Things begin to click. “Jesus. You’re just like all the other groupies who wanted to screw me.”

“No!” she shouts and then quickly covers her mouth and then whispers harshly, “It’s not like that.”

I want to believe her because God knows she wasn’t just some random fuck for me. The thought of what happened between us meaning nothing to her fucking hurts. For some reason, I allowed myself to become emotionally attached to Frannie, and I don’t know if it’s because she seems to understand me, or because I can’t shake the feeling I’m here to save her.

I pick at my leather cuff and wonder out loud, “Then tell me what it is like, Frannie. I need to know if I should give up on us or not.”

She runs her hand through her hair and looks away, but then turns back toward me with her chin pointed down. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me how you feel. Tell me if I should fight to make you see that we can work,” I urge.

Her brow furrows with confusion. “Why would you still want me after I told you my secret? I’m a mess.”

The corner of my mouth pulls up into an understanding smile. “I’m the last person to judge you, don’t you think? It’s not like I don’t have my own sordid past. After all, it wasn’t clean living that landed me in rehab.”

That earns me a smile. “I suppose so. You are a rock star, after all. I’m sure you’ve done worse. You’ve probably been with thousands of women.”

I grimace. “I think my dick would’ve fallen off by now if I’d been with a thousand women.”

“I just don’t understand why you care so much. We barely know one another.”

“That’s true,” I admit. “But you’re the first one to have given more than two shits about me in a long time.”

She frowns. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“But it is,” I defend my statement. “Riff, Noel, and even my own brother have been too busy with their own shit over the past couple of years. I’ve felt nothing but alone. This last year has been the hardest of my entire life. I’ve lived on the road with these guys, knowing they’re disgusted by me, knowing they really don’t want me around. Do you know how shitty that made me feel? To be unwanted? You, Frannie—you make me feel needed, and that’s why I’m fighting for you.”

She nods. “I’ve felt that way my entire life. My parents have always been too busy for me or my sister. Annie was the one person in this world I knew would always be there for me, even when no one else would.”

Having a twin is unlike any other relationship in the world. Throughout my life, Trip has always been there, even when no one else has been—even now. Even though he was pissed at me, he still cared enough to bring me here to get help.

“I can’t imagine losing Trip,” I admit.

“Losing Annie was the most difficult thing that’s ever happened to me. I know it’s no excuse, but that’s why I turned to sex. I wanted the closeness. To allow myself the illusion of love, even for a little while, but at the same time keeping everyone at a distance. I don’t ever want to feel the pain of losing someone else I love again.”

I nod. “So you close yourself off to make it easier? You think that’s healthy?”

“I know it’s not. That’s why I’m determined to turn my life around. I thought by coming here—”

“That you’d be safe from temptations?” I fill in the gap for her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s me who screwed up. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

I sigh and stick my hand out toward her, believing that we’ll need to start over if we’re ever to have a shot at true intimacy. “I’m Tyke Douglas. It’s nice to meet you.”

She bites her bottom lower lip. “Frannie Mead.”

“Friends?” I ask.

She nods. “Friends.”

This isn’t exactly the relationship I want with Frannie, but I feel bad that I’m the reason that she relapsed, and I don’t want to push her to feel more until she’s ready. I’ll be patient.

I mean, let’s face it.

While I’m here, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.

“Through the Glass” – Stone Sour

The moment Tyke leaves my office, I sit on my desk and allow my shoulders to sag, guilt washing over me. I wish I didn’t have to hurt him. I wish I wasn’t like this—that I didn’t depend on sex to make me feel better. It’s a cycle I desperately want to break. I don’t think I can ever have a real relationship with a man until I learn to let people into my heart.

I stand and walk around my desk to work on Tyke’s chart, and a gasp leaves my mouth the moment I pull out my desk chair. A single red rose rests on the seat. My heart clenches, knowing that man who gave it to me is someone I can never have.

I pick it up and then sniff its floral scent. It’s only then I notice something green poking out from between the petals. Plucking the thin plastic guitar pick from the flower, I smile as I read the words in Tyke’s familiar scrawl.

Cutting him off will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I need to prove to myself that I’m over this addiction. It’s the best thing for both of us. Neither of us are in a good place to begin a relationship.

Arnold adjusts on the couch and then folds his hands in his lap. This is my seventh session with him, and I still feel like I haven’t made any headway. The journal idea I’m using on Tyke is failing miserably with Arnold. He never brings it to his sessions with me because he says he doesn’t write anything that would be beneficial for me to learn about him.