by Willow Aster
“I didn’t start anything.” I feel like the wind is knocked out of me. “I thought you were my friend,” I whisper.
Tears roll down my face. The last hour has caught up with me. My body is shutting down from the stress.
“What did I ever do to you‚ to make you hate me so much?” I ask her.
She lets go of my arm and backs up a little. “You made him miserable. All he ever did was complain about how crazy you were. It’s your fault you lost him. Your fault that you can’t stop doing stupid shit. You need help, Mabel.” She does the crazy finger motion around her brain.
I nod. “I do. Because God help me, I was a lunatic for ever trusting you or Dalton. I might be crazy, but at least I’m a decent person. I’d rather have no one than have snakes in my life.”
She holds up her phone again with my picture. I cock my head to the side.
“They look pretty nice.” I point to hers. “He must have been missing them to beg me for this picture.”
Her face drops and she goes red. I instantly regret what I’ve said. I’ve just stooped to her level.
“I’m sorry, Courtney. I’ve felt horrible for doi—” I step toward her.
She grabs my shoulders and slams me against the brick building. She’s at least 5 inches taller and could easily take me in a fight.
“Stay. Away. From. Him,” she says between clenched teeth.
“I promise you: I. Don’t. Want. Him,” I say, teeth equally clenched.
“You pull this shit again and I’ll come after you,” she promises me. She backs away, holding both hands in the air.
“Isn’t that what you just did?” I mock her. “Feel better?”
She looks like she’s going to hit me and I stand tall, staring her down.
“I’m gonna say one thing to you, Courtney, and then you need to get the hell out of my sight. I’m not the one you need to be having this conversation with. Got it?” I pick up my box and my purse. “Your boyfriend has a problem, and it’s beyond either one of us. Good luck with that.”
And with that, I walk away. I hope my shakes aren’t showing, but I think they probably are.
It feels good for all of 6 seconds. I’ve told Anna off, and finally Courtney, too. All in less than a half hour. It’s been a long time coming. But the further I get, the more devastated I am. I’ve lost my job. What am I going to do? No one is going to hire me. They’re right—I’m crazy. And what ever made me pick them as friends? What’s wrong with me that I would be drawn to people like them? What does that say about me? Just further proof that I’m unstable.
Every friend I’ve ever had has let me down. I see Coen’s smile and think that he doesn’t count. I’m pretty sure he really is as wonderful as he seems, which is exactly why I can’t see him anymore. There’s too much wrong with me—even someone as grounded as Coen is would lose his way with someone like me.
I damage people.
I stop walking as the truth hits me. It’s me. I’m the one that turns people. They must have all started out good to begin with … I’m the weak link here. I’m the bad seed. I’m the true snake.
In a fog, I get on the subway and fall into a seat. The trembling gets worse. I put my head between my knees and will the nausea away. I can’t throw up here. I can’t throw up here. I can’t…
“You okay, miss?” A voice asks, with a hand on my shoulder.
I nod, but feel the sweat pouring out of my body. I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m not…
“Can I help you?” he asks again.
“Sick,” I mumble. “I’ll be okay.” Just please don’t ask me anything else. I will throw up all over you.
I stand up at a stop that isn’t mine and stumble off the train. I throw up under a tree and don’t look at anyone around me. They probably think I’m a junkie. In a way I am. I’ve just thought it didn’t really hurt anyone else for me to be consumed by OCD, but turns out, it hurts everything and everyone I touch. My stupid compulsions make people run from me. They make boyfriends turn to other lovers. They make girlfriends who have stolen said boyfriends shove you into brick buildings while they tell you how worthless you are. They make the steady and rock solid friends avoid you for a year even after you’ve lost everyone.
It’s me.
THE SIDEWALK APPEARS larger than it really is. The cracks scream at me, until I have to go back and walk the last 7 tiles again. I walk it 7 times—left foot, right foot in each tile—until it feels right and I can move on. I walk past my corner deli and end up dropping my box from work in the trash. There’s nothing in there that I want to bring in to sully my apartment.
My grandma would kill me for throwing that box away. For her sake, I contemplate going back and trying to retrieve it, but the thought of all those germs … there’s no way I could touch that box now.
For a fleeting moment, I nearly stop by Dr. Still’s office to see if she might have an opening. I already know what she would say though. She’d say there is hope and that I don’t have to fall into this downward spiral. She’d try to convince me again to give Cognitive Behavior Therapy a try. She’d ask why I haven’t been in to see her in a while and why I stopped taking the medicine. Again. I don’t have Dalton to blame this time.
I can’t think about that right now. Nothing is ever going to help. I don’t know why I ever think it can be any different. Medicine doesn’t solve it. I can’t prevent stress from happening. Some people are just disasters from the start. A continuous cloud hovers overhead with a steady downpour. The precipitation lets up a little once in a while, and then the deluge hits. Every now and then a sprinkle fools me into thinking I can manage it, but it’s a trick. My cloud will never go away.
When I look up and realize where I am, my shoulders drop. My feet ache and a new blister is yelling at me. I sit down on the front step in front of Saul’s apartment building. I put my head in my hands and force myself to breathe through the panic that’s taken over my body. I’m not sure how long I sit there, but I heard once that panic attacks really only last 15 seconds. I don’t know if I can believe that because every second feels like an eternity. My skin wants to crawl off of my body. The moment the air finally reaches my lungs, I realize I cannot let Saul see me like this. It would basically confirm my crazy. Force of habit brought me here, but that doesn’t mean I can stay. I get up and run like an army is chasing me down. I know I’m looking even more manic than Tom Cruise—if I were him I’d fire whoever keeps making him run in every single movie—but I can’t stop.
I don’t know how I make it to my apartment without collapsing. My chest burns. Everything hurts. But somewhere along the way, adrenaline kicks in. I manage to keep running all the way up my stairs. I close the door behind me and lock it. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Pause. Check one more time to make sure it really is locked. And then once more, for good measure.
I pull my clothes off as I walk to the shower. Turning the water as hot as I can stand it, I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin feels like it’s going to explode into fiery embers, sparking red and gold and black. Charred.
When I get out, the clock beside the bed says 12:30 PM. It seems impossible—I’ve already lived a lifetime today. I crawl into bed in my underwear and pile the covers up to my chin.
Staring at the ceiling, the tears roll back into my hair and ears.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper to my mom. I’m not sure if she’s up there or in the ground or all around me, but it just feels natural to look up. “I don’t want to live without you anymore. I can’t do it. You know I can’t.”
The whole bed shakes as I cry a hard, ugly cry.
MY CELL PHONE wakes me up a couple of hours later. I let it go to voicemail, seeing Coen’s name scrolling across the screen. My temples pound like they have a mind of their own. I’m so stopped up I can’t breathe. I know without looking that my eyes will be puffy slits. My eyelids burn. The tears start right back up and feel warm as they roll down my face.
Coe
n needs someone far better than me. Younger, innocent. He deserves a tall, perky model type. Someone not too smart, but smart enough … who hasn’t lived a thousand gross lives, but radiates sunshine, and weaves daisies in her pretty brown hair. In other words, the antithesis of me. I can just imagine them making terrariums together and my gut squeezes with a pathetic ache.
The phone dings with a voicemail and even though I know I have to end it with him, I can’t resist hearing his voice.
Hi, Maby. You have driven me to a whole new level of distraction today. I just wanted to thank you for the smile that hasn’t left my face since I left your place last night. The only thing that would make this day better is for you to call me back. I mean, not to invite myself over or anything, but … yeah, I’m totally inviting myself over. Oh, hey, this is Coen, by the way.
I can hear the laugh in his voice. It’s one of the cutest things about him.
I cover my head with the blankets and will this day to be over.
Another dream—the awful kind where I keep thinking I’m going to see my mom, but I never quite do. She’s just always dancing on the peripheral outskirts of my dreams. I can nearly imagine that I hear her, and if I could stand on a stool or see around such and such, I would be able to see her … but it’s like my eyes are in slow motion or quicksand. The circuits never connect. Eventually my cries reach her and she crawls into bed with me and holds me. It’s so real I can feel her breath on my neck as she spoons me.
I know that if she’ll just stay with me like this, I’ll never have to wake up.
DAYS PASS AND I’m still under the covers. I know I should get up. I’m ashamed I haven’t gotten up. I just can’t get up. I can’t even eat. The vain/morbid part of me hopes that I’ll die here and when they find me I’ll at least be skinny.
Coen’s voicemail messages have become increasingly shorter, with the 4th simply saying, “I’ll just wait for you to call me. Hope you’re okay, Maby.”
I’m impressed and guilt-ridden that he’s still trying.
Saul has also left messages and texts. Anna apparently told him the same day I was fired. He’s been by several times, banging on the door like the brute he is.
I’ve also heard from Paschal and think fleetingly that although I’ve needed girlfriends, Paschal is like 3 of the best girlfriends put together. I hope he meets some other girl who gets a short hair makeover and that they can become instant kindred spirits like we were.
On the 3rd morning, I know I’m losing it.
If I were brave enough, I’d end this. I don’t want to live and I’m too afraid to die.
My stomach is gnawing on itself and my throat feels like I’ve gone too long without water … because I have. I don’t know if my mind is playing tricks on me or if I’m dreaming again. I can’t make myself care.
I can’t do it anymore.
My mom sits on my bed, making the mattress sink a little with the motion.
“Mabel,” she whispers.
Her hand caresses my face and I close my eyes, leaning into her hand. It smells like lemons. She drinks water with half of a lemon every morning and her hand always smells faintly of that lemon.
“Mabel,” she says louder, giving my shoulder a shake.
I jump and open my eyes, looking for her. She’s gone. I look around the room and swear I can smell lemons. I drift back into a deep sleep and it happens again.
“Mabel, get up,” she says. “Mabel!”
I feel her shaking me, but I know she’s not really there. I don’t want to ruin everything by opening my eyes and seeing the truth.
“You have to live, Mabel.”
It’s a whisper, but it echoes through the room as loud as a shout. I shiver and slowly open my eyes, sitting up.
The curtains flutter like a breeze has just gone through the room and I blink.
ON SHAKY LEGS, I make my way to the kitchen and open a can of chicken broth. I don’t even heat it, I just take a few sips and let that settle in my stomach before I eat or drink anything else. I nibble on a saltine cracker then and take a water bottle into the bathroom with me.
Feeling too tired to stand in a shower, I run a bath and sink into the hot water. It feels good. The broth hits my stomach and I get on my knees in the tub and throw it up in the toilet just in time.
Thinking back over the last few days, I don’t know what is real and what is imagined. I do know that I can’t let a stupid job do me in. The tears start again and plop into the bath water.
It was never that simple. I have to make a decision. Today.
I pick up my razor and my hands shake as I hold it over my skin. Coward. I drop it in the water.
Either I kill myself and end the madness. Or I decide today to let my madness work for me.
I repeat those words to myself 6 times.
Let my madness work for me. Let my madness work for me. Let my madness work for me. Let my madness work for me. Let my madness work for me. Let my madness work for me.
After I’ve washed my hair, I dip my head under the water again and stay submerged, reveling in how my entire body finally feels warm. I’m about to lose my breath when I feel hands on my arms, yanking me out of the water. Completely out of the water.
I sputter and open my eyes.
“Saul! What the fuck?”
He’s in the process of laying me out on the floor, while I’m fighting to cover my naked body.
“I’m not gonna let you kill yourself!”
“I was washing my hair! Geez!”
“Didn’t look like that. You weren’t coming up.”
“You were staring at me while I took a bath?” I shove him and in removing my hand from my body, reveal a breast. My eyes narrow when his gaze flits down for a millisecond. “How did you get in, anyway?”
“I kicked the door in,” he says like it’s nothing.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I groan.
“I was worried, Maby. When Anna told me you were fired and then I couldn’t reach you, I thought…” he trails off.
“Maybe earlier, but not just then,” I admit sheepishly.
He averts his eyes and hands me a towel. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry then. I’ve been over three times. I knew you were in here.”
“Sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I’ve … been a mess.” My voice comes out in a croak. I can’t look at him. I’m ashamed of where my mind has been and what I know I’m capable of doing to myself.
“This with your job—look at it as a blessing. You hated working for her anyway. You did everything and she got all the money. It’s only gonna get worse with the new shop. She would have driven you into the ground.”
“Can we talk about this when I get some clothes on?” I snap, shivering under the towel.
“I’m fine like this.” He shrugs and I see him grin out of the corner of my eye.
I roll my eyes and even that takes a huge effort. So weak. “Well, I’m freezing. And I had just finally gotten warmed up before you burst in here going all Incredible Hulk on me.”
Before I know it, he’s hoisted me over his shoulder and is carrying me to my room. He flops me on the bed like a rag doll and walks to my dresser. He quickly takes out T-shirts and jeans.
“What are you doing?”
He’s in my underwear drawer now and grinning at my colorful skull and dagger-themed panties.
“Saul! Get out of my underwear.”
He moves on to my pajamas and socks, putting it all in the growing pile in his arms.
“What—?”
“You’re coming to my place for a few days.”
“Like hell I am.”
“I don’t trust you right now.” He points at me, punctuating each word. “I need to keep an eye on you.”
I get off the bed, slowly, feeling lightheaded. My hands have a tight grip on my towel, making sure it doesn’t flap open. I stand a foot from him and up on my tiptoes, so the distance isn’t so great and he’ll know I mean business.
“I’m not go
ing anywhere with you. I decided to not kill myself today and I’m going to be fine now.” I dig into his chest with my finger at that last word.
“Well, excuse me for that not making me feel any better,” he yells. He drops the pile of clothes at my feet and puts his hands on the top of his head as he stares me down. “Either you get some clothes on and come with me, or I will get you dressed myself and carry you out of here.”
We stare at each other, chests heaving with angry breath. I want to squeeze his massive neck, but my hands aren’t big enough. I’d probably need to eat something first too…
Finally he blinks and says, “So what’s it gonna be? I’ve got your clothes right here.” He holds up the hot pink underwear with the teal daggers.
I snatch them out of his hand. “Give me those.”
I go to my closet and pull out a sweater dress instead of the jeans he’s holding and raise my eyebrows, daring him to try to tell me what to wear. I walk to the bathroom with as much dignity as I can muster with a bath towel barely wrapped around me.
Before I close the door behind me, I give him the finger. It seems to be my thing.
NEITHER OF US says a word on the short cab ride to his apartment. Once I’ve dragged myself up the stairs, I can feel his anger settling into something a little closer to bristling uneasiness. He unlocks his door and sneaks a look over his shoulder at me. I shoot another handful of scowls at him and he gulps.
“I don’t like it when you’re mad at me,” he says, sighing. “Come on. It’ll be like old times. We can watch movies tonight. I’ll order pizza…”
“We can’t just magically have it be like old times, Saul. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed,” I tell him with a clipped voice. I look around the room. “Dammit, I left my laptop.”
“I’ve missed having you here,” he says softly.
“Yeah, well, I never went anywhere, buddy. You did.”