Page 132 of The Blessing

Shit is going perfect with my parents, which only worsens my fucking paranoia. Things are amazing with my family and things are fantastic with my friends, as well. Something has to be wrong with this equation. There just has to be. A shithead like me doesn’t just get a perfect life. I’m not used to things running so smoothly and being happy all of the fucking time. Something must be up. I’m going to go mad with worry until whatever it is reveals itself. It might be something small, but it could also be something big. Whatever it is, it’s been weighing on my mind for weeks. I keep looking over my shoulder as if I expect to see some horrible crap go wrong.

“Trev? You okay, baby?”

Suddenly, I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of Grey’s room, completely zoned out. Maybe I inhaled too much fucking paint fumes or something. I give her a reassuring smile—or, at least, my attempt at a reassuring smile—before nodding I’m fine. She smiles in response, but she doesn’t look totally convinced.

Before she can say anything, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and say, “Let me take your picture. I want to have a shot of you two by your artwork.”

She smiles at this and poses with Grey. I snap a few shots and grin at the results. I can’t imagine what this room will look like once we move in all the new furniture Ronnie and my mom picked out. It’s all jungle themed, as well. I know he’ll completely flip when he sees it. Tonight, he’s going to sleep in his old crib which is temporarily placed in our room. As much as I wanted to have some alone time with Ronnie, I was more worried about Grey getting sick from all the paint fumes. His walls still need to completely dry. After all the coats we added, I know drying is definitely going to be quite the process. Besides, I like to have him close. I feel safer and more in control. In a chaotic world, it's nice to feel like you have control over something. Even if that something is incredibly small.

By the time I leave the house for my A.A. meeting, I’m already running fucking late. The weather is shit, causing people to drive even slower than usual around here. The ominous gray sky seems to freak people the fuck out because they’re more skittish than normal as they venture around the twists and turns of this narrow road. There must be a full-fucking-moon tonight or something because from the moment I left the house and hopped into my truck, things have felt fucking off.

When I finally do arrive at the meeting place, I’m forty-five minutes late. Being late is out of character for me. Despite my flippant attitude I had in the past, I’ve always been on time for these meetings—always pushing myself to be there from the beginning to the end. I wonder what Travis is thinking. He’s probably assumed I ditched him or something like that.

I park in the lot in front of the Protestant Church where tonight’s meeting is being held. It looks as if it has been around since the early 1960’s. The age of the building gives it a sort of charm, which is rare among the locations our A.A. meetings are usually held. This church is a definite step-up from the local YMCA, that’s for damn sure. I hate listening to people talk about their problems while trying to stifle the background noise of kids playing basketball on the court next door.

I quickly make my way down the hallway of the old church, listening for the sounds of a meeting going on so I can find the right room. I can’t ignore the verses scripted on the walls, surrounded by drawings that look like they were created by kids in Sunday school classes. I have to be fucking honest—churches make me uncomfortable. Always have, and I’m sure they always will. The idea that there’s a God watching our every movement like fucking Santa Claus and judging us is daunting to say the least. Nonetheless, I can’t help but stop every now and then to read one of the verses. Just out of curiosity.

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. - John 16:33

I roll my eyes and keep walking. I feel like I’ve overcome the world as well. I’ve dealt with many horrors in my life, and I’ve still managed to come out practically unscathed. At least, on the outside. Inside there are still wounds which refuse to heal. Part of me wants them to stay opened and fresh forever because that would mean I’d never forget about Dean. Not that I could, even if I tried. He’ll always be a part of me. Thank, fuck! I’ve managed to get through so much shit not because of my faith in an almighty power, but the faith I had in myself. I had faith in Dean’s decision and rose to the fucking challenge.

Finally, I see a light shining from the end of the dark hallway and follow the cacophony of voices as they vibrate off the room’s walls. Although I’m late, I’ve finally fucking made it. I take a glimpse around the meeting room before stepping quietly inside. The sight before me stops me in my tracks. Travis is walking toward the front of the room with a frown on his face. With his sunken features, slouched shoulders, and weary eyes, he looks like a completely different person. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s finally sharing his story, and I can’t help but wonder whether it’s a coincidence that he’s choosing to do so on a day that he believes I’m not here to hear it. My curiosity gets the better of me, so I step back out of the door. I lean against the wall outside the meeting room so I can still hear what’s happening inside. I can see Travis, but I know he can’t see me. I take a deep breath as I watch him get ready to speak. He shoves his hands in his front pockets and with his head down, he begins.

“Hey, everyone. I’m Travis and I’ve been attending these meetings for a couple of months now.” He stutters through his first sentence, sounding awkward and shameful at the same time. I can see he’s bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. “I know I haven’t said much since I’ve been here. I’ve never been one for words—at least, not lately. I haven’t tried to reach out to a single one of you, and I can’t say that’ll change after tonight, either. Honestly, that’s not why I’m doing this. I just need to open up… I just need to hear myself say this out loud. I’ve been carrying this with me for too long. It’s just been too fucking painful—”

He stops, gasping for air before quickly bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. What the fuck is this? Travis has always been so strong, yet, he’s crumbling in front of everyone. He’s falling to fucking pieces. A familiar feeling of dread turns my stomach and I stand paralyzed as I wonder what he’s going to say next. Why do I feel so fucking ill when I look at him? What the fuck could he possibly say that I wouldn’t be able to handle? I cover my mouth with my hand to help quiet myself because I feel like if Travis could even so much as hear me breathing, he’d stop fucking talking.

“I’ve spent the last few years of my life abusing alcohol behind closed doors. No one knew about it aside from my best friend, Dean. He’d always try to help me out, even when I didn’t want it. Even when I told him to ‘fuck off’ he’d always be there. He refused to give up on me. Even when things got really bad for me… and he had a life of his own to live. He shouldn’t have had so much faith in me. I didn’t deserve it,” Travis says through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

My heart sinks as I hear him mention my brother’s name. He’s right—Dean would’ve done anything to help his friend. Hell, he did everything in his power to help me even when everyone else believed I was a lost fucking cause. That’s who Dean was. He was the most genuine and kind person I’d ever known. He was loyal to a degree you rarely see in a person, which is why not having him here is so fucking painful. My heart breaks, knowing such an incredible person was ripped away from this world all too soon. Ripped away from us.

“Before Dean died, I’d been sobering up. I thought I was getting better—I thought I was in control of my actions. My vices no longer had the same power over me as they once did. That was all because of Dean. He knew the worst of me, the side of myself I was so good at hiding from everyone else. I had a successful career with a steady income. My life seemed to be on track… but, despite all of this, I couldn’t hold onto it and I allowed alcohol to consume my life once more. Dean had been my best friend since we were kids; we were brothers, he and I. Out of all the people in my life he was the only one to see a change in me. Or, I should say, the beginnings of one. He loved me like I was blood and was there for me when I didn’t have anyone else…” Travis trails off with a muffled sob.

It’s then I notice that tears were streaming down my own cheeks. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I continue to quietly cry as I watch him. I wipe away the few tears on my cheeks and watch him more intently. He’s wiping off his own face, as well, trying desperately to hide his emotions. He tries to hide his tears, but from my line of sight I can see every fucking one. Part of me wants to go to him and tell him everything will be all right. However, another part of me—the part which causes my heart to race as if I’m standing on a precipice about to be pushed off the edge—keeps me in my place. I watch him, completely paralyzed with a deep-rooted fear, as he gains control of himself and opens his mouth to continue.

“He made me part of his family… He appointed me to be his son’s Godfather… What I did to him—” His voice breaks as he takes a breath. “I tried to help them,” he explains as his entire body starts to shake. “I didn’t know what to do. It was too late… I was too fucking late. The damage was already done, and I was a fucking coward. I saw my best friend gasping for air, and I saw his wife—who accepted all of my flaws and loved me—lifeless in the seat next to him. I ran away and never told anyone… I never told anyone until now.”

A red haze descends over my vision and every muscle in my body wants to spring into action. I want to fucking attack the thing that has caused me so much pain and distress. I can’t fucking think. I can’t fucking breathe. All I can do is look at the fucker, who I had called my friend, through blurry eyes. I desperately try to hold myself back from hurting him the way I want to. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This can’t be fucking happening to me. This cannot be fucking happening to me! A bitter laugh escapes my mouth. I knew things would go to shit eventually. I knew it all along.

“I’m sorry,” Travis whispers before he jumps down from the makeshift stage and heads toward the door.

My entire body springs to life, every muscle tenses as my heart continues to fucking break. My thoughts are one giant clusterfuck—a string of expletives and violent thoughts. I can’t control my body as it reacts the only way it knows how. As soon as Travis walks past me, I grab him by the throat and throw him against the wall. I hear him gasp, but he doesn’t stop me as I curl my other hand into a fist and punch him upside his cheek.

My fists slams against his face in a rapid succession. I can’t stop. I don’t know if I want to stop. Fuck, I can’t even slow down. I feel him put his hands in front of his face to block my punches, but nothing will be able to help him during my violent, red haze. I can’t think, I can only feel the rage inside me. Everything else seems irrelevant because all I feel is the need for vengeance for my brother’s death. I’m so fucking lost in the moment—waiting for the hate surging through me to release so I can finally feel better. Will I ever feel better after this? Will I ever find peace again?

Those questions are fleeting, disappearing in the chaos of my mind before I throw another punch. I hear a crunch, as my fist makes contact with his nose. His head slams back against the wall before his limp body slides to the floor. I hear screams in the background, but everything is a giant haze. The only thing I see clearly is Travis, who’s slumped on the floor with his hands over his head. He’s crying uncontrollably like the fucking coward he is. He didn’t even have the nerve to fight back. I want to fucking spit on him, but before I get the chance a pair of strong arms yank me away from him and throws me to the floor.

My eyes shoot wide open and all my emotions come crashing down. My heart begins to beat so rapidly I feel as though it could explode at any moment. I’m fucking dizzy; I’m fucking nauseous; my mind feels so numb it scares me. I stare at all the nameless faces in the crowd, too distressed to recognize a single one. They stare down at me in absolute horror. Fuck them. They don’t know what this is about.

I don’t wait for my panic attack to fully subside. I don’t reach out to Travis to check if he’s all right. It’s not like he did that shit with my brother anyway. All I do is jump up, wipe the blood off my hands with my shirt before heading to the door. I hear Travis calling out to me, but I don’t turn around. Fuck him. Fuck that bastard who murdered Dean and Cat and just drove away, leaving them on the side of the road like they were nothing. How the hell could he drive away? How could he watch my brother gasp for fucking air and just run!?

I can’t decide if Travis is a fucking monster or a coward. The man I once thought I knew is now gone. I can’t believe he fucking lied to my face all of this time. He killed my brother and didn’t have enough fucking courage to confess his sins to me. I allowed that sick fuck to be in my kid’s life. I asked him to be my best man at my wedding since my brother isn’t here to do the honor. He was my fucking friend.

He was my friend…

Hot tears trail down my cheeks as I quickly get into my truck. I can’t see anything and I don’t fucking want to. This world is so ugly. I never knew how ugly it was until this moment. I’ve tried to be good. I’ve tried to be optimistic. I’ve tried to tell myself that everything in this world isn’t shit. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s just as fucked up as I once thought it was. I thought I was jaded, but maybe I was just being realistic. I throw my truck into reverse, backing out of my parking space before putting it into drive and speeding off down the empty street. I gun it down the road without a second thought. I don’t know where I’m going, but I just know I don’t want to be fucking here.

I drive around aimlessly, not bothering to look at what I’m passing. Frankly, I’m too fucked to even care. The world around me is a blur—a meaningless and unforgiving blur. The tears won’t stop falling and my anger won’t subside. Horrible thoughts fly through my head and I’m too fucking numb to make any sense of them. They boil up inside of me, making me feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust at any moment. I punch the steering wheel, hoping the pain in my hand will distract me from the hurt in my heart. I want to fucking destroy something. I want to release my anger until my surroundings are just as wrecked and ugly as I’m feeling.