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“Pardon?”
Makayla smiled pitifully. “After my mom’s death…I…” she paused as if searching for words, “attempted suicide, not once, but twice.”
Shocked by the words of someone who moments ago she thought as flawless and perfect as a rare, porcelain doll, Donja whispered. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well it took my dad for a spin. He suffered through two weeks of me being in a psych ward in Detroit.”
“That must have tough.”
Makayla exhaled as if to rid herself of the misery. “It was, but I finally got past it, or so I thought, but within a week of my release, the attorneys sat me and Dad down to go over Mom’s will. It was so horrible. She’d left me all this money and I just didn’t want it. I just didn’t care. I felt myself slipping away, but I masked it so well, no one knew…not even me. Two days later it all caught up with me and I used a razor,” she said exposing her left wrist which bore a thin white scar. “This time they kept me locked up for eight weeks of intense psychotherapy.” She shrugged. “Dad’s been keeping me wrapped in cotton wool ever since.”
Donja dropped her head, fighting her emotions. Finally, she raised her head. “I took the butcher knife to the bathroom when I was eleven. All the sad eyes and talk of terrorists, not to mention the, ‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ remarks that plagued me daily, I just couldn’t take anymore. I must have sat there in the floor for an hour searching for courage but eventually, coward that I am, I chickened out. I couldn’t do it, so I got a bottle of aspirin and chucked them down. Mom found me, broke the bathroom window to get in because the door was locked. I got my stomach pumped and did outpatient counseling,” she said as tears welled in her eyes.
Without warning, Makayla grabbed her tight in her arms and they hugged, clinging to each other. Finally, Makayla released her and pulled back, wiping at her tears. “Well, it appears we not only share what’s left of our parents but mutual mental problems.”
Donja just stared as an intense silence wedged between them. Finally, gathering courage, she whispered. “So, it would seem.” She wiped at her eyes. “And to think, all this time, since the first time we met, I thought you hated me.”
“And I thought my dad had told your mom about my suicide attempt and that she had told you. I convinced myself that was why you didn’t like me and that you were looking down on me like a freak.”
“Oh my gosh, no!” Donja shook her head. “No way!”
“Looks like we were both wrong.” Makayla whispered.
Donja grasped her arm. “I’m sorry that I misjudged you.”
“Ditto, but let’s not start making out just yet,” Makala smiled.
Donja laughed though she still felt a bit uncomfortable. Her sixteen years of living had taught her a few painful lessons. Nothing’s forever, life is short, and trust can get you seriously burned. “Looks like we have a case of two mental misfits.”
“Would appear so.”
“Who would have guessed?” Donja breathed and in that moment, she wanted to trust, desperately needed it.
“Hmm, do you think our parents somehow orchestrated this whole thing to get us together,” Makayla asked with questioning eyes.
“I don’t know, but what the hell, it’s cheaper than counseling and besides, I’m…kinda glad.”
“Truly.”
“Yeah,” Donja grinned, “misery loves company.”
“I think you’re right,” Makayla smiled.
Donja grinned. “Well, let’s get your stuff unpacked,” she whispered and for reasons unknown, she suddenly wanted a cigarette. “Do you by chance smoke?”
“Me?” Makayla said with wide eyes. “Oh no, it’s disgusting.”
“Hmm,” Donja frowned. “Guess I’ll have to quit.”
“That’s good, it stinks to high heaven,” Makayla said. “My dad gave it up a while back, because he didn’t want your mom to know. He might have some nicotine gum if you need it.”
“No thanks, I can handle it, but please don’t say anything. It would kill my mom if she knew.”
“No worries, I won’t breathe a word.” Makayla said with fingers to her lips, pretending to zip them tight.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, wanta sneak downstairs for a late-night snack before we finish unpacking?” Makayla whispered.
