Chapter 9
Cassidy
The emotional floodgate
My brain is all sorts of twisted right now.
The plan was to go over there, smooth things over, and Avery would forgive me like she used to.
Is it fair of me to assume she’d forgive and forget so quickly?
No. But fuck if I still can’t be pissed off.
I mean, she flat-out refused to be my friend.
Okay, she didn’t refuse exactly, but she didn’t jump at the opportunity, either.
I pace around my room, wavering between being pissed at her and understanding where she’s coming from.
So why was this time any different? Fuck, my mind is a complete clusterfuck.
A knock on my bedroom door jolts me out of my thoughts. “Yeah?” I demand. My voice shakes with anger and frustration, making it come out harsher than intended. The door opens to my gram standing on the other side, looking at me like I broke her favorite vase. Shit.
“Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?” she fires back.
“Sorry, I’m just in a mood and didn't mean to take it out on you,” I reply.
“Cassidy! You can be angry all you want, but you will not take it out on me. I did nothing to cause this foul mood you've been in since you got home. You will not sit there and disrespect me, you hear?” All I can do is nod my head in response.
“Good. Now, here’s what we are going to do. You and I will make hot caramel apple cider, put on our comfiest clothes, and sit on the couch to talk. Something tells me your brain is going full speed and you need someone to help you slow it down.”
I simply nod, knowing there’s no sense in arguing with her.
While picking out my favorite pair of sweats and band t-shirt, I mentally prepare myself for an emotionally exhausting conversation.
Sharing my feelings with her shouldn’t be this intimidating.
If I’m able to spill my guts to total strangers in rehab, I can do so with my damn grandmother.
I remind myself that I’m no longer the kid who people used as a scapegoat for anything that went wrong.
People can think I’m a troublemaker all they want, but my gram knows me probably better than I know myself.
Growing up being known as the addict’s kid, no one took me seriously. I was labeled a troublemaker before I could ever prove them wrong. Whenever something bad happened, I was the first one questioned about it, and there was no point in proving my innocence.
My nerves shake like branches on a tree in the middle of a storm. Deep breaths, Cas My heart races at the speed of light, but I still force myself to go downstairs. Look at me, doing things that make me uncomfortable. Will I like it? Probably not. Will it make me feel better? Probably.
I enter my living room to see Gram has set up a cozy little atmosphere.
The lights in the living room are dim, with the only light coming from the candles that are always lit and the lamps on both sides of the couch.
Today’s scent is Christmas tree farm, bathing the room in an evergreen, pine, and spruce scent.
It’s as if I’ve been transported into a scene in a Hallmark movie where the main characters search for the perfect Christmas tree.
Knowing my gram, she probably has all of those movies recorded so she can watch them at her leisure.
Gram sits on our teal couch that has one too many fluffy decor pillows.
While she’s focused on organizing the ciders on the serving tray, I’m standing in the entryway, feet superglued to the floor.
Gram smiles softly and without glancing up, acknowledges my presence. “Are you going to keep standing there? Or are you going to sit down next to me?”
I make my way to her at a sloth’s pace, my flight reaction ready to activate at the drop of a hat.
Immediately after sitting down, Gram pulls me into a side hug and just rocks me back and forth like you would a newborn baby.
I haven’t had this type of affection in ages.
While I was using, no one could get through to me.
No amount of hugs, loving words, or tenderness could break through my stubborn exterior.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed it so much that I don’t realize I’m balling until my gram whispers her reassurances that everything will be okay and to let it all out.
I’m a shaking mess within her arms, but I have lost the will to care.
I let out years, decades of locked up emotions onto my gram’s shoulder, and the more I cry, the lighter I feel.
My body begins to relax, and despite the raging headache that’s brewing behind my eyes, I’m ready to talk.
Before I can stop myself, I’m spilling everything that happened.
She listens, letting me talk without interruption as I recount everything that happened.
My anger and frustrations from earlier slam into me like a freight train.
Gram lets out a soft humming sound, but I wasn’t expecting what she said next. “Remember when you and Avery first met?” She strokes my hair as I let out a watery chuckle to our first meeting.
“Yeah, she was a firecracker, even then.” I laugh.
I had moved in with my maternal grandparents’ house when I was eight, after various attempts to get me out of the hellhole I was living in.
Living in the house with my dad was a complete nightmare.
I was told he wasn’t always the asshole he is today.
Him and my mom were high school sweethearts and had gotten married right out of high school.
They ended up getting pregnant after about their third or fourth try.
Everything went smoothly with the pregnancy, but my birth is a different story.
I guess she ended up hemorrhaging enough that she passed away shortly after having me.
My dad never got over her death, often blaming me for killing her.
The final straw was when my dad took me to a drug deal that went south, and instead of coming back for me, he fled, leaving me in the car.
I don’t know how I knew to get out of the car and run, but instincts took over and I fled.
The cops found me walking alongside one of the busiest roads and took me into the station and called my grandparents.
I was a very shy, reserved eight-year-old, but that didn’t stop Avery from marching over to me and demanding we would be friends. I believe her words were, “Hi, I’m Avery. You and I are friends now,” before grabbing my hand and dragging me over to the dock behind our houses.
I smile at that memory. “Yeah, she didn’t give me much of a choice when it came to being her friend.
She was my first real friend.” It’s one thing to have that thought in my head, it’s another to verbalize it out loud.
I messed up. And I’m not just talking about what just happened.
My eyes burn and my vision blurs as more tears threaten to spill.
My gram squeezes me one, two, three times before turning our bodies to face each other. Her hands cup my face as she gets ready to tell me some hard truths.
“You had a rough day yesterday,” she says.
The comfort from her words feels like drinking hot tea when you're sick.
“You and Avery are hurting and have a right to your feelings.
You both said things in the heat of the moment, but—" I find myself sitting at the highest point of a roller coaster, waiting for the inevitably steep drop.
She noticed the sudden change in my body language because she squeezed my shoulder, offering reassurance before continuing.
“But it seems like you weren't viewing things from her perspective. Your anger and hurt shoved your empathy aside, and you weren’t able to understand her pain. Maybe you needed time to process that letter and the feelings it brought up in you,” she says.
A laugh escapes my mouth all too quickly.
Gram gives me the same look she used to give me when she caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to growing up.
The look has the opposite effect on me now, and I laugh even louder.
“You sound like my therapist. He said something along those same lines when I was getting ready to leave rehab. I expected her to forgive me right away like she always did.”
“Do you think that's fair of you to assume that? Maybe you wanted things to go your way, and when they didn't, you threw a fit.” Her sharp tone causes me to wince.
If you can count on Gram to be anything, it’s honest. Her words swirl around my mind as I try to understand things from Avery’s perspective.
Rehab taught me a lot about addict behavior and how we crave the instant gratification of the high.
It was the perfect escape from the monsters hiding in my closet.
I found myself deep in the throes of the addiction cycle.
Manipulation was my weapon of choice and it caused me to burn many bridges—especially the friendship bridge I had with Avery.
Panic threatens to put me in a chokehold, so I begin to pace around the room. I think about the dream life I had with Avery and the promise I made to myself. Shit, I just broke that promise.
You’re a no-good, stupid child and no one will ever love you.
You’re just a fuck up like me. I stop mid-pace when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in a while.
He has no space in my head. As much as I want to cave into those hurtful thoughts, I won’t.
I allow myself to wallow in my self-pity, giving negativity its moment in the spotlight before kindly telling it to fuck off.
I'll never grow if I keep listening to the negative voices in my head.
Am I disappointed in myself for going back on the promise I made? Yes. But I have to allow myself a sliver of grace, knowing I can’t be perfect out of the gate. So the best I can do is own my shit.
“Gram, I messed up. I told myself that I wasn’t going to hurt people intentionally. The second I got home, I broke that promise. She has every right to be upset with me. She has every right to never speak to me again.” The last words come out behind a sob. Well, the dam has officially broken again.
My gram brings me into her arms, letting me soak her shirt with my tears…again.
“You two have way too much history to have it all thrown away now. So you said some things and didn’t hear what Avery was saying. What are you going to do about it now?” she asks.
“I-I don’t know. Maybe I just have to live with what I did. Maybe I’ll have to be without the most important person in my life,” I whisper.
“I don't buy that for one second. You need to own up to what you did and then fix it. It won’t be easy, but you'll find a way if Avery is as important to you as you say she is. First, take a few days to let her calm down and work through her stuff while working on yours. You love Avery, don't you?”
“Of course I do. Avery’s my best—" She shakes her head, cutting me off.
“That's not the type of love I mean,” she responds with a knowing look.
My gram is wise, but my feelings for Avery were my best-kept secret. I guess Avery is the only person who doesn’t know my true feelings. I look at my gram and nod my head in confirmation.
“Then you’ll have to show her how much she means to you. You took advantage of her kindness. She's afraid you'll do it again. The question to ask yourself is, are you willing to be patient with her? Most importantly, are you willing to be patient with yourself?” she asks.
I let her words sink in for a minute. Am I patient enough to do this when all I know how to do is be impulsive and demanding? Can I give Avery what she wants, hell, what she deserves? I’m not sure of the answers to those questions, but there’s one thing I’m sure of.
“She's worth it. Avery is worthy of having the best version of me. And I'm going to try my hardest to give her everything she deserves,” I say.
My grandmother smiles and nods her head. “That's what I thought.” She kisses my forehead before leaving me alone with my thoughts. I have no idea how to win her back, but I’ll do everything in my power to show her that this time, I'm serious. I will be the man she always thought I could be.