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“We haven’t spoken much lately, and he’s a little upset with me.”
“You were busy with the adoption event. I’m sure he’ll understand.” I kiss her nose. “How was your day?”
“Better now.”
I lower my lips to hers. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
She melts against me, and I cradle the back of her head, tilting her mouth up to mine. We haven’t talked about what we’re doing, or what’s happening between us, but for now, kissing her is all I can focus on.
But Phoenix pulls back too soon. “Let’s go sit on the couch and talk.”
“Sure.” I take her hand in mine as we walk into the living room and lower ourselves onto the cushions. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me about your mom yesterday. About how she died.”
“Oh.” My stomach knots itself. “And what are you thinking?”
“There’s something you should know.” She swallows and rubs her palms against her thighs. “About me.”
I shift in my seat. “What is it?”
“Remember when I told you that I had a falling-out with my mother?”
I nod.
“Well, the reason is because…” She squeezes her eyes shut, and I give her time because I can see this is a difficult subject for her. Then she pulls up the sleeve on her left arm, revealing the thin scar etched into her skin. “Two years ago, I tried to take my own life.”
A high-pitched whistle pierces my ears.
My body stills.
I forget how to breathe.
I blink down at the mark on her forearm in disbelief.
She tried to take her own life?
Phoenix tried tokillherself?
Tears well behind her lids as she continues. “I have depression. I’ve had it since I was a kid. I managed it as best as I knew how, but my mother never believed in mental health issues so she didn’t guide me to get proper help. I just thought something was wrong with me, and that it was my fault that I couldn’t figure out how to make myself feel happier. Then as I got older, my dad got sick, and that took a toll on me. When he died, everything got ten times worse. My mom shut me out, and we grew even further apart. And one day, I’d just had enough of trying to find the will to live when it seemed like I had nothing to live for. So, I tried to kill myself. I would’ve succeeded if my mother didn’t walk in on me in the bathroom.”
Her bottom lip trembles and a part of me wants to wrap her in my arms and hold her while she cries. But the other part of me—the wounded son who lost his mother because she didn’t want to live anymore—overpowers all else. I feel blindsided. Deceived in some way. Anger flares deep in my gut and spreads throughout my body like a comforting blanket to soothe my pain.
“You… you slit your wrist?”
A tear slides down her cheek as she nods. “Yes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I just wanted the pain to stop. I didn’t know what else to do.”
A bitter laugh rips from my chest, and it doesn’t sound like my own. “You couldn’t figure out that you needed to go to therapy instead ofkilling yourself?”
Her head jerks back. “In that moment, no. I couldn’t. But I went to a mental health facility to get the help I needed. What I did wasn’t the answer to my problem. I know that now. It was a mistake, and—”
“It was a mistake that almost cost you your life. How could you do something so selfish?”
“It’s not selfish, James. It’sdepression.”
