by Alora Kate
I hate it when I make her mad.
I hate it when she’s right.
“I hate it when you get mad at me.” I felt defeated, exhausted, and knew our time was almost up.
“I’m not mad, Ashton. I’m just reminding you of what it is you supposedly want out of your life. You say them, but you don’t mean them.”
“Of course I mean them,” I whined. “You think I like the person I am? You think I like being alone all the time? I haven’t looked in a mirror for six years! Six fucking years! I hate myself, and I hate that I hate myself. See, I don’t even make sense half the time. Why the fuck would anyone want to be friends with me, Suzanne? I’m fucked up, I’m scared all the time, and I freak out about everything. I freak out about the stupidest fucking shit! I let post-it-notes tell me what to do!” I kept gripping my hair with my hands. Sometimes I just wanted to cut it all off. It’s not like I know what I even look like.
She crossed her arms over her chest and continued to watch me as I paced the room and pulled my hair. She didn’t say a word, just watched. I’m sure she’s trying to think of something clever to say.
Some days I think I’m good, that maybe just maybe, I have a handle on myself, on my life. Some days.
“Well?” I asked because I couldn’t take the silence anymore. The silence was making my skin crawl; I couldn’t take it, I needed to get out of myself.
“Do you feel better or do you need to get more off your chest?”
I threw my hands up in the air and asked the ceiling, “What does it matter?”
“I always tell you that I like it when you’re angry. You need to get angry more. No more panic attacks. Just get angry. You need to get it out of you. I keep telling you to join a gym or take self-defense classes because you need a stress reliever.”
“You always tell me that crying was my stress reliever and you know I do that all the time,” I reminded her.
“Yes, but you’re still so angry, Ashton. You hate a lot of things including yourself. You did nothing wrong,” she stressed. “There is nothing wrong with you. You shouldn’t hate yourself the way you do.”
I pointed to myself. “I didn’t fight! I didn’t fight hard enough Suzanne, and you know that. I always retreated.”
“Jesus Ashton,” she said shaking her head.
“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, Suzanne.” I slapped my hands on the back of the couch again and continued to yell at her, “He wasn’t there! No Jesus. No God. No one was fucking there. For three years, I lived in Hell. I begged for God to save me. For anyone to fucking save me! When I knew he wasn’t coming, I started asking for my life to end. Every day, all day, I begged for a way out. I wanted to die. He couldn’t even give that to me. He left me in Hell with the Devil for three fucking years!”
“Ashton!” Suzanne yelled and I swear my heart skipped a beat. She was standing now, and she looked like she was about to cry. I really am a bitch.
“Terrible things happen all the time. There are a lot of ugly people in this world who do ugly, disrespectful things that no one can explain. What happened to you was beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. It was beyond horrible, and my heart breaks for you all the time. I’m sorry that you suffered the way you did. I truly am, but you need to realize that you did fight. No matter what you think, you’re a fighter. You’re alive, Ashton. You survived! You survived Hell and lived to tell about it. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You're braver than you think. You fought the Devil every day for three years! You did fight! You’re a survivor! Why can’t you see that?” She let out the breath she had been holding and sat back down in her chair. Well, more like slumped. Her head rested on the back of the chair, and I slipped around the side of the couch and sat back down.
She was right.
I did survive.
Technically, I’m alive.
If there were broken pieces of me scattered around the ground right now, it would be safe to say that Suzanne had just picked up the biggest piece and put it back in its place. But, the million broken pieces of me turned to dust a long time ago and the wind took them away.
I’ll never be whole again.
I’ll never be mended.
The pieces are gone, lost forever.
That is the hardest part, always feeling empty. Hollow. I’m meaningless; I feel I have no purpose or value in life.
I peeked at Suzanne. I felt bad. Every time we yell at each other, I feel bad.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you’re right; you’re always right, Suzanne.”
She let out a light sigh. “It’s not about being right, Ashton. I want you to get angry and upset and yell at me. It’s part of the healing process, but I also want you to realize your worth. You're worth it, Ashton. You’re a good person and having friends can help you in more ways than one. You’re not going to like what I have to say next because the first time we talked about it, you passed out from your panic attack. And I’m not telling you this to cause a panic attack. Please listen and think about what I’m going to tell you.” She sat up and faced me again. “Stop hating yourself and learn to forgive. You need to figure out a way to forgive him and yourself and move on from this. You need to let all the anger and the pain go. You need to stop feeding it and free yourself.” She stood and came to sit next to me on the couch and grabbed my hand. “I’m not asking you to forget what happened. You’ll never forget, but you can forgive and move on.” She squeezed my hand. “I know from experience, and I want you to trust me on this one, Ashton. Find a way to let it all go. Being free is the most amazing, beautiful feeling in the entire world.”
At that moment, something clicked into place for me. Somewhere deep inside of me, I felt something click, or turnover, or whatever. But then another thing happened. I saw Suzanne had blue eyes. How the fuck did I not know this already? But most importantly, I learned that something had happened to Suzanne. She said she knew from experience.
“As much fun as this was,” she looked at the clock, “your time was up ten minutes ago.”
That was all she had to say to get me off the couch and sliding my sunglasses on. “I’m going to be late.”
“Ashton, don’t worry about the time today. You can still be in control and be ten minutes late.”
“Haven’t you pushed me enough today?”
She dismissed me with her hand. “That was nothing.” I knew this would happen. She’d been warning me the last year that she wanted to get more aggressive with me but at the same time, she hadn’t. If she thinks I’m ready now, then maybe I am?
It’s been six years. It was time to get my shit together. Somehow. I don’t know how but I need to find myself again. I’ll never be the same, but I need to get to know myself again.
Lincoln
I didn’t hear from Ashton all weekend.
I thought about visiting Mike but figured that would be pushing it. Mike reminded me that she was trying to be my friend and to stay patient. So, that was what I was going to do. I decided to let her make the next move.
I can’t begin to imagine what she had to suffer to want to end her life.
I might have played it cool when I was around her but inside, I was fuming with anger. I was pissed someone hurt her to the point that suicide was her only escape. The fact that someone hurt her so badly that she had her mirror boarded up made my blood boil. I ran for almost two hours after that to calm myself down. I wanted to help Ashton, to protect her and take her pain away.
Today was Monday, and I was almost done with my run; I was hoping to see her, talk to her, and make sure her arm was okay.
I went inside my apartment and tossed my iPod on the counter, grabbed a bottle of water, and stood in my doorway. I couldn’t stop smiling, knowing any minute she would come walking through the door.
I don’t even think she had cleared the top step when I greeted her, which had scared her; even though she tried to hide it, I saw her jump.
She didn’t say anything, but she stopped when she got to my door.
She turned to face me but stayed on the other side of the hallway. She wasn’t that far away, maybe four or five feet, but this was the first time she knowingly let the distance between us slide. She looked good even though she looked the same as all the other times I’ve seen her.
“Hi, Lincoln.”
God, she had a sweet voice. It was soft, smooth, and something I could listen to all day and never bore of. I guess I was still speechless because she spoke again. “I’m sorry about the other day. It was an accident. Please don’t think-”
“I don’t.” I meant it, and she knew I did because of her reply. “Thank you.”
I looked at her door then back to her. This was a huge step for her. She looked calm, her breathing was steady. I was the one feeling a bit on edge, but this is what I’ve wanted for so long.
“How’s the arm doing?” I asked, glancing at her bandage.
She adjusted her bags and tried to hide her arm. “Better.”
It should not be hard to have a conversation with her, but for some reason, I don’t know what to say.
“Do you-” she said at the same time I said, “Can I-”
I smiled at her as I watched her hand slip up and try to cover up the smile that played up the corner of her lips.
“Go ahead, Ashton.”
She looked at her watch, then her door. She sighed and turned her attention back to me. “I’m not a normal girl, Lincoln, but I’m trying.” She looked at her watch again and started rubbing her thumb over the top of it.
“If you need to go I understand. I won’t keep you,” I lied. I wanted to grab her and force her to stay with me. Maybe then I could figure out what to say.
She spun on her heel and was at her door in a flash. “I’ll text you,” she said as she unlocked her door and slipped inside.
Chapter 10 - Ashton
My need to stay in control dominates me most of the time to the point that I don’t even realize what I’m doing. My body is so used to being on auto-pilot that I act without thinking.
I talked to Lincoln without having a panic attack.
I call that progress.
After lunch I went to the wall where my post-it-notes were and noticed someone had rearranged them and wrote a few new ones, and strung them up in a line, that read:
DON’T CALL ME EVEN THOUGH I LOVE YOU.
It was my brother’s handwriting.
He must have come into my apartment while I was gone this morning. What a sneaky little ass. I whipped my phone out and text him.
Me: Ass!
Mike: Love you too.
Me: I know.
Mike: Be brave. Call or text him, your choice.
Me: Thank you, Mike.
Mike: Anytime.
I sat on the couch and gave myself a pep talk. “This is what normal people do. They text their friends.”
Me: Hi Linc.
Well, that wasn’t so hard. My phone immediately beeped back.
Lincoln: Hi Ashton.
Me: That was fast.
Lincoln: I was waiting for you.
Before I could reply, I got another one.
Lincoln: Not that I sat around holding my phone in my hands since I last saw you.
I chuckled.
Lincoln: Ok, I was holding my phone waiting to hear from you.
Me: Total stalker.
Lincoln: Only for you.
How do I reply to that?
“Be brave Ashton.”
Me: Why me?
Lincoln: Honestly, you intrigue me.
“I’m sure I do,” I said shaking my head and my phone beeped again.
Lincoln: At first it was the lesbian and marriage comment, figured you were playing hard to get, made me want to keep trying …
Me: I thought you’d quit.
Lincoln: Almost did, but after a few more Mondays it became something else.
I had to remind him, again.
Me: I’m not normal, Linc.
Lincoln: No one’s normal.
Me: That’s what Mike tells me.
Lincoln: He’s smart, you should listen to him.
Me: He is.
Me: I try.
Who knew five minutes of texting could make me feel somewhat liberated.
Lincoln: Would you like to hear my Monday confession?
I smiled.
Me: Yes.
Lincoln: You already know Nat lives with me, but she also works with me at the bar. She’s my only sibling, my mom’s currently on a cruise, and my dad passed away around ten years ago.
Me: I’m sorry about your dad, my parents are also gone.
God, I miss them. Mom would be proud of me. She would push me like Suzanne does, where Dad always held back. I was his baby girl, and he wanted me to feel safe, protected, and didn’t even like me leaving the house.
Lincoln: I’m sorry for your loss as well.
Me: Thanks.
No reply from him for minutes. Now, what do I do? I looked up at the wall and thought about all the activities and what were written on them. I knew them all and I was bored with the thought of doing them. Instead, I sat on the couch and stared at my phone until I heard from him again.
It didn’t take long.
Lincoln: How’s your day going so far?
Me: Not bad, it’s pretty nice outside.
Lincoln: I agree, it is.
Another few minutes of silence had me worried, so I sent a message to Mike.
Me: Mike, I don’t know what else to say to him.
A few minutes later …
Mike: Talk about some of the things he’s already shared with you? Invite him to watch a movie with you? That’s what we would end up doing.
Me: Not sure about the movie.
Mike: You cuddled with him the other night. I think you’re okay to watch a movie.
Me: That was different.
Mike: Not really.
Me: !!!!
Mike: You're brave! You got this, just relax and sit on the other side of the couch. No touching. You don’t even have to look at him.
But I want to look at him.
Am I brave enough to invite him over for a movie?
Lincoln: You still there?
Me: I don’t know how to do this…
Lincoln: Do what?
Me: Be a friend to someone.
Lincoln: You just have to talk and listen to them, be there for them when they need someone, respect them, I don’t know, stuff like that … and if you don’t want to talk, I’ll do all the talking
I started to blush but it passed just as fast as it came.
Me: I’m trying Linc, but I don’t like to talk about myself or my life.
Lincoln: Everyone is different and unique in their own way, and most people don’t like to talk about their lives, I get it.
Me: Mine is more unique than most.
Lincoln: I don’t want to push or upset you, but I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.
“If only it were that simple.”
Me: I still don’t get it.
Lincoln: What?
Me: Why do you want to be friends with me?
A couple of minutes had passed, and I started to think maybe he wasn’t going to text back. I understand him being intrigued; if the tables were reversed, I’d be intrigued by him also. Maybe that’s what I need to do. I should put myself in his shoes.
Would I stalk my neighbor? Would I continue to share my life with someone who ignored me? Intrigued me?
Lincoln: It’s hard to explain, but I’m drawn to you, Ashton. I feel that there’s this invisible string that keeps pulling me towards you. I think about you every day. I’m not sure what happened to you but I know it must have been bad, really bad, and it upsets me that you had to go through something like that. I like you, I like the sound of your voice, and I liked the way you felt
in my arms the other night. Everything about you feels right to me.
“That was so sweet.”
Lincoln: I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s a lot to take in. I just wanted you to know. But I want to be your friend more than anything.
He liked my voice? No one’s ever told me that.
My hands began to shake.
Shit.
“Control it, Ashton!”
Lincoln: Ashton, are you ok?
Me: Ya.
“Get it together, Ashton.” I set the phone down, got up from the couch and walked to the corner of the living room. “Nothing is wrong.” I lifted my hands up in the air and took a deep breath in and then slowly lowered them as I let the air out. I did it again then started to pace my small living room.
Both windows were covered in dark, heavy curtains. I liked it dark inside my apartment just like I do in my bedroom. My walls were white and there were no decorations of any kind on them except the post-it-notes. I had one picture in my room of my parents and one family photo, both were taken before I turned fifteen.
“You’re friends now,” I reminded myself. “Friends talk and share their feelings.”
But what he said sounded like so much more. Do people tell their friends that they like the sound of their voice? No, they don’t. Even though the books I read are fiction, I read enough to know better. But why would he like me more than friends?
How did this one person get in as far as he has?
How is this happening?
Because you like him.
“Fuck,” I hissed and turned around when I got to the window.
“Ashton.” I heard Linc call then a few knocks on my door.
I stopped and stared at the door. He knocked again. If I don’t answer the door, he’ll go get Mike. Did I want him to leave or stay?
Stay.
Stay.
Stay.
I took a step towards the door. Air in.
I took another step. Air out.
“I need a minute,” I tell him because I don’t have my glasses. All that hard work to get to the door and it was for nothing. I ran to my bedroom, grabbed them, and went to the peephole. He was pacing in front of my door. He rubbed his hands over his face a few times then through his hair. It was dark brown and shorter on the sides, with some length on the top.
