Take Heart

by Smith, Lauren

  I hop in the car and unwrap my burrito. Here’s to hoping food will take my mind off of my nerves. I don’t want to go back into that house again, but I know I have to. After a few bites, I take a sip of my coffee to help warm me up. It’s scalding hot, and burns my tongue immediately. Rookie mistake for a coffee drinker, but my mind is too preoccupied with other things. Damn, I won’t be able to taste the burrito now. I stick out my bottom lip, pouting like a petulant child.

  When we turn onto my street, I see my mom’s car in the driveway. I knew she’d be out of there by now. I haven’t talked to her since I hung up on our last conversation. I don’t even know what to say at this point. I take a few moments to mentally prepare myself before I have to get out of the car. My heart feels heavy. I’ve dealt with this so many times before, but this time, there’s an ominous feeling in the air. Something’s different. Is it Chase being here? Probably, but I trust him.

  I swallow past the large knot in my throat and open the car door. We’re supposed to be meeting the window guy here in ten minutes, so we’re a little early. After we left last night, I called the utility company and paid a good portion of my mom’s bill to get the power turned back on. They said it could take up to twenty-four hours, so we may be walking into a dim, cold house again.

  Hyper cautious, I walk up the porch steps. My legs feel like they have weights strapped to them. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have to keep moving forward. When I approach the door, a feeling of complete dread flows through me. It’s unlocked. I make myself open it and take a step inside.

  “Hello?” I call out, anxiously awaiting an answer. A few seconds go by, but there’s no response.

  “Mom?” I try again.

  Silence.

  She must be passed out drunk. I’m sure after spending a night in jail, which would have sobered her up; she couldn’t wait to hit the bottle again. I reluctantly walk further inside as Chase and Hadley follow. I notice a pack of cigarettes sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Those weren’t there last night. My mom isn’t on the couch, so I’m assuming she’s still in bed. I gingerly walk upstairs, taking the steps one by one. It’s so cold—both inside and outside—but I’m sweating underneath my coat.

  I manage the few steps down the hallway without too much inner drama and plant my feet in front of my mom’s bedroom door. I give two quick courtesy raps and anxiously peer inside. She’s not on the bed. I push my way in past all the clutter on the ground and look around. Where is she? The only two places she goes to are the liquor store and the grocery store, but she would need her car for those.

  I turn around and head back out into the hallway. Chase and Hadley are standing at the bottom of the stairs talking to each other.

  “I’m going to get a few things out of my room real quick,” I let them know.

  “Sounds good, baby,” Chase responds.

  I’m glad he doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as he did last night.

  I maneuver around all of the junk in the hallway, and clutch onto my doorframe to hold myself steady. I carefully leap into my bedroom, jumping over a pile of her laundry. Looking up from the floor, I come to an abrupt halt when I see my mom lying down on my bed. My heart plummets. She’s lying on her side, staring up at me. Only, she’s not. She’s off somewhere in the distance. Her face is an ashy gray, and her eyes are frozen wide open with dark hues shadowing underneath. I stare at her, bewildered, and completely unable to move. I feel like I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. I know what I’m looking at, but I’m not seeing it—I’m not processing it. My mind’s not letting me.

  I can’t move.

  I can’t breathe.

  I think I’m in some kind of shock.

  I can’t look away. I know that once I look away and break the trance, then this will all become real. I won’t be able to not process it anymore, and I’m not ready for that. So, I just stand here and stare, dumbfounded and numb. I don’t care if I have to stand in this very spot for the rest of eternity. I’m not moving.

  I’m not.

  Only, I am.

  My legs begin to sway as a broken sob escapes from deep in my chest. “Mom?” I whisper in disbelief, my eyes welling over. A lone tear rolls down my cheek. “Mom, please wake up,” I beg, desperate.

  The room starts to spin—not like a drunk spin—but a chaotic, discombobulated, my-entire-world-has-just-been-flipped-upside-down, spin. My breath is coming in short, shallow pants. A wave of nausea and grief roils my stomach. I try to swallow the bile down, but I can’t fight it. I bend over and grasp my knees for support as I vomit. It falls in a slow motion and splatters onto the floor, decorating my shoes. I don’t dare look back up yet. Coughing and panting, my stomach muscles lock up again. My chest heaves as another mouthful comes up and spills out. I wipe the sweat from my forehead using the back of my arm. Half of me is burning up, the other half is freezing cold.

  “This isn’t happening. Not again,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head in denial.

  I take a deep breath and boldly look back up. Her eyes are as cold and lifeless as the rest of her body. When my mind finally allows me to look at something other than her, or the floor, I notice an empty bottle of prescription pills tipped over on the nightstand. She doesn’t have any prescriptions....

  I feel sick again.

  Oh, God...she did this on purpose.

  She killed herself.

  “No,” I sob. “No, no, no, no, noooo!”

  Somewhere far off in my mind, I hear the distant sound of footsteps frantically rushing up the stairs. “Mia, what’s wrong?!” Chase yells, panicked.

  I can’t form an answer through the tears. Hadley and Chase bump into each other as they both try to get through the doorway.

  “Oh, my God,” Hadley gasps in horror. She slowly walks into the room but Chase holds out his arm to prevent her from entering any further, from stepping in my vomit. She looks down in confusion, but then it all registers. I know how disgusting this must look, but I’m so glad she doesn’t say anything about it.

  Chase’s hands wrap around my torso. He pulls me up and roughly turns me around to face him. His hands come up to tightly grip my cold, pale face. I don’t even flinch. “Mia, we need to get you out of here,” he says very slowly, as if he were talking to a child. I can tell he’s scared.

  “This is all my fault,” I say inconsolably.

  “Mia, look at me,” he commands.

  I can hardly see him through all the tears, so I zone out. Anything is better than being trapped in this moment. It’s like I’m stuck in a freeze frame. I’d give anything to be able to press rewind or fast forward.

  “Mia!” He roughly shakes me, trying to get me to snap out of it.

  My neck snaps back and forth; it felt like whiplash. Good. At least I feel something. My eyes find his. He uses the pads of his thumbs to try and brush my tears away, but they keep coming. It’s a never-ending flow of heartache.

  “This is not your fault. Do you understand? This is not your fault,” he repeats.

  I don’t answer him. I can’t. I have absolutely nothing left to give.

  “Hadley?” She doesn’t answer him either. “Hadley!” he calls out forcefully. Her gaze snaps up from my mother’s body.

  “I need you to keep it together for a little while longer and take Mia downstairs, okay?” he asks, softer.

  She nods, but it comes off more routine than response. It’s like she’s saying yes, but she doesn’t know what she’s saying yes to. She’s just as out of it as I am.

  Realizing this, Chase grabs my upper arm and gently brings his other hand around my lower back. He carefully walks me out into the hall and back down the stairs. I can’t feel my body anymore. I know I’m walking, but it feels like someone else is doing all the movements. Once we reach the living room, he gently sits me down on the couch. He crouches down in front of me and looks up, his hands covering mine.

  “I’ll be right back, baby. I love you. Whatever you need, I’m h
ere for you. Let me take care of this,” he pleads.

  “The window guy,” I whisper. I don’t know what makes me think of that, but I don’t want him in the house.

  “Shit,” Chase mutters, forgetting all about that. He runs both hands through his hair. “I’ll deal with it. Just stay here, okay?”

  I barely manage a nod. He gives me a swift kiss on my forehead and heads back upstairs. I’m left sitting alone on the couch, trying to block out the images of what I just saw. I’ve been through more in twenty-two years than most people have been through in fifty. My struggles have made me resilient, but I’m not so sure I can bounce back from this one. At the end of the day, there’s only so much one person can take, and I’m pretty sure I just reached my limit.

  NINETEEN

  c h a s e

  After Mia found her mom’s body, she went into total reclusion. I haven’t heard from her since we got back to Austin; that was six days ago. The entire flight back was nothing but stark silence between us. I’ve called her multiple times and left countless voicemails, but she won’t respond. I ended up calling Raven just to find out how she’s holding up. Raven said she hardly ever comes out of her room, and she hasn’t been eating much. That concerns me. I know she’s depressed, but I don’t want her slipping further and further down into the abyss. I need her to be able to come out of this stronger on the other side, because the thought of losing her in any way completely shreds me.

  I’ve thought about going over there and showing up announced, but Raven talks me out of it every time. She thinks I need to give Mia the space she deserves. I’m trying to respect that, but it’s hard. What if she needs me and I’m not there? I feel like I don’t even know what to do anymore. I’m clueless when it comes to dealing with stuff like this. I’m lucky enough to still have all of my close family members and friends around.

  Feeling useless and defeated over the situation, I decide to head to Meg’s house to help me get my mind off Mia for a while. I have some time to kill before I have to work tonight, and I don’t want to spend it moping around my apartment and beating myself up for shit that’s out of my control. I throw on my leather jacket and grab my keys in a hurry. I can’t get out of here soon enough.

  “What do you mean you’re going to see how it plays out?” Meg raises her voice. She swivels around in her chair and shoots me a stern look over the rim of her reading glasses. She’s working from home today. We are in her office arguing about my next move with Mia. So much for taking her off my mind, not that I could ever do that anyway. She’s been consuming my thoughts since the moment we met.

  “There’s nothing I can do, Meg. I’ve tried talking to her, calling her, texting her—everything short of fucking telegramming her. She won’t respond.”

  “Of course she won’t, she’s grieving. She probably doesn’t want to talk about it. That doesn’t mean you just throw in the towel and call it quits,” she says that like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  “I’m not calling it quits, but I don’t know what more I can do.”

  “Oh, that’s such a copout, and you know it. Fight for her, Chase. In all my life I’ve never known you to take no for an answer. So what’s changed?”

  “I fell in love and put someone else’s needs above my own! That’s what fucking changed!” I yell and slam my fist against the plush sofa.

  Meg jumps back slightly, surprised at my outburst. I’m trying to find some way to expel all of my frustration, but nothing helps. The only person who can make me feel better is Mia.

  The room falls into a deafening silence. I stand up and pace back and forth in angry strides. Meg watches me intently. She has one leg crossed over the other. Her shoe is tapping against the floor impatiently. Her arms are folded over her chest, and she’s giving me her classic “check yourself” look. I take a few deep breaths and try to reel in my anger. I’m frustrated that she’s right. When have I ever let someone get in the way of something I want? Although in this case, the one I want is the very same person who’s standing in my way.

  “I’m walking a fine line here, Meg. I’m trying to respect her space like she asked me to, and be a good boyfriend at the same time,” I explain a little more calmly.

  “I understand that, but she needs you. Just because she may not want to talk about it, doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you there. She may say she wants to be left alone, but I’m willing to bet that’s not the case. I think now, more than ever, she needs your support. She’s probably just too proud to ask for it, especially if she’s used to taking care of herself like you say she is. We women don’t want to ask for things that we feel should be no-brainers to our men.”

  “Well then, what do you suggest I do, Dr. Phil?” I ask sarcastically.

  “You tell me,” she challenges. “You know her better than almost anyone, so you should know exactly what she needs. Figure it out.” She leisurely spins her chair back around and resumes working on her laptop.

  “Unbelievable. Why can’t you women just tell us what you want?” I ask, frustrated.

  “Why can’t men take a hint?” she retorts.

  “Whatever, I’m out of here,” I say, heading for the door.

  “Chase?” she calls over her shoulder.

  I stop and take a deep breath, then look over at her.

  “I got you,” she says warmly.

  That’s what I always say to her when she’s upset. It’s my way of telling her I love her. We stare at each other for a minute or two, before I crack a slight smile. It’s the first one I’ve been able to manage since we found Mia’s mom.

  “Right back at you, Meg.”

  “If it’s meant to be, it will all work out,” she assures me.

  Fuck that mentality. Fate may have brought her to me, but it certainly won’t be what keeps the relationship together. Undeniable love, communication, and mind-blowing sex will make it last—in that order. After all, everyone knows that anything worth having is worth fighting for. And Mia is definitely worth having.

  * * *

  “Hey, what’s up, man?” Eric asks, when I walk into his apartment. He’s sitting on the couch playing Call of Duty with his eyes glued to the TV screen.

  I walk into the kitchen and grab a beer out of the fridge, even though it’s only four o'clock in the afternoon. I figure after the shitty week I’ve had, I’m entitled to it—sue me. I twist the cap off and walk over to take a seat next to him.

  “Not much. Just been working and trying to get a hold of Mia.”

  At the mentioning of Mia’s name, he pauses the game and sets his controller down on the couch. “I was going to ask you how she was holding up. I was over there a few days ago, but she wouldn’t come out of her room. I tried breaking down her door to get her to talk to me, but it got me nowhere.”

  “That seems to be a theme with her lately. Hell, you probably know more than I do at this point. She hasn’t bothered to talk to me since we got back.”

  “Naw, man, I only know what Raven tells me, which isn’t much. I don’t even think she knows what’s going on.”

  I set my beer down on the end table and lean forward. “I’m really trying to be supportive and understanding, but between you and me, I’m running out of patience. I can respect that she wanted the first couple days to herself, but to not even acknowledge that I’ve been basically stalking her—that pisses me off.” A pang of guilt twists in my chest as those words leave my mouth. I feel like the world’s shittiest boyfriend. My girlfriend loses her mom, and I get pissy because she won’t talk to me. How mature am I? “I feel like a bad guy for saying that,” I admit aloud. I fall back into the couch and rest my hands on my thighs.

  “I don’t think that makes you a bad guy. It’s a fucked up situation all the way around. Shit, if it were me, I’d be just as frustrated as you are. I think for her to deliberately ignore all of us is selfish. I know she’s mourning the loss of her mom, but at least let us know you are...well...for lack of a better term—okay. She has people
who care about her that she can lean on. If she’s not going to utilize that, she should at least acknowledge it,” he says irritably.

  I reach over and take a few more sips of my beer and wonder what Mia is doing at this very moment. Is she okay? Has she come out of her room? Is she in bed crying? Is she drinking herself into a coma? Is Raven there with her?

  I rest my beer between my knees and rub my eyes, exhausted. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I’m all fucked up because of her. When shit’s not right with her, shit’s not right with me. I can’t concentrate on anything because all I’m doing is thinking about what I could do or say to make this better, but I come up short every time. I’m a fixer, dammit. So why can’t I fix this?

  TWENTY

  a m e l i a

  I used to believe that it was always my dad and me against the world. Then, when he died, it was only me against the world. I’d never felt so alone before. Sure I had friends, but there was no one left to take care of me and make me feel safe anymore. Looking back now, I realize how naïve I was. The notion that I was alone is laughable. I had no idea what being alone truly felt like, until now.

  It’s been a week and a half since my mom died, and all I can think about is what would’ve happened if I arrived at the house ten minutes earlier? Would she have still been alive? Could I have saved her? I went to bed the night before, knowing she was alive, and by morning she was dead. In the blink of an eye, I became an orphan. I still can’t quite wrap my head around that. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. The last words she ever heard to come out of my mouth were empty threats and vicious insults.

  The irony of the whole thing is that I was so worried to move down here in the first place because I didn’t want something to happen to her while I was gone. But she ended up dying while I was less than five minutes away. I don’t know if that makes me feel better, or worse. I still feel like it’s all my fault. Maybe if I never would have left, she never would have done that to herself? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.