Her cries continued as she collapsed back on the couch.
The inside of her head was a place I avoided at all costs. There was enough pain, regret and guilt in my own mind- immersing myself in hers was like bathing in acid. I knelt in front of her, preparing to deep dive, knowing I’d need more than a bottle of bourbon to patch the unhealed wounds that would flay open.
The tunnel erupted, a slew of desperate pleas chucked at me in an attempt to distract me. She knew more than anyone how my power worked- she helped train me, letting me rummage around her mind like a playground. She knew exactly where I was headed and retaliated with thought after thought.
Ollie, please don’t.
Honey, I can’t let you.
I plowed through until I spotted what I needed: A filing cabinet. Long ago, Mom learned to lock away things that would hurt me until I grew strong enough to crack through those defenses. The filing cabinet was one of her flimsier tricks, usually resorted to when she was unable to focus.
It imploded, information whirling in the air on phantom wind. Another distraction. She knew better; the longer I stayed in her mind, the longer it would take for us to recover. One mind was not meant to house two consciousnesses and our bodies rejected the connection after too long. The illusion faltered-
Motel off Emery Road. Room 11.
I extracted myself, blood dripping down my cheeks, down my jaw and on my sweater. Mom’s sobs turned hysterical at the sight. I carefully wiped my sore eyes. Smears of glistening blood on the back of my hands. Ice picks drilled through my eye-sockets as I slowly rose to my feet. I wobbled-
Shit, I could use some Oxy.
“Next time, let’s start with you telling me what I’ll find out anyway,” I sighed. “I hate hurting you.”
There was no use trying to reason with her in this state. I went to the cabinet in her bathroom, shifting through her medication.
Xanax.
I would’ve taken one if they weren’t Mom’s. She had a hard time getting them and she actually needed them. I forced a pill in her mouth and poured water in until she relented and swallowed.
“Go to sleep, Mom,” I whispered as I carried her to bed. She shook with each sputtering cry. “I love you.”
She caught my eye.
I love you too, honey.
19
Courtney
It’sdark,mudsuckingmy shoes, trying to hold me back, but nothing can. I won’t slow down. I stumble down the road’s shoulder towards the headlights. My breath is screaming in my ears. I need to get to that car. I need to open that door.
By the third time the vision knocked me on my ass, I gave up trying to study. Remnants of it clung to me; humid musk lingered in my nose, the squelch of muddy grass ringing in my ears. Hot showers and tea couldn’t calm the storm brewing in the aftermath of those cryptic warnings.
Each mile Ollie pulled away from me stretched the thread tethering us to the point of fraying. Apprehension coiled my muscles into springs. Something terrible hovered on the outskirts; he was headed straight into the eye of a hurricane, and I couldn’t stop him.
A tear smacked my flashcard, bleeding the inked words into smeared smudges. Tears of frustration, anguish, sadness, bitterness. I was fucking sick of them all. Roughly, I rubbed a knuckle in my eye, forcing down another gulp of tea.
The door of the dorm thudded shut.
“I got us ice cream,” Hannah chirped, a forced smile plastered on her freckled face. I didn't look up from my waterlogged flashcard. She let out an exasperated sigh, dropping a crinkling plastic bag on the table followed by the clatter of silverware. “You have to eat something, even if it’s straight sugar.”
I didn’t move.
“You’ll get over him, Court.”
You’ll get over him.
She had no idea how wrong she was. I’d never get over him- I was the butt of a cruel joke, forced to see his face in my visions when I’d never have him in the flesh. I met her frustrated glare, chair screeching as I shoved away from the table.
“You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.”
