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I grinned.
My phone buzzed again, and Cruz’s eyes found mine. I gave him a faint nod.
He clicked on the latest text, then chuckled. “Zeke says he wants to grab lunch before we take off.”
I stretched over him, sliding one of my legs between his.
He lifted his head, his mouth finding mine, and the swirl of lust started.
I loved it. Every time. Like a warm blanket spreading through me, lined with pleasure. That was just the start-up.
A groan came from the bed next to us. “Oh, Good God! Do not start having sex. We’re in here too.”
Another thump and curse came from the floor, at the end of the bed where Barclay was on the floor. “Uh. I’ve got a situation here. Cruz, no disrespect. Mara, you might not want to look while I go to the bathroom.”
Cruz’s arm tightened around me, but his chest was shaking from laughter.
I frowned, burrowing even closer to Cruz if that was a possibility.
A second later Atwater’s laughter ripped through the room. “Morning wood!”
53
MARA
It was a little over a week later, and I was nervous.
My stomach was churning, but I had to do this. We’d had our field trip over the weekend, and today was when we were presenting on what we learned. Wade just finished, so it was my turn.
She looked up. “Mara?”
I stood, smoothing a hand down my shirt as I walked to the front of the class.
I hated speeches. I hated how forced things came across. The use of visual aids. I just hated all of it, maybe because I tuned out unless someone was speaking about something they knew, not just what they learned to get the grade or what they put together based on what they thought the professor wanted to hear.
Maybe that was in the back of my mind because I hadn’t prepared for this presentation at all. The professor took a seat in one of the student desks, and I felt the attention from her TA.
I got to the front of the class and brought up a picture of my mom.
A small murmur went through the room. A few people were pulling up their phones, no doubt looking for the article about my mother that we got pulled within a day of it going up.
I gestured to the picture. “This is my mom.” I glanced in the TA’s direction before addressing the rest of the class. “I was asked earlier this semester if I was mature enough for this class. It’s for upperclassmen, and me being a freshman, the TA didn’t think I was ready.”
I ignored how her eyes narrowed or how the professor’s head snapped in her direction. I just told my story. “The truth is that I’ve been preparing for this class all my life. My mom was diagnosed with histrionic personality disorder, and recently they’ve attached a couple other diagnoses with it. I can’t tell you when I knew, but I’ve known all my life that my mother was different. We’ve studied the disorder in here. You guys know the DSM requirements, but the point of this presentation isn’t about my mom or how I grew up, it’s about what we learned from our field trip. And what I learned from that trip is that I could’ve done this presentation before the trip. I didn’t need to go to a facility because I’ve been going to those facilities on and off, half my life. I’m tired of it. I’ve visited my mom there. Sometimes with my dad. Sometimes with a social worker. Sometimes with a child protective service staff member. You name it, we’ve run the gamut.
“And I can tell you the symptomology of chronic depression, anxiety, borderline, schizophrenia, and Jesus, so many. I know the symptoms. I’ve seen the symptoms. That’s not the point of these presentations. I’m supposed to stand here and tell you how people who have struggles with mental illness are people, and that’s true. They are. I’m sure I could go in and get a diagnosis myself. For sure anxiety. With my mom having what she has, I’ve got severe trust issues. I’m always waiting for the ‘shoe to drop.’ When my dad calls, I prepare myself every time for the newest crisis because with my mom, the world is ending every day. I’ve had to teach myself that it’s not true. That the world is not after her. The neighbor who looked at her isn’t plotting to get her money or her husband or her daughter. That she doesn’t have cancer even though she constantly says she does.
“When I came to college, I wanted a break. And I got it. I did, but I’ve learned other things, like how I can have friends, how they can know about my mom, and they aren’t going to judge me. Or look down on me because of her or look down on her because at the end of the day, she’s my mom.” My voice broke, just one break. “This disease or disorder took her from me. It took her daughter from her. I might not be able to have a relationship with my mom, at least not right now, but I love her. And maybe that’s what I need to present about. That no matter the diagnosis or the symptoms or how exhausting and hard life can be, that person is a person.
