The Fix

by Natasha Sinel

  “What do we have going on?” That’s not how I meant it to sound. Like an insecure girl trying to figure out where she stood. Or worse, a bitchy girl who was pretending she didn’t know something was going on.

  “Good question.” He laughed a little nervously. “I’ve been in the psych ward for three weeks. Nothing is normal there, so I don’t know what’s normal here anymore. What do we have going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I was upset today when I thought whatever it is was gone.”

  I swallowed hard. I was glad it was dark out because I felt so vulnerable. I didn’t want him to see me like this.

  “Me too,” he said.

  “It’s weird for me. To get upset.” Again, the words spilled out of my mouth like I wasn’t in control of them. I felt shaky, opening myself up to him, and I wasn’t sure how to stop it, or if I wanted to.

  “I get that sense about you. You’re very strong. Too strong.”

  “Too strong?”

  “Just strong enough?” he said quickly, smiling. He paused. “I should’ve called you after the thing with Luke. But I started thinking, and I felt all this pressure to try to help him and I totally couldn’t. It was like this extra burden. And then I realized that was exactly the position I was putting you in, so I didn’t want to do that to you. But then I missed you.”

  “I don’t feel burdened,” I said.

  He let out an audible breath.

  “Listen,” he said. “I know there’s something here. But we really can’t get into that kind of relationship right now.”

  I felt a sting in my chest hearing him say it aloud, especially after all I had just admitted. A guy who didn’t want me. It hurt. It hurt a whole fucking lot. I hated myself for thinking I deserved something more. And then I hated myself for thinking I didn’t deserve more. I was drowning in a pool of lose-lose self-hatred, but I didn’t want him to see that. I straightened my shoulders, gripped the chain of the swing tighter.

  “I’m not trying to be all like I know you want me,” he said. “But I want us to be honest. Relationships are roller coasters, and I’m so fresh off the addiction thing, they’re afraid that if anything happened, I’d go right back. Plus, I have to steer clear of the drinkers and druggers, so I can’t really hang with your friends. There are a lot of rules. And, well …”

  He paused, like he didn’t want to continue. But then he did.

  “I totally screwed up the last, well, only relationship I had. It was bad. I mean, super horribly bad. I can’t be in that situation again. I never want to hurt anyone like that again. So, that’s it.” He took a deep breath. “I know this sounds so lame, but can we be friends?”

  Now the pain was stronger in my chest, a warm burning that made my eyes blur.

  “We already are,” I said, trying to be light, but it still hurt. “And I have a—you know—I’m with someone.” I couldn’t say boyfriend. And certainly not to Sebastian. It seemed so … small.

  “Chris Holtz,” he said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He seems like a nice guy.” I could definitely hear a smirk in his voice. He thought Chris was dumb. That’s what he was thinking.

  “He is,” I said. No matter how I was feeling about Chris, I didn’t want Sebastian to sense my own doubts.

  Sebastian nodded.

  “To be honest,” he said. “I’m totally jealous.”

  Jealous. He did have feelings for me.

  “Tell me what it’s really like being home,” I said.

  “Well, I’m back in the place where I’m an addict. It’s bizarre to wake up in my bed and know that I won’t be having a pill today. Or a line, or a smoke, or a drink. Nothing. I’ve always woken up in that bed hoping I wouldn’t, but knowing I would. And now I know I won’t. And it’s awesome. But it’s also scary as shit. I mean, my existence has been thinking about when I can get to wherever I need to be so that I can have my next hit of whatever. And now, I can’t think that. So, I don’t know what to think about.”

  I didn’t tell him that I used to feel that way with sex—when could I get my next fix of a new guy wanting me, kissing me. I’d lived without it since I’d been with Chris.

  “Nothing will keep me busy long enough,” he continued. “I have to finish the work I missed from the last couple of weeks of school, but I know that won’t take me long, so I’ve been postponing that. I already read one book today. I took a long walk. Obviously,” he said, gesturing toward the road he’d come from. “I saw you this afternoon. I’m seeing you now. I have to keep my mind occupied every second so I don’t think about when I’m going to get my next high.”

  I nodded again. “It’s going to take a while,” I said, praying I could say the right thing, but also knowing that if I said something wrong, he’d let it slide. “It seems like it’s a game of patience. With time, but also with yourself. You can’t be too hard on yourself. It’s okay if you have a thought about when you can get your next high. It’s just that the next thought will now have to be Oh yeah, I’m not doing that anymore. So, when’s the next time I get to see Macy?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. Just what I need. To transfer my addiction to you. But, you’re right. The therapists all say not to be hard on ourselves. The truth is, I’m so fucking scared I’ll have to go back there. And I really don’t want to.”

  “Did you hate it?” I asked.

  He looked up at the dark sky. “Yes and no. Yes for obvious reasons. I was there against my will. I had to go to therapy all day long, the food sucked—all that stuff. But also no, I didn’t hate it because I learned so much about myself, and I was surprised by how much people can genuinely care about someone they barely know.” He started swinging a little more. “Rashanna cried when I left.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That was tough. You know, you think of the staff there, and this is what they do, kids like me in and out every day, and then I leave and she’s crying and I’m like ‘how can you do this job?’ I was afraid she was crying because she knew I’d fail, but she said it was the opposite, that she was crying because she knew I’d succeed and she’d never see me again.”

  “Wow.”

  He nodded and swallowed. “I guess I was a good patient. She said a lot of the kids, they’re so damaged and when they leave, they’re just going back to their same messed-up family situations. And she knows she’ll see them at the hospital again. This one thirteen-year-old girl Michele had been living on the street for months. They had to cut off all her hair because it was infested with bugs and nasty stuff. I think she showered like ten times before she was clean. But there was this look in her eyes like … no matter how clean they got her—showered and off the drugs—she’d seen things no one should ever see, and they could never scrub that out of her. She’s who Rashanna meant, like beyond repair…. I hope I don’t have to go back.”

  “You won’t,” I said, trying to stop myself from imagining what this girl Michele had seen. “But if you do for any reason, it will be because you need it. It helped you.”

  “Yeah, it did. I know I’ve got to change things. I hope I can change things.”

  This connection with Sebastian, feeling the way I imagined you’re supposed to feel when you’re in love—connected, honest, exhilarated—made me feel that hope of change. But the feeling dissolved in an instant as soon as I remembered that Sebastian and I wouldn’t have a chance at it.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “Um … just what you said, the hope of change,” I said quickly, hoping he couldn’t read the sadness in my voice. “It sounds really good.”

  “It sounds good in theory, I know. But in reality? It sucks. It’s just discipline and hard work and watching minutes tick by.” He rubbed the fuzz of hair on top of his head.

  “So, then. What are you going to do … to keep yourself busy? Can you get a job?”

  “I’ll try. I have to do the outpatient program and Narcotics Anonymous, so I’d have to find s
omething that works with the schedule. I won’t be babysitting Sofia as much as I thought. I have to ‘earn back their trust.’ But my mom’s friend works at the library. I might be able to get some hours there.”

  “That would be good,” I said.

  We swung back and forth again on the swings, out of sync for a while, and then we were swinging together, right in rhythm.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said suddenly. “I made something for you.” He pulled a piece of paper that was folded into quarters out of his back pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded and tilted it to catch some of the light from the parking lot. It was a drawing of me, and it really looked like me. A lion burst from the top of my head, its mane falling down and then combining with my hair. The lion was roaring, but didn’t look scary; it looked sweet, in a way, like it was smiling really wide. The whole drawing was done in black pencil, but parts of the lion had been shaded in some yellow and brown.

  “Oh my god,” I said. “This is incredible.”

  Sebastian looked down shyly.

  “I drew it before. You know, before I saw your dreadlocks, so it’s still got your wavy hair. I know the lion is kind of dumb,” he said. “Because Macy Lyons, you know—lion—it’s so obvious, but there’s something about a lion that makes me think of you. They’re tough and they’re leaders, but they’re also soft and sweet-looking. I guess it’s what I was trying to say earlier—I feel like I can see a softer side of you that maybe not everyone gets to see.”

  “You do,” I said. “I do feel like you see me differently than other people do.”

  “And,” he said, “you see me differently than other people do too. It’s like you don’t even know me but you have faith in me. You trust me with myself.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes.

  He took my hand and intertwined his long thin fingers in mine. The touch of his palm against mine was thrilling in a way that it never was with Chris. We stayed like that for a little while, and then I took our clasped hands up to my face and put the back of his hand against my cheek. He moved his finger slowly back and forth on my skin. And it felt amazing, the softest touch of his finger on my face. And I knew for sure I was falling in love with him because nothing had ever felt so good in my entire life. He gently took his hand back, pulled out his phone, and looked at the time.

  “I really should go,” he said. “My mom is watching me like a hawk. I just got let out for a bit on parole.”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “I think I want to walk. It’s good for me to walk.”

  I nodded, disappointed. We stood and walked across the wood chips to the parking lot. Sebastian opened the driver side door for me. It would have been the moment for a kiss, but we both knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” he said.

  “You know I want to see you.”

  “Feels good to know that,” he said, smiling.

  He leaned toward me, kissed me softly on the cheek, then turned and walked toward the road.

  I watched him, his jeans low on his hips, his long arms dangling by his sides. He put his hands in his pockets.

  I got in the car and started the engine. My phone buzzed. I searched my pockets, but it was nowhere. And then I found it wedged between my seat and the console. I’d missed five texts.

  JASMINE: It’s me, Rebecca. Fone out of juice. Where r u?

  CHRIS: R u at party in Pound Ridge? Call me.

  JASMINE [REBECCA]: Where r u?? 911!

  CHRIS: I need 2 talk 2 u.

  CHRIS: Where r u??

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rebecca’s “emergencies” were rarely emergencies. Chris, on the other hand, never sent me an I need 2 talk 2 u, so I called him first, but it went to voice mail.

  “What’s going on? Call me back,” I said.

  I called Jasmine’s phone next, and Rebecca picked up on the first ring. I could barely hear her; the noise in the background was deafening: music, laughter, shouting.

  “Where are you?” I asked. “It sounds like you’re in hell.”

  “I am in hell,” Rebecca yelled into the phone. “I need you here now.”

  “And where is this particular version of hell?” I asked.

  “Hold on a sec,” she said, and then I heard her saying “excuse me, excuse me,” obviously pushing through a crowd. And then it was quiet. “I’m outside now. I’m at a party. Some girl name Jacqueline. Yes, it’s pronounced like that—Shak-u–leen. Some French girl.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “And?”

  I put my phone on speaker and started driving, pulling out onto the road. Sebastian must have been walking fast because I couldn’t see him anymore.

  “And, I’m in trouble here,” Rebecca said. “Cody dragged me to this horrid prep school party. I tried to resist, but he was insistent. And now he’s gone MIA on me, and I have no idea where he is. Probably screwing a skinny chick somewhere.” She sniffled.

  I tried to make my voice sympathetic. “Oh, Beck. Maybe he’s just out smoking or something.”

  “I’m outside right now. He’s not out here. I’m telling you, he’s gone. He completely ditched me. Will you please come get me? I feel like such a loser,” she said.

  I pulled into the supermarket parking lot. If I was going to pick her up, I’d have to turn around. “Isn’t there someone there who can take you home? What about Jasmine?”

  “Jasmine’s hooking up. Everyone is completely out of their mind wasted. No one is even close to going home, even if I would get in a car with them.”

  I looked at the clock on my dashboard. 10:40 p.m.

  “Okay,” I said. “Where does this little french fry live?”

  “Shit. I don’t even know where I am. Hold on.” I heard her going back inside and asking for the address. I put my head on the steering wheel, wishing I hadn’t called her back. But … who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t.

  “Pound Ridge,” she said into the phone. “42 Fox Run Road, just past the lake.”

  “Seriously?” That was a hike and a half.

  “Please,” she whined. “I need you.”

  I pictured her puppy dog eyes, and I couldn’t resist her this time.

  “Wait outside,” I said. “I’m not going inside to look for you.”

  “Thank you, thank you! I’ll be out front. I promise.”

  It wasn’t like this was the first or the second time this happened. It was all the time. Cody would take Rebecca to a party, and then he’d go find another girl and leave Rebecca by herself. Or they’d hook up, and then the next day, he’d say it had been a mistake. Of course, she only wanted the guy she couldn’t have. And now I was about to torture myself in the exact same way by agreeing to be “friends” with Sebastian, when I knew full well I was starting to have seriously serious feelings for him.

  After twenty minutes of driving and searching for the house number in the pitch black, I finally pulled into the long winding driveway. French Jacqueline lived in a quaint, little country house tucked into the woods. About twenty cars were parked along the driveway, mostly huge SUVs. As I had suspected, Rebecca wasn’t outside. I texted Jasmine’s phone, hoping Rebecca still had it. I was not going inside.

  ME: Beck? I’m here.

  As I finished the text, Chris called.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you with Rebecca?”

  That was not what I was expecting. “I’m about to be. Why? Aren’t you at that client dinner with your dad?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “Okay …” I said. “So, what’s the emergency?”

  “Cody texted me.”

  “And?” I asked.

  This was also not the first time Chris and I had both been dragged into the whole Rebecca/Cody drama.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

  “I already know,” I said. “He screwed with her. Made her come to this party and then dumped her. Again.”

  “He didn’t dump he
r,” Chris said.

  “No? Then why did she call me to come get her?”

  “Cody’s locked in a bathroom on the third floor,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “He texted me that he went to the bathroom up there, and the lock got stuck and no one’s been up there. He said he tried Rebecca a thousand times, but she won’t pick up.”

  I sighed. “Damn. I guess I have to go in. So then what? He didn’t ditch her? He wants to be more than friends?”

  “Seriously? Who knows what he wants? Just go rescue the bastard.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But you owe me.”

  “They owe you. They owe us.”

  “Fine. I’ll take care of it. Go finish your dinner,” I said.

  “Alright. Call me later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  After my quiet night with Sebastian, having to go into a drunken sweat-fest was the last thing I’d wanted to do. I walked up to the front door. A blue stone walkway had been placed in fresh mulch. I made giant steps, trying to step only on the flat circular stones. A little fishpond gurgled off to the side. It seemed like it would be a good place to sit and try to find peace. Like my oak tree. I wondered if French Jacqueline ever sat for hours like I did. Maybe we could be friends, she and I. My phone buzzed.

  CHRIS: He says get paperclip 2 push the lock.

  ME: *Groan*

  I put my phone in my pocket and stared at the front door, which was giant and heavy, covered in wood grain and knots, like it had been salvaged from an old horse barn. I pushed it and found the inevitable mess of loud-smelly-drunken people. I scanned the crowd for any ex-hook-ups that I’d need to avoid. All clear.

  “Macy! Hey! Where’ve you been?” Jasmine shouted. She was sitting on a couch with her arm draped around the neck of a guy I didn’t recognize. She came over and hugged me, drenching me with the mixed odors of beer and sweet perfume. As usual, she looked perfectly put-together—her brown hair blown long and smooth, makeup applied so perfectly as to look nonexistent, every item of her clothes fitting just right on her model-perfect body. No one should look like that.

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! Where’ve you been?” she asked.