Neverlost (Melodies and Memories)

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  “I don’t know what to do anymore. I-I’m scared and alone and I don’t like this. Help me…” I whisper even as his arms encircle me. He drags me into the house, my bare feet stumbling over the carpet, shoes forgotten on the beach, and I crash into his chest, bury my face in the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and let loose. He holds me tightly, like I’m his lifeline when in reality, right now he’s mine. The only thing I have left. He kisses the top of my head, kissing my tears away, and when my lips find his, I kiss him back frantically.

  “I’ll help you, Teagan, I promise you. We’ll get through this. Okay? You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get through this,” he repeats over and over again, fingers stroking through my hair despite the slight tremble to his hands.

  “I feel so broken,” I tell him. “So fucked up and ruined and I—”

  He cups my face in his hands, looks right into my eyes. “You are not ruined. You’re just…a little dented. I’ll help you any way I can. I love you. I love you,” he whispers even though it’s not a secret anymore. He loves me.

  I pull away and lift my arm, bearing my wounds. The damage has been done. “Please don’t let them lock me away—the cuts, the scars—they’ll lock me away and throw away the key. I’m so scared right now, Eli—”

  “You’re safe here,” he says. He takes me gently by the arm and leads me to the bathroom. Under cool water, he washes the sand and dirt from the gashes in my wrist, deep enough to scar but by some miracle, not deep enough to need stitches. He dabs it with antibiotic salve and uses butterfly bandages to close the wounds, then wraps my arm loosely in clean white bandages. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” and slowly my panic eases.

  We curl up together on the pull-out couch, my body pressed against his because I can’t get close enough, my ear flat against his chest so I can hear the way his heart beats, rapid and staccato, with worry for me. The tears dry up, as if he’s merely turned the knob to the faucet off, and even though my eyes are gritty and swollen, I feel…better. Not good, but better.

  I fall asleep to the sound of his breath and as I drift off, the tiniest, softest voice in my head is going: You’re going to be okay now…

  Twenty Five

  Elias

  I wake up tangled in her arms and legs and for a moment, everything is good. Peace falls over me like a soothing warmth and I rest the side of my face against the top of her head even as she snores softly, fast asleep. My arm is numb beneath her, filled with pins and needles, but I don’t want to move and risk waking her up.

  I turn my head and sigh deeply, about to close my eyes when I see the bandage wrapped around her arm, the white dotted with dark red and my world spins. Shit. Carefully, slowly I unwrap myself from her and she gives a soft moan and curls up into the blankets, turning over with a yawn. My heart nearly stops as I watch her—please don’t wake up—because panic is crashing through me.

  I tiptoe to the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and collapse on the lid of the toilet seat. The night plays over and over in my head, but every time my mind is drawn back to the slices hewn into her flesh—self-inflicted gashes. Teagan needs help, more help than I can possibly give her, and that scares me.

  I dial in Jake’s number and wait three rings this time—it’s early and the weekend, so why would he be awake?—but he finally answers with a grunt. “Jake? Hey, it’s Eli. I’m kind of freaking out and I need you over here like, stat. Come through the back door. It’ll be open. Don’t make any sound.”

  His breathing is heavy on the line. “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. It’s not me, it’s Teagan and I really don’t know how to handle this sort of situation.”

  “I’ll be over in ten. Back door—gotcha. Hold tight, my man.”

  I slip through the kitchen and brew a pot of coffee as quietly as I can. The TV continues to play low sounds in the other room and every time I check on Teagan, she’s still sound asleep. Nerves pinball around in my chest as I flip haphazardly through the newspaper, my eyes skimming the words but really only seeing black ink on an off-white page.

  The sliding glass door slides open and Jake comes in, concern on his face. “What is going on?” he asks and we sit down at the kitchen table with two mugs of coffee—his straight black, just like always—and I fill him in on the details, barely stopping to breathe between sentences. My coffee gets cold, having gone untouched, before I ever finish.

  “I don’t know how to handle something like this. I mean, it’s obvious she needs something, some sort of help. Therapy? I don’t know. I was hoping you could shine a light on this situation. I love her, Jake. I really do, and I don’t want to lose her. I miss her smile…” My knuckles bleed white as I clench my fists, then slowly relax them again, feeling the blood rush back into the digits. “I know she’s still in there. She’s just…”

  “Overloaded,” Jake says simply. “She can’t process anything. She’s scared and she probably feels trapped. I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It sucks hardcore dick. You can’t even begin to understand. But you’re right—she does need help. She’s reaching out to you. You can’t let her down, but she’s fragile. You know?”

  I nod, feeling miserable and helpless. “What do I do? How can I help?” I ask just as Teagan pops her head around the corner, arms wrapped around her slender self, and she looks between me and Jake with such a worried expression on her face that my chest physically aches. “Teagan. You sleep good?”

  Her hair’s a tangled mess and her clothes are still streaked dark with blood. She shakes her head slowly and meanders over to the table. I jump up and pour her a cup of coffee. “It’s probably cold now. I’m sorry,” I tell her, sliding out a chair for her. She offers me the tiniest of smiles and sits down, sipping at her joe.

  “Hey,” Jake says, reaching out to touch her hand. “Eli filled me in a bit. How you holding up?” He asks it with more compassion than I’ve ever heard in my best friend’s voice before, but obviously it’s the wrong thing to say.

  Teagan pulls away from him, her face screwing up. “I don’t want your pity,” she says sharply, biting down on her lower lip, her teeth making indents in the soft flesh. “You don’t—”

  Jake pounds a solid fist on the table, making the coffee cups rattle, and Teagan startles. He points a finger at her, still calm but with an edge this time. “I do understand, so don’t go putting words in my mouth. Alright?” She just stares at him, taken aback.

  “You’re not the only one with a fucked up life. I don’t know your past and you don’t know mine, but somewhere along the line, something went wrong and it made us who we are today. For me? My dad was a drunk. Whiskey, jack, anything strong enough that he could get his hands on, it didn’t matter. He drank and he got mean as a snake and he’d beat on my mum and me. It sucked, but we lived.”

  She scowls, like she wants to cut him off, but he points at her a second time and she falls still and silent. “Then one night he just fucking snapped. Hauled off in a drunken rage and beat Mum bloody and he kicked her, over and over again, breaking ribs even as I wailed on him and tried to pry his huge ass off of her. I was ten. When she finally passed out and stopped screaming, he turned on me like a fucking rabid dog. How do you deal with that? He nearly killed us both that night, landed us in the ER. We were fucked up bad but somehow still breathing, though I know I wished I wasn’t. He got his ass slapped in prison, but that didn’t stop the fear. I was just a kid. That’ll mess anyone up, but it really fucks with a kid.”

  I watch Teagan, not saying a word as Jake lifts his t-shirt to expose lines of ridged white scars, criss-crossing over his ribs in divots and swirls—knife wounds, all of them self-inflicted. Jake had told me once that he’d use anything sharp enough, from box knives to old tools, exchanging one set of pain for another, because at least he could control the cuts. At least he could choose when to hurt. Teagan’s face goes pale, eyes locked on the wounds long since healed over, but Jake’s not done.

  He softens a little bi
t. “Life sucks, but when it knocks you down, you gotta get back up. I spent four months in a psych ward and it was the single most terrifying time of my life, not knowing if I was going crazy or if I would ever be safe again. But I made it out. I made it through.” He reaches out and takes Teagan’s hand in his, looking into her eyes in a way that’s almost intimate. “You’re fixable, Teagan. You may not see it, but you are. But you have to admit you need help.”

  Her face crumples, tears leaking free. “Don’t let them lock me away. I can’t handle that. Please.”

  “Then you need to be willing to get help. I know of a gal who can help you, but you have to trust me, okay? You’re too damn beautiful to wither away but that’s exactly what will happen if you keep shoving your emotions down and bottling them up. She can help you. I know she can, because she helped me through the darkest time in my life. I owe my life to that woman,” Jake says. He leans back in his chair as Teagan cries.

  I stand up and walk around behind her to wrap my arms around her. I kiss the side of her head. She’s breaking my heart, but I know I need to be strong. For her—for us. “I’m here for you. I’ll do anything to help you, but you have to want it too.” I hug her tight and feel the way her body quakes beneath me.

  She sucks in a noisy breath. “I’m sorry, Eli. I-I still love you. I do, I’m just scared.”

  “It’s okay to be scared,” I tell her. “But the only way through your fear is to face it. It’s your choice. I’ll be by your side, no matter the cost, and I’ll support you. I love you, Teagan Marie, and that’s never going to change.”

  “Thank you…”

  When I look up, Jake is smiling and I know that somehow, someway, everything will be okay.

  Twenty Six

  Teagan

  I spend the next couple of days hiding from the world in Eli’s huge house, dredging up anxiety and anger and feelings of utter worthlessness. I can’t seem to stop crying, no matter what I do, but Eli says that maybe I just need to cry it off, get it all out of my system. Every night—because nights are when the feelings really bombard me—he holds me close and whispers promises into my ear, as if speaking them out loud might hesitate to make them come true.

  I don’t go home. To be completely honest, I’m afraid of what I might do if I’m alone.

  Jake gets me that appointment with his shrink in a matter of days. “How is that possible? It’s not possible. If she’s as good as you say she is, she should’ve been booked,” I argue with him that evening.

  “She is booked, dumbass,” Jake replies curtly, cuffing me on the side of the head with his hand.

  I duck my head and glare at him, but he’s unaffected by it. “Then how…”

  “Connections. I got them. Don’t you worry your pretty little mind, okay? I set up the appointment for Tuesday. All you have to worry about is showing up. Got it memorized?” Our gazes clash together, his blue eyes glinting like cold, hard steel as he dares me to challenge him. My stomach gets all bubbly, so I look away and keep my mouth shut. “Good girl,” Jake murmurs.

  “I’m gonna go take a shower,” I say. I stand up and Mr. Beefy’s at my side, bumping his cold nose into my palm, as if he’s worried about me too. I bend down and ruffle his black fur, stroking the velvet of his ear between my thumb and forefinger. “I’ll be right back.” I don’t know if I’m talking to Eli or the dog. Shaking my head, I grab an outfit out of the duffle bag Eli packed for me and lock myself in the bathroom.

  I let the shower steam everything up and wash away the worries as I stand under the spray. Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. My knee-jerk reaction is to duck out and not go, despite everything Eli and Jake have given up for me.

  My mom dragged me into seeing a shrink when I was younger and filled to the brim with anger and emotional scarring so thick that no words of advice might cut through it. Once a week I’d sit on the therapist’s ugly orange couch and curl up into myself and ignore the words coming out of the woman’s mouth. I didn’t listen to her and I sure as hell didn’t spill my guts to her. I kept my mouth wired firmly shut, swallowing down my dirty little secret like a spoonful of rotten asparagus.

  Because no matter how much it made me sick, I couldn’t tell her what was happening to me. I couldn’t tell her what occurred each and every night after I’d crawled into bed and lay there in silence, barely able to breathe, tears threatening to overflow, just waiting for him to slip through my door. If I told the truth, something bad would’ve happened to my little sister.

  After a month of refusing to talk to the shrink and pouring hundreds of dollars down the drain, my father talked my mom out of taking me. “There’s obviously nothing wrong with her,” he’d said. “She’s probably just going through puberty. You know how kids can get.” And he’d looked right at me, his shark-eyes narrowed, wordlessly telling me to man up, and I’ll never forget that look. It chilled me to the very marrow in my bones.

  I haven’t been back to a therapist since and a part of me still feels like that silent, scarred little girl, terrified of her father’s cruelty, worried about her little sister’s safety. Except now my scars are on the inside and the outside, and I’m not ten years old anymore. I breathe in the steam of the shower and turn the faucet off.

  I can and will do this. For me—and for that little girl deep inside of me. And this time, I won’t be silent.

  Monday night I barely sleep and Tuesday morning I’m almost paralyzed with fear. I stumble through my routine like a robot with a loose circuit, my hands beginning to shake as Eli drives me to the medical building where Dr. Thomason works. “You’ll be okay. I promise,” he says, linking his fingers through mine, our joined hands lying on top of the center console of his truck. “I’ll be right out in the waiting room if you need me. I love you, Teagan Marie.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper. “I can do this.”

  He smiles, so sweet and beautiful. “I know you can.”

  We go inside and I fill out a couple of forms then I sit in the seat next to Eli, my legs pressed against his legs, my stomach twisting itself into knots, each one tighter than the last until my name is called out. Panic sears through me, but Eli nods and waves me forward, and on legs like a newborn fawn, I walk down the hall.

  The room is small but cozy, done in peaches and creams with a pretty floral couch on the wall under the window. In the windowsill are potted plants, the greenery shooting up like grass, and Dr. Thomason is not what I expected at all. First of all, she’s short—not even five foot—and her hair is curly and dyed a soft cornflower blue. She smiles at me warmly as we shake hands, and I sit down on the very edge of the couch, fighting back the sudden urge to escape.

  “Breathe, Teagan,” she murmurs, fingers twirling around a string of pearls around her neck. She opens a drawer and reaches in, pulling out a weird nubby ball made of interconnected knots, and places it in my hands. “Let your hands do your worrying. You’re safe here.” My fingers rub against the pebbled rubber surface and begin to twist the knots out of the hand fidget. Somehow, it works. My pulse slows. “Now tell me, why are you here?”

  “I cut myself,” I say.

  “Do you know why?”

  My brow furrows, my fingers twisting the toy a little harder, but I nod. “Yeah. I can’t handle anything anymore. I feel like I’m falling apart and I’m so tired of being here. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up but I can’t.”

  “Because you’re afraid?”

  “Yeah.” I am afraid. My chest feels heavy. “My friend said you could help me. I don’t know how you’re supposed to do that, when I don’t even know how to help myself, but…here I am. I’m scared,” I tell her, looking up at her. Her eyes are a warm hazel flecked with green, like spring grasses and budding leaves, and they’re filled with a sense of understanding and I feel the tension in my shoulders begin to release. “I don’t want to be this way anymore.”

  She nods, asking me to go on, and…everything sort of seems to unravel from there. The words spill from my mou
th, from my heart where they’ve been kept in a cage all these years, speaking of everything I’ve suffered through, telling the stories from my past. I only have an hour with her—an hour I’ve been dreading—but suddenly, an hour’s not enough time.

  She pencils me in again in two days and in two days I return, ready for round two. Round three. Round four. The truth comes out in a gush of anger and pain and tears. Sometimes I stand and pace. Sometimes I scream. I wonder if I’ll ever stop crying.

  “It’s okay to mourn,” Dr. T tells me, handing me a pink tissue. “Because you are—you’re mourning your lost childhood, but it’s a good thing. Let it all come out.” It is a good thing, because now that my heart’s been cracked open, there’s no stopping the poison that’s rushing out through the open floodgates.

  Dr. T is booked, and still she wants to help me, squeezing me into her already-tight schedule. I go back again and again, and every time I leave her office, I leave feeling lighter than I’ve felt in years. It’s crazy. She refers me to a psychiatrist, who prescribes an anti-depressant. “This is just to get you through the rough stuff,” Dr. T promises me, as if she can feel my hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be permanent.”

  It’s no miracle, but it’s a start.

  ~*~

  Turns out, I failed those classes after all, but instead of the sinking dread that I expect to fill up my gut, all I feel is relief, the first relief I’ve felt in a long time and it damn near makes me giddy. Eli comes up behind me, an apology on the tip of his tongue—I can see it in his face—but I don’t let him get that far. I grin and press my fingers against his lips. “I’m not sorry,” I tell him, then wrap my arms around his neck and lean up on my tip-toes to kiss him. “One less thing for me to worry about.”

  He pulls back far enough to look into my eyes. “What about college? Your plans?”