NOTE: BIG THANK YOU to all audiobook listeners new and old! Kristen wrote and recorded an original song + lyrics for Ryker and Elias's performance on this recording! Enjoy the listen and thank you again for tuning in if you do! Special shout out to Got2BeReal who always leaves us such encouraging comments and feedback on the audiobooks!
Elias
I shouldn't have gotten myself into this--the lights, the stage, the people. The million and one reminders of why showing my face in public always ends up being a mistake. But it's too late to back out now.
Thirty seconds ago, my body decided to do its own thing, ignore my nerves, and walk me out into the middle of the spotlight next to Ryker. And here I am, perched up on a metal stool across from him, choking the life out of my new guitar, struggling to maintain this melody, and trying not to choke in front of what has to be a good couple hundred people.
When Ry said there'd be a decent turn out at his gig, I expected maybe fifteen people or so. But the dude's got fans. Lots of them.
And it makes sense. The guy's cool as balls, a solid musician in his own right, and writing the kind of music that'll probably land him some kind of record deal if he keeps this going.
This is his world. His thing. His element.
Meanwhile, I'm totally outta of mine.
But then again, I don't know where I belong anymore.
I'm not anything like Ryker. I'm not all easy-going backstage, and cool calm and collected in the spotlight like he is. I can't vibe with total strangers on the laid back level like he does. Instead, I've started to spend most of my time trying to avoid talking to anyone.
Some days, especially in the past week, I wish I could go back in time and tape my mouth shut. Maybe then I wouldn't be where I am right now and Jersey wouldn't be--wherever she is.
I haven't seen or talked to her in a week.
I haven't lived in my dorm in a week.
I haven't been myself in a week.
I've been a TMZ article, a trending topic, and a circus animal that everybody wants to watch.
Just like they're watching me now.
I stare out at the crowd and wait to see camera flashes, or hear somebody scream out my name the way people do back in LA, but nobody makes a sound. Instead, silence falls down on top of the blur of faces stretching out toward the coastline. And then it falls down on top of me as I play.
The quiet caves in on my chest like a six-hundred pound weight, even though the lights are bright enough to keep me from really seeing anybody, I feel them watching me, and the pressure of their expectations.
You think I'd be used to it by now.
Having people's eyes on me no matter what I do, where I go, or who I'm with. It's been that way since Lacey died. Strangers seem to have it in their heads that the most private moments of my life are made for their entertainment.
And the past week is proof of that.
Six days ago, I lost control of my life, my privacy, and my relationship all in one afternoon.
And I wish I could say that I feel bad about beating the shit out of my brother that afternoon, but I don't.
I just--don't.
Instead, I'm empty, hollow--filled with a kind of rage that my mom can hear every time we talk about what happened on the phone. The kind of anger that won't let me apologize when I should.
I know I should.
But I can't.
Not right now anyway.
And maybe that means there's something very, very wrong with me because a good person would regret what I did. But the only thing I actually regret is fighting him in a place where people could see and hear me talking about me and Jersey's secrets out loud.
Because now everything I said is-everywhere.
YouTube, Instagram, TMZ, you name it, they've posted it. Over and over again. And now, a full week and a couple million hits later, I'm in hell.
Everyday, I wake up to 800 missed calls and texts from Lisa telling me about the daily list of me and Jersey-related disasters that she has to do damage control for. And it doesn't matter how many vultures try to publicly tear us apart, humiliate my girl, and judge the two of us like we're on trial, I can't do anything about it.
I can't even call Jersey to see how she's doing. I can't try to talk her down from the tweets, and comments, and articles that I know are eating away at her. I can't protect her from the bloggers who are putting her private business in the worst light possible.
I'm useless right now just like I was on that night two years ago when a Facebook post ruined my life.
Ruined Lacey.
I left her in the dark. I left her alone at home for hours while I ran around trying to undo rumors that couldn't be undone. The internet's a terrible place mostly because it doesn't forget, and it doesn't forgive. That video of me and Lacey got more likes, shares, and comments, then the posts her family put up for her memorial service.
People choose what they want to remember and instead of remembering the beautiful person she was, all they could think about and talk about was what we did in that locker room.
Gossip took a piece out of Lacey that ended up stealing her life away. I didn't do enough to stop it then. I'm not doing anywhere near enough to stop it now. I don't even know what this last week's done to Jersey when it's my responsibility to know.
I'm supposed to take care of her, I'm supposed to be the man who stands between her and the rest of the world, but I haven't been there.
And as much as I've confided in Ryker, I still can't tell him how much being away from her scares me.
Two-year-old fears that I'd hoped I wouldn't have to go through again keep me up most nights. I step outside the van and walk around the canyon to keep Ryker from seeing or hearing me when that all too familiar panic settles in.
I start thinking about about how a single video of me and Lacey plus a few hundred shares destroyed her to the point where she wouldn't even talk to me.
She couldn't look at me, she couldn't trust me, she couldn't take it. And eventually, she wanted out of everything.
But that was only one video floating through a San Diego high school.
Everything that's happened to me and Jersey in the last week makes that look like small town drama.
The press still favors me, still paints me as some kind of victim. But Jersey's the scapegoat. The whore. The murderer.
I'm not on the receiving end of all the hate and blame and judgments of the public.
Jersey's alone in that.
I hope to God that she's stronger than Lacey was.
But even if she is, I can't keep living in the dark like this.
I won't.
Ryker's been doing his best to help me through the madness. He spends most of his time talking me down on the nights where I'm just about ready to lose my mind, but I'm losing it anyway.
Maybe tonight's the last straw. The show that sparks the panic attack of all panic attacks that pushes me over the edge completely. I don't know.
On the drive over, Ry kept telling me that this day was exactly what I needed, and that I'd be better off having a little more faith in things.
But I'm so much weaker than I was six days ago.
I just hope to God that something about tonight, this music, or being away from everything will turn out to be some kind of salvation.
Otherwise I'm all out of answers.
And I need one right now.
***
A Few Days Earlier
I've been standing outside of Ryker's van for a while. We're parked in the middle of nowhere on the edge of a canyon a little ways out from the city. I never thought I'd say it, but LA almost looks beautiful from here.
Up above the smog.
The lights are sparkling right under it like a cluster of stars that got stuck somewhere between heaven and earth. But I guess that's part of the illusion-'cause there's nothing to like about this place anymore. I stare out at the dry patches of brush and hollowed out trees stretching out ahead of me and into the dark. That's where the truth is. Somewhere in the shadows.
Los Angeles is surrounded by miles of darkness but all anybody can pay attention to is who's in the spotlight.
I wish I could say that being away from all the buzz has been good for me. But I'd take on the crowds and the chaos in a heartbeat if it meant seeing Jersey tonight.
My hand starts twitching when the idea of reaching out to her crosses my mind for the thousandth time. I could do it. Just pick up the phone, call her, and hijack Ryker's van to drive straight to wherever she is right now. Granted, Lisa would probably have my balls on a skewer for not following her rules, but on the other hand, screw her.
I grip my iPhone so hard my fingers feel close to bruising. Talking to Jersey is as simple as pressing a button, but I can't do it. I should, but I can't. There's too many consequences in the way--and for some reason they always end up hurting her.
The thing is, I don't care about Lisa, or the press, or trying to look good for the public. But I do care about Jersey and what people think of her. I don't know how she's taking all this or what the things they say are doing to her behind closed doors.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck out here totally in the dark as to what she's been going through and I can't stand Lisa for doing that to me.
She doesn't have anybody to go home to, she's been divorced three times, so the one thing that snake of a publicist doesn't understand is being in love with someone you can't see. Or touch. Or talk to.
I never would've touched Tanner if I knew that it would separate me and Jersey. I would've kept my mouth shut if it would've saved her from the fall out she's going through on her own. When am I going to learn that acting on my impulses does nothing but get the people I care about most hurt? I promised her I wouldn't make her go through anything alone again.
But here I am, making promises I can't keep. Just like I always do.
I shut my phone off so I don't go and make another stupid mistake, and try my best to meditate through my frustration like Ryker told me to. I'd like to say that it helps, but it doesn't. Instead, the pressure slips out of my chest, moves across my shoulders, down my arms, and settles somewhere in my fists.
I turn back towards Ryker's van and genuinely think about burying my knuckles into the side of it until they bleed. Ryker will probably wake up and totally think I'm crazy for wailing on his ride, but I need to do something with the frustration. The pain. I need it out and I need it out fast.
I bolt towards the van, and send my foot sailing into the back right wheel. Once. Twice. Twenty times but I still need to keep going. I step back, ball up my fists, feeling ready and way too willing to break my knuckles against the rusty frame, when Ryker opens the back door and stops me in my tracks.
He stares at me for a few long, uncomfortable seconds without saying a word. I mean, if I were him, I probably wouldn't know what to say to me either. It's not every night that you step outside of your ride and see somebody attacking it like a nutcase.
I straighten myself up and try to go back to looking as normal as possible--but who am I fucking kidding.
I'm a mess, and judging from the look on Ryker's face he knows that even better than I do.
"You gonna rage war against my van all night or do you wanna talk about it?" He says.
My face heats up but thanks to the dark he doesn't catch it.
"There's nothing to talk about, Ry. I'm cool."
Ryker scoffs and then shoots me one of those all-knowing looks that him and his girlfriend have down to a weird hippy science.
"C'mon, Eli, you don't believe that and neither do I."
He's right.
I don't.
I should know better than to lie to him about everything that's going on in my head, but I'm tired of being everybody else's problem. I've been through rehab and therapy so you'd think I would've learned how to cope with life by now. But I'm standing here a year later and it feels like barely anything's changed.
"Sorry, I just--I'm having a hard time with all of this-"
I choke up outta nowhere so I stop talking before I embarrass myself in front of a guy who's got his whole life together. Ryker doesn't look like he's ever cried a day in his life or had a mental break down or done anywhere near as many drugs as I have just to get by. He's just--chill.
Sure, he lives out of a beat up vintage VW and has a couple crazy theories on life, but at least he's living it. I'm-I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.
Ryker steps outside, walks over to me, and throws a reassuring arm around my shoulder. I need it more than he knows.
"I want you to look out there for a second. Tell me what you see," he says.
He points out at the same horizon I've been staring at for the past half hour. Honestly, there's nothing to see out there aside from the girl I'm missing, but I don't say that out loud. I don't want anybody knowing how screwed up my head gets when Jersey's not around.
Maybe therapy didn't work that well after all.
"Problems. More than I can count. At this point my issues are giving the stars a run for their money," I say.
Ryker shakes his head full of shaggy hair and smiles to himself.
"No doubt, that's a great line for a song, but really? That's what you see?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Then you're looking at it wrong. The only thing that's out there are possibilities, Elias. More than a million, you just have to know how to spot what you're looking for."
I laugh and it comes out sounding about as harsh and hopeless as I feel.
"Well, if you spot my girlfriend out there let me know. These days, it's starting to seem like everybody else in that sleazy city gets to see her but me."
Ryker gives me a hard slap on the shoulder but I play off the sting.
"Look, brother, I know this situation sucks right now, but you've gotta stop expecting life to play out the way you want it to. Trust me, I've had to learn that lesson the hard way more than once. You don't win all the time, Elias. You don't always get to walk away with the girl, and ride off into the sunset, even though you love her. Even though you'd do anything-"
Ryker loses himself in what looks like a difficult memory, and snaps right back into the moment.
"-and everything to get her to stay. Life doesn't have to give you what you want. And most of the time it doesn't. We all tend to forget that as much as we want to be in control of our lives and where it takes us, we aren't. But every now and again you get lucky, so thank God for the good parts. That's all anybody can do."
"That's easy for you to say. You've got Indigo, man. She's an amazing girl and I'd be thankful everyday if I were you. You have something that most guys would kill for," I say, and I mean every word.
"By the good grace, brother."
Ryker shoots me a humble smile and my stomach curdles up like sour milk. I shouldn't be jealous of him, I know better, but I still I am. I wish I had even a fraction of what they do.
I wish I had my girl like he has his.
I wish life wasn't this fucked up merry-go-round me and Jersey seem to be stuck on, but like Ryker said, life doesn't care about what I want. It never has.
"I didn't always, Eli. Me and Indi-we weren't always the people we are now. Life's a lot more complicated under the surface. People tend to forget that when they're spending too much time looking at the cover instead of reading the book, if you know what I mean."
I do. I think. It's kind of weird thinking of Ry and Gogo any other way, but I'll take his word for it.
"Yeah, but was it ever this hard for you guys? I feel like every time me and Jersey get close to something good the walls cave in. And the thing is, we've been through some pretty bad shit before, but this time was-this time's killing me a little bit and-uh, I don't really know how to find my feet again. I don't know what to do about the pain, 'cause it's a lot more than I was ready for, you know?"
I drag my sleeve across my eyes to take the sting out of them, but it only half works. Everyday, I wake up hoping that the emptiness in my chest will just disappear and that I'll go back to being the guy I was before I knew about my son.
And it's not that I want to forget him or forget about what happened to him, I just want to make it back to feeling okay.
But instead I spend every minute of everyday being surrounded by reminders of how not okay I am. And I don't know how to deal with that.
Not the anger, or the sadness, or the separation. I need something, but I guess only God knows what that something is at this point.
Ryker clears his throat and pulls me into a earthy smelling bear hug without warning. My arms hang limp at my sides for a little while but once I realize how badly I actually need a friend right now, I hug him back.
Sometimes, I wish you could pick your family.
Ryker's been more of a brother to me lately than Tanner has, but even as great as Ry is, I still feel the holes in myself that only my family can fix. The little kid in me misses and needs his brother more than anything right now, but all I've got is Ryker.
Then again, I guess friends are the family you choose. And, he maybe the closest that I ever have. A friend that's closer than a brother.
"I know exactly what you need right now," Ryker says.
His voice is so low and gravely that it radiates through my chest. I step away from him, completely embarrassed about the fact that I can literally see my tears on his shoulder. Maybe if the guy wore shirts more often things like this wouldn't happen.
I mean, I get it. He's into the whole weird vests and alternative clothing thing-but I feel like a child right now. The thing is, I could've walked away with some dignity if I'd bawled into a cotton t-shirt or whatever. He never would've noticed.
But Ryker totally destroys any man-pride I have left when he wipes my waterworks off his skin and flashes me a pity smile. Fantastic.
"Don't say tissues, Ryker."
He grins.
"Nope, I don't believe in environmental destruction for the sake of petty human comfort."
"Then what? Peyote? Hippie grade level hallucinogens? 'Cause I would love to tap out of my life for a couple hours."
I say it like it's a joke, but some part of me means it. I shouldn't, but I do. As much as I got the old addict inside me under control, there are days when he likes to pop up and remind me of who I used to be. How I used to deal.
I block out the whispers 99% of the time, but there's always that fucked up 1% that still wants to go looking for trouble.
That's still there.
"Believe me, brother, I've got something way better than that. Follow me."
***
Ryker was absolutely right-cause what I'm holding in my hands right now is better than any drug or orgasm I've ever had. Wait, wait, I take that back. Sunset Rec reunion night with Jersey was an all-time high, but still, this baby's pretty close.
"Careful now, she's one of a kind and if you break her I might have to throw you off that canyon outside," Ryker says.
I cradle his vintage Gibson Les Paul in my hands like I'm holding onto the Hope Diamond. I don't even know why he'd agree to let me see it much less hold it. My fingers are shaking like crazy as I trace over the strings, but it's not cause of nerves. I'm itching to play her, to see what she sounds like, what she feels like.
Once upon a time, I had a grandpa who taught me how to play guitar and a pile of my mom's old school Santana CDs that taught me how to fall in love with it. It was the one thing I had while everyone else seemed to sing praises about Tanner's swimming chops. My abuela (grandma) included. Gross, I know.
But my abuelo (grandpa) got me started one summer he was visiting and taught me some basics. I spent the whole summer holed up in a room with him and those CDs. I was his favorite.
That was our first and only summer like that. But the old man loved his cigars too much. Mom was devastated the following spring. She went back to Spain for a week following his passing. That summer with him was a Godsend. A gift.
Abuelo didn't realize it was one that would keep giving.
Holding Ryker's model brings back a couple good memories of me sitting in my room on sunny San Diego afternoons, playing to nobody else but the walls. I didn't need an audience, I just needed music to survive the fights that happened after sunset.
"Dude, where in the world did you get this? I've got some piece of crap, hand me down guitar back in my dorm and you're rolling around with this piece? What's her story?" I ask.
Ryker's too busy writing down a line in his beat up moleskin notebook to answer me right away. He's always writing, always thinking, and I usually don't interrupt him. But tonight he keeps starting and stopping. Picking up his pen and then throwing it down in frustration-which I totally get.
"She was a gift. That's all I'm gonna say. Anyway, I want you to do something for me, in exchange for me letting you hold my guitar."
I nod faster than an eight-year old cracked out on Pixie Sticks.
"Whatever you want, man."
"Play something. A melody, a riff, anything as long it's original. I think we can do something magical in here tonight if we stay up and ride out the flow that's in the air right now."
Right...
"Flow? Like creativity or whatever?"
"Exactly."
"Okay, but I don't know what to play and I'm not that great at--"
"Don't even say it. Indigo showed me a video of your "Cake By The Ocean" performance. You know your way around a six-string."
I kinda wish I never did that.
"Yeah, but I'm not a songwriter man. I write poems not music."
"Same thing, just play. We'll figure out the details later," He says, as he pulls out an old fashioned tape recorder from his backpack.
I tune his guitar lightning fast, press my hands against the strings, and then freeze up again. I've heard Ryker's stuff. He's crazy talented and as incredible as I am at life, I don't measure up to him in the musician department.
The last thing I wanna do is screw up so badly in front of him that he regrets letting me touch this beautiful guitar in the first place.
"Okay. Cool. I'll just play---something. Sorry, man, I kinda get nervous when I don't know what I'm doing and---I really don't know what I'm doing so---here's your guitar back. I appreciate you trying to help me out but I can't do this."
Ryker locks his eyes on mine.
"Elias, stop running and start writing. You were looking for a solution, right? This is it."
Ryker clicks on the tape recorder and I break into a cold sweat.
"Wait, wait, wait. How 'about I just like do the words or something? You can play the guitar and I'll-"
"The pen's already in your hand, brother. Shut up and make something beautiful with it."
I let out an unsteady breath and uncurl my right hand so it brushes against the strings.
"What do I write about?"
"Her."
***
Nobody Knows
Sun sets, the summer's fading
Lights low under L.A. smog
But I'll take what we've been given
Even if the world tells us it's wrong
Cuz nobody knows
You
And nobody knows me
Like you do
So Let's go
Where nobody knows us
Let's go where we're more than enough
Let's give the stars a run for their money
And go where nobody knows
A million to one
A shot in the dark
Let's run towards a rising sun
Where nobody knows
You take me down with your presence
Resurrect the dead inside of me
And I know our roads are ridden
With lies and secrets the world has seen
But nobody knows
You
And nobody knows me
Like you do
So Let's go
Where nobody knows us
Let's go where we're more than enough
Let's give the stars a run for their money
And go where nobody knows
A million to one
A shot in the dark
Let's run towards a rising sun
Cuz The world don't know us, honey
Got the whole thing at our feet
No limit to what we'll carry
For this, you know I'll bleed
Past the Hollywood lights
And San Diego skies (I'll take it for you)
All the changing coastlines
Will see (I'll make it for you)
But nobody knows
You
And nobody knows me
Like you do
So Let's go
Where nobody knows us
Let's go so we can be
Free.
The whole crowd's quiet as Ryker's last note rings out into the air. My lungs lock up just waiting for the song to end and the judgement to begin.
I remember this panic, the raw feeling that eats its way through your chest when you're waiting on a reaction. The night before "Letters to Jersey" went live, I was wired--and not in a good way. Sure I might've let Dan talk me into publishing the book, but I wasn't ready for it to actually come out.
Twelve hours before it hit the web, I barely slept and whenever I did manage to fall asleep, I'd have nightmares about what Jersey would say to it, if she would say anything at all. And then there was the public to worry about. Not that they were worth the stress, but the idea of putting my words out into the world scared the balls outta me.
And now I'm here, stuck up on a stage where I probably don't belong, in front of a field full of people who I don't know and who don't know me.
They don't owe me their applause, their screams, or their gratitude, but suddenly the air is full of it. Cheers break out like crazy and the whole crowd goes wild shouting for us over and over again.
My whole body freezes up, every muscle rigid and unsure of what to do. I glance over at Ryker, looking basically terrified and he reaches out and slaps my arm to snap me out of it.
"Take a bow, Mr. King, they're cheering for you."
I flash him a weak smile, turn towards the audience, and try my best to look like I know what I'm doing. I lean towards the mic without any idea of what I'm gonna say once I start talking, but I need to say something before this gets even more awkward than it already is.
I'm pretty sure some TV show once said that the best way to handle stage fright is to find a face in the crowd to stare at and imagine that person naked.
Honestly, I don't want to imagine any of these granola hippy people naked, but my eyes are racing and if I don't find somebody to stare at I'm gonna puke or pass out.
Real talk.
"Thanks so much for listening, you guys. My name's Elias and I--I--uh--"
Keep talking, loser. Nobody's gonna care what the song was called if you make yourself look like a pussy in front of all of these people. Find a face, Elias. Just find a face, mentally strip em' down, and it'll be all good.
"--what I meant to say is that---that last song was called-"
I find a face in the crowd-but I'm pretty sure I'm seeing things. I've hallucinated before. Granted I was high as kite, but hey maybe there was something else in that weird organic tea Ryker gave me earlier.
That or I've finally lost it.
I mean, it would make sense.
The last week turned me into enough of a basket case to basically land me back in Bellevue, so the fact that I'm seeing a 3D vision of my girlfriend standing in the front row, makes all the sense in the world.
It's okay, Eli. You knew you were gonna go crazy one day, and today just so happens to be that-
Jersey smiles at me, and it's so damn beautiful that I just about drop my guitar when I realize that every single thing about it's real.
She's here.
She's actually here.
I shoot Ryker a look and he just shoots back a knowing wink and nod. Him and Indi are too alike sometimes it's hippy-level weird.
I stare back at Jersey. All of her.
And I don't know how it's only been a week 'cause it feels like I haven't seen that face, or touched those hands, or kissed those lips in so long.
Too long.
She looks up at me, and there's lyrics dancing behind her eyes. Lyrics to the beginning of a song that she started in me last summer.
The first verse came to life on her lips on Hollywood Blvd. The second, when she stepped on that plane to New Jersey.
The third on the night she gave herself to me for the first time.
And the final verse is being written right now, in the silent couple feet of space that's separating the two of us for the last time.
God willing let this be the last time.
'Cause there's a whole lifetime of lines I wanna write about her. About us.
I fell in love with this girl before I had the words to match up with the music. Before I knew how to take a feeling and bring it to life on a page or on an old Gibson guitar. But now I do.
Ryker gave me the rhymes.
And Jersey gave me the reason.
I don't know how long we stay staring at each other like that, but suddenly Jersey starts crying, hand over her mouth-full on crying, but I don't let her tears hit the floor.
I bolt to my feet, sprint to the front of the stage, and wave over security to help me get to her. The nearest dude who's big enough to carry me over the gate is too far to make it to where I am, so I make a split-second decision.
I take a good couple steps back, motion to Jersey, Indigo, and the random people standing around them to move safely outta the way, and then launch myself off the stage and over the gate. Except, I don't actually make it over the gate.
My vans slam into the metal edge light years before the rest of my body catches up and the impact sends me flying backwards and straight down into the dirt.
I hit the ground.
Hard.
A hollow thud rattles through my rib cage which makes my lungs super happy. There's not really any air going in or out for a couple seconds which could be temporary or mean that I've finally managed to off myself.
I mean, I've eaten it before, but this-this is one for the books.
Half of me is in so much pain that I legit want to stay on the floor and cry about it, while the other half is too embarrassed to keep lying around like a slug.
So I let my adrenaline kick into high gear and get back on my feet before anyone can look over to see what happened.
I straighten out, dust my jeans off, and find myself face to face with a seriously concerned Jersey, Indigo, and at least twenty-five other worried people asking if they should call 911.
But I don't answer them.
Instead, I lean in and kiss the living daylights out of my girl.
And for the first time in six days, I don't care who's watching.
Real talk.
***
(Thank you guys so much for being so patient. Kristen and I put in a lot of work co-writing and recording this one (6 hours in studio session) and we seriously hope you enjoyed the read/listen! kaelking12 also wrote the lyrics and music to Ryker's song which was super awesome! We cannot WAIT to share the next chapter with you guys! Elias and Jersey date at the fair time! NEXT UPDATE IS ON: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 4TH.)
#REALTALK QUESTION OF THE WEEK:
1. If you could come up with an ideal date for Elias and Jersey to spend together, what would it be?
2. Elias talked about having a friend closer than a brother, do you have a friend like that?
3. Do you have any personal triggers that bring up past memories of difficult situations you've been through?