She shakes her head, analyzing me. I fucking hate when she does that. Like I’m still that fourteen-year-old kid who’s just lost his mother.
“I know you didn’t do that.”
She’s right. I didn’t. But everybody else thinks so.
“How? How do you know that, Beth? Maybe I’ve been lying to you. Maybe I didn’t tell you the whole story.”
“Because, Simon, you’re your own worst critic. You’re the height of professionalism. You’re so hard on yourself,” she says, exasperated. “You’d never get involved with a patient. You wouldn’t even dream of it, and that’s because your dad married his patient. Your mother.”
I flinch.
I try to not think about it too much. I try to not think about how my bipolar mother was hopelessly in love with my dad. And how my dad was always too busy for her.
This is where they met, at Heartstone.
She was suffering from bipolar 1 disorder, which presents itself with full-blown manic episodes that last at least seven days. Depressive episodes occur as well. It’s easier for me to break-down her illness in technical terms rather than thinking of her as this unpredictable creature going through highs and lows, without her volition.
According to my mother, she fell in love with my dad right from the beginning. She fell in love with how calm and steady he was. How hard-working and sharp-minded. And how he always seemed to know what she was going to say before she even said it.
It always makes me wonder if my mother was making it up. She was fond of stories. Because how the fuck was it that the man who knew her so well, didn’t figure out that she needed him in her life? How could he leave her alone and save the world, when his wife was fucking dying for him?
How the fuck did he not know that his absence was hurting her to the point that she ended up killing herself?
“That’s what drives you, doesn’t it, Simon?” Beth pulls me out of my head. “Being better than your dad. So yes, I know. Everyone who knows you, knows that you could never have done something like that.”
Despite myself, I’m relieved that Beth knows. I never had to tell her; she believed me right from the beginning.
Like her. The snow princess. The bravest girl I know.
But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the rumors, but I do care about what happened to Claire.
Because it is my fault.
“What’s your point, Beth?” I ask.
“Do you love her? Do you love Willow?”
I clench my teeth as anger and an unnatural fear grips me. “I am not my father.”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you love Willow, Simon?”
No.
I want to say it. I want to deny it. I do.
But the fucking words won’t come.
You have feelings for me, Simon. I have feelings for you, too.
I don’t deserve her love. Not after the things I said to her. Not after what I made her do.
No wonder she hates doctors.
“I don’t have time for this.” I dismiss Beth and resume packing up all the documents that I’ll need to convince Claire’s parents not to take her off life support.
“Answer me. Do you love her or not?”
I snap the messenger bag shut and almost throw it aside in frustration. “What does it matter? What do I know of love, Beth? Fucking nothing. I know nothing about love. All I know is that my mother killed herself and I was the one who found her body. Do you know that I already knew? As soon as I woke up that day, I knew. I knew she was dead. I hadn’t even seen her. I wasn’t even out of my bed yet. I knew it as soon as I opened my eyes. There was this… fucking coldness in the house. Like she was radiating it out from her body. She was almost blue. The foam had dried out around her mouth. I can’t get that picture out of my head. I can’t sleep sometimes and if I do, I’m fucking terrified of waking up.
“I didn’t even know that she was that unhappy. I didn’t know that she was planning on killing herself. Or how long was she planning it for. I knew she felt it. She felt inadequate when Dad wouldn’t come home. When he would completely disappear during her episodes. I know that. But I didn’t know her end was so near.”
Finally, I focus on her with grainy eyes. “I don’t know anything about love, Beth. All I know is what I’ve seen growing up. And it’s pretty fucking ugly. I’m pretty fucking ugly on the inside.”
I don’t even know why we’re talking about this anymore. It doesn’t matter. She hates me now, and rightfully so.
Needles freak her out, but she practically forced us, forced me to sedate her. She purposely hurt herself because of what I said and like a coward, I wouldn’t even take it back. I wouldn’t even take my words back.
She’s better off without me.
I’m ready to leave so I can drive up to Boston, but Beth’s words stop me. “Have you told him? Did you ever tell him? What you just told me, about how you found her that day?”
Breathing through my nose, I say, “Do you really think he would have cared if I told him? He went right back to work the next day. He was here for a whole week before I saw his face.”
“Simon, you need to talk to someone. You need professional help.”
A laugh rips out of me. “Are you really saying that to me?”
“Yes. I think these are the classic symptoms of PTSD.”
“Are you a doctor too now?”
“No. But I’ve been around plenty of them all my life to know these things. In fact, I’ve been married to one since long before you were born.”
“I’m fine.”
“Just because you are a doctor doesn’t mean you can’t fall sick,” she says like she’s explaining it to a kid. “You know that, right?
Sighing, I shake my head and sling my bag over my shoulders. “I have to go.”
“Are they taking her off life support?” Beth asks, knowingly.
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to do what?” She shrugs. “Ask them to not do that? Ask them to keep her going because you have this obsession with never accepting failure?”
“Are you done talking? I’m going to be late.”
“Do you really think that whatever study you’ve dug up this time is going to help her, Simon? Or are you doing this to make yourself feel better?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m leaving.”
Striding to the door, I snap it open, but I can’t take a step further without making sure Willow is safe. I turn around to face Beth. “In no way can this blow back on her. After this episode, she can’t leave tomorrow. No one, not the patients, not the staff, no one says a word to her. Not even you. They don’t even look at her the wrong way. Do what you have to do. Just take care of her. And… her mother. She’s going to be upset about this, but you need to make sure that she understands. What happened wasn’t Willow’s fault or her illness. She was…” Heartbroken.
And it was my fault. She went out of control because of me.
“Just make sure her mother understands so Willow doesn’t feel guilty.”
Beth has tears in her eyes and as much as I hate to see her cry, I can’t bear to be in this building. After tonight, I’m not coming back. I can’t stand the sight of it. I can’t stand the thought of walking the same hallways as my dad did.
“Do you know what your father’s biggest mistake was, Simon?”
Her words stop me in my tracks again but this time I want to hear the answer. I really do. I wait as Beth gathers her thoughts and wipes her tears.
“He let his love for her turn into a weakness. He was a great doctor, but he failed at being a man. Every time she went through an episode, he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t see her, so he stopped seeing her. He threw himself into saving the rest of the world because he knew no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to fix his wife. He forgot that all his wife needed from him was love and support. She didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t need him to
cure her or fix her or make her better. She just wanted him to love her.
“You want to be better than your father? Then stop being a hero. Stop being so afraid of failing. You’re just a man. You make mistakes. Own them. Don’t run from them. Don’t run from yourself. Give yourself a chance to fall. Don’t fight failure. Fight to rise from them. Fight for your future. Isn’t that what you tell your patients? Fight. For once, fight for yourself. Save yourself. She doesn’t need a hero. She just needs you.”
That’s where Beth’s wrong.
Willow does need someone perfect. Because she’s fucking perfect. She’s a fighter. She doesn’t need someone who’s still chasing after his past and will always be chasing after it. She doesn’t need someone who can’t even accept his own weaknesses, right his own wrongs. Who gets terrified of accepting failure to himself, let alone to a room full of people like she did.
She doesn’t need someone who can’t fall asleep at night and when he does, he wakes up in cold sweats. Who throws himself into his work, in saving people because the other option is unthinkable. Panic-inducing.
She needs a true hero.
And I’m a broken one.
***
Somewhere around two miles from Heartstone, a band appeared around my chest. The farther I drive from the hospital, the tighter it becomes. Until it’s almost impossible to breathe. Until I’m almost sure I’ll have to stop and get help.
Just then, my phone rings. It’s my father’s nurse.
I manage to pick it up. “Hello?”
“Simon, it’s your dad,” she says. “He looks like he remembers. You should come see him.”
Outside
Days since The Heartstone Incident = 93
“Have you thought about it? Since we last talked.”
“Yes.”
I sit up on my couch. “I mean, not actively.”
“Define actively,” Ruth, my Outside therapist, asks.
She reminds me a little of Josie from the Inside. Blonde hair and slender, but no glasses. She’s also very fond of her notepads. She should be. Her penmanship is excellent. I’ve peeked into her notes, or rather tried to, and the glimpses I caught were pretty beautiful.
I cross my thighs, tapping the heel of my left boot on my right leg. “Well, you know, I didn’t want to jump in front of the bus like I wanted to last month. So, yay me.”
We both chuckle, and she asks, “What was it this time?”
Squinting my eyes, I try to look for the correct term. “A general wonderment,” I say, truthfully. “I was walking down the street and I stopped in front of this building in my neighborhood. I looked up and I kind of thought about how it would feel to jump from it. It was for a second, I think. And then I walked away.”
She nods and gets her pen ready to write something down. She’s very good at not looking away from me, even when she’s writing. She must have had loads of practice, which in turn means she must have a ton of clients like me.
All lost. All struggling every day. The network of all the chosen ones. People like me.
I’m not alone. And neither am I fighting alone.
“What made you walk away?” she asks.
I sigh, drum my fingers on the armrest. “My mom. She was the first thing or person I thought of. Then my grandma, my aunt. My entire family. Then I thought of all the kids at the bookstore. You know, I pictured them waiting for me to do the story-time but I wasn’t there and they were crying, and yeah. That was slightly more unbearable than living one more day. So.”
Ruth nods again, smiling. “Good. That’s actually very good.”
“Yeah. I’m reading them Goblet of Fire, and Harry’s just about to fight a dragon. I cannot leave them hanging. That’s torture.”
She laughs. “One of these days, I’m going to read those books.”
I feel excited, and a tiny bit sad too. I still haven’t found my Harry Potter soul mate. “Oh my God, you should. Just please, please read the books. Don’t watch the movies. They suck. I mean, watch them after you’ve read the books. But please, read them first.”
“I promise I will.” Then she gets serious. “Tell me about Columbia. Are you still struggling with classes?”
I deflate, sitting back. I still don’t like admitting that I’m struggling either with my depression or with my courses. I don’t think it will ever go away, this tiny sting when it comes to admitting things. I’ll always have to remind myself that I’m a fighter and there’s no shame in fighting.
It’s the most honorable thing you can do for yourself.
Swallowing against the rush of emotions those strings of words invoke, I reply, “A little bit. But it’s not as bad as it was in the beginning, or even a month ago.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. Nothing is ever easy in the beginning, Willow. Beginning is the hardest part.”
“Yeah.” I nod.
She’s right. It would seem that ending might be the hardest part, and saying goodbye hurts the most. But it’s beginning something new after that goodbye that’s harder to cope with. Because when you begin something new, after leaving something behind, the ghosts of that past always, always linger.
And sometimes those ghosts never go away. You carry them in your heart, in your veins.
“Any progress on the task I gave you?”
Sighing, I rub my palms over my jeans. They actually got wet in the rain a little bit while I was getting in. It’s still raining, water and light snow. Roads are gonna be a biatch, getting back to the Village from the Upper West Side.
Maybe I can take the subway. But that would mean like, more than half an hour worth of detouring going from the West side to the East, and I’m not looking forward to that.
Maybe I should change therapists. Find someone closer to where I live. It’s about the convenience more than anything. Truly.
“Willow?”
“What?”
“Are you going to answer me?”
I bite my lower lip. “I’m thinking.”
“You’re stalling.”
I sigh again. “No.”
“No means? You’re not stalling or there hasn’t been any progress?”
Wedging my hands between my thighs and the leather couch, I mumble, “No progress.” Then, more loudly, “But I’m working on it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.” I grimace. “I just don’t get asked out much, honestly. I’m not, you know, the popular type. Guys are not interested in me. Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m not putting myself down, but they aren’t really.”
“I think it’s the other way around. I think you’re not interested in any guys. Because you’re still interested in him.”
A sharp pain shoots up just under my ribs, like a cramp that squeezes and clenches, until I have to make fists out of my fingers and grit my teeth a little bit.
Clearing my throat, I loosen my hands and bring them to my lap, rubbing the tattoo on my left wrist. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were. You’re just in love. With someone who doesn’t love you back.”
But what if he does?
That’s always my first thought. Always.
You know, for a girl suffering from clinical depression, I’m a little bit too optimistic about some things. Foolishly optimistic.
Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. A love fool.
That’s what I am. Probably, that’s what I’ll always be.
“It’s time, you know,” Ruth says. “You need to give someone a chance. If you open yourself up, Willow, you’re going to be so surprised at what you find. I’m not saying fall in love, get married, make a bunch of babies. I’m saying give someone a chance. Go out. Have fun. You’re young. Live your life.” She folds her hands in her lap, putting down her notebook. “Remind me what you told me when you first came to me.”
When I first came to her, I was still so heartsick and heartbroken that I didn’t think I’d live t
o see another day. But I did. One after the other. And it’s been three months since The Heartstone Incident. Ninety-three days.
Ninety-three days of living. Of getting up every day and building a new life for myself: Columbia, a job at the Thirteen Corner Bookstore, Sunday dinners with my family, hanging out with Renn, Penny, and Vi.
And every one of those ninety-three days, my first thought is always of him. Where is he? Why did he leave? Why couldn’t he love me? Maybe all the horrible things he said were lies. Maybe he said one thing but meant another.
In my weakest moments, I’ve thought maybe if I was a little prettier or older or more sophisticated and not some fucking psycho who attacked him, maybe he could’ve loved me. He could’ve seen me as more than a girl he slept with.
I wonder what Ruth would say if I told her the man we’ve been talking about for the past two months is my psychiatrist. All she knows is that I met someone when I was on the Inside and that he never loved me.
Oh and that, I attacked a doctor; news travels fast. She doesn’t know why, though. I never told her the truth.
It’s a secret that I intend to keep.
“I told you that I wanted to live,” I reply.
“And are you living, Willow?”
Swallowing, I tell her, “I’m trying.”
“Well, that’s all you can do. That’s all anyone can do. We can try, and sometimes we fail. And sometimes we do get where we want to go. But you’ll never know if you don’t try. You have to try, Willow.”
She’s giving me such a meaningful look, and you know what, she’s right. It’s been three months, and I need to let him go. I’ll never know if I don’t try.
“Okay.” I nod, smiling slightly.
Maybe if I try, I’ll get where I wanna go – a place where those weeks don’t exist. That was always my goal, wasn’t it? Not thinking about spending time at a psychiatric hospital. I wanted to leave it behind when I left.
But the irony of it is that I can’t bear the thought of forgetting the weeks that completely changed my life. Maybe I can keep the good memories and forget the ugly ones.
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