by Vera Hollins
This raging guilt was eating me up, messing with my heart and mind, and I didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. I just wanted to be happy.
So I’d started dating Mateo, wanting to make us both happy, but I’d refused to regard it as a lie.
Now? Now I wasn’t so sure, and the guilt had increased, pressing me from all sides, making me small and insecure. I couldn’t give Mateo what he wanted. Not yet. So if not now, when? How long did Mateo have to wait for me? How long until I got Hayden Black out of my heart?
I’d rushed. I started dating Mateo in the midst of confusion, clinging to what? I clung to the idea of him and hoped it would turn into something more, all the while letting my mind wander back to Hayden. I felt like a cheater.
My tears soaked my neck and collar of my shirt, adding to the freezing cold that clawed into me, but I didn’t mind the cold now. It helped me numb these excruciating feelings and stay present. I stared at my hands that gripped the window sill, following the lines of my protruding knuckles as I fought to keep the anger at bay.
I couldn’t keep running away. I had to face the facts. I didn’t love Mateo. I still loved Hayden. And regardless of what would happen between Hayden and me, if anything ever happened at all, I couldn’t lie to Mateo anymore.
I closed my eyes, already shaking with cold, but I was punishing myself, so I didn’t move. I always tried to make things right, yet I always made mistakes. So many mistakes.
I’d cried myself to sleep after Mateo brought me home. I sent him a message saying I was sorry and wished him goodnight, but he didn’t text me back, and I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. I had to tell him I couldn’t do this to us anymore. I had to stop this before it turned into something worse. I didn’t want to break his heart. I had to try to fix the mess I’d made.
I opened my eyes, ready to close the window, when I noticed a movement in the corner of my eye. I whipped my gaze to Hayden’s window. His gray curtain fell back into place, like he’d been watching from behind it in the darkness of his room, and my stomach flipped. I tried to spot him through the curtain, but I couldn’t see a thing.
Did I imagine it?
Closing my window, I glanced at his window again, but there was nothing. Disappointment gnawed at me. I wanted it to be real, already creating an illusion in my mind where he would come to my room and everything would be different.
I WENT TO VISIT MRS. Black in the hospital for a check-up the next night. My injury healed well, and there were no complications except for the chronic pain I felt sometimes. I’d avoided all physical activities these last two months, and I missed running so much.
“So can I finally be physically active?” I asked Mrs. Black, meeting her gaze across her desk in her office.
“Yes. Enough time has passed, so you’ll be fine.”
“That’s great. I was hoping you’d say that.”
I planned to start training in Krav Maga for self-defense. After the incident with Josh, I had to reconsider how weak I was. I couldn’t defend myself, and I was powerless when it came to counter-attacks. I hoped I wouldn’t ever be in that kind of situation again, but I couldn’t be sure about anything anymore.
Now that Carmen finally gave me the green light, I was going to apply for a local Krav Maga course this week. Melissa had suggested that I start Krav Maga because she wanted to try it too, so we could train together.
“How are you holding up?” Mrs. Black asked, her eyes soft.
“I’m okay.”
“Feel free to talk to me about anything. If anything bothers you, you can tell me about it.”
Yes, there was something that bothered me. I wanted to know if Hayden was okay. He didn’t show up at school today, and I was worried. Those wounds on his face looked serious, and I was curious about Carmen’s reaction when she saw him. Had she even seen him since last night?
Even though she’d realized she neglected Hayden his whole life, her work schedule remained almost the same. She still spent her days at the hospital, working long or double shifts, so Hayden was left all alone and could do whatever he wanted.
I wanted to ask her if she was aware that Hayden was fighting a lot these days. He was supposed to go to therapy, but I had no idea if he’d made any progress or not.
“How’s Hayden’s treatment going?” I asked, my cheeks immediately warming. This was the first time in two months that I’d mentioned Hayden to her. Whenever I came for a check-up we would talk about my injury or school, but we never talked about Hayden or his BPD.
Her words from two months ago, when she came to my hospital room and told me Hayden had borderline personality disorder, were impressed upon my mind. She told me I wasn’t the right one for him. She knew how I felt about Hayden, but that didn’t stop her from telling me to leave him—to leave us.
And I did it. Not because of her words, but because I couldn’t forgive him. I didn’t just walk away; I practically wrenched his heart out, threw it on the pavement, and left without even realizing what I’d done.
She half-smiled. “He’s doing much better these last few weeks.”
I gaped at her. How was that violent, mad Hayden I saw last evening better? “Better?”
“Yes. He started dialectical behavioral therapy soon after he got diagnosed with BPD, and one of the best DBT therapists in the state is working with him. He’s showing progress. It’s slow, but it’s there.”
“What is dialectical behavioral therapy?”
“DBT helps patients avoid undesired reactions and change the parts of behavior that aren’t helpful. The whole concept is about acceptance and change of those unwanted behaviors.”
“That sounds complex.”
“It is complex. It helps patients gain control of their behavior, which takes time and a lot of hard work. DBT teaches a few sets of skills, and it can last months or years. For example, it teaches mindfulness as a way to regulate emotions and be fully aware of the moment, but it takes a strong will and perseverance to accomplish this.”
“Is Hayden strong-willed?”
She sighed. “Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. I go with him to his therapy occasionally, and it feels like there is no progress at all. In truth, he’s regressed in some ways. A couple of times, he left therapy furious, shouting it was useless and that he wouldn’t ever come back again.” She took her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Luckily, he didn’t give up.”
“I’m glad.”
She looked at me tenderly, but there was also pity in her eyes, and I didn’t like that at all. “You care about him.”
I glanced away, refusing to talk to her about my feelings. That time in the hospital was more than enough.
“How’s your boyfriend? He brought you here once, and I didn’t miss how handsome he was.” Her smile was warm.
I thought about the text Mateo sent me this morning. He apologized for what he said last night and promised we would talk when we saw each other, but since he was busy training for the Thanksgiving football game between East Willow High and Rawenwood High, we couldn’t meet yet.
We kept texting each other, but it felt forced, and I couldn’t stop thinking about my nightmare or the moment I finally accepted I was lying to myself all this time.
“He’s okay. He’s the captain of Rawenwood High’s football team, which plays East Willow High this Friday. He’s training a lot for it.”
I decided to talk with Mateo after his game on Friday. It was at our school, and everyone was pretty excited about it, but all I could think about was how I didn’t want Mateo and Hayden to meet. That was impossible, though, since there was no way for them not to see each other.
Hayden didn’t play because of his shoulder injury, but he would probably be there to cheer for Blake, Masen, and his other teammates.
“That’s wonderful. I wanted to go to the game, but I’m covering for my colleagues on Friday.”
Now that I looked at her more carefully, she looked tired. Her skin was more wrinkled than b
efore, and she had dark circles her makeup couldn’t hide, like she hadn’t been sleeping well for a long time.
“Do you have enough time to rest, Mrs. Black?” I couldn’t help but ask. I always admired her for being a hard worker, but she should rest more.
She pushed her glasses up her nose and clasped her hands together. “Frankly speaking, I’ve worked very hard my whole life, so now I don’t know how to slow down. Though, that’s just part of the reason.” Guilt shimmered in her blue-green eyes, and I frowned in confusion. “You’re probably wondering why I’m not spending more time with Hayden, right?”
I blushed again, feeling like I was prying into something that was none of my business. “Yes.”
She formed a sad smile. “Just like Hayden, I have a long way to go. I made and am still making some big mistakes.” She shook her head. “I told you about Hayden’s father and his BPD.” I nodded, sitting upright in my chair. “If I try to describe our relationship as simply as possible, I’d say it was a toxic dance. We knew it was wrong but yet so right, and we kept coming back to what held us together. It was the same thing that separated us.”
Heavy weight crushed down on my chest because it was like she was describing Hayden and me.
“Jason had a unique way of expressing himself as a painter.”
I nodded again; I was aware of Jason Black’s distinctive dark art. Hayden’s father was a famous artist, who made a breakthrough in the art world in his late twenties, so his paintings sold for a lot of money these days. The Blacks’ fortune came from those highly valued paintings.
Jason was shrouded in mystery. He’d never made public appearances and there wasn’t a single picture of him out there, and I Googled a lot. His pseudonym was just Black. His paintings were a mixture of black, gray, and white with emphasized shadows, revealing an inner world of volatility and anguish. Kayden had showed me his atelier in their house once, which had all Jason’s things the way they had been when he was alive, including some paintings that struck me as extremely dark and painful.
“I met Jason during my sophomore year in college. That’s when he started painting. His paintings were always so obscure, but the mystery attracted me, and before I knew it, I was lost in his black and white world. He was a drug addict, and he self-harmed, which I discovered much later.
“It was difficult to bear Jason’s hell, but I managed to do it. I did my best to understand him and be there for him. I had faith in him, in us. Then, over the years, I grew more and more tired of the emotional roller coaster, especially after I gave birth to Kayden and Hayden. It became extremely painful to cope with his disorder.”
She closed her eyes as if she needed a moment to regain her composure. I was a tangle of nerves. How could something light become so dark? How could happiness ebb into a complete agony in just one moment? Things weren’t supposed to be this way.
“So we became distanced from each other, but I still loved him, Sarah. Oh, I loved him so much, but I became a coward. After so much pain and fear, I started seeking a refuge. My work was my refuge. It helped me forget I had a husband who needed me more than my own children. A husband who was never able to be there for me because he couldn’t be strong enough for himself, let alone his family.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she closed them, taking a deep breath. I clenched my hands on my lap, wishing I could comfort her, but I didn’t know how.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, but my words felt empty.
“It’s okay. I’m telling you all of this because I think you deserve to know. I told you many things two months ago, but I didn’t explain myself properly. I told you to give up on Hayden, but I didn’t even try to tell you about what it’s like to be in a relationship with someone who has BPD.”
I appreciated her effort, and I understood her point of view. She’d had a terrible experience and she wanted to protect me, but I couldn’t understand why she generalized relationships with people who had BPD. It was difficult for Hayden’s father and her, but that didn’t mean it had to be difficult for everybody.
I licked my lips, scared to hear the answer to what I was about to ask. “You said his father self-harmed. How about Hayden?”
“Not that I know of. I’ve never seen him do it, and I haven’t seen any cuts on him. He also isn’t suicidal. Hayden is different than Jason. Hayden is able to focus on his tasks, and he’s rather successful in everything he tries. He has good friends, and he looks normal on the outside. Hayden can control what he shows the world most of the time, which is a problem since he can disguise it so well you might never see there is a problem in the first place.” She sighed. “That was why it took me so long to realize he might have BPD too. I didn’t know my own son well.”
A knot of tension unraveled in my stomach. When I read about the suicidal tendencies and self-harm of people with BPD, I got queasy at the thought that I could be Hayden’s trigger. It was shocking to hear that even the smallest reason could make them lose themselves in despair, and I dreaded even thinking Hayden could end his life because of me.
So, I truly hoped Carmen was right.
“He’s high functioning?”
“Apparently, yes. It seems like you studied this disorder.”
“Yes. I want to understand what’s going on with him. I mean, it’s difficult to understand, but knowing more about BPD helps me see some things differently.”
“Sarah, it means a lot to me that someone cares about my son this much. I don’t know what your relationship with Hayden is like now, but I appreciate your efforts to understand him better. Thank you for not judging him, but please be prudent. Okay?”
I nodded and stood up. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
“All right. You know you can talk to me any time, Sarah.”
“Yes. Thank you for everything.” I headed to the door, but then I turned around and said, “You know, Kayden showed me your husband’s atelier once. As an artist myself, I admire his art and passion.”
She stood up, a sad smile etched on her beautiful face. “Thank you. Frankly speaking, I hate that room. I wanted all Jason’s things gone, but Kayden never let me do it.”
I frowned. “Why do you hate it?”
“It’s where Jason took his life.” She grew pale, her eyes clouded in inner turmoil. “He... He’d cut his wrists, and by the time Hayden found him... He was already dead, lying in a pool of his blood.”
Chapter 5
IT WAS AROUND ELEVEN when I finished a drawing of an old lady surrounded by her cats. I had a hard time drawing age spots and wrinkles, so I felt proud when I finally completed it and posted it on Instagram. All those hours I spent practicing had paid off, and a huge smile took over my face when the positive comments from my followers poured in. They claimed this was one of my best works to date.
I replied to as many comments as I could, basking in the joy I felt each time I interacted with my followers. It helped me get my mind off depressive thoughts, like hearing how Hayden had found his father. He was only five then.
I sighed heavily and responded to Mateo’s last text.
“Goodnight to you too. Sleep tight.”
I stared at my screen for a long time, its crack reminding me of Hayden. Everything these days reminded me of him. I looked at his letter I’d taped under my drawing of him on the wall and read the words I’d read so many times before:
“Without you I’m lost, but with you I’m crushed,
You’re my everlasting sorrow and my sweetest rush.
I hurt you, and my heart and bones break,
But it doesn’t matter that I love you, because after everything I’ve done...
...It does sound fake.”
I pressed my fist against my heart, trying to ease the throbbing sensation in my chest. He admitted he loved me. After everything he’d done, he’d loved me...
My eyes landed on the sketch pad and pencils he’d bought me, which I kept on my nightstand. They were special to me in an inexplicable way, and I didn�
��t want to use them. I liked to open the sketch pad and stare at the blank paper, envisioning Hayden in various positions I wanted to draw, but I didn’t even try. I couldn’t draw him when I was with Mateo. It didn’t feel right.
I had to speak with Mateo on Friday. As soon as the truth came out, the better. I was scared to face him, but I had to pluck up my courage.
Just as I decided to hit the sack, my phone rang, and I winced at the sudden sound. Uneasiness gripped me when I saw my mother’s name on the screen. It was late, and she was supposed to be working.
I answered the call with my heart in my throat. “Mom?”
“Is this Sarah, Patricia’s daughter?” an unknown male voice said, and shivers rushed down my spine. I could hear music and people talking in the background, which told me she’d made yet another trip to one of her favorite bars.
“Who is this?”
“I’m Michael. I don’t know if you remember me, but I work at Frosty's bar. She’s pretty drunk and refuses to go home, but we’re closing soon, and I don’t want her to drive in this state. So...” He sighed. “I’m sorry, but can you come pick her up again?”
I WAS FUMING, DISAPPOINTMENT locked in my chest, as I drove my old Ford Escort to a bar on the outskirts of town. This was the second time I had to get my mother from Frosty’s, and I was furious that I had to go there alone and deal with her when she was drunk. I just knew there would be weird guys who would stare at me because they didn’t get to see a seventeen-year-old girl pick up her drunk mother every day. I got the heebie-jeebies just imagining it.
At least the bartender wasn’t a shady guy. I vaguely remembered him, but I knew he was friendly with my mother. I wondered why she decided to lose herself in alcohol this time.
I parked in the small parking lot adjoining the bar. My heartbeat was rising, and I had to will myself to get out of my car. I was about to enter a bar full of strangers—some of them probably dangerous—and my only protection was the pepper spray I carried in my jacket.