by N. K. Smith
I tensed. She was right. They would probably send her to rehab. The addiction recovery center that Robin liked to use was in D.C.
I didn’t want Sophie to go to D.C.
“They w-w-w-won’t ssssend you aw-w-way.”
She shook her head, obviously not believing me, which was understandable since I didn’t believe it either.
“Sssstop d-doing d-drugs on your own, and they w-won’t ssssend you aw-way.”
I managed to get both of us inside the building and to her locker. Getting the combination for her padlock would have been hilarious in one of those stupid teen comedy movies David and Jane liked, but it wasn’t as much fun in real life. People on drugs shouldn’t be asked things like, “What’s your locker combination?” or “Are you sure it’s 25-51-7?” because they have no clue how to access the information locked in their head.
Finally, one of the seemingly random series of numbers worked. 15-51-27 was her combination. I committed it to memory in case I should have to use it again, although I hoped that Sophie would retain her full faculties from this moment forward.
After retrieving her things, I took her back to my house and we went straight up to my room. I heard Jane calling Sophie’s name as we passed, so I hurried us up. She was in no condition to be around people.
Once in my room, she sat cross-legged on the couch, her hands clenching and unclenching while she rocked back and forth.
“W-what are you thinking ab-bout?”
She looked up at me, her head shaking fast. “Fire ants.”
I had no idea why she would be thinking about ants. It seemed incredibly bizarre.
We were both silent then, her rocking back and forth and me simply watching her. I thought about the past few days. I hadn’t known how she would react to me showing up at her work, but I wanted to see her, even if it was just for a minute.
Her smile was so beautiful when she turned around and saw me. I wanted to make her smile all the time.
Then I messed everything up in the car. She felt so good sitting on top of me and she was really sexy, but I didn’t know what to do about it because I wanted her, just like I told her I did. But I knew my limitations.
She went away thinking that I didn’t want her, which was the furthest thing from the truth. It was terrible she thought that because everything I was - my mind, my soul, my body - yearned for her.
Then on Monday I’d overheard some things during her session that I wished I hadn’t. I wasn’t trying to listen in, but her father got loud and at first I was nervous. Loud voices almost never led to anything positive. Then later he yelled again, and I didn’t want to hear what he said, but I had.
I wished that I had turned on my music or put the headphones on and tinkered around with the keyboard.
When she fell asleep on my shoulder, I was so scared that I would wake her up with any tiny movement, so I tried to be as still as I could. Normally being still was fairly easy, but when I really needed to be still, my body rebelled. My nose itched as a stray lock of Sophie’s hair tickled at my neck and I got a leg cramp.
Then she woke with a start and even though she didn’t scream, I knew she’d just woken from a nightmare. She nearly fell off the bed until I grabbed her. Then she was away from me in no time, picking up that silly green rock she’d just returned, and telling me that she was taking it as she gripped it tightly. I was fine with that. It was just some rock Jane found on last year’s vacation to North Carolina.
I’d been hoping she wouldn’t get high today, and she’d almost made it. I had no idea where she was during Study Hall and lunch, but her eyes were clear in Horticulture. Now she was high and I didn’t know what to do for her.
“I feel sick, Elliott.”
“If you k-k-keep doing this, you’ll d-d-die.”
Her eyes were closed and she was mumbling, but what she said was clear: “Have you thought that might be what I’m going for?”
My heart stopped. “W-w-w-w-what?”
She didn’t respond, so there was nothing to alleviate my fears. My heart began again, practically thumping out of my chest. “I-I-I d-d-don’t w-want you to go aw-w-way, SSSSoph-ph-phie.” When she didn’t say anything, I revealed a bit more. “W-what you ssssaid sssscares m-me.”
She opened her eyes and slowly they rolled toward me. “I said ‘might,’ Elliott, don’t freak out or anything.” Then she paused. “But you never know, do you?”
I had no clue what she was talking about. “W-w-what?”
“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Life’s like that. You never know shit, and it’s not until you know that you’ll never know shit that you’ll actually understand and know, you know?”
People who were high should probably not try to sum up Socrates. Once again, this would have been funny had she not been so high and saying things about chasing death.
“D-don’t…I c-c-can hhhhelp you. J-j-j-just ssssssss…” I said, once again hating how I fumbled my words, making me sound stupid. I couldn’t say “stop,” so I gave up on that course and went with the most honest and simplest words I could find. “I d-d-don’t want you to d-d-die.”
She finally looked at me with a troubled expression. I sat down on my bed, having nothing else to do with my anxious body.
“I n-need you, Soph-phie.”
She turned from me and she became very still. “People don’t need other people. They want. Just because I want you, doesn’t mean I need you.”
I wished she could just see that being an island wasn’t healthy for her. In a short time she’d gone from someone who checked her blood sugar before she ate anything, to someone who grew increasingly involved in harder drugs and would constantly forget that she needed to care for herself, even though she had a condition that could kill her.
I wished that Sophie would allow herself to need me.
Maybe she needed to get help with this. Actual help from trained professionals. Maybe it would be in her best interest to go to rehab. Perhaps she would get straightened out and the anger she would feel about me revealing the depths of her addictions would fade once she was truly sober.
“It’s o-o-okay to n-need someone else.” God knew that I only survived the first few years away from my family because of Jane.
She gave me a sarcastic laugh. “Right, because so many people have got my back, right?”
“I do.”
She looked at me and I hoped that she could really see me. With or without rehab, I knew I could help her. I would help her if she would let me. She didn’t have to live this life alone, dependent on chemical highs that would only serve to make her need more.
“N-not everyone will hhhhurt you.”
She stood up and stretched, rubbing the heels of her hands over her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I know not everyone will hurt me.”
“N-no you don’t. You think I want to hhhhhurt you.”
She pulled the green rock from her pocket and went over to my bookshelf. “No, I don’t,” she whispered.
I didn’t know if she was telling the truth. I could never tell what went on in her head, since she very rarely let me in. I did wish she could just know that I wasn’t like everyone else.
“B-but do you w-w-want to d-d-die?” Waiting for her answer made me extremely nervous, so I kept talking. “B-because that’s…you sssssseem lllllike…that’s w-what you w-want.”
She laughed again and I wished that it was a real laugh instead of an angry one. “I don’t want to die. It’s just that living isn’t all that great either, you know?”
I stood and crossed the room to be closer to her now that she was a little less frantic. I thought maybe she was starting to come down. “B-but you don’t let p-p-people hhhhelp you make it great. Your d-d-d-d, fffffather…he might not do everything r-r-right, but he llllllloves you.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Hhhhe llllloves you enough to in-in-intimidate me into t-treating you r-r-right.”
“But you didn’t need to be intimidated like that. He’s an ass.”
I shook my head. “Hhhe doesn’t know m-me. Hhhe was p-protecting you.”
“Let’s talk about something else, okay?”
I thought for a moment, because Sophie was used to not dealing with things she didn’t want to think about, and I had to make a choice as to whether I’d let her do that. She didn’t want to talk about why she used drugs, which meant that she might never be healthy. But if I pushed her, then she’d think I was just like everyone else trying to take something from her.
I compromised with myself. I would leave the question of giving up drugs alone for now so that she wouldn’t feel boxed in, but I was going to use this time to learn more about her. It was natural. It was what we did.
Right?
I didn’t want her to be mad at me, but I felt desperate to confirm some of the things that I’d been wondering about, even if it would hurt both of us in the process.
Placing my hand on her lower back, I smiled when I felt that thing that flowed between us. I’d been wondering if she’d felt it too, but now that I thought about it, there was no way she could feel exactly what I did when we touched. If she did, she wouldn’t need to rely on drugs. We had enough feel-good chemicals surging between us to keep me high forever.
“W-w-why did your m-m-mm-mmmom’s boyfriend get you hhhhigh?”
Sophie shook her head and stepped away from me. “Stop it, Elliott.”
“Sssstop what?”
“You don’t get to know every fucking thing about me. I get high and I like it, okay? It has nothing to do with—”
“B-b-but you c-could d-die and I j-just told you that I n-need you and I don’t want you to d-die. I want to know b-because I want to hhhhelp you.”
“You can’t help me. It’s cool that you want to and all, but I do just fine on my own, you know?”
I shook my head. “I d-don’t know. If you just t-tell me, I can try to hhhhelp b-better.”
She got even closer to the bookshelf, nearly pressing into it as she rested her forehead there, mumbling something about wearing down, and then was silent. She gripped the shelf that held my art books with one hand, while the other stayed at her side, clutching the rock so very tightly that bits of her hand were red, while other parts were ghost white. I tried to remember how sharp the edges were; she could cut herself if she squeezed any tighter.
I needed to get her to talk. I was pretty sure I already knew why she was the way she was. I was aware of the reason that man had gotten her high. Sophie, as I knew her, was nothing more than a violent reaction to a violent past, and even with that knowledge, I felt it was important for her to say it. It was just like the story of the fork. She needed to let it come out and stop carrying it around.
Down deep, I realized that I was thinking all of these things about Sophie, but the same could be said about me. I needed to reveal my hidden secrets, and she would be the one to give those secrets to. Maybe if she would just get to the root of her need for drugs and admit that something horrible had happened with her mother’s boyfriend, I’d be able to spit out the words that struck fear into me.
I was cowardly and needed her to go first.
“I d-don’t w-want you to b-be liiike my m-mm-mmmom.”
She sighed and I felt like maybe she would give.
I waited, and I was right.
“He got me high so I’d relax.” She’d said that same thing to me before. “Because I…I, um…” Her breath was hard but shallow. “I, um, cried a lot because, um…” She shook her head and tightened her hold on the shelf and the rock. “Because it...it hurt.”
I clenched my teeth and balled my hands up in the same way I did when I was having trouble with a word. “W-w-w-what hurt?” Although I asked, I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to have confirmation. She wouldn’t speak and I knew that I should keep my distance, but I couldn’t stop myself from getting closer to her.
Once more, I placed my hand flat against the small of her back. “SSSSSophie?”
She spun around and pushed at me. I stumbled back, standing there helpless as I watched her shake. It was actually more like a tremor.
I wanted to wrap her in a blanket.
“He fucked me, okay?” Her voice was hard, but not overly loud or angry. She paused for just a moment and I felt the physical pain as if Chris had just punched me in the gut. When she spoke again, her tone was angry. “Do you feel better now that you know?” The venom she spat wasn’t really directed at me, but I was in the line of fire.
While I was not surprised to learn what she just told me, it took my breath away to hear her say it. I didn’t want her to have gone through that. I didn’t want her to carry that kind of pain. I didn’t want that kind of pain to have shaped her like this.
“No,” I answered. I did not feel better, but at least it was out there and we could move on from it. At least now we could walk through the pain together.
“I llllike you no m-m-matter what, SSSSS-SSSophie.”
“Shut up.”
“N-no. You n-need to know that p-p-people lllllike you. I llllike you.”
“Please just stop.”
I felt odd. I had never really expressed anything like this to someone before, not even Jane. With her, we just fell into some kind of secret understanding of what we felt toward one other. But with Sophie, it had to be said out loud because I knew that there was a big part of her that thought she was completely unlikeable, completely unlovable, and completely too far gone for salvation.
There was a small part of her that I wanted, no needed, to access. It was the part of her that wanted something more than she had, that craved salvation. That part needed to know I liked her, that I cared for her, and that my life wouldn’t be as good if she wasn’t in it. She needed to know that I cared whether she lived or died, and that I would help her when she needed it, and leave her alone when she didn’t.
“I’m ssssorry that hhhhappened to you, b-but you sssaid my sssstutter didn’t define m-me and that doesn’t define you.” Oh, God, she looked so tired. I wanted to hold her, to feed her, to comfort her in some meaningful way. To help her, heal her, make her whole. “I don’t w-w-want you to die.”
“The world wouldn’t be different if I wasn’t in it. Most people wouldn’t even notice.”
I wanted to be clear. I wished that my words could be visual just like they were in an e-mail, because I didn’t want her to miss the point when she focused on my stuttering and not the actual meaning behind them. Not that I thought Sophie focused on my stutter, but I tried to be as calm as I could be to make it through without stumbling once.
“My…world…would.”
Thank God! I did it. It had taken a lot of effort to not mess that up, and perhaps I shouldn’t have been so proud of three little words, but I was. She needed to know.
I relaxed the tension that had built up inside me, my fist loosening.
She shook her head.
“Look at me, Elliott.” Her jaw tightened before she continued. “Look at me. I’m not—”
“I am lllllooking.” So much for speaking clearer, but her voice was loud and distracting. I cut her off because she needed to realize that I already saw her. She was awfully hard to miss.
“How do you… I mean, why… How can you just fucking…”
I went to her again, very slowly. I had never wanted to be close like this to anyone, but Sophie’s entire being spoke to me. Even though the situation was heavy and tense, horrible and nerve-wracking, it was made better by being close to her. If I felt better when I was near her, maybe she felt better being near to me.
Wishing my hands were healed and that I c
ould deftly drag my hand through her hair, I gently pulled her to me, into my arms. My heart sang, rejoicing that she didn’t fight it, and she just let me hold her. I didn’t care if it was because she thought that I needed to hold her or if she needed me to hold her. I could feel her heart beat against mine and did my best to stop the quakes that shook her.
After a long stretch of quiet, she mumbled, “I’m tired.”
I could tell that she was. She had lost her nervous bounce and was currently just slumped into me.
“A-a-are you hhhungry?” She shook her head. “W-we hhhave leftovers from llllast night.” She shook her head again. “I’ll w-warm them up for you.”
“Elliott, I’m fine.”
I pulled away and went over to the door, hating to leave her, but needing to take care of her. “You hhhhaven’t eaten.”
“Fine.”
I went down to microwave the food she’d made the day before and stayed silent, even when Jane tried to rope me into playing video games. I just held up my bandaged hands as an excuse. As I walked back up to my room, I began to wonder about something.
I had never been allowed to have food in my room back in Chicago. Even now with Stephen, when it wasn’t a rule, I’d never eaten in my room. It was odd to step over the threshold holding a plate of food that could easily fall and stain the carpet. But regardless of my aversion, I had to do this for Sophie, because I knew she wouldn’t eat any other way, and she needed to.
Sophie was quiet for the rest of the night, and though she’d only picked at the food, I was happy that she’d even tried. My mother never really tried to eat. She was very thin and would fix something for us, taking a spoonful of this or a bite of that, and then just sit at the table watching us eat as she drank cup after cup of coffee.
The picture I had of her wasn’t what I remembered of my mother. In that family photograph, she looked healthier than she did toward the end. Her hair was still pretty and red, even if her eyes told me she was high. I wished I had more pictures of her, because then I might’ve been able to see when things started to get so bad for her. Maybe I could have seen the progression.