Keeping Secrets

by Lisa Eugene

  I was determined to paste a smile on my face until I saw Carla trailing behind them. I braced myself, expecting some snippy comment about my horrible hospital attire, my tangled hair, or some similarly disparaging remark. Carla surprised me. She was reserved, almost shy. The others talked, regaling me with medical school mishaps and the latest tantrum by one professor or another. I’d thought hearing about school would make me more depressed, but instead it made me feel connected, gave me a tenuous string to the outside world.

  My parents had another meeting with the school scheduled this week. Again, I wasn’t optimistic. Overall, the visit went better than I’d expected, but I found myself annoyed with Carla, who’d separated herself from the group, standing back to stare silently at me with shrewd regard. I felt bared under her scrutiny, judged, maybe even pitied. More than once, I wondered why she’d come. We’d never really been friends.

  “We miss you,” John said, giving me a hug goodbye. “I miss your brain. Who else can I get to do most of my work?” He grinned.

  Tina punched his arm. “Don’t listen to him. We miss all of you.”

  “He just goofs off more now, claims he’s busy with his girlfriend,” Monika teased.

  “You’re just jealous,” John threw back, looking smug.

  “Of the fashion model? Right.” She rolled her eyes.

  I looked to Carla. Usually she would’ve jumped in by now, but she stayed quiet.

  “I thought you said she was a lingerie model.” Tina’s eyebrows slanted, challenging him.

  “Well,” John huffed. “She’s in tons of magazines.”

  “Busted!” Tina laughed.

  “Hurry up and get better.” Monika said to me. She walked to the door, then turned to Carla. “You coming?”

  Carla’s gaze swiveled to the group and then back to me. “Give me a minute.”

  My stomach turned over. The last thing I wanted to do was have any type of discussion with Carla. Left alone, she simply stared. I waited, frowning, wondering what the hell she could possibly need to say to me.

  She hesitated a moment. “There are rumors at school, about you being bulimic.”

  My frown deepened. I’d hardly heard her whispered words.

  She cleared her throat and spoke again. “I am, too.”

  I stared, dumfounded. I couldn’t believe she was telling me this. “Uh…shit. Uh…” I took a deep breath, scanning her face. She looked terrified. “I appreciate that you feel comfortable enough to share that with me, Carla,” I said softly. “I know how difficult that must’ve been.”

  Carla bit her lip and looked away. I’d never seen her this vulnerable, this open.

  “Are you being treated?”

  She shook her head. I could see her already questioning herself, regretting what she’d revealed. If it was one thing bulimics were good at, it was hiding, keeping our secret close. I knew that firsthand. In a weird way, I felt like I was looking at myself. All the emotional upheaval, the mental agony that I’d suffered this morning returned, only this time with surprising clarity—like tangled vines unraveling. I hadn’t been able to explain it to Amy, but I saw it here in Carla’s troubled eyes.

  The danger from bulimia was real no matter how I’d denied it. It was something I thought I could control, that instead had controlled me. I didn’t know Carla’s story, but behind the sharp-tongued, tough-girl exterior, was someone different. Unguarded, we were both human, fragile, and frightened.

  “I’m sorry, Carla,” I said sincerely. “The only thing I can tell you, and this is from the heart—get help. Please. You can do it privately. No one has to know, but don’t let whatever issues you have destroy your life. You see what it’s done to mine.”

  Tears filled Carla’s eyes and I reached out a hand, lacing our fingers. She nodded quickly. Before I could say another word, she’d slipped through the door.

  I stared at the space she’d just occupied. Holy shit. Me? Giving advice? Me? Totally fucked-up me? Hard to believe, but I’d meant every word I’d said.

  I stared at the spiral notebook on my night table. Before I knew what was happening, I picked it up and started writing. A few minutes later, my nurse walked in to change the dressings on my wrists and I placed the notebook on the bed. The nylon stitches had been removed yesterday. I had a hard time looking at the jagged, red skin as she performed her task. As if sensing my discomfort, she talked about my imminent transfer to psych.

  “Do you think I’ll get a private room?” I asked. My roommates never bothered me, but there’d been a serious lack of privacy here.

  She thought for a moment. “You can put in a request. There’s an extra charge, I think.”

  “How much?”

  “A few hundred a night.”

  “Ouch.” I winced. It wasn’t from my wrist wounds. I had no idea how much time I’d spend on the psych ward, but the thought of sharing a room with two or three other patients didn’t sit well with me. Not like I had a choice, I didn’t have that kind of money.

  My nurse shifted and I saw Dex standing by the door, patiently waiting for her to finish up. He smiled and gave me a wave when our eyes met. My belly fluttered happily. He was handsome in a dark suit with a burgundy tie and crisp white shirt. He must’ve come straight from work. His hair was overly long, but he was clean-shaven. He looked insanely gorgeous and I wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing with me, here.

  My nurse did a double-take and I bit my cheek, containing my smile. When she turned back, she caught my gaze and mouthed, “He’s smoking hot”, I couldn’t help my giggle. Dex was behind her and had no idea we were secretly checking him out. She moved away and he took three long strides to the bed. Even under the suit I could see the mechanics of his athletic body. Each movement was poetry. He swooped down and stole a kiss.

  He placed his coat on the chair and took a seat on the edge of the bed, facing me. Brows squished together, his gaze moved over my face.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying?”

  I shrugged, my heart racing at his nearness. “I had a rough day.”

  He stroked my cheek, the light touch a salve to my frayed nerves. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  I inhaled deeply, holding his concerned gaze.

  “Promise me you’ll call me if you’re having a tough time.”

  I nodded. His masculine scent teased my nose. He was light and love. Everything pure. I inhaled again, drawing him into my lungs.

  “I’m okay now.” Slipping my arms around his waist, I settled my head on his shoulder. There was unbelievable comfort there. “Just hold me.”

  He drew me close, embracing me tight. His nose nuzzled my neck and hair. “Always.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. Before my lids lowered, my gaze landed on the spiral notebook still open on my pillow. I read the one word that I’d written:

  Dex.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hope shines brightest

  In the darkest moments

  Alexa

  I’d lost eleven pounds. I was ecstatic. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I knew in a way that was fucked up, but I couldn’t help being thrilled. I wasn’t very hungry and the hospital food sucked, so if I was very good and very careful, I could maintain it, or even better, lose a few more pounds.

  The psych ward was a locked unit divided into two sections: male and female. I’d had a lot of apprehension about my transfer. When I was in the step-down unit, I could pretend I was just another medical patient being treated for a medical condition. I was now officially a psych patient—officially crazy—and the stigma and shame of that weighed heavily on me. Amy and my psychiatrist said I was making progress. I had difficulty sharing that sentiment.

  I thought a lot about that day in the bathroom, the day the wall inside me had collapsed and allowed the poison to seep out. I’d reached my breaking point. Overwhelmed, violent emotions had ravaged me. That dark place had extinguished all hope, smothered my faith, and suffocat
ed my will. I’d needed an escape.

  I’d wanted to end what seemed like a lifetime of suffering. I’d curled into the darkest corner of my life and had wanted to simply die there. It was a place I never wanted to visit again, but the fear still lingered.

  I no longer entertained thoughts of ending my life, but I worried constantly about the future. One minute I was able to accept that I needed to be in the hospital, and on some level I was desperate for help. I could admit that I had psychological problems that required treatment, but I also felt smothered, choked, scared.

  I wanted to walk out the door. I was terrified of being here, of having to face myself. I was ugly, defective, broken. I could no longer hide it, ignore it, or pretend I was in control. I understood why the doors were locked. My emotions were all over the place and often irrational.

  Two good things softened the sting of my transfer. One: I was taken off one-to-one, no longer on suicide precautions. In a strange way, I missed Marva. She’d grown on me. And two: I’d been lucky enough to end up in a private room. The bed was open, so I got it until someone else was willing to pay for it. Although I’d been deemed no longer at risk for self-injury, I still had to contend with frequent room checks.

  I sat cross-legged in the middle of my twin-sized bed, flipping monotonously through the television channels. I was bored. There wasn’t much to do here. Even my own thoughts were tedious. My gaze settled on the clock—again. Dex should’ve been here by now. He’d flown to L.A. for two days to finish up with the research company, but he’d been due back this afternoon. I had to force myself to not flip to the news station. I still worried every time he traveled.

  Maybe he’d come to his senses and realized what he was getting into. I was no prize. I had a messed-up past, a disastrous present, and my future looked to be just as tragic. I tossed down the remote and stared blankly at the wall, feeling my mind start to skate down the slippery slope of despair and self-depreciation.

  Just then the door pushed open and Dex walked in. He was in jeans, a button-down shirt, and his leather jacket. A mischievous smile flaunted the dimple in his left cheek that was out in full force. I followed him with my gaze, my thoughts grabbing hold of nothing but him. Like a lifeline, he started towing me back up the slope.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, approaching the bed, his hands behind his back.

  I smiled, tilting my head to accept his kiss. His lips were soft, still chilled from the outside air.

  “What are you up to?” I asked warily when he grinned down at me.

  “I have something for you.”

  “Uh-oh. Should I be worried?”

  His grin widened. His arms came around and he handed me a familiar basketball.

  I squealed with delight. “Johnson!”

  He shrugged out of his jacket and took a spot next to me on the bed. “I figured you might want to decorate your new room with something familiar.”

  I rolled the ball in my hands, reading the personalized inscription. “This is awesome.” I smiled. There weren’t many things I owned that held sentimental value. Johnson was a treasure to me, not just because of who’d signed it, but because it symbolized the thoughtfulness and the beautiful heart of the person in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Although I shouldn’t get too comfortable here. I could get booted any day.”

  “You’re not getting booted. It’s your room as long as you want to stay here.”

  I swung my gaze to him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just don’t worry about it.” He kissed the tip of my nose.

  “Oh my God!” I gasped. “Dex, you didn’t. I can’t let you pay for this.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He smiled wickedly, leaning toward me. “Besides, I have an ulterior motive.”

  I laughed when he burrowed his face into my neck. I was extremely ticklish and he took full advantage. His fingers danced across my waist and abdomen, finding skin beneath the sweats my mom had brought from my apartment. He blew raspberries against my neck and growled into my hair, initiating a fit of giggles.

  “Your hair smells good,” he grinned, nuzzling me. “Almost as good as my socks.”

  I tried to catch his head with a pillow, but he easily overpowered me, flashing a lurid grin. Laughing, I squirmed beneath him until I was flat on the mattress, struggling with an anemic effort. Caging me with his arms, he looked into my eyes as his lips hovered over mine. He was quiet for a long moment. My cheeks heated. My breath stilled.

  “I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he whispered. His lips seized mine and I moaned hungrily into his mouth.

  He nibbled and sucked on my bottom lip, then sat up, pulling me to a sitting position. I was breathless, my skin tingly all over. I tried to hide my disappointment that he didn’t take more. We hadn’t had many opportunities to be alone and I could see the bulge tenting his jeans.

  “This was purely self-serving.” He waggled his brows, back on the topic of the private room.

  “Thank you. Although the staff does check in on me. It’s totally random.”

  “Hmm…” He seemed to consider that. “We’ll have to work on our quickies.”

  I rolled my eyes, laughing. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, but just the thought had my breath coming faster.

  “Thanks again for the ball. It’s pretty boring here. It’ll keep my company.” I laughed. “We’ll be like Tom Hanks in Castaway. Remember his ball, Wilson?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, just don’t start talking to it or they’ll never let you out of this place.”

  “I think that would be okay. They’re always trying to get me to talk. If I hear Johnson talking back, then that might be a problem.”

  “How’s group therapy going?”

  “All right, I guess.” I shrugged. “It’s a combination of cognitive behavioral therapy and dialectical therapy.”

  “Huh?”

  I laughed at his vacant expression. “It’s all about getting me to regulate my emotions and thoughts, teaching me skills to manage them. These skills are supposed to help me better tolerate life events.”

  “You mean like how to handle things that stress you out?”

  “Kind of. It’s supposed to change my pattern of thinking, patterns that may lead to self-destructive actions. In other words, it’s supposed to help me cope better.”

  Hair was flying out of my ponytail. He twirled a lock around a long finger. “And?”

  I shrugged. “Seems like bullshit, really.”

  “It’s been less than a week. Give it a chance.”

  “Not like I have a choice,” I responded churlishly.

  “You can do this, Stats.” He stared into my eyes. There was honest conviction and faith in his gaze. When he looked at me like that, I could almost believe that anything was possible.

  “Did you hear anything about your parents meeting with the school board?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I sighed heavily. “Another dead end. They’re standing behind Dr. Leon’s recommendation for my expulsion. We’ll have to go to arbitration.”

  His finger paused in my hair. “Would you mind if I spoke to Dr. Leon? He won’t talk to me without your permission.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

  “I just want to get the facts, that’s all. A lot bothers me about this whole thing. Most of all is the school’s readiness to just accept your guilt.”

  That had bothered me also. It seemed that Dr. Leon was willing to accept things at face value, like this was an open-and-shut case. There’d been no due diligence in searching for the truth. I didn’t see what talking to him would accomplish, it warmed me that Dex was willing to get involved.

  “Sure. It’s fine for you to speak to him.”

  “Great.” He turned his head to my discarded dinner tray. “You didn’t eat much.”

  “The food here sucks,” I said honestly. I chewed my bottom lip as he turned back to me.

  Finally, he nodded. “Do you want me to br
ing you dinner when I come?”

  I shook my head and picked up the remote, wanting to change the subject. I was happy that I wasn’t eating much.

  “I still don’t have much of an appetite. It’s okay.”

  Flipping through the channels, I heard the theme music for Jeopardy. I stopped scrolling and tossed him a smug grin.

  “Oh, is that a challenge?” His brows drew up.

  “Unless you’re chicken…” I prodded with an evil laugh.

  His jaw dropped as if he were appalled, but mirth twinkled in his eyes as he scooted behind me and pulled my back against his chest. I loved the warmth and strength of his big body wrapped around me.

  “Bring it,” he challenged, fitting his crotch against my ass.

  My breath hitched. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning when I felt the bulge in his jeans press into my flesh. He gripped my hips and slowly rocked into me.

  “That’s not fair,” I breathed. “You’re trying to distract me.”

  He swept my ponytail aside and his lips trailed up my neck. I shivered instantly.

  “I plan to use every weapon at my disposal,” he mumbled.

  I could hear the grin in his voice. I had no idea what the hell Alex Trebek was saying.

  Dex won every round.

  I hated group therapy. There were six women in our group, plus our facilitator, Amy. I didn’t like sharing my private life. This was a difficult environment for me. Each session we talked about a different topic. Today’s topic was relationships. Something I sucked at. We sat in a circle as Amy gave her usual spiel about confidentiality and explained the topic we’d be tackling. The other women in the group looked as thrilled to be there as I did. Susan, who I was sure suffered from some sort of mania, yawned loudly, interrupting as Amy reviewed the rules. Amy asked the group to list words we would associate with a relationship.

  “We can go around in a circle, or you can just call out,” she explained.

  Dead silence. A crack on the floor fascinated me.