by Olivia Evans
A sad smile crossed Dylan’s face. “You brought the book?”
She nodded and patted his hand. “I brought the book.”
“I haven’t seen it in years.”
“I know. I think it will help.”
Dylan thought about the photo book. He’d finished it about a year after Presley had been committed. It was full of pictures of them growing up, but mostly from senior year. When her parents had released the statement that she’d been killed in a car accident in Italy, it had been too painful to look at, so he’d left it with his grandmother. Until then, he’d held on to the hope that Presley would come back to him. It didn’t matter that the hundreds of letters and emails he’d written her over the years had gone unanswered, or that his incessant calls and unwanted visits to her parents’ apartment begging to know where she was had resulted in the Coopers threatening him with a restraining order. He’d hoped. He’d always hoped.
“Let’s swing by my place first and drop off your stuff then we’ll head that way.”
“Do you need to rest first?”
Dylan shook his head. “I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to. Not after last night. I need to see her.”
“Very well.”
After hauling his grandmother’s suitcase to the guest room and the quick nap she’d sworn she hadn’t needed, Dylan drove them to Hilltop. His nerves were obvious as he scanned his card with a shaky hand.
“She might not recognize you,” he cautioned, his expression weary.
His grandmother gave a sharp nod and adjusted the stack of books under her arm. She’d brought children’s magazines, books, and, of course, Dylan’s photo album. “I know. She looked straight at me the last time I was here and didn’t even blink.”
Dylan’s stomach tightened at the mention of his grandmother’s visit. He understood her reasoning for keeping the truth from him, he really did, but there was no room for logic where emotions were concerned. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours. I’m more than happy to remind you why I did what I did, but I’d rather not waste my time on such trivial things when we’re so close to having everything as it should be.”
Dylan cut his eyes to his grandmother, who stared at him with pursed lips, her eyebrow arched in challenge. Dylan shook his head and placed his hand on the small of her back. “No, Grandmother, there’s no need to rehash the past. I just want this to be over.”
“As do I.” She nodded. “Now, take me to my granddaughter.”
Her words caused an ache to swell inside his chest. The image her words painted was something Dylan wanted more than anything in the world, but reality didn't always cooperate with desires. Leading her down the hall, he scanned his card at the entrance to the lounge and pushed open the door. His eyes darted around the room, his shoulders not relaxing until he saw Presley. Any comfort he felt at seeing her, however, was quickly erased. She was in the same chair as always with Cody sitting across from her. To anyone else, it would seem completely normal, but Dylan knew better. In her arms, instead of cradling the blanket like a fragile baby, she had it clutched to her chest so tightly that even across the room he could see her white knuckles and the pained expression on her face as she stared out the window.
Cody leaned forward and brushed his fingers against her arm as he spoke quietly and nodded toward Dylan. Presley’s head snapped in his direction, her brows creased with confusion as her gaze bounced between Dylan and his grandmother.
“Hi, Dr. Walker, I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Dylan smiled at Katherine. “Grandmother and I just grabbed a bite to eat, and I thought I’d show her where I worked.”
Dylan’s grandmother smiled and extended her hand to Katherine. “I might have bullied him a bit,” she joked. “When you get as old as I am, you take advantage anytime you’re able to get out and about.”
Katherine laughed and shook her hand. “You sound just like Milly. I’m Katherine, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”
Dylan’s grandmother nodded. “Likewise. To this one, I’m Grandmother, but you can call me Ann.”
Katherine clasped her hands in front of her. “You got it. I understand you plan on doing a little volunteering while you’re here.”
Dylan’s grandmother shifted the books out from under her arm and hugged them to her chest. “I’d love to, if that’s okay. Since this one grew up and moved away, I’ve found volunteering for story hour at hospitals and libraries to be very rewarding. And highly entertaining, if I’m being honest. Kids are always full of surprises.”
“That they are!” Katherine looked at her watch and groaned. “I hate to rush off, but I have some paperwork to catch up on. Dr. Walker, can you have her sign the logbook and the other volunteer forms?”
“I’ll take care of everything.” After exchanging goodbyes, Dylan turned to his grandmother. “Come on, let’s get the forms out of the way.”
“Forms?”
Dylan nodded. “You have to sign a waiver that the facility is in no way responsible if you are injured while volunteering. You also have to sign a code of conduct form that you won’t, in any way, try to counsel the patients, as well as a nondisclosure agreement that you won’t speak to anyone about the patients you will interact with.”
“Heavens,” she muttered. “That seems a bit like overkill.”
Dylan shrugged. “It’s actually necessary. Some of the patients can have outbursts where others might be harmed. It’s a liability. As far as the other forms, well, they don’t want just anyone coming in off the street and giving advice to a patient. You never know what kind of effect it might have on their recovery. And the nondisclosure, well, I think you have a pretty good understanding as to that one. Some families don’t want anyone to know the whereabouts of their loved ones.”
His grandmother pressed her lips into a thin line as understanding colored her expression. “People like the Coopers, you mean.”
“Exactly,” Dylan whispered, his voice hard.
Once she’d signed all the necessary papers, she turned toward Dylan, her eyes pleading. “Can I talk to her now?”
Dylan cut his eyes to Presley, who hadn’t taken her eyes off him since he’d entered the room, and nodded. “Yes, but let’s get you set up and bring Cody over as well. There are a few others here who might want to come listen to you read. If that happens, you’ll have to wait to have any kind of one-on-one time with her.”
“I understand.”
“I’m going to talk to her first, then I’ll bring her over.”
Giving a sharp nod, his grandmother thrust the photo album into Dylan’s hand and walked to the reading area, settling into one of the chairs. After making sure she was okay, Dylan crossed the room to where Presley and Cody sat.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asked, crouching beside her chair. Presley’s eyes shimmered with tears as she shook her head slowly.
“No,” she rasped. “I’m not okay.”
Dylan’s heart fluttered as he lifted his hand to her forehead. “Are you sick?”
Presley jerked away, turning her head from his touch. “Don’t.”
Dylan pulled his hand back as if her rejection had physically hurt him. If he was being honest, it had. “Did I do something?”
“Joel is watching you,” Cody murmured, causing Dylan to startle.
Dylan cleared his throat and stood. “Cody. Presley. My grandmother is visiting and decided to spend some time volunteering here. She’s about to begin reading if you’d like to join her.”
Presley’s eyes snapped toward Dylan, a mixture of confusion and recognition in her expression. “She brought something for you,” Dylan added, dipping his head toward the book in his hand. “I’d really like to show it to you if you’ll let me.”
Presley hugged the blanket to her chest, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she gave a slight nod. Cody stood from his chair, and Presley followed suit as the three of them joine
d Dylan’s grandmother and a couple other patients who had found their way to the reading mat.
“Well, hello,” his grandmother greeted as Cody and Presley took a seat on the floor.
Cody responded in kind, but Presley remained quiet as she studied the woman in front of her. Dylan took the open spot beside Presley, grateful that he would be out of Katherine’s and Joel’s lines of sight.
“She’s missed you,” Dylan whispered, his stomach tightening when he felt Presley flinch. Pulling in a deep breath, he turned his attention to his grandmother as she began to read. He didn’t understand what had happened since he’d left, but he knew he didn’t like it. Presley seemed angry, distant. Several moments passed before he felt the slight brush of her fingertips against his arm. With extreme restraint, he kept his reaction nonchalant as he looked in her direction. She wasn’t looking at him, however. Instead, she was looking at the album in his lap. After sweeping his gaze around the room to make sure they weren’t being watched, he opened the book to the first page.
A small gasp slipped through her lips when he opened to the first pictures. They were kids, no more than ten. Snow covered their boots to their knees as they stood on either side of a terribly built snowman on the playground. Both were smiling, red-cheeked and bright-eyed. After a moment, Dylan flipped to the next page. He didn’t speak as he showed her their lives, how they’d grown and drifted apart, moving farther away from each other in the pictures as they moved from grade to grade. Dylan couldn’t help but notice how many pictures had caught him looking at her. She’d always been like gravity for him. It didn’t matter where they were or who they were with, she pulled him to her.
When he reached the pictures from their senior year, her stoic demeanor finally broke. She pressed her shoulder against his and placed her hand on his thigh, her nails digging into the material of his jeans. “You were so mad at your parents that day,” he whispered. “I’d come over for lunch, and to say they’d been displeased to hear we were dating was an understatement.”
“They hate me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “They left me here.”
Dylan’s throat tightened. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I disappointed them so much, they didn’t want me anymore.”
Dylan’s jaw set as he turned to look at Presley, his eyes blazing. “Your parents are horrible fucking people, and they are going to pay for what they did to you. What they did to us. They don’t deserve you, they never have.”
Presley dropped her gaze to her hands. The silence that followed made Dylan want to slam his fist into a wall. Like he’d done time and time again, he pulled in a deep breath and exhaled. He couldn’t allow his anger toward her parents to upset Presley more than she already was. Her recovery was his priority; everything else would come in due time.
“Do you want to see the rest?” he asked, his voice soft, soothing.
Presley shrugged and wiped under her eye. “It all goes downhill from there, doesn’t it?”
“It wasn’t all bad,” Dylan murmured, leaning closer. “I loved you more than anything in the world. I still love you more than anything in the world.”
“I’m not ready for this,” Presley choked, hugging the blanket to her chest.
Dylan clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead, his heart slamming inside his chest. “I know. I just want you to know that, for me, nothing has changed.”
Chapter Twenty
Presley
April–May 2011
The days that followed the abortion were a mix of Ambien-laced nightmares and waking regret. Dylan begged Presley to talk to him, begged her to say she was okay, but all she could muster were robotic murmurs that convinced no one. She wasn’t okay, and pretending wasn’t worth the effort. She wanted to be sad, wanted to hate herself. She deserved to feel every ounce of sadness and self-loathing that coursed through her veins, their weight an anchor slowly pulling her into the nothingness she craved.
When Sunday arrived and Dylan was forced to leave, Presley felt nothing but relief. It would be easier around her parents. They wouldn’t notice how her beautiful, bright eyes were now a dull replica, how her shoulders sagged ever so slightly, or how her smile was the result of contracted muscles and not the happiness she fraudulently portrayed.
When she was alone in her room, the silence was deafening. Her heart and body ached. Letting out a heavy sigh, she rolled to her side and reached between the mattresses. The moment the tips of her fingers brushed the smooth plastic of the medicine bottle, she exhaled in relief. As she pulled the bottle free, she felt the edge of the large envelope she’d put there days earlier. It was filled with post-care information, phone numbers of hospitals, and counselors’ information.
Presley’s lips trembled, and tears burned her eyes as she yanked the pill bottle free and twisted off the lid. With shaking hands, she slipped two pills into her mouth and swallowed. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the Ambien pulled her under. It was a blessing and a curse. Without the drug, she would lie in bed for hours, her mind refusing her reprieve from regret, but the vivid nightmares that accompanied her sleep were just as crippling. As the room began to blur, Presley put away the bottle and crawled under the blankets. She tried to remind herself she just needed time. Like everything else in life, this feeling too would pass. One day, this would be nothing more than a distant memory.
It was a nice sentiment, even if it was a total lie.
The next morning, she did her best to appear normal. She showered, dressed, and took a little extra time on her makeup. When she looked in the mirror, however, it felt like she was staring at a stranger. The girl in the reflection was a fraud and a fake.
“Presley, if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for school,” her mother called from the hallway. Presley dropped her head forward and exhaled. It was show time.
Over breakfast, Presley moved her food around as her parents discussed their upcoming week. They only acknowledged her once to give her the list of events she’d need to attend for her father’s campaign. Presley couldn’t think of anything less appealing than sitting in a room full of people who expected her to look pretty, be silent, and most of all, play the perfect adoring daughter.
Presley pushed her chair back from the table and stood. Sitting with her parents like it was just a normal day was physically painful. She’d expected her quiet, withdrawn behavior to go unnoticed; what she hadn’t been prepared for was how much their indifference would hurt.
“I’m going to be late,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Have a nice day, Mother. Father.”
For the remainder of the day, Presley did her best to focus on the people and conversations around her. Dylan hovered beside her every second he could. At lunch, he didn’t laugh and joke with his friends. Instead, he stayed pressed against Presley’s side, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. Time and time again, he asked if she was okay, and each time her response was always the same.
She was fine.
She was fine.
She was fine.
As days passed, Presley watched the world around her blur by, a time-lapse of day fading into night and over again. Her classmates gushed about prom dresses and college dorms while her parents traveled from city to city campaigning. Life moved on unapologetically as Presley waited for the morning she would wake without dark circles and haunted dreams. The day she would finally be able to breathe. The only thing Presley had to hold on to was the knowledge she wasn’t alone. But all too soon, she realized even that wouldn’t last.
Little by little, Dylan returned to his old behavior. At lunch, he joked and smiled with his friends. He gave her playful kisses and whispered I love yous. Alongside their friends, he made plans for prom. She both envied and resented him. She wanted to feel young, carefree, and unburdened again. She wanted to smile and mean it, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull herself out of the hole that had opened inside her. The one slowly consuming her. The only time she felt an ounce of r
elief was within the fog of Ambien, pain pills, or weed. In her mind, if she numbed the pain long enough, it would eventually go away. It had to.
“Are you all right?” Judith asked, sliding a cup of coffee across the kitchen island.
Presley gave her a lazy smile and nodded. “Super.”
“You don’t look well,” Judith argued, her brows pinched.
“I said I’m fine,” Presley snapped, stumbling as she pushed back the stool and stood. “I’m out of here.”
Presley ignored Judith’s protests as she grabbed her things and stormed out of the apartment. In the back of her car, she pulled out the bottle of Xanax she’d found stashed in her mother’s dresser and popped one in her mouth. By the time she reached the school, her vision was blurry, and a haze had settled over her mind. Like this, she could pretend so easily. She didn’t have to worry about reliving the moment she screamed and cried out for the doctor to stop, not to take her baby. She didn’t have to feel the debilitating emptiness of waking up and knowing where there was once a life, one no longer remained, and she was to blame for that. Instead, Presley could smile about prom and hanging out with her friends on the weekend and plans for college. She could be normal. Alive.
“Hey,” she giggled, falling against Dylan’s chest as she climbed out of the car.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and chuckled. “Whoa there. Did your morning juice get switched with your mom’s?”
Presley laughed. It was loud enough to attract the attention of their classmates walking into the school, but it also caused Dylan’s arms to stiffen as he put space between them so he could look at her. His brows pulled together, and a frown twisted his lips.
“Are you high?”
Presley pursed her lips and freed herself from his grasp. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not high.” Not on weed anyway, Presley thought to herself.
Dylan’s lips thinned into a hard line as he led her away from the other students. “You’re sure as fuck on something,” he hissed. “You can’t even keep your eyes open, much less walk. What the fuck is going on with you?”
