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I need an out.
“Dr. Hartman,” I say, and both my mother’s and my shrink’s gazes snap to me. “I’ll take my medication.”
My mother’s perfectly groomed eyebrows shoot up. “Really, Sam?”
I nod. “I don’t want to be sick anymore.” I don’t want to be here anymore. “I promise. I’ll really try this time.” I smile for good measure. It feels odd, foreign. Not sure when’s the last time I did so genuinely. I see Tyler flinch in the corner, and my stomach sinks. My fake smile falls.
Dr. Hartman watches me intently, her expression skeptical, but she decides to take my offer. “That’s wonderful, Sam. And you’ll see, in time, these visions will cease. You’ll be able to return to your life again.”
I didn’t take her for a liar. A wound-too-tight-control-freak-who-needs-to-get-laid maybe, but not a liar. Her words cause my fingers to curl into a tight ball, my unclipped nails digging into my palm.
Return to my life…
I glimpse Tyler out of the corner of my vision, his dirty blond hair beautifully disheveled, like always. His chocolate brown eyes brilliant despite his faded appearance. And his full, downturned lips, the knowing look on his face that screams there is no return.
This is my reality now.
He’s my only reality.
I died with him that day.
Five Months Earlier
“How about Wichita?” Tyler suggests as his index finger traces the map spread out on the bed before us.
I wrinkle my nose. “Wichita? What the hell’s in Wichita?” I study its location on the map. “Oh, no. Kansas? Wouldn’t they try to burn me at the stake or something?” My hand goes to my black hair and I scrunch my recently dyed pink bangs. Then I wink at him.
He chuckles. “It’s a city. A big one. I think your witchy ways are safe.” He kisses the star tattoo on my shoulder before marking Wichita with a highlighter. His lean, muscled forearms flex with the movement.
I smile. Tyler’s joked about my “Goth” look being “witchy” since I started dying my hair in high school. It’s neither Goth nor witchy, but he’s really cute when he says this, so he gets away with it.
And I’m relieved to hear him joking at all. After his mother died six months ago, I thought I’d never hear him laugh again. He’s taken it so hard. Has been in such a dark place, where I feared he’d never find his way out. Lately, I’ve seen glimpses of the old Tyler peeking through the pain. So I whip out my best witchy smile, hoping to bring him back to me, if only for this moment.
Since we haven’t been intimate for just as long, I’m hoping that changes tonight, too. Truth is, I haven’t wanted to pressure him. I almost roll my eyes. But yes, I haven’t wanted to pressure my nineteen-year-old boyfriend for sex. Because I know he’s struggling not only with his mom’s death, but the absurd amount of stress his father puts him under…but damn. We haven’t gone this long without sex since we were freshman in high school. I think I’m past blue balls here.
I’ve been looking forward to this night for the past month, since his classes and interning at his father’s office have taken up most of his time. He works late hours on the island, and when we do have time to ourselves, he’s usually too tired to plan any part of the wedding. And with everything that’s happened, I haven’t pushed. Not even for a ring.
The honeymoon is a different story, though. Tyler’s been talking about traveling the country since before we were both walking. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But he’s been dying to do it for as long as I can remember.
I suggested we travel before we actually get married, but he doesn’t want that. He wants our trip to be special, to be the first time we see everything together, our start of forever. Only we have to set an actual date for the wedding first.
I was starting to feel like maybe he was second guessing it—us. Getting cold feet. We’re only nineteen, sophomores in college, but we’ve been together forever. In some form or another. Always together. Best friends since diapers. A couple since our freshman year in high school. Wrestling partners in elementary school when he wanted to run off and join the WWF.
> I even turned down going to NYU so we could remain together in college. Tyler staying close to his father’s law firm guarantees a free ride through undergrad, with a stipulation that he joins Marks and Wilshire upon graduation.
Tyler’s going to make the best damn lawyer. No one can debate him, and he can argue circles around anyone. That’s why it really wasn’t a sacrifice on my part; I can get the same art degree at USC as in New York. Well, maybe not. Technically I’m majoring in Art Studio (not the same), but after graduation, I can do distance learning for fine arts classes not offered here.
Sometimes I question if it was really my choice to stay, wondering if he somehow talked me into it… He’s that good, to change someone’s mind without them even realizing it. But he loves me. He did leave it up to me, and would have supported my moving to New York. It’s only my nerves talking now.
We just need this night together so bad…
“It’s on our way,” Tyler says, bringing my attention back to the now. “And it’s just fun to say. Wich-i-ta. It reminds me of you, witchy and all. I officially declare it your stop.” He kisses my nose. “And besides, I don’t care where we go, long as we’re together. And as long as I get to do you in each place along the way.” He bites down on his lip and slaps my ass. My mouth falls open. “What? It’s going to be our honeymoon. You know we have to christen the hell out of every state.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. And hope that Tyler’s finally returning to me crests in my heart. “Why wait? I can think of a few things we haven’t tried right here in South Carolina.” Licking my lips, because I know it drives him crazy, I lower my gaze.
He groans and pushes the map off the bed. “You’re maddening, woman. Come here.” He flips me onto my back and moves above me, his knees parting my legs as he buries his face in my neck.
Wrapping my legs around his hips, I pull him closer and run my fingers through his already disheveled hair. “We’re really doing this.”
