Hold Us Close (Keep Me Still)

by Caisey Quinn

  My airway constricts and I can’t breathe. Vision blurring from the tears welling in my eyes, I interrupt whatever my mom and The Colonel are saying to soothe me. “I’m done here. I have to go.”

  “Thanks for letting me stay, Corin. It’s been kind of nice being here. In Spain, with Landen always out of town for work, I was alone a lot.”

  “Um, he was obviously in town at some point,” Corin says nodding to my belly. “And you’re welcome.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes. “So, any chance you’re going to give me some details about you and Skylar? Has he been in town yet?”

  “God, pregnancy makes you such a perv.” She swats me with a napkin.

  “Uh huh. Three years, Corin. You’ve been I don’t like labels but we’re together for three years.” I drag out the last word to make my point.

  “I’m focusing on school. It’s not easy getting into law school, you know? Skylar knows that. We have an understanding.”

  “Uh, you probably have an understanding. Skylar probably has an on-going relationship with blue balls.”

  “Layla Flaherty! I cannot believe you just said that. What the hell are they doing to you in Spain? Where did my sweet little Georgia go?” She gapes at me and I laugh, but a sharp pang in my mid-section stops my laughter in my throat.

  “Oh, ouch.” I rub one hand across my stomach and the other on my lower back until it subsides.

  “Are you okay?” Her green eyes are wide and filled with fear. “Do I need to call someone?”

  I snort. “No. Just growing pains. I’m fine.”

  “Hey, um, Lay? I know you don’t want to hear this, but have you thought about alternate living arrangements? I mean, it’s something you should probably consider.”

  “You’re right,” I tell Corin as we set the table for dinner in her small apartment. “I don’t want to hear that.”

  “Layla,” she huffs out my name on an exasperated sigh. “I know you love him and I know we all want to believe that this place is going to be the answer to our prayers. But—”

  “But what?” I ask, folding my arms over the small bump that’s begun to jut out between my hips.

  “But what if it’s not? What if it would be better for you and for the baby to stay here?”

  “Here as in…”

  “Well of course you’re welcome to stay here as in right here in this apartment for as long as you like. But I mean here as in California. You’re all caught up on your correspondence classes, right? So why not just finish up the rest of them here and walk at graduation? Maybe get an apartment in this building. We could be neighbors. I could babysit.” The hopeful expression she wears makes it impossible to be irritated by her suggestion.

  Thankfully the doorbell rings and the Chinese food we ordered is here. Sitting at the kitchen table as she pays the deliveryman, I imagine what it would be like. Me, on my own. Raising my child, mine and Landen’s child, alone. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, if Landen can’t get control of his anger and his temper, then Corin might be right. But he can do this. I know he can. Just the fact that he went to the Axis Center proves he’s a better man than his father could ever be. Because he wants to be more than anything.

  Corin brings the food in and we’re quiet throughout dinner, which is unusual for us. The light jovial mood from earlier has been replaced with tension that thickens the air between us. Finally Skylar stops by to drop off some notes from a class Corin missed, and I excuse myself to go lie down.

  The sound of a baby crying startles me and I jolt upright. I’m in bed. Something beside me is ringing. But there’s no baby. For a few seconds, I’m disoriented. Sitting up and noticing the plum-colored walls, I realize I’m in Corin’s guest room. The light from beside me catches my attention. My phone.

  Glancing over I see Landen’s smiling face.

  “Hey,” I greet him, knowing he’ll hear the heavy sound of sleep in my voice.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Not really. I just woke up from a nap.” Cradling the phone to my ear, I prop myself up on my pillows. Well, Corin’s pillows. “How was today?”

  He’s quiet and I can tell something’s wrong.

  “Landen?”

  “Fine, babe. It was fine. Just long is all.”

  “Same here. You want to talk about it?” I trace the ivy pattern of Corin’s comforter with my free hand.

  “Nah. I just needed to hear your voice.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Layla?”

  I stifle a yawn to answer him. “Yeah?”

  “I love you. And I’m trying to be ready for this, trying to be the kind of man worthy of being a father. I’m sorry if I haven’t acted like it lately.” The apologetic regret weighs down his voice.

  I lie back all the way and stare at the ceiling. “I love you, too. And I know you’re trying. It means a lot to me that you’re trying so hard.”

  A muffled sound, almost like a sniffle or possibly static comes through the line.

  “Landen?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice rougher than before. “Yeah, I just…” Through our less than stellar connection I hear him sigh. “I just don’t want to be like him. God I don’t want to be anything like he was.”

  The full weight of his words presses me down deeper into the mattress. “I know, baby. You won’t. You aren’t anything like him.”

  “I’ve been acting just like him, Layla. I’ve been treating you like you dumped this kid on me instead of seeing it for the miracle it is. Instead of being grateful to have someone strong enough and capable of loving our baby for the both of us while I grew the hell up.”

  Tears well in my eyes at his confession. He’s right, and it hurts to accept, but it’s true. “I know it’s a lot to deal with. I didn’t expect you to—”

  “He isn’t my dad, Layla. The Colonel, he isn’t my biological father.”

  If I weren’t already lying down, I’d fall over. “What? Landen, what are you—”

  “My mom had an affair. I’ve been this constant reminder of her infidelity. Not to say that makes it okay, but…that’s what he told me the day everything went to shit. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  I’m so surprised I don’t know what to say. He rushes on. “I’ve been trying to tell you every day since I found out but I…I just couldn’t…deal. And I didn’t want that to be another excuse for the way I am. It’s not one. It’s just something I have to accept and learn to handle. Like my anger issues.”

  My arms ache to wrap around him. The urge to ease the pain I hear in his voice is visceral. “God, Landen. I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I were there. I wish I could hold you and kiss you and just…make it better somehow.”

  “It’s okay. Honestly, I’m glad to know the truth. I feel like…like it makes some kind of sense now. But it’s still no excuse. I’m done making excuses and letting anyone else make excuses for me. I left you alone in this. I won’t do that again, angel. I promise.”

  Nodding, even though he can’t see me, I wipe my tears away. “I know. I knew you would get there. Eventually.”

  “Sorry, I took so long,” he says softly.

  “You were worth the wait.”

  Five weeks of the same routine is enough to make a man need therapy. Wake. Shower. Eat. Therapy. Exercise. Eat. Therapy. Read. Eat. Therapy. Sleep.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  Fuck me, I’m going insane.

  And speaking of fucking, if I don’t get to see my girl soon, I might die. Seriously. I get to talk to her on the phone every night before bed, so that helps. Though it’s in a common room, and privacy is pretty much a foreign concept in this place.

  But if I’m being completely honest? It was worth it. Coming here. Talking my shit out. For the first time in forever, I feel hopeful. I’m looking forward to getting back to Layla, back to Spain, and back to the team. Back to my life, which feels like it’s been suspended in limbo for five long weeks. It feels good to feel hopeful.

  That is, I felt hopef
ul. Right up until my final evaluation with Dr. Sanderson.

  “So, Landen. This is your last week here. How do you feel about that?” She leans back in her chair and eyes me passively. Like she couldn’t care less about my answer.

  “Well, no offense, Doc, but I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”

  A small smile teases at her lips. “That so?”

  I shrug. “I mean, no disrespect or anything. It’s a nice place and I appreciate the fact that I’m not the only one with issues. I actually enjoyed group therapy a lot more than I thought I would. But yeah, I have a life to get back to.”

  “Understood,” she says, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about that life for a moment.”

  “Okay.” I fold my arms because I feel like I’ve done nothing but talk about my life for the past thirty-five days. What the hell else is there to say?

  “Tell me a little about what you’re going back to.”

  I frown, unsure of what her game is. She already knows all of this. “You know. My job, my team, my girlfriend.”

  She nods. “Your pregnant girlfriend, right? The one with the brain tumor?”

  “Hematoma,” I correct her through clenched teeth. “Your point?”

  She sighs and leans back in her chair. “My point is,” she begins, aiming the pen she holds at my hands gripping the arms of my chair, “that your life still contains difficult situations that remain out of your control. True or false?”

  “True,” I relent.

  “So I’ve got good news and bad news, Landen. Which would you like to hear first?”

  “Whichever.”

  She stares at me for a moment. “Landen, your father…he was abusive. You’ve come to terms with that somewhat in the past few weeks. Yes?”

  Fucking hell, I am over rehashing this shit. “Yeah. My mom had an affair when he was deployed. With a soccer player on a traveling team. Guy died of cancer a few years ago. It’s all out in the open now. Why my dad hated me so much.”

  “Right. Well, can I be honest?”

  “Please do,” I answer.

  “I think there’s more to it than that. More to why you are the way you are and why he is the way he is. Would you like to hear my theory?”

  “Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?” Well, what the club is paying her for, but no need to split hairs at this point.

  “I suppose. Okay, well…bear with me for a second.” I don’t say anything so she continues. “Landen, did you ever hear about the road rage guy a few years ago? He got out of his car and had a confrontation with a woman in which he grabbed the small dog from her car and flung it into oncoming traffic.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Sounds vaguely familiar. You think I have road rage?”

  “No. And I don’t think he did either. I think that what he had was actually something called Intermittent Explosive Disorder. He didn’t have a criminal record or a history of violence. He did have a sudden outburst, which caused him to do something hurtful that most people wouldn’t have done.”

  “I’m guessing this is the bad news portion of our session?”

  She folds her hands in her lap. “It is. This is the part where I tell you that I’m pretty certain your father, or the man who raised you, has IED. And I’m fairly certain you have it as well. Childhood abuse is one of the leading causes.”

  “IED.” I test it out in my mouth. It tastes like shit.

  “Yes. Intermittent Explosive Disorder. I can give you some pamphlets or you can google it. Up to you.”

  I feel like a neon sign flashing the bright red words FUCKED UP is hanging over my head. “Okay. So how do we cure it? I mean, how do I make it go away before I toss Fido into traffic?”

  She tilts her head and gives me an apologetic smile. The full weight of what she’s saying settles onto my chest.

  Shit. “There’s no cure, is there? I’m stuck like this for life?” A lump constricts my airway. I try to think about the strategies I’ve learned these past few weeks. Deep breathing. Taking stock of the good things in my life. Layla. Soccer. Finally knowing the truth.

  “Tell me what happens, Landen. When you first feel yourself getting angry. What happens?” The doctor sits right across from me but her voice is far away.

  You are worthless.

  “I hear him. My—The Colonel. Telling me I’m worthless. Pathetic. That I ruin everything.” My voice sounds strange in my own ears.

  “Breathe, Landen. Take a few deep breaths.”

  I do as she says.

  “Focus. Stay with me, okay? There’s more, Landen. Remember, I have good news too, okay?”

  I open my eyes. I don’t even remember closing them. “Right. Okay.”

  “Listen, lots of people go through things and come out better for it. I just watched you tamp down your anger all on your own. So that tells me you have been paying attention these past few weeks.”

  I nod, realizing she’s right.

  “Here,” she says, handing me two squares of paper. “One of these is for your blood pressure. As expected, yours is pretty high.”

  “And the other?” I ask, glancing down at the unrecognizable scrawl on the pages.

  She gives me a tense smile. “It’s an antipsychotic.”

  “Holy shit. You think I’m psychotic?” Well this just went from bad to worse.

  “Relax. No. You’re far from it. But it also functions as a mood-stabilizer. At first it will make you sleepy. But once your body adjusts to it, which usually takes about two weeks, it will keep your physiological responses from sky-rocketing when you get upset.”

  “Do you think it will work? Keep me from having rages when I get angry?”

  “That would be the hope. But if it doesn’t, we can try Clonazepam, also known as Klonopin. It’s been used from everything from seizures to anxiety.”

  “I’m actually familiar with that one. My girlfriend took it for a while. She has seizures. Or she used to have them. New medication seems to be working extremely well.” Thank God. Another thing to be thankful for. My mouth goes dry at the thought of anything happening to my girl. Or the baby she’s carrying.

  “Ah. Well, here’s the thing. And as a doctor, it might sound strange coming from me.”

  That gets my attention. “I’m listening.”

  “Ultimately, I don’t want you to be on medication. I want you to be in therapy on a regular basis. I want you to use what you’ve learned here to keep yourself in check when things get out of control. So if it’s up to me, meaning if I’m the doctor who oversees your care, we’ll start with the heavy hitter, the antipsychotic, then we’ll wean you down to a mild anti-depressant, and then hopefully, one day, we’ll stop the meds altogether.”

  “When I’m cured.”

  “Um, no.” She pins me with another sympathetic head tilt. They must teach it in med school. “The thing is, the truth is, there’s no cure for IED. It’s not something that goes away, Landen. It’s something you learn to live with. To deal with in more appropriate ways than flying into a rage and breaking every stick of furniture you own every time you get upset.”

  She says something else. Actually, she rambles on for what seems like forever. But I don’t hear her. All I hear are the words that ruin my life, shattering the picture of my family I have in my head. The one where Layla and I raise our kid in a safe, happy home like she wants.

  I have IED. And there’s no cure for it.

  That past five and a half weeks have been a complete waste.

  “He’s here,” Corin says. “Skylar just pulled up.”

  I barely refrain from squealing. I haven’t seen Landen in six long weeks. I pull the striped shirt I’m wearing over the bulge protruding from my midsection, noticing how prominent it is for the first time. Suddenly I’m self-conscious about it.

  “Keep your clothes on, Georgia. No doing it until after dinner at least.”

  I roll my eyes. But then panic sends my pulse into overdrive. “I’m nervous,” I whisper to her.

  “Aw. Sw
eetie. Don’t be. I’m not exactly your baby daddy’s biggest fan, but he went to that place for you. I can at least admit that that’s a start. He obviously loves you very much.”

  I’m about to tell her that Skylar obviously loves her very much and press for details about how serious they are when he walks in.

  “Hey. Landen’s waiting for you outside, Layla.”

  My heart is racing but I’m grinning like an idiot. “Okay.”

  “He’s down by the water.”

  “Thanks.” I start to step out the back door when I realize I have more to say. “And um, thank you both. For hopping on a flight to Spain when I needed you. For letting me stay here, and just…for everything. Y’all know I don’t have much in the way of family. In my head, y’all are my family.”

  “Dammit, Georgia. You’re going to make me cry.” Corin sniffles and wipes her hand roughly under her eyes. “Go get your fine piece of soccer ass already.”

  “Hey, I’m a fine piece of soccer ass, thank you very much,” Skylar pipes up, pulling her to him.

  She answers him with a kiss and I smile at the both of them. “I love y’all. Very much.”

  “We love you, too,” Corin says, swatting Skylar on the arm as he says something into her ear I don’t catch. “If he steps out of line out there, let us know. It’s a big ocean. We can make him disappear.”

  I laugh, knowing she’s only half kidding. Taking a deep breath, I step outside and make my way down the wooden steps to the deserted beach. Just as my feet hit the sand, Landen turns.

  The sunlight glares off the water, sending light glinting all around him. It takes all the self-control I have not to break into a headlong sprint and launch myself into his arms.

  Squinting up at him as I get closer, I bite my lip to keep from grinning maniacally. “Hey, stranger.”

  His navy polo shirt is tight on his chest and arms. He’s been working out. His hair is a little longer than before, but other than that, he’s the same. Still my Landen. My fine piece of soccer ass.