Till It Hurts by Cora Brent
Tori
Now
The piano is exquisite enough to be a museum piece and likely costs as much as an average house in Arcana. It’s a far cry from Gloria’s old console piano and I feel like I shouldn’t be sitting here unless dressed in a ball gown and playing a flawless concerto. Instead, I’m hunched over the keys with one leg tucked underneath me and failing to recollect the proper notes to Minuet in G while clad in a pair of denim shorts and a thrift shop Rolling Stones tee.
“How long have you played?” Althea’s sleek arm leans on the piano and she smiles at me.
She arrived here the day after I did. At first, knowing the private room beside mine was occupied by the Althea with her collection of Grammy awards and endless chart-topping hits was intimidating. I got over that feeling quickly. Althea, like the rest of us, is here because she needs to be. She’s not the only recognizable celebrity currently staying at Painted Rock, but there are no egos or arrogance allowed in recovery. We’re all just people doing the best we can to triumph over our struggles.
I return her smile. We’ve become friends. “I played as a child but took a long hiatus. Lately I’ve been trying to take it up again but I’m severely out of practice.”
“If you’re interested in a teacher, I’m available. I don’t have a great amount of experience teaching, but my daughter managed to learn from me.”
Her daughter, Bella, is eleven. Every day Bella records herself singing and then sends clips to her mother, who often proudly plays them for me. The girl has a voice like an angel. At the end she always says, “I love you, Mama. I miss you.” And she blows a sweet kiss.
“Thank you,” I say with gratitude to Althea. “I will happily accept all the musical help I can get.”
Althea notices me checking out the enormous wall clock above the stone fireplace. “It’s Jace time, isn’t it?”
“Almost.” Here come the butterflies. Good ones. The sound of his voice is the closest I can get to him right now and our daily phone calls are always highly anticipated.
Althea laughs. “Don’t be late. I’m sure he’s waiting.”
I’m sure he is too. Jace always answers on the first ring.
Feeling a rush of exhilaration, I practically skip out of the large area known as the dayroom, which is vast and airy with an intricately etched glass ceiling and filled with soothing art pieces. In addition to the piano, there are built in wood checkerboard tables, a cozy niche for television viewing, various arts and crafts centers and even a library filled with thousands of handsome hardcover volumes. Should you be in the mood to read something that isn’t on the shelves, the staff will eagerly obtain it for you, within reason. In the middle of the room is a water fountain that runs with gently constancy. On my way out, I wave at the pair of men who are huddled over a serious game of checkers. They wave back. One of them is a former child star who now hosts a reality television show.
All the therapy sessions are finished for the day, leaving us free to find our own quiet pursuits before the lights go out at nine p.m. A wall of windows line the corridor and I glance out at the courtyard to see there is a yoga class happening. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll join them. Beyond the courtyard, the spectacular Sedona red rocks bear patient witness. This is a beautiful place, staffed by dedicated professionals who see to every aspect of our care. The kitchen serves customized gourmet meals. The gym is filled with state of the art equipment. Our rooms are private and lavishly appointed. I am so very lucky to be here and so very grateful to Jace for arranging it.
The first week was awful. To say otherwise would be a lie. I was sick. I cried a lot. There were times when just getting from one hour to the next felt like an insurmountable challenge. But I got through it. My body is clean and my soul is healing. I’m starting to look ahead now.
Cell phones and other personal electronic devices are disallowed here, as they are during most in-patient treatments for addiction. With all the harmful distractions present in social media, the rule is understandable. Our focus needs to be on the process of getting well. There are blocks of time during the day when we are permitted to use the communication room, called the com room for short, and this is one of them. This is where I go every day to call Jace at five p.m.
The room isn’t empty right now. Two of the phone booths are occupied, along with four of the computer cubicles. I close myself into the nearest booth, all of them designed with a retro look that matches the ones now only seen in old movies.
I can feel my grin widening as I dial Jace’s cell phone number.
“Hey, beautiful.”
Oh, his voice.That low rumble in my ear does things to me every time.
“Hi.” I get comfortable on the cushioned bench and curl my legs up underneath me. “How was your day?”
“Not bad. Your brother might have ended up in a headlock once or twice but someone’s got to put him in his place.”
“Fuck that!” Colt shouts in the background. “Not what happened at all.”
I’m giggling over the mental image of them glaring at each other. It’s all in good fun. They’ve made tremendous progress in restoring their friendship. Colt has been helping Jace plan the renovations for the property Jace just purchased. Jace doesn’t want to gut the place. He enjoys its vintage charm. But the house is old and in need of a variety of repairs. Colt, who has worked in construction for years, insists they can complete the labor together without hiring a contractor. It’s an ambitious project that should keep them busy. Hopefully they learn not to bicker back and forth every five minutes or they won’t get anything finished.
Colt is still carrying on in the background so Jace retreats to his bedroom and shuts the door. I hear the bed springs creak when he sits down.
“How do you feel today?” It’s a question he asks every time we speak.
“Good. I actually have a lot of energy. I even visited the gym. Tomorrow I might try a yoga class.”
“And your therapy sessions?” Another question he regularly asks. I don’t mind. In fact, I’m glad that he asks, and that he always genuinely wants to hear the answers.
“Making progress. The meditation techniques have been helping, especially with my anxiety. I haven’t suffered a panic attack since the first week.”
“That’s fantastic, honey. I’m so glad.”
I lean against the wall and sigh. “I miss you. I know I probably tell you that too much.”
“No way. I never get tired of hearing it. I miss you constantly, Tor.”
“Still love me?”
“More than you know.”
“I love you too. Now tell me something else that’s going on out there besides your endless debates with my brother.”
“I’m writing again.”
“Really?” If I didn’t have to hold the phone then I’d be clapping my hands in delight.
“I don’t have much to show for it yet. Hard to get back into the habit.”
“You will. And I’ll be expecting some reading material when I get home.”
When I get home.
I know I’m not quite where I need to be yet, but I will be. Soon.
Jace’s chuckle is low and deep. “Now I’m under pressure to produce. By the way, what are you wearing?”
“Nothing sexy.”
“Wearing nothing is sexy. Especially when you do it.”
I laugh. And I’m also aroused. The boy can thrill me with such ease.
“Date tonight?” I ask him coyly.
“What time?”
“Same as always. A quarter after nine. I’ll be in bed here at the same time you’re in bed there. Use your hand.”
“You’re on.”
“I am on. I’m turned on. Bad.”
He groans in the back of his throat. “You’re killing me.”
We talk for a little while longer but I’m not supposed to spend an excessive amount of time in the com room so after twenty minutes I need to end the call.
“Is something wrong?” I ask him. I’m attuned to Jace’s moods and there were a couple of times during the conversation when he just seemed distracted somehow. His life hasn’t been a picnic lately. Most outside news doesn’t reach us here but Jace admitted he already announced his official retirement from football, which is likely one of the top stories. He’s never gotten used to being the object of so much scrutiny.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he assures me. “I didn’t even see any spy drones fly over today.”
“Well, that’s a plus.”
“I was going through Gloria’s things,” he says slowly.
“I’m sure that’s not easy.”
“The thing is, I found some old photo albums.” He lets the sentence kind of hang there.
“And?” I prompt after seconds of empty silence pass.
“Nothing earth shattering. But I saw some pictures I’d never seen before.” He clears his throat. “So are we still on for nine fifteen?”
“Absolutely.”
“Love you, Victoria.”
“Love you, Third.”
He waits for me to hang up first. He does that every time.
I replace the receiver in the cradle and stay where I am for another minute, just enjoying the warm stir through my body while replaying the sound of his voice in my head.
My primary counselor believes that next week we can begin talking about my exit date.
I can start looking forward to having my life back. To seeing my brother again. To being with Jace.
Soon.