by J A Heron
“Maybe I should think about a career in psychology.” I laugh. “Sometimes a friendly ear is all you need.”
I reinforce my statement with a strong squeeze of her hand.
“Some other time,” she says, sitting up. “I think I’ll go back to my room. I still have to pack, and tomorrow I have an early start.”
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she says, and the way she says it causes a knot to tighten in my tummy.
I stand up, and invading her personal space, I wrap my arms around her then pull her in for a tight hug. Her arms reluctantly wrap around my waist to return the affection, and that’s when I realise she’s not used to such displays. A small sob escapes her lips on a breathy sigh. “I’ll be around in the morning. I’ll want to see you before you leave.” Her emotional response to my hug transfers to me, as I speak with an uncontrollable shake with each word.
I want to tell her so much more, but I’m afraid to do so. I’m afraid to overstep the mark of our young, fledgling of a relationship. The last thing I want is for her to be overwhelmed with all the fondness I’m showing her, and for her to think I’m coming on too strong.
“Bye,” she says, looking over her shoulder. The door slowly closes with a click. I sit staring at the door for a while, wondering what will happen to her if I never see her again. What will she become? I hope she sticks to her word. The promise she made to stay in touch resounds in my ears as I reach for the box holding my mother’s pearls. I pull them out and bind them around my fingers, feeling the coldness of the gems against my skin. I look down at them, unable to stop a tear falling from each eye and rolling down my face. It’s unrelenting, the amount of sadness I feel.
My dead parents.
My estranged sister.
My failed love life.
A friend who needs me.
A friend who’s hurting more than words can explain.
A shower is desperately needed, but I close my eyes for just a second, holding onto the only thing I have left from my mother, my parents.
I wake with a start, and when I look at the clock, it’s past three in the morning. Something clasps me around the throat. An invisible force makes me get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, and leave this room.
When I reach her door, I knock softly. Nothing.
I knock a little louder. Nothing.
I try the handle, surprised to find the door unlocked. When I step inside, the sight before me takes my legs from underneath me. Down on my knees, I scream the loudest scream anyone ever did hear.
She’s gone.
I was too late.
Paramedics wheel her lifeless body outside, and all I can do is stand and watch as they take her away. Blood-soaked sheets are all that’s left behind, and I’m reminded of the horror I found when I entered her room.
A few minutes later, the paramedics return, and as they talk to the night staff, I hear one of them say, “She meant business. The cuts were vertical, straight up her veins. She knew how to do it properly.”
I’m sobbing. Uncontrollably sobbing as the tears stream down my face. I brush them away with the back of my hand. When I look around at everyone standing in the reception area, I see shock on most people’s faces. Some show pity, and others are upset, like me.
This is too much to take, so I decide to mourn my loss alone. I walk up to my room, hoping the solace I find there will help alleviate the pain in my heart.
Why?
Every time I get close to someone, they die, or leave.
Why?
I sob into my pillow as I clutch it close to me and try to come to terms with what has happened. I wonder if I missed any signals about how bad her depression was. I wonder if she tried to reach out to me, but I was too blind to see the signs that were staring me in the face. I come up short. Maybe I was too wrapped up in my own life, my own recovery, and my own hardships to see the internal battle she was facing.
I know I hardly knew the girl, but I was certain our friendship had the potential to last a lifetime. I was positive she saw in me someone she could lean on. Someone she could trust. I guess I was wrong. My heart is breaking wide open for the girl who saw death as her only escape from the nightmare occurring in her own head. I tried so hard to persuade her to open up to me, to talk to me. Perhaps I didn’t try hard enough.
All I knew about her was her addiction to a class A drug. I knew nothing of her past. I knew her parents were bitterly disappointed in her and what she had become, but she was working hard to turn that around. She was determined to be the daughter they always wanted. It hurt her that her parents looked at her disapprovingly, and she wanted nothing more than to be their little girl once more.
I wonder if the scars of her history ran a lot deeper than the surface problems she was facing here. That thought comes to me as I clutch the pearls that mean so much to me close to my chest.
Why does everyone leave me?
A little sob escapes. I think I’m finally pulling myself together after the huge shock.
A small knock on the door comes. I barely heard it, but it’s there, and I choose to ignore it. I have nothing to say to anyone at this moment in time. I’d much rather be alone, to try and figure out how all this has gone so horribly wrong. The knock comes a little louder, but still I choose to ignore it, hoping they’ll get the message and go away.
Thankfully, it goes quiet, and I’m alone with my thoughts as the sun begins to rise. The expanse of this house makes it incredibly hard to keep warm, and although the heating is on and the radiators are hot, I still feel the cold. I wrap myself up in one of the extra blankets that is usually draped at the bottom of my bed. My sore eyes start to close, but I’m jolted wide awake again by the loud knock on the door.
Annoyed, I strut to the door, pulling it open with force. “What?” comes out of my mouth before I have time to register the familiar face standing in front of me. “Dan. What do you…? What?” His startled expression brought on by my outburst makes me realise I’m being a brat. “Sorry. What’s up?” I ask a little softer.
Three little words are spoken, and floodgates open up like a dam being bust wide open. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I sob as I speak the truth, unashamed to hide how I feel. I think my honesty has taken him by surprise. “You did ask.”
“I guess I’m used to girls saying one thing, but meaning another.” He laughs, trying to lighten the situation. No amount of good-hearted banter will bring sunshine to eradicate the downpour drowning my heart. I give him a look that says not now, and I think he gets the message when he says, “Sorry. I guess now is not the time.”
“Too right.” I scowl.
“You were close with Jess?”
“I like to think so. If not, we were well on the way to being close, and I know that when I think of her, I’ll remember her fondly.”
“I bet she’d like that.” He’s shifting from foot to foot. “Can I come in?”
I open the door wider, making room for him to pass me by. He sits on my bed, his eyes focussed on the floor. I sit beside him.
I want to argue that he would never know what she would like. He never knew her, but my argument is invalid. I hardly knew her either; no one here did. Thoughts of the woman I would’ve liked to get to know better flood my conscious mind, swarming my brain like a mist of uncertainty. He reaches for my hand, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now.
“I could’ve done more. I could’ve helped her more.” Sobs wrack my guilt-ridden body. I tremble as I speak, and Dan, being a kind-hearted soul, grips my hand tighter, trying to calm my raging, out of control shuddering. He must see the tumultuous thoughts racing around my brain, as his warm hand lifts slowly to run his fingers through my hair. His warm palm holds my cheek, while his thumb wipes away a stray tear or two.
“I think you’ve dealt with enough. To take on other people’s baggage as well as your own would be far too much for anyone to deal with.” He stares deep into my eyes.
A thought crosses my mind.
“What?” I ask, as my brow furrows. What does he mean? How does he know how much baggage I carry around with me on a day to day basis? “How do you know about my ‘baggage’?”
His hand remains in place. “Calm down. I just meant that you’re here, as am I, so I’m guessing your truck load of baggage could easily rival my own.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling like an idiot; an idiot who’s second guessing the only person who has shown me kindness since Jess’ body was found.
My heart is still racing, but Dan is doing an excellent job of making me feel better.
When I search his eyes for any sign he’s being less than honourable, he moves in closer. He’s going to kiss me.
I prepare myself for his lips to meet mine, wondering if I really want his affections after all that has happened tonight. I realise I do, so I meet him halfway.
Our lips touch, a soft closed mouth kiss at first, but he’s the first to deepen the kiss as he angles his head then pulls me in close. My chest meets his; I feel the warmth from his hard body. My neck angles back, and my head tilts as I open my mouth wider to accept his searching tongue. His hand hasn’t moved. His fingers massage my scalp, taking a handful of hair at the roots and tugging gently. I feel the longing between my thighs, but it’s a longing that doesn’t feel right. This is longing because I feel the need to be touched as a form of comfort, not longing as a form of desire for the man beside me.
I’m the first to break the connection, and as I come up for air, I see the dejected look in Dan’s eyes.
“I really like you, Kat.” His soft voice, laced with a little gravel, is sexy as hell. Yet all I need to see when I close my eyes is the tattooed, bald bad boy who has stolen my heart. Not the preppy-looking guy with the perfectly styled blonde hair and blue eyes. But the latter is here offering me comfort; the former isn’t. I may be using Dan for my own personal gain in the moment because of all that has happened, but something about the expression on his face tells me he doesn’t seem to mind.
He’s smiling at me, happiness clear to see in his eyes. When I glance down at my fingers, trying to hide the bashfulness that is clearly showing in my cheeks, that’s when I notice the bulge in his trousers. I guess he’s turned on from our brief but passionate exchange.
Rather than give him the wrong idea and carry on our heated tryst, I stand up, creating much-needed distance. “I think I’ll go to bed now. Alone.” I add on the last part, making it clear the kiss we shared is as far as this passion train goes. This is the last stop for The Passion Train. This is the last stop for The Passion Train. The words repeat in my head, and I imagine them being spoken by the annoying rail announcer at a train station. I hold my hand up to my mouth, stifling a giggle that’s sure to escape because of my crazy, wayward thoughts. Now I’m scared I’ve given Dan the wrong idea by giggling like a lovestruck teenager. If only he knew my real thoughts. I’ll share them another time. Right now, I’m eager to have this room to myself so I can go back to mourning the loss of a friend.
He slaps his palms on his thighs as he stands up, “I guess I’ll be going then.” I can see he’s trying hard to hide the hurt of being rejected just when things were heating up between us.
I stand, waiting for him to leave before I can relax. “Thanks,” I say. I’m thanking him for coming to make sure I’m okay after finding Jess. I’m thanking him for keeping me company for a while, and I’m thanking him for offering emotional support. I’m certainly not thanking him for kissing me, raising my blood pressure, or increasing my libido after it has lay dormant for too many weeks since Connor. My thoughts are jumbled, and I’m scared I’ll either say or do something I’ll regret while he’s still here, so I scurry to the door and open it with gusto. “Thanks for stopping by.”
He passes by me as I stand holding the door open. With a waft of his cologne, he gets into my personal space. He leans in for a kiss, but I quickly turn my head, and his lips land on my cheek. It’s a little awkward.
“See you tomorrow,” is the last thing he says before I close the door behind him.
I shut the door, and as soon as it hits the jamb, I throw my back against the wood with a deep sigh. I can’t believe I almost lost my head with a guy I hardly know. He’s cute, not my usual type, but cute nonetheless. I need to stay out of situations like this. I need to concentrate on my recovery. With all the things that have happened tonight, I realise it’s the first time my craving for alcohol has reached a new height. I really need a drink.
I practise the tool given to me by one of the counsellors and take deep breaths and write my feelings in my diary. The entries have been less and less lately, which tells me my recovery is going well. It just shows that it only takes something bad to happen for all that to be thrown out the window.
I grab a pen and begin to write:
Rehab
Day Seven
I’m trying hard to understand the events of tonight. I’m trying harder to put all my feelings into words, but I keep coming up short. So, this is the gist…
I’ll miss her.
We kissed.
I need a drink.
That’s the main points covered, and to think that it’s enough to tip anyone over the edge, I’m here, I’m still breathing, and I’m telling only my diary. No one is ever going to read this. It’s for my own records, something to look back on when times get too tough. So, what’s the point of all this?
My counsellor tells me it’s all to do with not bottling up your emotions. It’s about airing your thoughts, which will keep me on an even keel. Whatever that means. Anyway, the shit of today has spurred me into action. All of it has given me the motivation to tell this A5 piece of paper that today has been an almighty crap salad.
Yours
Kat xx
That was the most pointless of pointless exercises, but, oh well. Tomorrow is another day. Another day for drama, mistakes, but, hopefully, there won’t be any deaths.
A couple of days have passed since ‘the kiss’. And that incident hasn’t gone unnoticed every time I lay eyes on Dan. He reminds me of it every time he meets my eyes with a wicked gleam in his. Calm down, buddy. It was just a kiss. I want to scream at him that very thought, but I’m far too cautious, afraid of how he’ll take it if I do. Instead, I keep my mouth shut, returning his wicked gleam with a polite smile.
Today is the day I do my best to come to terms with what happened to Jess, and I’ve promised myself I will try to talk a little more with Dr. Hart. He wants to know what has been going on in my head, so today, I will reward him with some of the pile of spaghetti which comprises of my shitty history, along with the recent events that have shaken me.
I take a seat in the dining hall at the table I used to share with Jess. I guess I’m a creature of habit. Sitting here makes me – strangely – feel closer to her, even though she won’t be coming back.
I pick at my breakfast, not paying much attention to my surroundings as I push the granola covered in vanilla yoghurt around my bowl. I’ve had a couple of mouthfuls, but my appetite has been lacking for a whole two days now. Each of the two days without Jess, I’ve just gone through the motions. Bed, count sheep, two or three hours sleep after endless tossing and turning. Then up with the sunset, a shower, dress in matching sweats, lace up my Converse, and try to get through the day without breaking down.
This morning was no different, but when I dressed, something told me to mix it up. I’ve thrown caution to the wind and dressed in mismatched sweats. Grey bottoms teamed up with a navy top. I’ve decided from here on out, my outfits – however long the duration of my stay – will be made up of something a little different. This morning, I’ve even styled my hair for the first time since I’ve been here. I wanted to put some make-up on, but I didn’t bring any with me, and Benny didn’t pack any for me. She knew I wouldn’t be wanting to wear any, mainly because I don’t wear it that often. I’m reminded of how well my best friend knows me, making me feel comforted that the
re is someone outside of here, waiting with open arms once I’m released.
I can’t wait to see her again.
If I know Benny – and I think I do – I’m guessing it won’t be long before she’s popping by for another visit. That thought gives me something to look forward to, something to anticipate, and the very thought of her being here, holding her arms open for me, makes me smile.
“What’s so funny?” I jump at the sound of the voice behind me, slightly to my left. When I turn around, the strange guy who Jess shagged in the garden is grinning at me.
“Not much.” My pokerfaced response was intended to tell this guy I’m not about to share my most intimate thoughts with him.
“I see.” He takes a seat beside me. Jess’ seat. Dickhead. “Want to share?”
This guy must have thick skin. At what point did I give him the impression I was in the mood for sharing? Especially not fond thoughts of my best friend.
“Not really,” I say indifferently.
“Oh, come on. I think we should get to know one another a little better.” The sly grin he gives me makes my skin crawl. The spot on his face is churning my stomach. There’s something about this guy that makes me want to run away from him. He’s bad news, and my instinct is telling me to keep my distance.
All I know about this guy is he’s here for sex addiction, he’s slimy, and he managed to coerce Jess into sex in the garden. Part of me wonders if he took advantage of her vulnerable state. If he did, then that makes him lower than pond scum.
“I’m not really in the mood,” I tell him with a sweet smile, laced with a little ‘fuck you’ on the side. “Some other time.” I pick up my bowl of soggy granola and walk away. I don’t give him a backward glance as I leave the dining hall.
Today is a busy one. We have a group session this afternoon, I have a meeting with Dr. Hart straight after, and then the late afternoon/early evening I have to myself. Craft day is tomorrow, and I can’t wait. I’ve been making greeting cards for the Manor to sell for charity. They support many charities here, but the one they’re focussing on right now is the NSPCC. I knew I’d like to help in any way I could.
