AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She whirls around. “I don’t need you to save me, Trace!” she shouts, suddenly pissed. “It’s none of your damn business anymore! I’m doing the best I can; get off my back.”
A humorless laugh leaves me. “The best you can? Bullshit. You aren’t going to therapy or seeing Dr. Gunner or taking your fucking pills like you ought to! You’re not helping yourself at all!” I lower my voice and stare at her. It’s like I have fresh eyes when I look at her. She’s broken and she doesn’t seem to care. She’s self-destructive right now. “Where’s your fight, Britt?”
She scoffs. “I don’t know. When you find it, send it my way.” Before I can say anything else, she’s walking out of my door.
I plop down onto the couch and pet Lily as she jumps up next to me. Did I do this to Brittany? Did I take her fight away and serve as a catalyst for what she’s become and the worsening of her mental health? Somehow, I have to get through work today and the weekend before I can talk to Mrs. Kirk. Maybe I did fuck her up. After all, I wasn’t there for her when she needed me the most.
Guilt is tempting to swallow me whole. How did she go from a faithful medication taker, psychiatrist and therapist seer, and a person willing to fight for her sanity to the person she is today in only a year? This has to be my fault. Should I even be trying to win her back when my mistakes can obviously have disastrous effects on her? Maybe we can’t work and aren’t good for one another.
Similar thoughts plague me all weekend. I’m an anxious mess when I walk into Mrs. Kirk’s office. She doesn’t even have to prompt me before I’m launching into all the details of what’s happened since I last saw her.
“I don’t know how to help her because the last thing she wants is help from me, but she does need help. And it should be me who helps her if I’m part of why she is this way. I’ve tried calling and texting her all weekend, but she ignored me. What am I supposed to do?”
Mrs. Kirk hesitates, which puts me on guard. “Have you been obsessing about this all weekend?”
“Pretty much.”
“Hear me out before you go off on me,” she begins. “I think that maybe you should put getting back together with Brittany on hold.” No fucking way. When I open my mouth, she raises her hand. “I said hear me out. She is obviously not in a good place, and if she isn’t willing to accept help, it’s only going to be bad for you if you try. Maybe you should give her some time to get her life together before she starts tearing yours apart.”
I wait two seconds to make sure she’s done talking before I start my rebuttal. “No. I’m not doing that. I can’t abandon her again. If I do what you suggest, she’d never take me back. She needs me. She needs me to help her, whether she can see it or accept it or not. It was a mistake to leave her the first time for the exact same reasons you mentioned; I won’t do it again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past year, it’s that Brittany is a piece of sanity among the chaos. The same thing goes for her in regards to me. We make each other sane. I am not giving that up again or putting it on hold. Maybe she does need time to get her life together, but maybe she needs me to help her do it.”
She purses her thin, wrinkled lips before nodding. “Okay. Tell me your plan to win her trust, then.”
“Have any suggestions?”
Mrs. Kirk laughs. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Be there for her. Keep pursuing her. Stay honest with her. Get her some help. Be understanding, and don’t blame this on yourself. Regardless of if there is blame for you, she’s the one who is refusing to do her part to help herself. I’m not a couples therapist, but you can bring her in for a session if you’d like as well.”
I don’t know if Brittany would be willing to do that since she doesn’t even want to see a therapist for herself. After my appointment, I decide I’m going to deliver more flowers. I need to do something to let her know I’m not giving up. An idea hits me and I hope it won’t be as bad as it sounds. I buy a bamboo plant and a small card to go with it. On it, I write: Like my love for you, this plant never dies.
The plant can die, but it’s probably hard to kill it. Who knows. Bamboo plants are easy to maintain and are little work, so at least it’ll last instead of eventually dying like the roses I got her last week. I don’t see Brittany’s car in the lot, so I guess she’s not home ye
t. I set the bamboo in front of her door with the card stuck on the small pot. I knock twice, but there’s no answer, which is okay. I leave the plant and head home.
I stare at the plant just like I did when I came home yesterday and found it. Will I need to move into a greenhouse eventually because he’s going to keep bringing me plants? Part of me wants to break the pot and leave the pieces on his porch with a note that says something about how his love breaks me or something like that, but better. Part of me wants to take care of it. I’m doing neither of those things today.
Turning away from the bamboo, I go to my room, shed my clothes, and crawl into bed. Trace pissed me off by being nosy and pushy with his questions about my medication habits. It’s not any of his business. One date with him and it’s like he’s my boyfriend again. No, thanks. Maybe I shouldn’t try to work things out. All it’s done so far is further exhaust me.
I’ve just gotten comfortable when I hear a pounding on my door. Maybe I can ignore it. I pull my pillow over my head, but the knocking doesn’t stop. Irritated, I snatch my robe off the floor, yank it over my body, and stalk to the door. I fling it open to see the one person I don’t want to see.
“You’re ignoring me. That doesn’t sound like you’re giving me a chance,” Trace says, pushing his way past me and into my apartment, leaving me stunned. “I’ll leave once you agree to another date.” He sits down on my couch and settles in like he owns the damn place.
He’s going to be so disappointed, or thrilled, by my quick reaction. “Fine. I’ll go; just leave.” I’ll do anything to make him get out of here, so I can be alone. Trace frowns, either from how I’m still standing by my open door or because I did give in so quickly.
“Bad day, Britt?”
“That wasn’t part of your demand.”
“It is now.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Go home, Trace.”
He stands and walks until he’s in front of me. He takes one of my hands in his. “Come on. Let me be there for you,” he begs quietly.
I pull my hand away. “Why? So you can tell me how I’m doing everything wrong? My parents do that already. So you can be encouraging? They do that too. So you can be there for me? I have people for that. What I want is to go to bed and I can’t do that with you here.”
“No, I want you to talk to me, and I can just listen.” At this, I scoff. “I’m worried about you.”
His words and his sincerity have no effect on me. I’ve reached a familiar place that’s void of caring, where the only thing I feel is despair, pain, anguish, and a simple sense of hopelessness. My eyes water and I’m so fucking sick of crying. I feel like that’s all I ever do and all I’ve done since the man in front of me left a year ago.
