“And the medication? Making you tired or confused? Any side effects I should know about? Especially since this particular drug has been on the market less than a year and I’d like to be kept informed of anything unusual.”
“No side effects. Well, maybe a little forgetfulness sometimes. Like I’ll start to do something and completely forget what it was, but other than that—” I shook my head. “No problem.”
“Short-term memory can be an issue with most anti-depressants.” She made some notes, her pen scratching across the surface of her notebook. “What about sleep? Are you sleeping?”
“Yeah, fine,” I lied.
“Anything else you want to share?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Whenever you come here, we discuss talking about your life-changing event next time, and next time never comes. I think you’ve reached a point where I can’t help you anymore unless we discuss it. You aren’t going to move forward unless our conversations progress.”
Unless she cut me open and poked at me.
She recrossed her legs. “Julian, I think we should talk about it. I think it’s time.” And then she did something she hadn’t done before. She pulled out a digital recorder, turned it on, and placed it on the table in front of me, very close to the box of tissue. “Tell me about the night your parents were murdered.”
Chapter 11
~ Julian ~
I swear my heart stopped beating then started again. Dr. Adrian’s question hung in the air while my whole body sweated, even my palms. I rubbed them against my jeans, trying to dry them.
“I can’t talk about it.”
“You keep asking about changing your visits to twice a month. I can’t do that until we explore what happened. Until I’m sure you’re coping as best you can. And part of that coping is being able to talk about it. When the memories take you by surprise—and they will, and they probably have—I want to make sure you have the tools to cope.”
“Running is how I cope.”
“I suspected as much, and I appreciate your honesty.”
“What I mean is, I don’t need this. I have running.”
“Running is like the medication. It’s a temporary fix. That’s not good enough.”
“Oh, Christ.” I rubbed my hands across my face. I pulled my hair back from my forehead then linked my fingers behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed to work through this if I ever wanted to have any kind of normal relationship with anybody.
“And the girls,” she said. “I think they’re the same thing. I think you’re using them in the way you’re using running. A diversion. A physical diversion.”
I hadn’t talked about it to anyone even though it had been over three years. She probably knew that. It probably said something about it in her notes. I’d actually done okay at first. It wasn’t until a year and a half later that I snapped, but it was explained to me that the first year and a half-—when I thought I’d done okay—I was just in this state of suspended animation. A defense mechanism.
“You found them, isn’t that right?” she asked in a gentle, probing voice.
I couldn’t seem to sit still. I leaned my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands together, staring down at the table. “Yeah,” I finally whispered. “I… um, I’d gone out with some buddies. It hadn’t been that long since we graduated from high school, maybe six months or so, and we were kinda wild. And I don’t know… I came home. It was late. Like maybe after two in the morning. Right away I knew something was wrong. Door unlocked. And then inside…”
I pressed fists to my eyes, trying to block out the memory, but once it started I couldn’t make it stop. And just like that night, my hands were shaking, and my voice was shaking as I went on to describe what I’d found.
“At first the cops thought maybe I’d done it. Isn’t that crazy?”
She made a small sound of sympathy.
I looked up and the room was blurry. “You know, you see that kind of stuff—murder scenes—in a movie, but it’s nothing like that. It’s like… well, in some ways it’s not as bad, but in other ways it’s so much worse.”
“They caught the killer though,” she said.
“Yeah. Two guys. Meth heads, looking for drug money. My parents were killed for two-hundred bucks.” I reached blindly for the tissue, pulled it out, and wiped at my face.
“Do you feel guilty about it?”
“Shit, yeah. Really guilty. Like I should have been there. I shouldn’t have been out partying. I should have been there to help them. Or I should have died with them. I dunno.”
“Survivor’s guilt. That’s what you’re feeling. It’s very common in situations where friends or family lose their lives in an unexpected way. This is what I hope I can help you come to terms with.”
She closed her notebook, reached over and shut off the recorder, and said, “That’s enough for now. We’ve made some headway today. I feel good about that.”
“I sure as hell don’t.”
She laughed a polite laugh. “It feels that way now, but believe me when I say this is necessary for you to heal.”
I tossed the used tissue on the table and got to my feet. “I think it’s all shit.”
“That’s understandable. I’m sorry. I’ll see you next week.”
Good luck with that.
I left with no intention of going back.
Chapter 12
~ Ellie ~
Two days after Devon showed me the YouTube video, I scheduled a private meeting with the girls. We met in Charlotte’s dorm room. Just me, Charlotte and Paige. They were bright eyed with expectation, sitting side-by-side on Charlotte’s twin bed, anxious to hear how things were going.
I straightened in the wooden chair, cleared my throat, and said, “I want out.”
They stared at me. And stared some more.
I dove into all the reasons this wasn’t working, then asked if they’d seen the YouTube video.
Laptop whipped out. Quick search, and there I was.
We watched, they laughed, I checked the ticker. Almost a million hits. Then I tried to explain why this wouldn’t work, using the video as an excuse. And it was a good one. A valid one. I think at one point I started babbling, possibly incoherently.
“You like him.” This from Paige, spoken with understanding edged with jealousy.
“What?” I said with what might very well have been the worst acting I’d ever done in my life. “No.”
“You do,” Paige insisted. “You like him. It’s not the video at all. You want out because you like him. And you think he might fall for you.”
She was more astute than I would have expected, and I mumbled a few choice cuss words.
“I totally get it,” Paige said. “He’s super hot.” She looked at Charlotte. “We should have thought about this.”
“Right.”
“So, let’s just forget it, okay?” I said in a rush of words, hoping to resolve this quickly. “I’ll return the clothes and pay back the money.” Money I didn’t have. Money I’d have to earn. Find a job. A real job, even if it meant selling mystery-meat burgers. I could do it. Then I thought about the bra. Maybe I could keep the bra. I’d bonded with the bra.
“You signed a contract,” Paige said with a harsh tone I didn’t like. And now she didn’t seem so fan girl. Now she seemed more like mean girl. The cute puppy had turned into a flesh-eating weevil right before my eyes.
“Let me remind you that my dad’s a lawyer. And let me remind you that we will expose you. We’ll tell the world who the girl in the video is. And why you were there, so…”
How had I gotten myself into such a mess? Money. The pursuit of money. Well, not really money, but the pursuit of food and shelter.
Charlotte’s phone buzzed. She checked it, then announced: “Julian’s at The Drink again.”
I had to end t
his, and ending it meant a new plan, or rather an acceleration of the existing plan. I had to hurry, before anybody figured out who the girl in the video was. I’d make a move on Julian. He’d sleep with me. He’d dump me. Show over. Coach back to pumpkin. Mysterious beauty back to scullery maid. All for the best.
Chapter 13
~ Ellie ~
Before chickening out, I headed for the bar. I wasn’t dressed in my typical “Julian costume,” but I was at least wearing the violet contacts and a fair dose of makeup, plus nice jeans and top, along with a black mod jacket, all but the jacket purchased by the girls. Hopefully the clothes would be enough to keep me in the game for the evening.
It was long dark by the time I chained my bike to the rack and walked through the mob of serious smokers clustered outside the front door to step into the bar.
I did a visual check of the room, but didn’t see Julian. Moments later, the bartender spotted me. “Hey, YouTube.”
I had to laugh. I mean, how could I not?
“Your friend’s here.” He pointed. “And he could use a ride home.”
So that’s how I missed him. Julian was slumped over in a corner booth, his head on the table.
“He’s been like that for an hour. Get him out of here, will ya? Customers want to sit down.” Then he added: “And order stuff.”
“How much has he had to drink?”
He tossed a white bar towel over his shoulder. “Maybe six beers, but he might have been drinking before he came here. Or he might have something else in his system.” He shrugged and turned to a waiting customer.
At the booth, I sat next to Julian and gave his arm a shake.
The only response was a slight moan, but at least he was alive.
“Julian?” I shook him again, harder this time. That did the trick.
He lifted his head from his crossed arms and gave me a slow blink of stupefied recognition. “Have you seen that YouTube video?” he asked in a thick, slow drawl. “It’s amazing.” He fixed me with a drunken gaze. “You’re amazing.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it. Look, we need to get you home.” I didn’t have his address memorized, so I had to ask him for it, explaining: “I’ll call a cab.” Could he even get himself from a cab to his room?
The address he rattled off was someplace in New Hampshire.
“No, your address here.”
He didn’t reply.
Maybe it didn’t matter. The more I thought about it, the more I questioned leaving him at home unattended if nobody else was there.
After a lot of drunken distractions, I finally got him to focus long enough to give me his car keys. “Come on.” I tugged him from the booth, slinging one of his arms across my shoulders. Then, gripping him around the waist, I steered him toward the door. Outside, since I didn’t know where he’d parked, I hit the lock button on the key fob as we walked up and down the street. A car finally responded, and I launched us into the dark and the direction of the sound.
At the car, I shoved him in the passenger seat and latched his seatbelt, then circled to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Next to me, Julian’s eyes were closed, his head back against the headrest. In the dome light I saw he was extremely pale.
No, he definitely shouldn’t be left alone, but the bigger question was whether he needed to go to the emergency room. I gave his arm another shake, trying to rouse him while repeatedly saying his name.
Finally, he lifted his head, slowly turning toward me, looking at me, really looking at me. “My heart hurts.”
That settled it. “I’m taking you to the ER.”
“Why?”
“Your heart.”
“No, I mean it hurts. Like deep in my soul.”
I inhaled sharply.
“Do you know what I mean? Like every breath seems like a breath you don’t want to take. Like it hurts to be in the world,” he said, struggling to convey his meaning.
Ah, that kind of pain. I understood that kind of pain. “Did you take something?” I asked him. “Drugs?”
He shook his head. “Just the usual pharmaceuticals.”
Digging around in his coat pockets, searching for anything that might give me a clue, I pulled out a brown medicine bottle. It was labeled an anti-depressant. “Is this what you took?”
“Yup.”
“It says no alcohol right here in bold print.”
“I know I know I know. That’s what my shrink says too.”
Good God. This golden boy who seemed to have the world at his feet wasn’t what he appeared. “Did you take more pills than you’re supposed to?” I asked him in a clear, direct voice.
He gave me an owlish look, then shook his head.
I let out my breath in relief. Six beers with anti-depressants could really do a number on you.
“Okay.” As a precaution, I shoved the pills in my jacket pocket, then stuck the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb, heading in the direction of my loft. I could see no other choice but to take him home with me. I’d come back later for my bike.
It wasn’t easy getting him from the car to the warehouse building. Once inside, I leaned him against the wall while I punched the elevator button. Then it was a ride to thefourth floor and down the hall to the thankfully empty apartment and my room where he collapsed on the bed. He was dead weight as I struggled to remove his leather jacket, tossing it aside as he tumbled backward.
In the dull lamplight, I saw he was still pale. I picked up his wrist and felt for a pulse, checking the second hand on the wall clock as I counted, realizing I had no idea what a pulse rate should be. His wasn’t fast and didn’t seem that slow either.
His cell phone buzzed, and I retrieved it from the deep pocket of his coat, thinking to hand it to him, but he was too out of it. I looked at the screen. I couldn’t help it.
A message from a girl named Valerie. And she was asking where he was.
So, he’d had a date. And he’d gone drinking instead.
And I thought I was a mess.
At the same time, I struggled to reconstruct my idea of Julian. There was something going on here. A piece of the puzzle was missing. The pain in his eyes when he’d looked at me in the car? That pain had been very real and very bad. The thousand-yard stare. What had put something like that in his unguarded eyes? And the other day at the café. When I’d mentioned my mother’s death, a look of pure panic had come over him.
I covered him with a quilt then spent the next couple of hours trying to read a book. Really, it could have been upside down for all I absorbed.
As time passed, the rhythmic sound of Julian’s breathing finally convinced me that he’d be okay and that I didn’t need to take him to the nearest hospital. Exhausted, I removed my bra without removing my T-shirt, slipped off my jeans, and crawled under the covers next to him, turned out the light, and went to sleep.
* * *
Sometime in the middle of the night I felt Julian shift in bed. That dip and shift was followed by fingers on my arm, then fingers on my head. An obvious Helen Keller move.
“Hello?” came his voice out of the darkness.
I switched on my small IKEA lamp with the blue shade, then turned to see him with his head braced by his hand, elbow on the bed.
“Oh, hey,” he said, surprised. “It’s you.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. I just… I just have no idea how I got here.”
I gave him a brief account of the evening.
“Did we… do anything?”
“Sex? Are you talking about sex?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. Then he took a deep breath and dropped back on the pillow. “Jesus, I feel awful.”
“You should.”
“What time is it?”
I checked then replied: “Four in the morning.”
He soaked that in for a minute, then let
out a small gasp. “Valerie.” With that, he began the phone search. I plucked it off the bedside table and handed it to him. He scrolled through the text, making an oh, shit face.
“Too late to call,” he mumbled. He replied to the text, waited, didn’t get a response, so put his phone aside. “Would you care if I took a shower?”
“Door on the right at the end of the hall.”
He left the room, and I tried not to think about what was going on down there as he stripped and got in the shower, but I’d seen his bare chest and I could fill in the blanks.
A lot of people were on anti-depressants, especially college kids, I reasoned. I’d certainly had my fling with them, so it didn’t mean anything—as in didn’t mean he had any serious issues. This is what I told myself, even though my gut was screaming something completely different.
I heard the shower shut off, and then he was back, this time wearing nothing but jeans slung low on his hips, his hair wet and dripping on his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t drink if you’re taking anti-depressants,” I told him.
“Stupid move on my part,” he admitted, raking the wet hair back from his forehead, giving me a glimpse of armpit and muscle. “I can handle a few beers, but…”
I suddenly remembered I was pantsless under the quilt, which I tucked around my waist.
“You saved me again,” he said with a smile.
“You would have been fine. It’s not like you were in danger of choking to death on your own vomit or anything. Although I was worried about that,” I rushed to add, in case he thought I’d brought him to my place just to bring him to my place.
His phone buzzed. He scooped it up, reading the message, then replying. Valerie, I presumed.
“My sister,” he said once he tossed the phone aside. “We were supposed to eat dinner together…” His words trailed off, and I got the idea he’d started to say more before stopping himself.
His sister.
Another misconception.
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