Page 28 of Giving Chase

"I was... I was a mess. Coming off a three-day bender. I showed up at her place, ranting about some perceived slight. God, I don't even remember what I was angry about. But I remember the look on her face. Disappointment. Sadness. Fear."

I pause, the shame of that day washing over me anew.

"I said... horrible things. Accused her of holding me back, of trying to control me. I told her she was the reason the band was falling apart. That she... that she meant nothing to me."

My voice breaks on the last words. Dr. Hendricks hands me a tissue, and I realize I'm crying.

"The worst part," I continue, "is that she just stood there and took it. She'd always been there for me, through everything. And that's how I repaid her."

"Thank you for sharing that, Chase," Dr. Hendricks says after a moment. "That couldn't have been easy. Now, looking back, what do you think about your actions that day?"

I laugh bitterly. "I think I was a selfish, destructive asshole who hurt the one person who always had my back."

Dr. Hendricks nods. "And have you ever apologized to Eliza for this specific incident?"

The question makes me shift uncomfortably, the leather couch squeaking beneath me. I can feel a bead of sweat forming on my brow. "I've apologized to her in general terms. You know, for everything that happened, for how I acted during that time. But for that specific day? No, I... I haven't."

"Why do you think that is, Chase?"

I let out a long breath, my gaze drifting to the abstract painting on the wall, its swirls of blue and gray suddenly fascinating. "I guess... I've been afraid to bring it up. To remind her of how awful I was. And maybe... maybe I've been afraid to really face it myself."

Dr. Hendricks leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Chase, there's a difference between a general apology andtaking specific accountability for our actions. Why do you think it might be important to address specific incidents?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with responsibility I’m not sure I want to take on. I can feel my heart rate picking up. "Because... because it shows I remember. That I understand the real impact of what I did, not just in some vague, general sense."

"Exactly," Dr. Hendricks nods approvingly. "And what do you think it might mean to Eliza to hear you acknowledge specific moments?"

I close my eyes, imagining Eliza's face, the hurt I've seen there too many times. "It would show her that I really understand what I put her through. That I'm not just sorry in some abstract way, but that I get how my actions affected her."

"That's very insightful, Chase. Now, let's talk about accountability. How is that different from just apologizing?"

I run a hand through my hair, thinking. "Accountability is... it's owning what I did. Not making excuses or blaming it on the drugs or alcohol. It's saying 'I did this, and I understand how it hurt you.'"

"And why have you avoided this level of accountability until now?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I can feel my throat tightening. "Because I'm ashamed," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Because facing the specifics of what I did, really looking at it... it's painful. And I guess I've been a coward about it."

Dr. Hendricks' expression softens. "It takes courage to admit that, Chase. Now, the question is, what are you going to do about it?"

I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "I need to talk to her.Reallytalk to her. About that day, about everything. No more hiding behind general apologies or vague acknowledgments."

"That sounds like a good plan. But before you do that, I want you to do something. Write a letter to Eliza. Don't send it, just write it. Be specific. Address the incidents you've avoided talking about. Express your regret, your understanding of how your actions affected her, and your commitment to genuine accountability. Can you do that?"

I nod, feeling a strange mix of dread and relief. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

As I leave the office and slide into my car, I sit for a moment, letting out a long breath. The idea of confronting my past mistakes in such specific detail, of laying bare my regrets to Eliza, terrifies me. But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm on the right path.

I start the engine, my mind already composing the opening lines of a letter that will force me to face the worst parts of my past. It won't be easy, but maybe, just maybe, this will be the first step towards truly making things right with Eliza.

September 15, 2010

The neon lights of the Las Vegas strip paint my hotel room in an eerie glow, a kaleidoscope of colors that does nothing to settle my nerves. I pace back and forth, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet with each step. The bass from the casino below thrums through the floor, a constant reminder of the show we just finished and the one looming tomorrow.

My eyes keep darting to the mini-bar. The little bottles glint in the low light, promising a temporary respite from the chaos in my head. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But God, I want to.

Vegas. It had to be fucking Vegas. Every street, every gaudy casino is a reminder of that night two years ago. The night I made the stupidest decision of my life, stumbling drunk into a chapel with a woman whose name I could barely remember. The marriage lasted all of three months, but the guilt... that's stuck around a lot longer.

A knock at the door breaks through my spiraling thoughts. I open it to find Eliza standing there, a six-pack of beer in one hand and a knowing smile on her face. My heart does a familiar flip in my chest.