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“Mary, she’s going to get through this. She’s a strong girl,” Aunt Janice reassures her.
“It’s my fault. If I had just gotten my shit together after Dan died, she wouldn’t be in this mess.”
They continue to sit in silence, holding each other. Two mugs sit on the table, steam rising as the heat drifts up between them.
“The doctors think that she has some unprocessed grief. Recommended she go to therapy,” she continues. She looks up, eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I lost Dan. I can’t lose Ellie too.”
I slump to the floor. My eyes shut, welding tight to try to blur out the images of my mom crying into her hands and muffle the sounds of her sobs. Maybe if I didn’t exist, it would all be easier. Maybe I can finally shut it all out if I stay like this.
Don’t wake up. Shut it all out.
“Ellie.”
I keep my head lowered, feeling Rhylan’s whisper brush against my skin. His hand moves across my back, the pads of his fingers pressing into my skin as he repeats my name.
When I finally look up, I’m met with my mom’s confused and concerned eyes. “Is everything okay?” she asks.
“I’m so sorry. I need to excuse myself.” The legs of my chair scrape against the floor. Rhylan starts to stand before I rush out and walk to the bathroom.
I almost crash into a woman walking out of the ladies’ room before I lock myself inside a stall. The latch clicks into place, the heaviness of it hitting the bolt, echoing before I lean my hands against the door. I try to breathe, focusing on the in and out of my breaths. My eyes squeeze shut again, and the sounds that echo inside the tiled bathroom ring in my ears, becoming a high-pitched thrill.
Don’t open your eyes. Shut it all out.
TWENTY-SIX
RHYLAN
Ibarely hear Ellie, the sound of the chair loudly scraping against the wood floor silencing her soft voice. She stood abruptly and rushed away from the table before bee-lining to the bathroom.
I thought that… I could shut out the world and pretend I didn’t exist in it.
I would shut my eyes to shut out the world. But that wasn’t enough.
She told me she regretted ever trying to end her life. That she couldn’t put her mom through that pain again, but when I looked at her, her head hung low and her eyes squeezed shut, as if she was shutting out the world all over again, I feared that she was pushed too far to the edge for regret to even matter. And I feared death. I fear being separated from Ellie. I can’t imagine a life without her in it. Without her bright smile and sweet eyes. Without her warm touch and soft lips. I want her to keep opening her eyes, over and over again, every single day for the rest of our lives.
With Ellie gone, I turn back to Mary. There’s an apologetic look in her eyes as she faces me and then Mark.
“I’m sorry. She can be a little…” She pauses. “Closed off sometimes.”
Mark pats her hand that rests on the table. We sit silently, waiting for Ellie to come back.
Mark moves his hand to Mary’s arm, squeezing it for reassurance. “She’s a very sweet girl,” he whispers to Mary.
I know I’m not meant to hear it, but I do. Ellieissweet. She’s kind and considerate. But she’s so much more than that. Everything that she decides to hide and bury deep is what makes Ellie, Ellie. But people only see what’s on the surface. They don’t understand that beneath all of that, Ellie’s funny and smart. She’s silly and playful when you tug at the parts that cause her to loosen up. She’s also someone that’s suffering. She’s drowning. And I’m the only one that’s been able to see that.
“I’m sorry. I need to excuse myself,” I finally say. I walk to the bathroom at the far end of the restaurant and wait outside for Ellie, leaning myself against the wall.
She told me there were times when she wanted to pretend like she didn’t exist in this world. To close her eyes and shut out the world. I want to be there when she opens them, to show her that she has something worth opening her eyes to.
As soon as the door opens, Ellie comes crashing into me. Her pleading eyes have grown swollen and red. I look at her only to see the pain pulled to the surface. She tried to hide it. To cover it up so her mom didn’t have to know how she felt. But right now, she’s met her limit. It’s too much, and everything she’s feeling spilled over the edges. I pull her to me, her breath hitching as she leans her cheek to my chest.
“Come on,” I whisper into her ear as I smooth her hair. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But my mom…” she starts to protest.
“Call her from the car.”
I take her hand in mine, interlacing our fingers. I look down at her, letting her know that if she wants to go back to the table, she can. But she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t have to sit through another moment of agony watching her mom and Mark be content with the same relationship that her parents used to share. She doesn’t have to idly watch something that’s causing her so much pain. Because I’m here to take her away from that.
