continuation

Cassidy was cleaning the center the morning after her surprise meeting with Drake when Phil called her into his office. “How’d things go after I left last night?” he asked, pointing to the torn vinyl chair across from him. She thought she’d seen him sitting with Drake at the bar, but it was late and she was exhausted by the time she got in after her set, so she hadn’t been able to ask him to confirm her suspicion. “Why’d you come? I told you I was fine.” “I know that’s what you said.” He tapped his finger against his lips as he watched her for a subtle hint she may be trying to lie to him or herself. “But I heard something else in your voice.” Phil was an expert at uncovering the truth, and she’d learned a long time ago not to try to hide her shame or embarrassment from him. He knew the whole sordid story of her life: the drugs, men, abuse, and he still managed to look her in the eye with a smile on his face. That gave her hope that maybe he wasn’t the only person who could like her in spite of her flaws.

“It was fine,” she said, running her hands over the cold steel armrests. “We exchanged a few words after my first set and then he left.” “Your actions hurt him... deeply.” Cassidy closed her eyes as a fresh wave of pain washed over her. Hurting Drake was her biggest regret. She lived with the repercussions of all of the other terrible choices she’d made in her life, but knowing a man like that had loved her with his whole heart and she’d destroyed that was something she would never be able to come to terms with. “I know,” she said, softly. “I tried to apologize. I know how important it is to my recovery to make amends with the people I’ve wronged.” “How did he react?” “He didn’t believe me.” There was no reason he should. In his mind, she was a worthless junkie who’d gotten high and slept with his brother. “I asked you this when you first came to the center, but you weren’t ready to talk about it then.” So many of the questions Phil had asked her were beyond her ability to process back then. She still feared which one might resurface now and whether she had gained the strength to face it. “How did it make you feel… being Drake Elliott’s fiancée?” She closed her eyes, a technique Phil had taught her to get in touch with her thoughts and feelings. “It made me feel good about myself, the fact that a man like that… so successful and powerful, saw something special in me…” “How did you feel the night he threw you out?” She swallowed, trying to suppress her sadness. “It hurt to know that I’d disappointed him. He was the only person who ever believed that I could make something of myself.” “But you felt you were just pretending, didn’t you?” Phil asked quietly. When she couldn’t find the voice to respond, he continued. “You were living in the multimillion-dollar penthouse, driving the luxury car, wearing jewelry that cost more than you’d ever made in a year… That must have seemed surreal to you. Like a dream you were bound to wake up from.” “I guess so,” she said, refusing to open her eyes. She knew it was a cowardly means of escape but Phil was notorious for pushing people past their limits, and he was clearly intent on forcing her to face her past after meeting with Drake last night. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell him the truth about what really happened that night? Is it because you felt deep down he was going to tire of you and kick you out at some point anyways, so might as well get it over with?” No matter how much work she had done the past year, trying to heal, days like this still set her back. When she took the time to dwell on losing the best thing that had ever happened to her, it always left her feeling so empty and alone. “I don’t know,” she whispered, trying to fight back the tears. “Yes, you do. Open your eyes and look at me, Cassidy.” She hesitated for endless seconds, knowing he would never force her to do something he didn’t feel she was ready to tackle. Opening her eyes, she looked at him and was rewarded with a smile. That small gesture of kindness opened the floodgates, perhaps because he was one of the few people who’d ever shown her kindness. The tears began sliding down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for a tissue on his desk. “I should get back to work.” Her work consisted of cleaning the shelter, preparing the meals, and sitting in on group meetings to assist Phil. He couldn’t afford to pay her, but offered her a room and some free meals in exchange for her assistance. There were times when the center was filled to capacity with addicts at various stages of their recovery and she would have to give up her room to one of them. Since Phil didn’t feel it was safe for her to sleep on the couch, with the residents free to roam at all hours of the day and night, she offered to stay at a friend’s house on those nights. She would never tell Phil that she slept in her car instead of spending what little money she made on a cheap motel because she wasn’t welcome to stay with any of her band mates and didn’t have any other friends. “I think we should talk about this,” he said firmly. She wandered in to Phil’s center the day after her relapse and he had been like a beacon of light in the darkness, making her believe that her life wasn’t over. She was just starting a new chapter. He encouraged her to plan for the future, set goals, and continue the healing process with free therapy sessions whenever she was sinking in despair. She knew he offered her help because she didn’t have any one else to turn to, and she suspected he felt sorry for her, which made her even more determined not to lean on him. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted his respect and this was her chance to earn it by being fearless in the face of his challenge. “Fine, let’s talk about it.” “I’d like to know how you felt about seeing Drake last night.” There were no words to describe it. The ugly display in front of J.T. had been the scared little girl in her lashing out at the neighborhood bully who was threatening to beat her up again. Drake had all the power and she felt helpless in the face of his rage and disgust. “At first, I was scared of what he might say or do, so I lashed out.” She winced at the memory. “I hit him.” The corners of Phil’s mouth twitched, as though he was trying to suppress a smile he knew was inappropriate in light of her confession. “I’m sorry… you actually struck someone?” She abhorred physical violence, probably because she’d been a victim too many times herself when her mother brought the wrong man home time after time. “I don’t know what came over me. I was just trying to protect myself the only way I knew how.” “He made you feel threatened?” Lowering her eyes to the hands clasped in her lap, she said, “No, he made me feel small. Worthless. Just like I used to feel when I was a kid. As though I had no voice. Anyone could do anything they wanted to me and I couldn’t stop them.” “Because Drake is wealthy, successful, with a reputation in this city and the music industry, you feel powerless against him?” She and Phil had talked about her childhood, her sister, her mother, the abuse she’d endured relationship with Drake. She told Phil the truth about what happened the night he kicked her out, simply because she had to let it out or risk a real relapse. “Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and because she was working hard to find her strong inner core, she cleared her throat and repeated, “Yes,” more firmly. Phil smiled, obviously pleased that she had picked up on her fallacy without being reminded. “Did striking him make you feel powerful?” “No,” she said, twirling her ring around on her finger. “There’s no way to bring a man like Drake down.” “That’s where you’re wrong, Cassidy. You have more control over that man than you realize.” Her heart began to pound in her chest. Phil was able to read people effortlessly and if he had a hunch about Drake after meeting him, she knew it would be spot on. “What do you mean?” He slid his pen between his fingers, watching the repetitive action as though it mesmerized him. “He feels powerless to control his feelings for you. He doesn’t want to care about you, but he can’t help himself.” “No, I don’t think—” “I know,” he said, firmly. “I saw it in his eyes when he spoke about you. I saw it in the way he looked at you. Trust me, that man still has feelings for you.”

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