Love Resolution - By Michelle Mankin Page 0,55
while the students lined up and filed past to get autographs.
A group of girls were still giggling at something Bryan had said as they moved to her. While Avery signed Brutal Strength CD’s for them she tuned into Bryan’s conversation with the next teen.
“Hang in there, man. It’ll get better.” Bryan was leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I know it feels as if high school’s the center of the universe right now, but it’s not.”
“Dude, if it wasn’t for my mom, I’d quit school. Get the hell out of here. Start over somewhere else.”
“I know. I felt the same way when I was your age. But my mom, my sisters, and I stuck it out together and found ways to make ends meet. Life wasn’t easy. It kept knocking us down, but we never stayed there. My mom went to school at nights and got her nursing degree.”
“Doesn’t that take four years?”
“It does if you don’t have to work days. It took her seven, but she did it. Don’t give up is what I’m trying to say.”
“I won’t.” He bumped knuckles with Bryan. “Thanks.”
“Take it easy, man.”
“Ok. Time’s up at the signing table,” the principal informed everyone, checking his watch. “Mr. Jackson and Miss Jones are going to perform a song for us before they leave.”
Avery and Bryan picked up their cases and moved to the folding chairs that were set up in the center of the gym.
Avery managed to smile at Bryan. Just like in LA, he’d been a big hit with the kids. He was confident, yet approachable, with an appealing hint of sensitivity beneath the swagger.
He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. “You ready?” he asked, pick poised over the strings of his guitar.
Avery nodded and kept her head down, trying not to look up into the cameras flashing all around them.
Bryan bowed his head and strummed the opening chords, taking the lead on vocal and guitar. He rocked back and forth in his chair, his tatted arm draped over the instrument while his twinkling eyes remained on her face. She almost missed her cue to join him on the chorus. At the bridge, he changed the words “she does” to “you do,” personalizing the song. Her finger slipped and her string squeaked. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of those grey green eyes so focused on her face, to no avail.
And as cheers and whistles rained down on them, something inside of her responded.
“I know what the problem is,” Marcus grumbled. “This is the same old crap they talked to me about when I was in twelve-steps last year.”
“And yet here we are again.” The psychiatrist tucked a strand of grey hair back into her bun and peered over her reading glasses at him. She adjusted her jacket when Marcus was silent. “Very well, enlighten me.”
“I get frustrated with people or circumstances that I can’t control,” Marcus admitted, running an irritated hand through his hair. He glanced at his watch for the third time since the session had started.
“And so drinking makes you feel more in control?”
“Of course not. I used drugs in the past as a crutch to numb me, but not anymore.” He blew out a breath. “I thought I was ok, that I could handle a drink or two every once in a while.”
“I know they didn’t teach you that in rehab.” She leaned forward in her chair. “But everything you’ve shared with me today is pretty superficial. I believe that identifying the underlying issues is the key to moving forward.”
Marcus tensed. Soul searching sucked.
“That’s what I want you to think about over the next twenty-four hours.” She stood and tucked her laptop into her attaché case. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll determine how committed you are to really kicking this thing.”
After escorting the doctor out, Marcus spent the rest of the morning thinking about their conversation.
Maybe the shrink was right. Maybe there was something to this psychobabble shit.
The truth was all his life he’d felt like he didn’t measure up. Not to other’s expectations, certainly not to his own. This perception had always been his reality. Quick success hadn’t changed anything for him, not really. It had just given him more distractions- money, women, and drugs. But for him, anything less than perfection felt more like failure.
Actually, he knew a major part of the deal was that he spent way too much time inside his head, his fallback place. He found it extremely difficult to let