Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  I’m not committing to anything here. I’m just exploring a possibility.

  When I’m done with my set, I wipe down the station and make my way over to Aron, who’s doing bicep curls. “You’ve stayed in shape,” I say, hoping that doesn’t sound condescending or stupid, because it’s true. Muscles rope his arms and calves, and even though he’s gained a few pounds, he’s still lean.

  He puts down the dumbbell and straightens up, reaching for his bottle of water. “If I didn’t, I would have expanded like a balloon.” He sits down on a bench. “Lithium causes weight gain.” He watches me like he’s waiting for a horrified reaction. So I sit next to him.

  “I’ve read it makes people thirsty, too,” I say, nodding at his water. “But it helps?”

  He nods. “Enough that I don’t have to take anything else, not anymore.” Now he’s not meeting my eyes, and I push down a swell of disappointment.

  “Are you coming to Carol’s party on Saturday night?” I ask.

  His gaze remains fixed on his shoes. “No, I don’t think so.”

  I want so badly to touch him. To shake him. To get him to look at me. Wild, skittish animal, my mother whispers. Be gentle. “I think people might be happy to see you there.”

  “I think it might be the opposite.” He scrubs his hand over his face and stands up. “Or maybe I don’t want to see them. Or how they look at me, at least.”

  I stand up, too, not wanting to let him escape so soon. “If you feel that way, why did you decide to come back?”

  In his deep green eyes there is a desperate, sad longing. “I never wanted to leave in the first place. But I felt like I had to. All these things I believed—when I realized they weren’t real, it was too painful, too humiliating, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone here, not anymore.”

  His words raise that specter again, my fear that his love for me might have been one of the things that wasn’t real. But I force myself not to focus on it now. “Was it good, being back in Sweden?”

  He lets out a somewhat un-Aron-like snort of laughter. “It was good for reminding me of all the reasons I left in the first place. After a few months of being treated like an invalid, I realized I was going to go crazy again if I didn’t get back to work. I emailed Joanna, explained the situation, and made a plan. I love my mother, but she can be … hmm.”

  Now I laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Aron stiffens. “How would you know what she’s like?”

  “I met her. At Jefferson.”

  “What? When?”

  It feels like I’m suddenly walking on very thin ice. “When you were there.”

  “You came to see me?”

  I try to decipher his stunned expression. “As soon as I knew you were there. Mark, too.”

  His hands tremble as he reaches for his water bottle again. “You came,” he mutters.

  “I know you said you didn’t want to see me ever again, but I was worried about you. I’m sorry—”

  He shakes his head. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he growls. “But my mother does.”

  “She was trying to protect you.”

  “I know, but that’s no excuse.” He’s practically vibrating with tension. “I asked her to call you. She said she did, and that you refused to come. That’s when she told me I should leave you alone.”

  “She said the same thing to me. But you … wanted to see me?”

  He takes a few steps back, looking cautious, like he let something slip. Skittish, my mother reminds me. Although I want to grab his hand and pull him back to me, I let him go when he mumbles something about getting to work. But before he reaches the locker room, he turns around, a fragile but brave smile flickering across his face. “Nessa? I’ll try to make it to Carol’s party.”

  Carol’s party is at this fun little bar in Center City, a pub with dark mahogany wood and these amazing spicy candied nuts at every table. Foolishly hopeful, I spend Saturday morning shopping for a cute dress and shoes, fantasizing about how Aron will take one look at me and decide he’s done for. In my strappy heeled sandals and my little dress, fitted in the bodice with a pleated skirt that skims my thighs, I walk to the bar, already realizing that the shoes were never meant for hiking and wondering if I have enough cash to taxi it home. There are several people I recognize at the bar, and so I give Carol a hug, get myself a drink, and settle in on one of the padded benches around the edge of the gathering room to chat with some of the docs and nurses. Sure, my gaze slides repeatedly to the door, wondering when Aron will arrive, but I try to pay attention when other people are talking to me.

  There’s a band playing, and Carol tries to teach a bunch of people how to do a jig. It’s frankly hilarious until she tugs me into the circle, and then I’m just trying to keep up without breaking my ankles. We spin around, and when she releases my hands, I lose my balance on my new heels and stumble, but firm hands close around my hips and keep me steady.

  It’s Nick. I twist away and head for the edge of the dance floor, disappointed and ticked off, and he follows me. “Congratulations on your new position,” Nick says loudly, his voice carrying over the music. “I had no idea your magical pussy worked on women, too.”

  I roll my eyes, edging away from him as he looms over me. A few people give me concerned looks, but no one interferes. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”

  He backs me into a corner and grabs my bicep. “You applied just to spite me, didn’t you? That position was mine until you stole it from me.”

  I try to rip my arm from his grip, but he squeezes harder. “Let go of me! Phaedra asked me to apply!”

  “Why, did you sleep with her, too?” he yells.

  “Let her go,” snaps Aron, who has appeared at my side out of freaking nowhere.

  Nick takes his time obeying, his eyes glittering nastily. “Hey, Aron. Glad to see you back, man.” His voice is so loud, just below a shout, so everybody around him can hear as he says, “How was the psych ward? Do you miss it?”

  Aron’s expression turns glacial, and he looks down at me, then back at Nick, and I realize immediately what he’s thinking: that I told Nick about what happened in the fall. Aron takes a step backward.

  Smelling blood in the water, Nick advances on him. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to lose it again and endanger your patients?”

  Aron takes another step back, looking over his shoulder, searching for the door.

  “Nick, cut it out!” I yell, but he ignores me. I try to get to Aron, but Nick’s wide frame is blocking my path.

  “You look a little unstable there,” goads Nick. “Should we do a mental status exam? Should I call the rescue?” He pokes Aron in the shoulder. “Would you feel more comfortable in a strait—”

  Aron’s fist slams into Nick’s face. Nick’s head snaps back. His shoulders plow into me and we topple to the floor, taking at least two other people with us. A tangle of arms and legs splattered with mixed drinks and scattered with nuts, we fight to get to our feet. Nick’s nose is gushing, and I’ve never been so happy to see someone bleed in all my life. But by the time I pull myself away from the knot of people around us, Aron’s gone.

  No way am I letting him leave like that.

  I shoulder my way through the crowd, my ankle aching and the soles of my feet screaming. Aron’s not outside the bar, either. And he probably drove. His apartment is maybe ten blocks from here, but I’m too crazy impatient to wait for the bus, so I set out, limping my way along the street, smelling like gin and tonic and spiced nuts. My formerly cute updo is dangling in a tangled mess from the back of my head, and my makeup is probably smudged. I don’t care.

  By the time I make it to Aron’s complex, I can barely walk, and the doorman stops me, obviously alarmed, probably thinking I’m some psycho ex-girlfriend, which, in a manner of speaking, I suppose I am. “Tell him I’m here and I’m not leaving until he talks to me,” I say shrilly, no doubt adding to his overall impression of me as unhinged.

  But a moment l
ater, he waves me up. “He’s on the second floor now, Miss,” he says.

  I take the elevator anyway, because I don’t have the wherewithal to take the stairs, and Aron’s standing in the hall when I step out, looking cautious … and angry. The door to his apartment is open, and he stands there and lets me walk in, his expression stone. He shuts the door and turns on me. “I’m not sure why you’re here, but I don’t need an explanation.”

  “I didn’t tell Nick what happened to you,” I snap, in too much pain to be soft and kind right now.

  “Then who did?” he asks, his voice as icy as his gaze.

  “No idea! Aron, think about how many people you interacted with that last day you were at CHOP. It was obvious there was something wrong. But thanks for assuming the worst of me. I appreciate that.” My throat is so tight that I can barely spit the words. I came here to be supportive, but now I’m just mad.

  Aron crosses his arms over his chest, gripping his biceps so tightly that his fingers are bloodless. “I didn’t come back to be ridiculed. It’s hard enough without that! Do you have any idea what I had to set up so I could return to my fellowship, Nessa? Any idea?”

  When I shake my head, he starts to tick things off on his fingers. “I check in by phone with my psychiatrist every day. I go see her in person once a week. I see a therapist, too, because one mental health professional is never enough,” he says bitterly. “Joanna double checks all my work, and she accepted me back into the program on the condition that I sign a release so she can contact my psychiatrist if she has concerns.

  “I take the lithium as prescribed. I drink a few gallons of water a day because it makes me so damn thirsty.” He holds up his hands as his voice rises. “It’s a good thing I’m not training to be a surgeon, because my career would be over! My hands tremble constantly! But I have to be on it now, because when they tried to wean me off it in January, I got so depressed that I didn’t want to live, let alone get out of bed. My mind is broken, Nessa,” he shouts, tears shining in his eyes. “I may not have lost everything, but I feel like I’ve lost myself.”

  His crescent-shaped scar is white as he clenches his jaw and tries to control himself. And when he speaks again, it’s quiet but fierce. “It’s worth the hassle, worth the side effects, worth all of it, even being treated like a child, if it means I can do my job. I can survive if I can still be a doctor.” His expression lights up with rage. “Or, at least, I thought so. But knowing that people are calling me crazy behind my back … knowing that they think I could hurt my patients … knowing that it will be thrown in my face …” He shakes his head and walks back to the door. “It wasn’t a good idea for you to come. I’m sorry for punching Nick. I’ll apologize to him personally next week, assuming he doesn’t press assault charges before that. I’m sure my behavior only reinforced everyone’s idea that I’m insane, so at least he can claim that victory. And now everybody will be spreading rumors, which means you’re off the hook.” He jabs his finger at me.

  “I told no one about you!” I follow him to the door, pain lancing up my legs with every step. “Everyone wondered where you went, and Mark and I were the only ones who knew! The only ones who agonized over what had happened to you, how scared you might be. And you were gone!” I shriek. “I was crazy with worry for you—you almost died right in front of me! Don’t you dare think you’re the only one who’s suffered, Aron. You might have lost you, but I lost you, too.”

  I stumble forward and my fists hit his chest as my tears break loose. “How could you disappear like that? I loved you so much, and you had to know that my feelings, at least, were real! I had no idea where you were or what was happening to you.” The sobs roll out of me, all the wondering and worrying and wishing, all the sorrow and grief. “And you didn’t even try to let me know you were okay. Not one call, one email. Nothing.”

  Aron’s hands close around my arms, so much gentler than Nick’s. “Nessa,” he says quietly.

  But I can’t stop, and I can’t let it go. I set my forehead on his chest as my body shudders and my hands shake. “I have barely survived this, Aron. Everyone thinks I’m doing so well, but it’s all pretend. When you left, it made a gaping hole that could never be filled, and I—”

  Aron leans down and knocks my legs out from under me, scooping me into his arms. “Your feet are bleeding,” he says roughly, and carries me to the bathroom. Being close to him again stuns me into silence. He sets me on the closed toilet lid and turns me so my feet are over the tub. “And your ankle is swollen.”

  He kneels and turns on the water, then carefully strips off my shoes. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know how I was doing,” he says, his hands and voice steadier now that they’ve found a purpose. I hiss as the water hits my blisters, and he adjusts the temperature until the water’s warm and soothing. “At first I was so out of control that I couldn’t. And once I felt a little more like myself, I wanted to talk to you, at least to apologize, and I was told you didn’t want to see me.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I assumed you hated me, that you didn’t want to hear from me, and that I had to let you go.”

  A swoop of dread draws my hand to my stomach. “Tell me something? I need to hear it from you.” I look into his eyes. “How much of what you felt for me was the mania, and how much was real? Is that what you wanted to apologize for? For saying that you loved me when you didn’t mean it?”

  Pain sparks in his expression. “I meant everything I said when I said it. And it felt so good, so vivid and perfect. They were the best moments of my life, until everything fell apart. But long before that, Nessa, you were special to me. From the day I met you, I had a feeling you would be, but you ended up meaning more to me than I expected. That’s why the rest of it hurt so much. I ruined something precious.”

  His face is close to mine as he sits on the edge of the tub, patting my damaged feet dry with a soft towel. His hands on my skin are gentle, careful and cautious, but it lights me up all the same.

  “They were the best moments of my life, too, Aron. And the only thing that hurt me was seeing you scared and suffering,” I murmur.

  “That’s not true. I remember what I did.” He touches the spot on my temple where his knee collided with my skull.

  I put my hand over his, holding it against my face. “That was an accident. You weren’t trying to hurt me.”

  “No, I was trying to jump over a balcony,” he says with disgust, pulling his hand away from me. “Why are you here, Nessa? I understand why you were with me before, but I don’t understand why you’d want to be here now.”

  “I care about you.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You care about everyone. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”

  My fingers curl into my skirt, clenching in frustration. “I love you, then!” I say before I can think better of it. “Does that make more sense?”

  He bows his head. “Nessa, I need you to understand that I’m not the same as I was before.” He pauses, then continues, his voice flat and emotionless. “I don’t feel the same. Not about myself, and not about you.”

  It’s like he’s knocked the wind out of me. “Oh,” I whisper.

  Hollowed out, I try to pull my feet from his lap, but his hands close over my calves and hold me still. “I’m going to bandage the blisters that opened,” he tells me.

  I stay where he leaves me, though all I want to do is escape. But I’m done playing the drama queen. I’m embarrassed for doing it at all. So I let him tend to my feet in silence while the truth shreds my heart. I love him, and he doesn’t love me, and now both of us know where we stand. I watch his elegant hands as they move over my ankles, my heels, my toes. I stare until my vision blurs, but I don’t cry. I won’t make this harder on him, won’t do anything to make him feel guilty. It’s not his fault, not his problem. God knows he has enough of those already.

  When he’s finished, he insists on driving me home, and again, I don’t fight him. I grit my teeth and put my shoes b
ack on. I walk slowly to the elevator and stare straight ahead. He’s standing three feet away, but it feels like miles. He is completely polite but never meets my eyes. I listen in silence as he tells me to ice my ankle. I thank him when he drops me off at the curb in front of my building. I apologize for storming into his apartment.

  “It’s all right,” he says quietly. “I’m glad it wasn’t you who spread the rumors. I’m sorry for thinking it was.”

  I assure him that it’s fine. Then I get out of the car—by the looks of it, the same Volvo he had before—and I tell him I’ll see him around. He reminds me that we’ll need to meet to discuss our shared case next week. I nod and smile at him, though he doesn’t see it because he won’t look at my face. That’s probably good. If I gaze into those deep green eyes, I’ll crumble.

  As it stands, the loss is taking me apart brick by brick, but I don’t let it crater me until I’m alone in my tiny apartment. As soon as I close my door, though, I collapse on the parquet floor and curl into a ball, every part of me hurting.

  I don’t get up until I’ve cried myself dry.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I sit at the picnic table, cradling an iced coffee, letting the condensation slick my fingers and chill my skin. Brilliant emerald leaves rustle above me, and the walkways around the pond are lined with tiny buds, yellow and purple and blue and white. Pretty, bright, new.

  Fragile and temporary.

  I’m not sure why I came here. All those months that Aron was gone, I never did. I knew it would kill me to be here without him. This was our place, our eye of the storm. Maybe I always hoped he’d come back, that we’d return together when things were all right again. Now I know that won’t happen, so I guess I’ve come to say goodbye.