Chapter 8 #2
“I call her every few months, but I haven’t seen her in person either.
And it’s not just about my own failings.
When I got sober two years ago, I finally realized that she and I never talked about him or the abuse.
When he died, we just…went on. I guess Mama buried her pain along with his body and that was that.
” I blinked away the wave of tears that threatened to fall.
“I’m no psychologist, but from my own life experience, everyone handles trauma in their own way. Maybe that was the only way she knew how to deal with it at the time. Maybe she felt that bringing it up would only cause you more grief.”
“Maybe.”
“And how did you deal with it as you grew up?”
“I had anxiety attacks and nightmares. But I didn’t tell anyone or talk about it. It just wasn’t done. I was raised to put up and shut up.”
“Suppressing your emotions, pretend like nothing’s the matter.”
“Exactly. But even though Daddy was gone, he’d left this festering wound inside me.
All the pain and hurt that I couldn’t talk about or process,” I sighed.
“When I was a teenager, and my friends started drinking and smoking pot, it was like an answer to my prayers. Didn’t care much for pot, but alcohol was like magic.
It made me forget, for a while. When I drank, I didn’t feel awkward around other people, and my anxiety drifted away.
I laughed more. I became a brighter, shinier version of myself.
Or so I thought. And it didn’t make me angry like him, so I figured I was safe, right?
Drinking was the perfect solution. Until it wasn’t.
As I got older, the effort to forget the past collided with the public pressures of my Hollywood life and my personal life.
The more the pressure built, the more I drank, and soon I couldn’t live without it. And here we are.”
“Yes, here we are,” Max responded as he leaned towards me, his note taking all but forgotten. “And the hurt that lives on inside you?”
“Well, I finally learned that I can’t drink it away. And now that I can talk about my past, the wound is slowly healing.”
Max was silent for a moment, and I took another deep breath to center myself.
Even after years of therapy, it was a lot for me to unload.
Still, I couldn’t deny that there was something about Max that made me feel safe.
Safe enough to reveal the parts I’d normally hide from everyone else.
The words tumbled out of me, and I had a lot more that I wanted to voice.
“You mentioned a few times that you have a secret you want to share in this book. Are you concerned about how your family will react to it given your current relationship with them?”
“You’re not just a pretty face, Doc.”
“Doc?”
“You got a Ph.D., right?” I quipped.
“A doctor of philosophy, not medicine.”
“I think Doc suits you.” I paused. “And yeah, I’m concerned. I mean, it’s my life so I can do what I want. But I’m not sure what they’ll say, if anything, when they find out. Maybe I’ll be thrown out of their life for good.”
Max sat back and stared at me, biting his full lower lip, his brows furrowed.
“Either you’re constipated, or you got something to say. I’m hoping it’s the second, so spit it out,” I demanded.
Max rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a way with words, Dylan. Like poetry of the finest order.”
I shook my head, and a small chuckle escaped me. “I told you we’d be a bad fit. You’re too refined for a simple guy like me.”
Max’s face flushed as he adjusted his glasses. The sudden fire in his deep brown eyes made all the hair on my body stand on end.
“I grew up in the suburbs, like you, in a middle-class household with a stay-at-home mom and meatloaf on Wednesdays. Yes, my dad was a university professor, but he didn’t come from money, and he was the first in his family to go to college. I’m formally educated, but it doesn’t make me a snob.”
“All right, Max. I’m sorry.” I held both hands up in surrender. “Sounds like you grew up in the American dream.”
“Our life was good but far from perfect. My parents divorced when I was thirteen, and it created a deep rift between me and my dad that took years to mend.” Max ran a hand through his hair.
“I swore I wouldn’t put my own child through that hell but then Dante and I…
Anyway, I guess the apple didn’t fall far with me either. ”
“I’m sorry you went through that,” I repeated his words back to him, an understanding passing between us.
His eyes caught mine, unwavering, and an unexpected spark lit. Thank fuck I was sitting down because I swore my bones turned to jelly.
“I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t entirely sold on writing this book,” Max admitted. “But I promise that I’m going to tell this story in a way that speaks to your truth. Your words, in your voice.”
I nodded, needing a moment to gather my thoughts. I ignored whatever strange feelings Max was inspiring.
“So, what was it you were going to say?” I finally replied.
Max’s expression grew puzzled, twin frown lines appearing between his eyes.
“You look constipated again,” I chuckled, doing my best to lighten the mood.
“Please stop saying that.”
“Well?” I asked.
“This secret you keep mentioning…” Max paused and ran a finger over his mouth, and I couldn’t resist tracking the movement.
I wondered if his lips were as soft and sweet as they looked. Fucking hell, this was not the time to let my dick overrule my brain.
I glanced up to meet his eyes, but it was too late. Max caught me and the recognition I saw in them had me turning away.
“…Are you ready to talk about it now?”