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Assholes,I think, smiling faintly at the sentiment.
Ever since my talk with Nolan on the beach, I’ve been making it a habit to be more…actively angry at my parents. It’s not like I wasn’t before, but it’s like there was a wall up, keeping me from really thinking too much on it. On the best of days, it just felt pointless to feel anything. On the worst of days, I worried they were in the right, and it wasmewho was wrong.
My insides get all warm and gooey—and not in a bad way, but definitely not something that should be happening—when I remember how horrified and enraged Nolan was when I told him how I ended up here.
It was the last thing I was expecting.
No one’s ever been…angry on my behalf before.
Just getting him to believe me felt like an impossible feat, which is why I shut down in group last week, and didn’t even bother speaking over him and fighting to be heard.
I gave up fighting a long time ago.
Hell, I don’t know if I ever fought, to be honest. Not of my own volition, at least. My anger is always something I’m prey to, not in charge of—something for me to dread, because it never feels justified and usually only makes things worse.
Shoving the thoughts away, I lock my phone and set it on the nightstand, reclining back in my bed.
The Framing Hanley song that was playing fades, switching over to the next in queue—“Raging Sea” by Broadside.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could lose myself in the music, but it’s impossible when I don’t have my headphones on to block out the rest of the world.
I tap my fingers against my thighs in time with the music, bobbing my head.
I wonder what Nolan’s doing…
Groaning at myself, I arch my head back into the pillow and blink up at the ceiling.
“He’s married,” I say, testing the words out loud, hoping maybe if I actually give them voice, it’ll finally resonate with the rest of me.
No, he didn’t outright say he was, but who else could Mel be? That’s who he said would be calling. And he has a daughter, so it makes sense. I didn’t even think to look for a ring, but then again, not everyone wears one.
Ugh. I need to stop.
I swear all I’ve done this last week is think about Nolan, replaying our talk on the beach, wishing I could go back and say all the things I didn’t have words for at the time. I was just…
I was so caught off guard by his reaction. It got me all tangled up.As usual…
I wanted to tell him I’m listening too. I wanted him to feel like he could talk to me, even if I’m not always the best listener. But I try. And sometimes I succeed, so long as I’m in a good headspace, and there isn’t a lot going on around me.
And it’s just Nolan too, something about his rumbling voice that makes it impossiblenotto tune in and listen to every word he utters. Each one feels precious. Like a hard-won prize for being patient.
And I’m very rarely patient.
And he’s very married. With a kid to boot.
Sighing at the reminder, I push myself up off the bed, and wander over to my window. I shove the curtain aside, and peek out at the distant ocean. It’s a cloudy day, but so far it hasn’t rained.
My gaze lowers to the paths peeking out between the thick foliage surrounding much of the island. It’s mostly jungle, save for the rocky cliffs and white beaches.
Not for the first time, I can’t help but marvel at how different this place is compared to what I expected for a rehab. Nor is it anywhere close to being like Canaan or any of the other boarding schools and residential treatment centers that came before it.
At least, so far.
Then again, I’m eighteen now. Legally an adult.
Not that that necessarily means anything. Clearly. Canaan Academy was notorious for abusing their credentials as a legitimate high school to keep students in their grip months past the point they aged out.
Only reason I got out as quickly as I did, is because my parents showed up unannounced a couple days after my birthday and pulled me out after learning I met all the requirements to graduate. And I was subdued enough when they came for me, that they must’ve thought I was finally cured.
