Chapter 7 Present
A light breeze from the sea stirred the pine trees, bringing a fresh scent laced with the sweet notes of roses and lavender in the garden.
Water plinked in the delicate fountain a few feet away.
Ry opened his eyes and took another deep breath.
He had some time before his appointment with Dr. Rosa.
Warm sun on his shoulders let him relax for a moment.
Afternoon light painted the buildings a golden hue, the shadows of the trees swaying gently in the breeze.
One time where the marketing didn’t lie, he thought.
Ry shook out his shoulders, trying to work out the last of his jitters.
The first couple of weeks he’d been in the medical wing under the care of Dr. Syd and her team to help him reduce his intake.
He’d had problems sleeping well; his anxiety had spiked, and he’d lost his appetite for a few days.
The worst day, the walls had seemed to weigh on him, the overhead lights were blinding, and the air was laden with antiseptic.
After that, he felt better with each passing day, at least good enough to sit out by the fountain on a nice day.
Alex swaggered around the corner.
He strode by, old confidence that Ry hadn’t seen in years.
He carried himself to his full height, towering over the rest of the patients and staff.
As he walked past, a lingering scent of cloves and leather remained.
Alex’s powerful body moved with liquid grace as he headed inside the main building, never once looking at Ry.
Perhaps he’d been wrong about waiting outside today.
Or feeling better. A chill washed over Ry, as though someone had doused him.
Strength fled, and he slid back, his chest closing in.
A familiar ache settled behind his ribs, and his throat felt thick.
His clenched jaw ached and pulsed with each beat of his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Taking slow, measured breaths against the dizzying crush of being so close to Alex again, Ry tried the breathing exercises from therapy.
Unbidden images of high school flashed in his mind: Alex walking by him in the halls, backwards cap and a blue hoodie; Alex sauntering by him in his letterman jacket at one of the stupid dances; Alex ordering from the next line over from Ry’s when detention meant concession stand work at a game.
Later, Alex had told him that those had been on purpose.
So, even though Alex didn’t look at him, he knew Alex had seen him.
The warmth of the sun returned, and Ry opened his eyes. His vision swam in a hazy blur for a moment until he blinked and rubbed his stubborn eyes clear.
Four minutes.
Ry stood, the stiff ache in his limbs loosening with a slow stretch.
He reached the small building housing Dr. Rosa's office and pushed open the door, the faint chime announcing his arrival. His palms felt clammy, and a faint tremor ran through his fingers. Ry settled into a slim armchair in the waiting area, keeping his head low. The sight of pain on other’s faces overwhelmed him.
Ry reviewed his notes from the last couple of days. He hadn’t been able to talk openly about Alex in group therapy. He added “talk about him” to the list, then crossed it out. But could he with Dr. Rosa? He had to. Right? Patient privacy?
Someone burst out of the door and hurried out into the garden.
“Ry, if you’re ready?” Dr. Rosa motioned him inside when he looked up. Today she wore a thin gray cardigan over a light pink blouse and dark pants. She gave him a warm, caring smile.
He closed the door behind him.
Bookcases lined the walls behind a small desk. Ry assumed Dr. Rosa worked there when she had no patients. A large window looked out into the wild pines, letting in plenty of natural light. He took a seat on the plush, oversized chair. Dr. Rosa sat across from him in her usual swivel office chair.
“Welcome,” she said. “Tell me how you are doing today.”
“I felt pretty good earlier, in the garden,” he said. “Practiced some breathing exercises.”
His notes crinkled in his hands as he reviewed them. The one line stood out.
“Did you find them helpful?”
Ry smiled. “No and yes. No, because it didn’t help immediately. Yes, because I can see I don’t feel so awful right now.”
She paused for a moment.
“That seems important. Are you able to identify what sparked the initial feeling?”
Ry looked outside for a moment, then back to his notes.
He took a deep breath. “I saw Alex outside in the garden. He didn’t look at me, but I knew he saw me. Back in high school he used to walk by me all the time like that.”
“Okay,” she said, tapping a pen on her pad. “What did you feel in your body?”
He paused, trying to find the words. “Like my chest was being crushed. I could hardly breathe.”
She looked concerned. “This is a common feeling you’ve described before.”
He avoided her gaze. “It’s hard to talk about.”
“Is this person making you afraid? Remember, what you share is confidential, except if there’s imminent risk to you or someone else.”
Alarmed, Ry waved her concern away. “No, nothing like that. He—Alex and I have a history. We broke—I mean, I—loved him. I spent so long trying not to feel anything when I’ve been around him. The crushing pain of being so close and yet—”
He glanced up at her.
“Thank you for telling me.” She held out her hand for comfort, if he took it. Eventually, she let her hand fall. “Alex is an important person in your life.”
“Yeah.” Ry took a deep breath. “You could say that. He used to be my everything. High school sweethearts. We had lunch together every day, hung out after school, and shared the same friends. Back then, he had a rough time with his dad, and I supported him as best I could. He did the same. We could lean on each other.”
“What changed?” she said after a moment.
“When our band got signed, and we’d made it on the radio—” His voice cut off as a door closed in the hall outside.
He blinked hard. “We were kids. I remember the first time Arend showed up after a set in Hollywood. I went to hug Alex, and he…went red. He slammed a paper down on the amp, pointed at the signature like it was a knife.” He stared at his hands.
“Said we were breaking the contract. He said we couldn’t be together, not in public. For our own good.”
Ry looked out the window, remembering the day he’d signed the contract.
“I swore I read the stupid contract five times—ten, maybe. Thought it was just about shows, payment, the usual. But that wasn’t the one I signed. The copy I’d read had none of that.”
Dr. Rosa waited for him to continue.
“What do you feel in your body?” she asked, her voice quiet against his thoughts.
“Anger, like a hot stabbing in my ribs.” Ry looked at the carpet. “He stole everything from us.” He felt the words roll out of him like poison. “Every public appearance, Alex and I would be at opposite ends, never allowed within five feet of each other.”
Ry shuddered and took a deep breath, memorizing the carpet. Red and blue swirls danced around some flower either made up or that he’d never seen before. His hands clenched and unclenched. Ry looked up. Dr. Rosa looked up, her eyes glistening in the light from the window. She held his gaze.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he continued.
“We’d just started charting, and I had little money.
Everyone else had less. We weren’t starving, but we had enough to make ends meet.
Step out of line, and, well, that would be it.
After the first few incidents, Arend would text me provisions the moment I stepped out of line.
Alex and I fought every day about our relationship, the band, about each other.
I hoped that after time, we could be together in public, but he didn’t want to wait.
I couldn’t leave everyone when they needed me, so we broke up. ”
“I’m sorry you went through this.” She glanced at her notepad, her pen tapping lightly against the back. “Are these legal threats still happening?”
Ry nodded, parched. “Do you have any water?”
She stood and took a bottle from a mini-fridge near her desk and handed it to him. “Have you been in contact with Alex since the breakup?”
“Not much,” he said. “We talked directly to each other more in the last couple of days here than we have in the last months. I went to see him in the hospital, but I haven’t told him, and I’m not sure he knows or needs to.”
Dr. Rosa sat down and made a few notes, or at least moved her pen around on the notepad, for all Ry knew. “Do you see any connections between drinking more and what happened with your manager and ex-partner?”
Ry laughed, though it felt hollow. “Yeah, I drank to help ease the pain. Xanax I got for the anxiety of being on stage, of being near either of them.”
“What would you like most from me right now? I can help you think through options, support you emotionally, or help you come up with a plan to protect yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m here to support you and your recovery, Ry. I can help you think about legal options, help you process your feelings, or create an action plan to help protect you in either situation.”
“Well, I guess all three?”
She smiled. “What would you like to focus on today?”
He thought for a minute. “I guess with the feelings? There’s not much I can do about the other two today.”
“Alright then,” she said. “Would you like to start with your manager or ex-partner?”
“Alex,” he said.
“I can tell you care about him,” she said.
“I’d like to offer you another point of view.
Alex’s actions say more about him than about you.
You said he didn’t want to wait. Perhaps he was reacting out of fear and self-protection rather than anything you said or did.
For Alex, that could have been more like betrayal and caving to pressure. ”
“I guess I couldn’t see it that way.” Ry looked down at the rug, turning over what she said. It made sense, and he’d never really seen it from Alex’s side, not fully. So wrapped up in his own pain, in his own head. His stomach sank. “He even told me as much, but I couldn’t hear it.”
She waited a moment, watching him. “You felt conflicted about the financial loss for those who relied on you. You wanted to buy time to figure it out.”
He took a moment to think. “Yes. I thought I could still have it all. He just didn’t understand. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him I loved him.”
Ry put his head into his hands, letting his eyes wander over the flower patterns on the rug again. “But today, I just wanted to cry.”
“Do you think you’re grieving him or the relationship you had together? Or both?”
“What?” He looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “No. He’s not dead.”
“Have you ever lost a pair of sunglasses?” she asked, her voice soft.
“At first, everything is too bright. You keep searching for them every time you go outside.” She watched him.
“Grief can be like that—not only for people who die, but for relationships that changed, trust that cracked, or the future you thought you’d have.
The person can still be here, but a piece of what you hoped for is gone. ”
He thought he understood her. “So,” he said, his words faltering. “I’ve been living with this non-real, make-believe relationship? I’ve been living in a hell of my creation?”
“That doesn’t make your feelings any less real.
” She smiled gently. “Think of ‘meaning’ like a house you were building with someone. When a wall collapses, you might keep propping it up because it feels safer than admitting it’s down.
But propping it up can make you tense, jumpy, or push you toward things that numb the pain.
Letting yourself notice the collapse is the first step toward rebuilding.
Not erasing what mattered, just making room to breathe again. ”
“So,” he said slowly, “I’m supposed to grieve him even though he’s alive?”
She gave him another encouraging smile. “Would you be willing to try sitting with one small piece of that pain today so you don’t have to carry it alone?”
“We can try,” he said, unsure of what to say. “I miss the sense of physical safety he offered. I could always turn to him for comfort.”
“Where in your body do you feel this most?”
He closed his eyes and breathed in, focusing inward. His chest prickled and stung.
“Sit with that feeling for a moment. If it’s too intense, tell me and we’ll stop. What comes up when you think of safety or comfort?”
“I feel it here,” he poked at his sternum. “A dull throbbing ache.”
“Thank you for sharing what you are feeling,” she said. “Let’s stay here a moment or we can ground and talk about it.”
He couldn’t focus any longer as the pain gnawed at him, familiar and haunting. He took a deep breath and stopped focusing. “We can talk more.”
“Good, breathe in deep and feel your feet on the floor. Name five things you can see in the room, or any physical sensations.”
“Trees.” Ry followed her instructions as thoughts bubbled up.
“Books.” Had Alex been right? “Chair.” It didn’t matter, as he’d unintentionally hurt Alex.
“Desk.” It had been a mirror, one on each side screaming at the other to be heard, and neither listened.
“Ache.” He had hurt Alex, and Alex had hurt him in return.
“Are we like caged animals lashing out against each other?”
“That image fits,” she said. “People often act from fear or instinct, and that can feel like lashing out.”
A soft alarm sounded on her wrist. “You’ve done some important work today. Remember, this is new. If any powerful feelings come up, please do grounding exercises and journal. We can discuss them at our next session and continue working through them.”
“Just the start?” Ry got up off the couch.
“I’m afraid so.
“I guess I’ll try those things then.” He waved goodbye before heading out the door.
He thought about what she’d said on his way back to his room.
The grief part made a certain amount of sense.
Would that mean admitting it was dead? That there was no hope?
His thoughts swirled around him. Soon he was in front of his room.
He closed the door behind him and sank to the floor.
The low quiet of the fan was the only sound in his room.
His shoulders shook with each hitched breath.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and stinging.
His chest constricted as if in a vise grip, each inhale a struggle to press through the weight.
Through the watery haze, he counted the specks on the tile floor, then listened to the breeze from the fan.
He watched the trees sway through the window.
A weight dropped from him as he drew a long, clean breath. With it came a quiet clarity: Ry was the one who needed saving, and it would be a long road ahead.