.

  One of Charlie’s journals lay open on the floor. There was a passage he had been thinking about since he first read it a few days earlier. Picking up the journal, he thumbed through it to find the right page.

  I’m still hopeful, though. Maybe there’s a guy out in the world, right now, living through the same shit that I am. And maybe I’ll meet him someday and he’ll just know. Together we can figure out why this had to happen to us, and even better, help each other heal. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall in love with who I am and not for what I look like. I’m asking too much, aren’t I? Well, a girl can dream.

  And maybe I’ll meet him someday and he’ll just know.

  And maybe I’ll meet him someday and he’ll just know.

  “Shit,” Sam sputtered. She thinks Jesse knows what she’s been through. She thinks he understands. And that means he’s gone through the same shit she has.

  How do I compete with that?

  Part III

  Charlie

  Chapter One

  Present Day…

  All of these years in the pitch black, digging a hole in the dirt with his bare hands, pushing away everything inside of him, only to have it get lost or trampled by layers of nightmares and a black reality.

  Using every vice known to man in order to feel. Or not feel. He’s just a scared little boy wishing for the one person who truly loved him to come home. But she won’t. She never will. Mandy is dead.

  Manic or depressed, it doesn’t matter. He’s still someone who very much deserved to be cared for, loved, and appreciated. That’s all any child deserves. How? Why? How could his parents give up their only remaining child?

  At six o’clock the next morning Charlie snuck out of the bed, careful not to disturb the exquisitely sculpted man next to her. His dark blond hair was a mess from a sound sleep and his cheek was buried in the pillow. The w
hite sheet partially covered the torso of his tanned physique but revealed the areas of him she was most fond of. She couldn’t ever remember seeing him so peaceful.

  After a quick shower, she sauntered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice, cringing at the flavor of the citrus mixed with the aftertaste of toothpaste.

  Sitting down on the floor of Jesse’s living room, she took out a piece of paper and pulled the coffee table closer for a hard surface to write on. Having vowed to remember it so she could write it down in the morning, she had been reciting the name he’d muttered the night before, just before falling asleep.

  List

  Research

  John Sanborn.

  Jesse Sanborn

  Mandy Sanborn

  Treatments for bipolar

  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

  Bike

  Drums

  Bank

  Lily

  Call Karalee…

  As her list lengthened, her eagerness to get started mounted. Her phone rang softly from the corner of the room where the remnants of her purse’s contents lay on the floor. Startled momentarily, her stomach flipped as she rose quickly to answer it.

  Disappointed to see Roxanne’s name on her caller ID, she answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Charlie! It’s me. I know it’s the first day of your vacation, but I wanted to call and get a few things in order. Then I promise I won’t call again unless it’s an emergency!”