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Jamie’s lips fell over mine passionately. We reached our own boiling point, the water falling out over the pot, the climatic point we’d been waiting for.
And we were gone.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sixteen Years Later
“What’cha doing?”
I jumped at the sound of Jamie’s voice. The string from my tea bag draped over the side of the Styrofoam cup, my back resting against the countertop in my kitchen. My brain had been idling, thinking of a time long gone. Of bodies melding together. Of being one with another soul.
The light around Jamie’s body flickered, and he stepped away from me. He looked embarrassed—like he’d walked in on me thinking about something he hadn’t expected—red cheeks surfacing beneath his eyes. He tilted his head downward.
Of course. He knew where my mind had gone. He had to relive the memory right along with me. Except… I wasn’t ready to go there with him. I wasn’t ready to discuss us in depth. I wasn’t sure if I ever would be.
“I could use a drink… or five,” I said, dodging the obvious elephant in the room. I reached for an unopened bottle of Zinfandel in the fridge. Jamie remained silent as I used a corkscrew to open the wine. I shook my head, not letting his speechlessness get to me—I was getting used to his presence whether he spoke or not—and filled an empty plastic cup all the way.Fuck it.Glancing at the cardboard box, I nearly took my normal seat there. However, on second thought, figured I’d do something a tad differently.
The cool glass sliding door sent a shiver down my spine as I slid down to the wooden floor. I held my wine in my right hand, forgoing the tea which I’d left on the counter above, and tipped the liquid in my hand back. As it hit my mouth, the alcohol made my lips tingle.
I tapped the back of my head against the glass, listening to drops of rain beginning to fall. Suddenly, a downpour erupted. I shut my eyes, feeling the pressure of the water as it hit the outside of the glass. Thunder sounded in the far distance. The room grew cool.
A rush of energy—Jamie’s energy—fell next to me on my left side. I didn’t open my eyes. Just sat there, trying desperately not to relive that brief, happy moment in my life when I’d finally found something worth living for. Reliving it meant remembering everything bad that came afterward.
“We don’t have to talk about us right now,” Jamie said. “But… I do want to talk.”
“About what?” I murmured.
“Anything. The first thing that comes into your mind. Anything at all.”
“The sex never felt that way with Dave.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could catch them. Feeling the awkwardness of what I’d just said, I opened my eyes. A deep shade of red spread across Jamie’s face, and he lowered his eyes.
“But then, Dave and I had a different relationship from the start,” I continued, dodging the obvious discomfort between the two of us. “We met in college… Portland State University…”
When I’d already lived out the rest of my adolescence. Sure, by the time I met Dave, I’d already grown into adulthood.
“Before we get into this… I guess I should at least tell you what happened to me… after the suicide attempt,” I told Jamie. Well aware that, whether or not I wanted him to know my thoughts, he had access to them, anyway. And, since he had the access, why waste my effort trying to tell him something when I could show him, remembering it in my mind?
I shut my eyes once more, settling into my seat, wine still in hand.
“After my suicide attempt,” I said, “Mom sent me to what would be my first stint in a mental hospital.” I imagined the room. Saw how empty it was, save for the bed and a table. “They didn’t want you to have access to anything that you could potentially use to hurt yourself, so it was pretty damn bare.”
Of course, you wouldn’t know… because you never bothered to check in on me. Suddenly, a surge of anger coursed through me, but I pushed it away. Jamie shifted next to me, his shoulder rubbing against mine. I inhaled and continued.
“They kept me locked away there for about a month. No access to the outside world. When I got out, Mom transferred me to Goose Hollow, you know… the local private school…”
“Yeah, I know the school,” he said. “No boarding options, right?”
“Yup, you’re correct. I lived at home with Mom until I moved downtown to attend college.”
Though my therapists in the mental hospital tried to get me to open up… what I really learned was how to give them the answers they were looking to hear. What seemed worse to me was being stuck in a psychiatric ward with a bunch of adults who thought they got you when they really had no clue and had long been out of touch with how it felt to be a teen. Let’s be honest. Most of the people who worked there did so for a fucking pay check.
By the end of the month, I had my answers to their questions down pat.
Yes, I feel bad… but I know it will get better.
Yes, I’m no longer suicidal.
Yes, I want to live.
