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He remained silent as I turned my back to him again and prepared two cups of coffee. I was on my way back to the stairs and almost out of earshot when Tracy muttered, “I was just trying to take care of him.”
I paused and glanced at him over my shoulder. “I know, and I’m glad he has a friend who cares about him.” I actually felt bad for the guy as I left him alone in that big, empty kitchen.
When I got back to Gabriel’s room, his suitcase was piled high with clothes, and he said, “This is never going to close.”
“Sure it is. We’ll gang up on it.”
He grinned at me and took the mug I offered him. After tasting it, he said, “Thank you. This is perfect.”
“I’m glad I got it right.” I sat on a corner of the bed and drank some coffee before saying, “So, I just had a little chat with your pal Tracy.”
A frown line appeared between his dark brows. “Was he rude to you?”
“Nah, not really. He’s just worried about you going to San Francisco, because he thinks it might set you back in your recovery. What do you think about that?”
“I can see why he’s worried. Being back there could potentially stir up a lot of emotions, and I’m not always great at dealing with that. The years I spent in San Francisco were really awful at times, but I also made some amazing friends there, so it’s not like I want to avoid it forever. You already know some of my story—the drug abuse, obviously, and the fact that I worked as a prostitute. I don’t know if I ever really explained how I got there, though.”
I said softly, “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”
Gabriel held the coffee mug in both hands and leaned against his dresser. “I want you to understand this about me, though.” After a pause, he said, “When I first moved to San Francisco, I ended up homeless. It was a constant struggle just to find someplace safe to sleep every night and to afford my next meal.” He shifted his gaze to a spot somewhere beyond the open balcony door before saying, “I turned to prostitution because it was the only way I could earn enough to keep a roof over my head. When I started, I swore it was just until I landed a job with a steady income. I also told myself it was just my body and it didn’t mean anything, but it took a huge emotional toll on me.”
He paused again before saying, “The first time someone offered me drugs, it seemed like a way to escape from my depressing situation for a while. No one ever plans on becoming an addict, but soon all I cared about was my next fix. It didn’t matter what I had to do to get it. I know a million junkies tell that exact same story, but I still need to take ownership of it.”
I could only imagine the memories he was grappling with as he exhaled slowly. Then he said, “The best and worst parts of my life are all tangled up in that city. I reached points lower than I ever thought possible, but I also made some absolutely wonderful friends, and they became the supportive, loving family I’d always wanted.”
He was still staring at a spot off in the distance, through that open door as he continued, “Being here at this resort has kind of been like living in a bubble. There’s been very little in the way of stress, triggers, or temptation, but I can’t hide from myself forever. I think this trip to San Francisco will be a good way to start easing myself back out into the real world.”
I asked, “Are you sure? Maybe it’d be easier if you started by spending time in L.A., or anyplace else that doesn’t have so many bad memories.”
“But I think it’s important to face my demons. I also really want to spend time with you, and I want to see my friends. It would mean everything to me to reclaim San Francisco, and I think this trip will be the perfect opportunity to totally drown out those bad memories with good ones.”
“How can I help you while we’re there?”
“Just keep talking to me,” he said. “Ask questions. If I get quiet or start to withdraw, call me on it.”
“I absolutely will. What about counseling? Would you like me to help you find someone while we’re there?”
“Actually, I already have a counselor,” he said. “He’s on the mainland, so we do phone sessions every other week.”
“Okay, that’s good.” His gaze had shifted to the floor, and after a few moments I asked, “Why aren’t you looking at me?”
