Meet me in the Middle

Chapter 6

'I wanna talk to somebody, but I feel no one relates
I need better now, I think I've lost my way' 
- Dax, Dear Alcohol  
(https://open.spotify.com/track/12aQLGOf99Hgfusph6x6L0?si=51015466cdea4592)

We stop in front of the church, but Beckett makes no move to get out, he seems nervous. He's been chewing on a handful of mints, taking the corners too fast and gripping the steering wheel more tightly the closer we came.

"I don't think I can go in." He grips the steering wheel even tighter if that was possible. His knuckles are white from the grip. I'm trying to come up with something inspirational to help him take the first step to his recovery.

"Dispatch to Aid car 19..." He seems relieved by the call, accepting it immediately and skidding out of the parking lot. The call was for a domestic violence incident.

The wife we were treating ended up punching a female deputy in the face for touching her husband. Both husband and wife got taken away to the police station instead, and we were off the hook.

We grab lunch after that call and end up eating in the aid car overlooking the marina. I take out my phone again and google what happens in AA meetings usually. I read the steps off to Beckett and he takes out a note pad and write them down.

"The meetings are more of a soundboard to share what you've been through so you can recognize your triggers. Looks like I'm your soundboard until you feel ready to go to a meeting."

He stops writing in his notebook and side-eyes me. "You think I'm going to share my biggest, darkest secrets with you, when I don't even want to do it in front of complete strangers?" He laughs out loud and I join him, hearing how ridiculous it sounds, but also knowing what it means to know your triggers and how to control them.

"Tit for tat? I could use a soundboard too on the days I don't have sessions with Diane." He's laughter dies off when he sees I'm serious.

Yeah, I can't believe it either. I'm about to let the person, who can ruin my career, into the depths of my screwed-up mind.

"No offense Bishop, but your problems are rainbows and skittles compared to my life." Okay, I'm offended. But I also know how high I've built my walls to make people believe that. I'm about to take a major gamble for both of us, because if either of us is wrong in trusting the other, the secrets I'm about to share could ruin me.

"I was abused. My dad was abusive. He didn't hit me or stuff like that. He was just really hard on me because I was good at something." Beckett looks over at me, making sure that I see I had his full attention.

"He would make me train every single day, even if I was sick or hurt or exhausted. He didn't care if it was pouring rain, or if the track was snowed in, or if it was forty miles to home. And if I didn't do well enough according to his standards he would make me run more. He wouldn't allow me to eat for days on end."

I try to gouge his reaction, but he's not giving anything away. I'm glad that I didn't confess to something no one knew about. But it was an olive branch, and it was his decision to take it or let it burn. We get another call from dispatch and head out for a quick call.

"My dad was abusive too." I had just put on my safety belt after getting our patient to sign their release forms when he dropped the bomb on me.

"He and my uncle had severe PTSD and they would mistake me for a memory, and they would either beat the shit out of me or say these awful things like they thought I was a terrorist or something." He shrugs at me before he continues.

"They both started drinking after my mom passed away. My dad didn't want to hurt me on purpose so he drank to keep his past hidden. They were both career Army and for most of my childhood they were what I wanted to be when I grew up."