Page 61 of Stolen Hearts
“Okay.” Lee hesitantly motions at me to continue.
“I don’t want what happened at the VMAs, what happened with David Rishton, to continue to define me. I want to reshape it. Reclaim my narrative.” Heat rises in my chest.
“That’s one way to continue to heal from what happened to you,” Lee says. “To help you move from victim, to survivor, to thriver.” Lee glances at the water glass beside me as I rub my neck. I reach for it and take a sip.
“Could I make a suggestion?” Reticence lines her tone.
“Yes.”
Trepidation coats my mouth as I put the glass down and reach into my pocket for my bronze two-month sobriety chip, flicking it between my fingers.
“Setting up and starting a foundation about an issue like this can be stressful and oftentimes, quite retraumatizing.” Lee’s voice is slow and measured. “It might actually be more helpful to your recovery to partner with an existing foundation as an ambassador. That way you can still honor your desire to redefine what happened to you, but in a way where you can decide how much or little you want to be involved.”
Lee rests her palms on her notepad, a smile rising on her face when she notices the smirk appear on mine.
“What?” she laughs.
“Two minutes ago, you wouldn’t help me, and now you’re offering me advice.”
“Trust me, the irony isn’t lost on me.” Her high-pitched chuckle allows me to laugh too.
I’m sure she’s right. When I get out of here tomorrow, my life will resume. Many of the stresses I left at the gates when I arrived will be there waiting for me when I leave. The last thing I need is to be adding anything to it unnecessarily.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I just want to take it easy when I get out.” I bring the conversation back around to what Lee had suggested earlier.
“And is that viable for you?” Her gaze drifts to the clock above me. “I saw the news about your Grammy nominations over the weekend. I assume that means you’ll have a busy couple of months ahead of you.”
The schedule Paul and Connie ran through on Saturday still sits in my room.
This week, I head back to Albuquerque to shoot the movie.
Next week, I do the Brewed activation events across the country.
But after that, I told Paul no more work for the rest of the year. I crossed out all the promo the label proposed to campaign for the Grammy awards.
“I’m only doing things I was previously contracted to dobefore I came here. I intend to take a long break at the end of the month.”
My mind drifts to days spent at the beach with my surfboard.
“I’m aware that this is our last session together before you leave,” Lee says, adjusting her legs. Her aquamarine eyes sparkle with a warm softness. “But, I want you to know that although this is the end of your in-patient treatment here, we also have an out-patient program. You can always tap into the support we offer here at any time, even remotely.”
“Does that include continuing individual therapy sessions with you?”
The bronze chip moves more quickly between my fingers.
What will I do once the stabilizers of this place are removed?
Will I crash and burn again like last time?
“Here.” Lee stands up and passes me a business card with her details on it. “Why don’t you keep hold of this. If you need me, I’m only a call or an email away.”
Lee makes her way to the door as I study the card, not quite ready to leave my seat or the room.
“Thank you. For everything.” Tears form in the corners of my eyes as I get up.
Lee stretches out her hand to me when I get to the door.
“Remember Alexander, one day at a time.”
