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‘But when you meet my parents, you can’t mention the app. They don’t know anything about it. I’ve kept the app and the revenue it generates a secret.’
She smiles. ‘When I meet your parents?’
‘Stop grinning. You know it’s bound to happen.’
‘Why don’t you want them to know about the app or all the millions you’re making? Don’t you think they’d be proud?’
‘Probably, but I’m keeping it a secret until I graduate in May. I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when I tell them I don’t need their trust fund.’
She sits up and looks at me, appearing confused. ‘Why don’t you want your trust fund?’
I sit up straight so I can look at her straight on. ‘When you grow up privileged, the way I have, you live your whole life balanced over a safety net with no holes. No fear of falling. Even when you screw up and cause your best friend’s death. I’m tired of living like that.’ I run my hand down my face, trying to block out the image of Jordan’s face the moment he realized a large fragment of the shotgun shell had lodged in his neck and he was hemorrhaging. ‘I want to live my life with a little less control. I kept this a secret so that I wouldn’t disgrace my father when everyone at school finds out I rejected the trust fund. Anyway, I’m hoping to do some traveling after I graduate.’
‘Traveling to where?’ She looks a little worried at this news.
‘Wherever you want to go.’ She smiles and I pat my lap for her to sit with me.
She straddles my legs and drapes her arms over my shoulders. ‘I want to go to Australia. They speak English, but there’s all kinds of poisonous animals, which makes it sort of exotic.’
‘We’ll go to Australia.’
‘Where do you want to go?’ She musses up my hair and I turn my head to bite her arm playfully.
‘I want to go home. Will you go to my apartment with me tomorrow?’
Her eyes widen with excitement. ‘Yes!’
I laugh at her enthusiasm. ‘It’s not as exotic as Australia, but I promise there are no poisonous animals.’
‘I can’t wait.’
Finally, I’m the first to wake up and I’m not at all embarrassed to find the drool spot on my pillow once I see the tent Crush is creating with the comforter. I’ll just slide out of bed to go to the restroom. Maybe he’ll wake up on his side while I’m in there, relieved that I didn’t see his morning wood. But as soon as I move, he groans and I quickly turn away from him so he doesn’t see my smile.
He reaches for me and I can’t hold it in. ‘Stop!’
I look over my shoulder at him, trying not to laugh at the adorable confused look on his face. Then he reaches under the covers, feels around a little bit, and shakes his head.
‘I’ll be right back.’
I check my phone messages while I wait for him. A few minutes later, he returns from the bathroom, smelling like toothpaste. He gets right back under the covers with me and I smile as he beckons me to spoon with him.
‘How embarrassing was that?’ I ask as he wraps his arm around my waist and I back up into him so his chest is flush against my back.
‘On a scale of one to ten, um . . . quadrillion.’
He brushes his lips over my neck and I close my eyes, trying to stay relaxed, but it’s more difficult when I can’t see his face. I spin around in his arms until I’m facing him.
‘I finally checked my voicemail messages. I had about thirty messages from my mom and Meaghan and two messages from my therapist.’ My stomach clenches inside me as I think of her words and the hint of emotion I heard in her voice. ‘She said she wanted to talk to me and would be willing to come in after hours or on the weekend . . . The power of suggestion. Like, if she suggests we should talk on the weekend, I’ll subconsciously try to stay alive to fulfill this prophecy.’
‘But you will be alive this weekend. And the weekend after that?’
The way he says this as if it’s a question makes my chest tighten. ‘I can’t promise I won’t be hit by a car or die in a fiery plane crash, but I can promise that I won’t take that bottle of pills in my purse and swim out into the open ocean.’
The muscle in his jaw twitches. ‘That’s how you were going to do it.’
I nod as I think of that bottle of pills. ‘Can you go in my purse and flush that bottle of pills? And, while you’re at it, break all those cigarettes?’
‘Are you sure about the cigarettes?’
‘Yes. I think . . . and this is so hard to admit because it makes me feel disgusting and stupid, but I think the drugs were making me worse.’
He brushes my hair out of my face and kisses my forehead. ‘You are neither disgusting nor stupid.’
‘Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel that way. The only good thing about drugs is that they make you forget how awful you feel about being a junkie. Just get rid of them. All of them.’
‘Anything else you want me to do before we head out of here?’
I bite my lip as I work up the courage to ask him, then I decide I’ll wait until we’re at his apartment. It will be better when we’re in his domain.
I kiss his nose and shake my head. ‘Nope.’
*****
I insist on us showering together to save time, but the truth is I just want to feel at ease with him the way I felt yesterday. I want to step into his apartment knowing that barrier has already been broken. I want to feel comfortable with every part of his body. He is not the one who scarred me.
The entire journey through the hotel and down to the car, I’m worried that the hotel staff will recognize me as the suicidal girl in the Garden Suite. The moment we slide into the backseat of the town car, Crush kisses my cheek and my body relaxes a little. He’s grinning like a fool and it dawns on me that he doesn’t care what any of these people think about us.
‘Why are you smiling?’
He shoots off the address to the driver before he answers my question. ‘Just really fucking excited to show you my place. Put your seatbelt on.’
I smile as I reach for the seatbelt and pull it across my chest. He helps me get the buckle in and seizes the opportunity to steal another kiss. It’s a soft peck on the lips, his mouth lingering just long enough for me to know he wants more, but he’ll wait.
The car turns the corner onto the highway and I sigh as I lean back and think of how many times Crush has saved my life. I hope he never has to save my life again. I have to call my therapist and see if I can get in for an appointment as soon as I get back. I need a referral so I can change my meds – again.
Having a mental illness is like riding a really fast merry-go-round that never stops. There’s no escape. You’re stuck. But once in a while, you can give the operator some good drugs and he’ll slow it down a little; just enough for you to see the trees and the normal people as they stroll by. But that ride operator needs to be supplied often. And sometimes, like any typical junkie, he’s just plain unreliable. He stops showing up and you’re spinning again. You can’t see clearly.
Sometimes, I guess, you can supply that merry-go-round operator with something else that feels like a drug: Love. It’s probably only temporary, and I’m sure my inner junkie will soon need something more than love to get by. But right now, I’m going to sit back and enjoy getting my circuits blown out by William ‘Crush’ Slayer.
Fawcett Street is a small one-way street running almost parallel to the train tracks that seems as if it curves into nowhere land or some type of industrial area. But as soon as the driver takes the curve, the huge building on the left is obviously not industrial. The brick- and slate-faced apartment building is approximately the length of a city block and about six stories tall. A girl bundled up in earmuffs and snow boots and carrying a paper bag of groceries wrenches opens one of the three sleek silver entrance doors and disappears inside.
Crush gets out of the car, but the driver beats him to my door. The driver opens the door for me to get out and I flash him a tight smile as I take
Crush’s hand so he can help me out.
‘Watch your step,’ he says, indicating the curb that’s almost entirely buried in fresh snow.
We hustle to get inside and out of the storm. The moment we step through the silver doors, I’m mesmerized by the entrance area. All the furnishings and architecture are sleek and precise; from the cherry reception counter on our left to the sitting area directly ahead of us where three people are sitting in boxy armchairs in front of a fireplace, their fingers clicking speedily over the keyboards of their laptops and phones.
Crush leads me past the reception desk to an elevator. I feel really uncomfortable, like I don’t belong here. All these people probably go to Harvard or MIT, or went there at some point in their lives. And here I am, a bipolar girl with suicidal tendencies who goes to community college. Crush and I are from totally different worlds.
The elevator doors slide open and it takes me a moment to realize I should step inside. He presses the button for the fifth floor then turns to me.
‘Are you all right?’
‘What do you think your parents will think when they find out about me? Because my parents were obviously very happy to finally meet the person who saved my life, and they don’t even know how many times you’ve saved me. Will you tell your parents what happened to me? I’m not sure I could handle them knowing.’
‘Don’t let what my parents may or may not think about you worry you. If you never want to meet them, that’s fine with me. Or, if you want, we can pretend to be roommates.’ He winks at me and my stomach flips. ‘Bottom line is, my parents opinions have no bearing on how I feel about you or anyone else for that matter. And they never will. The only person who ever really knew me, other than Jordan, was Grandpa Hugh. And believe me when I say that both of them would have loved you.’
The doors slide open and he places his hand on the small of my back to guide me forward. A guy in jeans and a thick, gray parka glances at me before he nods at Crush, then pulls a navy-blue knit cap over his head. He’s getting ready to brave the storm. Crush nods back at the guy and I smile, in case he glances at me again, but he doesn’t.
We reach the door for apartment 522 and my entire body is buzzing with nervous energy. I’m excited to get inside and see where he lives, but I’m also anxious about what’s going to happen in there.
He pushes the door open and the first thought that comes to my mind also comes out of my mouth. ‘Hey, this is pretty normal.’
He laughs as I walk farther inside, taking in the modern but not spectacularly sleek open kitchen with the two swivel bar stools. I try not to imagine that he’s sat there before and had breakfast with some other girl.
As this thought crosses my mind, he comes up behind me and whispers in my ear. ‘Can I take your coat?’
