Nail Me 2X

My father’s eyebrows came together. “Did he hurt you?”

I put my hands up in protest, “Nothing like that, it’s just… he’s a fighter. That’s his profession, an MMA fighter. And he’s one of the best in the city. But a couple weeks ago he got into this underground fight and he got beat really bad. I was there when they took him to the hospital and everything. I thought now that he was out and starting to feel better that he would, I don’t know, make better choices? But instead I find out that he’s doing drugs! Oxycodone. And he thinks that it’s nothing! I just don’t know what to do. I care about him, I’ve no idea why, but I do. But he just keeps pushing me away.”

My mother rubbed my back as the tears kept coming. “Honey, you just have to help him through this.”

Of course that’s what my mother would say—she stood by my father through his accident and the ordeal that followed. Years of surgery and rehabilitation. Suddenly I felt so small standing next to her. I couldn’t even get through one argument with Dillon without allowing him to end our relationship. I gave him all the power, and that was my fault. “I just don’t think that I can! He doesn’t want me to. He just wants to be alone and keep going as he is. There is just a part of me that thought he wanted to be better. That we could make each other better.”

My father continued to sit in silence, which was unlike him. He usually was the one to come to for sage advice, but this time he seemed to lack any real thoughts about the situation. I couldn’t help but be disappointed.

My mother crossed her arms. I thought it was meant to be a dainty gesture; however, when she looked at my father I saw steely glare in her eyes. “You have to tell her.”

He ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair before spinning his wheelchair around to face me. “You should sit down. Your mother’s right, I should tell you.”

I shook my head in confusion, “Tell me what? I thought that you two would be upset. I just told you that my brand-new boyfriend does drugs! And you want to have a sit down?” This wasn’t like my parents at all. What was so important that they had to tell me? When they didn’t speak I slowly sat down on the sofa and waited.

Finally my father sighed, “You should know about what happened to me after the accident. After all of those surgeries and finding out that I wouldn’t be governor anymore, I became addicted to my pain pills.” He hung his head in shame and my mother came over and put her hand on his shoulder. He reached out with his left hand and squeezed hers tightly. I could tell that admitting this to me was killing him. Here I was complaining about my boyfriend and his drug problem when it turned out that my father had one. My brave, strong, and extremely stoic father had a drug problem. Dillon was much more volatile and

dangerous than he was, so maybe I had jumped to conclusions too fast.

“How long did this go on?”

My father kept his head down and my mother answered instead. “Almost two years. We were at the point where we were going to have to try rehab when your father agreed to go cold turkey. We told you and your brother that he got an infection when really he was going through withdrawal symptoms.”

“But how did you get them? I mean, was your doctor just writing you a prescription?” That didn’t seem right. My father had hardly any pain after his last surgery. What doctor in their right mind would continue to prescribe him super addictive pain medication?

This time my father spoke, “When you’re a powerful man, drugs aren’t hard to come by. And honestly, for someone like Dillon, he was probably spacing them out. Only feeling like he needed to use them before a fight. Or maybe he was getting them on the street. But then he was in even more dangerous territory, because they could be fake, or he could be getting them from someone who could really hurt him. Either way you don’t want to mess with someone who’s on pain killers. Addicts are dangerous.”

“You’re not dangerous!” I protested. I stood up and walked over to my father, kneeling down in front of him. “Even now I don’t think you’re dangerous. And I really appreciate your honesty. I’m glad that you told me. It gives me a whole new perspective about what Dillon is going through. I know what it was like for you to lose the governor’s position, and that’s how Dillon feels about fighting. It’s his passion; his whole life is built around it. If he felt like he couldn’t fight anymore, he would do anything to make sure that he could.”

“I thought that I would do anything, but then I realized I had what was most important to me. My family and my life. If that bullet had hit me any higher”—he paused, sucking in a deep breath—“I wouldn’t be here. I am lucky that it was a bad shot, paralyzed or not. I’m just lucky to be alive. And Dillon should feel the same way. We read the article about the fighter getting beat almost to death. I had no idea it was him, of course, but he barely made it out of there.”

I tried to chase away the tears that I felt stinging at the corners of my eyes. But they were right. In that moment in the ring I had thought I lost him. Part of me felt like I had willed him to live, and he had been so lucky. “But he pushed me away. He told me he was no good for me, that he couldn’t be with someone like me.”

My mother had a sad smile on her face. “Honey, he did that to protect you. Your father asked for a separation at least three times while he was involved with drugs. He wanted to keep me safe, it had nothing to do with him. Dillon just doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“But he doesn’t control what I do. I do.” I slowly stood up, giving my father peck on the cheek as I did so. I have to go back and see him.”

“We know. But you can eat dinner with us and stay the night, give him some time to think about it. Maybe he’ll come to you,” my mother said optimistically.

“Maybe.” I chewed on my lower lip as I thought about Dillon walking into my grandiose home. He would feel so out of place here. It would prove his point of us not being right for each other. I would have to get to him first. It was the only way.

I stayed the rest of the weekend with my parents, just waiting for Dillon to call. But he didn’t. On Sunday afternoon I drove back to campus and did homework for the rest of the evening to prepare for my classes the next week. I then pulled out my résumé and looked up some internships online. Anything that would get me a job after college, even if it didn’t pay very much. I applied to a couple and was just filling in one of the final references when my phone rang. I grabbed it, praying it was Dillon, but it was a number I didn’t recognize. I answered it anyway.

“Is this Berkley?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“It’s Leo. Dillon’s manager. He asked that I call you.”

My heart leapt up in my chest. “He did? Is he okay?”

“He’s going to be. He told me about his problem.” I could tell the words were difficult for him to get out because he kept pausing at awkward points. “He’s in rehab. And he’s going to be there for a couple weeks. He wanted you to know.”

So he was getting help. Did this mean that there is a chance for us? “Did he say anything else about me?”

“No honey, I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.” And with that he hung up. Dillon was in some type of rehabilitation facility and I was sitting here updating my résumé. Maybe we were both moving in the right direction, even though they were different ones.

I didn’t hear from Dillon at all while he was in rehab. I went to class and made phone interviews, just did my own thing. There were a couple good parties in there, too. I would miss those after college. But I checked my phone obsessively and got nothing. It had been almost three weeks when I finally heard from him. And it wasn’t in the way I was expecting.