Saving You Saving Me (You & Me Trilogy)

by Kailin Gow

  “I don’t remember,” Mom said.

  “Almost two hours,” Nydia said from the back. “I’m hungry and I want to go home.”

  “Okay, then we’ll go home,” I said as I walked over to Collins McGregor who was standing by his sports car. “Hey, she’s alright. She just fell asleep for a while that’s why we couldn’t get ahold of her.”

  Collins McGregor was heading over to Mom’s car and reached it right when Mom got out to walk over to the passenger side. “Hi Mrs. Sullivan?” he asked holding the car door open for her.

  Mom blinked as though she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

  “I’m a little…”

  “Mom’s not well,” I said quickly, hoping to sound convincing. “She shouldn’t have been driving.”

  “Who is this nice young man?” Mom said. “He’s very good-looking. Are you screwing him?”

  What??? My mouth dropped wide open, not believing what just poured out of Mom’s mouth. I looked over at Collins McGregor, and was mortified. He was grinning.

  “Mom, this is Mr. McGregor.”

  Mom began imaginary fanning herself as she stared at Collins McGregor with a drunken blood-shot gaze. This was not how I wanted Collins McGregor to meet my mother, not by a long shot.

  Next to me, Collins McGregor was still grinning. “Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand to grab Mom’s and kissing it. He turned to me, pulled me aside, and said, “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “Mom’s just not in the right condition to drive.”

  “I’ll say,” Collins McGregor said. “Can you drive her back?”

  “Got that covered,” I said smiling at him. I reached out my hand to touch his elbow. “Thank you for helping me, Mr. McGregor. I was…” I choked back tears, finally feeling the tension I held worrying about Mom and Nydia flow out along with the tears.

  He pulled me to him and held me while I cried. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby,” he said, stroking my hair. “You must have been so worried.” He continued stroking my hair until my crying subsided, and I got my composure back.

  I slowly moved my head off his chest and saw that I had smeared his shirt with the tinted lip gloss I wore. “I’m sorry,” I said, wiping his shirt.

  “It’s okay,” he said holding my shoulders with both hands while looking at me. “Will you be fine enough to drive home or should I call Vincent, my driver to get my larger car?”

  I took a deep breath and said, “I’ll be fine.” I smiled at him happily. What could have been tragic turned out well. Mom and Nydia were safe.

  Collins McGregor looked like he lost his breath as he kept staring at me, and I smiled back. Then he grinned. “Looks like you’ll be driving, Miss Sullivan. Don’t forget to buckle up.” He shook his head before heading to his car. “You might want to prepare a glass of water, orange juice, and aspirin for your mother. I found that to be pretty effective for a hangover.” He smirked, raised his attractive eyebrows and left.

  Chapter 6

  Friday

  I hadn’t seen Collins McGregor for over three days following the incident with Mom. He was right about Mom having a hangover and what to do about it. I wanted to call him to thank him, but I was afraid of what would happen if we saw each other again. After days of thinking about him, I had to admit I was attracted to him…a lot. And from the way he reacted to me whenever we touched, I would guess he felt the same way. For years since the Billy Incident, I hadn’t felt this physically attracted to a guy. Well, actually, I’d never felt this attracted to a guy before, where every pore in my body just wanted to touch him. No one had ever had this effect on me, and I was worried. Worried that he was too experienced for me, worried about our six-year age difference. I was still in high school, although I was a senior and everyone thought I was mature for my age. He was a very successful music mogul at 24, who had already done a lot of things I had only yet to do. It was intimidating how much more experience he had in life compared to me, and I was afraid there would be too much of a difference between us.

  I shook my head, it had only been one day…one long and intense day with Collins McGregor. I had let Lola, my primitive crazy inner pleasure-seeking diva or my id, as Sigmund Freud called it, have a field day lusting after Mr. Hot Bod. While it was fun and exhilarating, Serious Susan, my practical calm side or my ego, was telling me to get back to reality. Mr. Hot Bod/aka Collins McGregor had probably been caught up in the moment, as I was. Top executives of large companies tend to be very charismatic and driven in all aspects of their lives, according to Principal Lowry, whom I worked with in leadership training while I was Junior Class President last year. That was probably all it was… Collins McGregor was like a rock star and I was like everyone else when it came to falling under his spell. Heck, Mom, especially drunk Mom had, and she was like twice his age! The day I met Collins McGregor had been one long and intense day. He’d probably already forgotten about me.

  As painful as that may seem, I had to find something that would take my mind off of Collins McGregor. I had to get back to reality and let Serious Susan back in the house or I wouldn’t get anything done.

  I looked down at my paperwork from Sawyer House, and I went through it all again, making sure everything was in order. Serious Susan had taken over and everything was neat and clean. I stuffed the paperwork back into the manila folder it had come in, checked my appearance in the mirror in the hallway from my room and headed for the door.

  As I pulled into the parking lot outside a plain office building in Costa Mesa, I checked the time on my phone. 5 pm. Right on time.

  I smoothed my cream-colored slacks and pulled my navy cardigan on over my white scoop-necked stretched t-shirt, an outfit I splurged on from The Limited. Despite being involved in school and Dad’s church, I did not really have a work wardrobe. With the exception of a few skirts, blouses, blazers, and sweaters, my wardrobe consisted of mostly jeans, t-shirts, and sweats. Sawyer House, even though I was volunteering, was my first experience working outside of school and church. I wanted to make a good impression.

  Walking up to the front door, I rang the doorbell and waited. A woman who was maybe fifty years old, dressed in grey slacks and a black blouse two shades darker than her fashionably styled chin-length hair, appeared and opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said smiling. “You must be Samantha Sullivan. Come on in.”

  When I walked through the door, the woman extended her hand and said, “I’m Gail Reynolds, the Director of Sawyer House. Dr. Green told me all about you,” she said warmly.

  “I hope all good,” I joked.

  “Definitely all good,” she said, “or you wouldn’t be here,” she smiled drily. “Now, I bet you’re eager to get started.”

  “Yes,” I smiled nervously. “Before I forget, here’s my paperwork.” I handed her the manila envelope.

  “Good good,” she said, holding onto it. “Do you have any questions after going through it?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at the moment. I’m sure when I get into it, I will.”

  “Good, don’t feel shy about asking. That’s what we’re here for. And call me Gail,” Gail said. “Come. You can put your purse in my office while I give you the tour. We’re pretty casual here. If you want to dress up you can or if you want to come in wearing shorts and a t-shirt, that’s fine, too. We’re not open to the public, and we don’t answer to a corporation so there are no dress codes.”

  For the next few minutes, she led me from her office to the lunch/break room, and to the call center where there were volunteers in cubicles wearing headsets. “I take it, this is where all the action takes place,” I said drily.

  “Yes,” Gail said, nodding at one of the volunteers who made eye contact with her. “Everyone you see here had been in your shoes. Now look at them, handling each call like a pro.”

  “I’d like to get to that point,” I said, feeling Gail’s enthusiasm rub off on
me.

  “Hey Gail,” a friendly male voice said from behind me.

  I turned around to see a tall lanky young man with curly brown hair approach us. He was wearing jeans and a plaid blue and white shirt and looked to be around 19 or 20.

  “Hi Derek,” Gail said. “Come meet Samantha.”

  Derek reached us and he was tall, as tall as Collins McGregor, Serious Susan whispered into my head. Scruffy in a cute way, he looked like a college student. “Hey, Samantha,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to have you here.” He looked over at Gail. “Is she replacing Joanne?”

  Gail nodded and turned to me. “Joanne was the peer counselor who worked nights. She had to go back to school out on the East Coast. She’s a psychology major at New York University.”

  “Gonna miss her,” Derek said wistfully, but then he smiled at me. “But I’m glad you’re here!” His boyish smile was contagious. I smiled back.

  “Are you a peer counselor, too?” I asked.

  Gail patted Derek on the shoulders and laughed. “Derek started as one two years ago, but he’s climbed his way to training peer counselors now. He’s one of the youngest ones we’ve had, but he’s good.”

  “So are you in high school still?” I asked.

  “Nah, graduated two years ago,” Derek said. “I’m a sophomore at UC Irvine where I’m majoring in Psychology.”

  “This fits right in then,” I said.

  “Yeah, it’s a good place for me to apply what I’m learning in college to real experience.”

  Gail touched my shoulder. “I have to get back to the Office and fill out some paperwork, but I’ll leave you in Derek’s capable hands. If you haven’t figured it out yet, he’ll be the one showing you the ropes around here. Just remember to drop by my office when you get ready to leave tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, already feeling at ease at Sawyer House.

  “Gail’s really down-to-earth,” Derek said when Gail was out of earshot. “You wouldn’t believe she used to be a high-powered psych to the stars. Charged more than a top firm lawyer per hour for a consultation.”

  “Why is she here? Why did she give that up?” I asked, trying to picture Gail in a swanky office in Beverly Hills, sitting behind a desk while some famous celebrity actress sat on a leather chaise telling her all her problems.

  “She wanted to help teens and young adults deal with problems they can’t tell their parents or anyone else,” Derek said.

  “Did she start Sawyer House?” I asked.

  “She’s one of the founders. It’s a personal passion of hers.”

  “Personal? Why?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “The Center is named after her son Sawyer,” Derek said. “Who killed himself.”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling a deep sense of sadness for Gail. “I’m, ah, I’m really sorry to hear that.” I was at a loss for words.

  “Don’t be,” Derek said. “His death wasn’t in vain. Gail’s founded this Center in his memory ten years ago, and we’ve gotten tens of thousands of calls since. We’d like to think we’ve at least helped someone who needed it along the way.”

  Initially, I was hit with a sudden verge of tears, but the way Derek talked about how Gail turned around her tragedy into something courageous, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for being part of her mission.

  “Do you want to grab something to drink before we start?” Derek asked. He took my hand very gently and led me to the break room. “Ta da!” he said, opening the refrigerator. Inside was a well-stocked beverage center with sodas, juice, energy drinks, and water. “Take a pick. It’s available for everyone here.”

  I grabbed a can of Diet A & W. Derek grabbed a bottle of water. “Thought I’d show you that first before we head on into the conference room.”

  We made our way into a room with a large oval table and he gestured for me to take a seat. He stepped out and returned with a notepad, pen, and some papers. “You’ve read through the policies from the packet you received by mail, right? Here it is again…”

  I looked at the copy of paper in front of me, reading through it, but zeroing in on three points:

  1) Callers are to remain anonymous so they can feel comfortable talking to a peer counselor at Sawyer House

  2) Everything at Sawyer House is to remain confidential

  3) Peer Counselors have a choice to remain anonymous or not to the Callers, but we advise against getting too close to a Caller

  “That’s there to protect the callers and to protect the counselors. Both ways,” Derek said, noticing where I was looking. “Any questions on the rules and policies?”

  I shook my head. I could imagine if I had any, I’ll ask.

  “Now here’s the fun part. Let’s go over the scripts. It’s there so you have a guideline on how to answer questions.” Derek looked at me for a moment and said, “I’m sure you’ll do fine even without a script, you seem like the kind of girl who can handle yourself well in any situation.”

  I blushed, looking down. Was Derek flirting with me or just extra encouraging? Lola was intrigued, leaning forward in her black lace corset, mini-skirt, and thigh-high stiletto boots. Derek was boyishly cute and very nice. That’s right – Serious Susan jumped in. He’s more your type than Collins McGregor.

  “Thank you,” I said. “But I’d definitely feel more comfortable with a script around.”

  Derek grinned. “That’s what they’re there for.”

  I looked over the scripts and said, “Am I supposed to know all the different types of scenarios that would come up? There’s cutting, divorce, bullying, bulimia, break ups, all kinds of stuff in here that I don’t have the answers to, Derek. I mean I’m not a psychologist or a doctor. How am I supposed to answer their questions if I don’t even know the basics of what they’re talking about?”

  “One step at a time, Sam,” Derek said patiently. “We’ll take it one step at a time. No need to feel overwhelmed right now. It’s a lot to absorb. That’s why I encourage you to go look up these issues on Wikipedia or Google it.” Derek came closer and sat in the chair besides me, looking into my eyes. “You know, you don’t have to start taking calls until you’re ready. Even then I’ll be around so you’re not handling the call alone.” He turned away and opened his bottled water, taking a sip from it. “I’m sensing you’re not sure about all this?”

  “No, no,” I said quickly. “It’s a lot to take in, and I wished I knew more about each of these topics so I could be more helpful to the callers.”

  “You can do that when you get home. Right now, let’s go over some of the scripts so you have an idea where to start. He pulled a stack of multiple stapled papers, took the top one off the pile and handed it to me.

  “This one’s about cutting,” he said. He winced. “Self-injury. Do you know anything about it?”

  “I know one girl who did it,” I said. “She was much older than me at the time so I did not get to know the details, but I know it affects mostly girls than boys, and it usually affects teens. I mean I don’t know adults who continue doing it.”

  Derek said, “You’d be surprised. There are adults who still cut themselves in order to relieve tension of extreme stress from abuse or violence. Usually the cutter uses a razor to cut themselves to cut through (sorry about the pun, Sam) their numbness to the traumatic event.”

  “Ouch,” I said, wincing. “Why do girls want to harm their own bodies like that?”

  “They think it will help them feel better. It’s a temporary relief, if at all, and most cutters would agree it hurts more later. Some cut because peer pressure, others because it’s the only way they can deal with something, when they can’t talk to anyone about it.” Derek took a sip from his drink and said, “So, that’s why we’re here. We’re here for them to talk about whatever is causing them so much pain that they feel compelled to hurt themselves more in order to feel better about themselves.”

  “That’s the opposite of what I’d think people would do when they’re
in pain,” I said.

  “True, but our mind works very strangely sometimes. It’s a defense mechanism,” Derek said. “But let’s go through the scenario now you have more of an idea what cutting is.”

  He lifted up the phone and pretended to be on call. “Ring ring. Hello, you’re calling Sawyer House. What do you want to talk about?”

  I read the next line in the script. “Um, I’m not sure why I’m calling, but I need to talk to someone.”

  “Everything you say is kept confidential with us. You can talk freely with me. Why do you think you need to call here?”

  “Because I’m cutting myself and I can’t stop.”

  “When did you start cutting yourself?”

  “Last week.”

  “What happened last week?”

  “A group of my friends began cutting, and they made me do it.”

  Derek stopped then and said, “there are many pages here on cutting, but I want you to read through it so you have an idea about what to say.”

  “And after that, you want me to read through this pile of scenarios, too, right?”

  Derek grinned. “Right. It can take all night, but you get the idea. We are short staffed tonight so I have to be on call. How about joining me for this one call? You can observe me, listen in on the other headset.” He stood up and walked to the door while I gathered all my papers together into a neat folder.

  Derek led the way back to the call area, and took me over to one of the cubicles. He gestured for me to take a seat, while he rolled another chair over. “Comfy?” he asked, sitting down.