Take Me With You(100)

“How could you even say such a thing? You really think that? That I didn't want you back?”

“Who the hell waits over a week to come home when they find out their kidnapped, presumed-dead daughter has resurfaced? You think that's normal?”

“You know there were circumstances. We were in the jungle!”

“And what about when you returned? You finished out your trip!”

“I don't have to listen to these cruel accusations. The flights were booked.”

“Then don't. But don't lie to me. I've been through too much. I've seen too much of the truth to be lied to like some idiot.”

She shakes her head for a moment, her mouth curled into a deep frown. “You know you've always seen things in such simple terms. Not everyone is an angel like you. Not everyone is capable of giving that kind of constant sacrificial love. We all aren't wired like you.”

“I'm no angel, mom.”

“Then what gives you the right to sit there so smugly and judge me? I've done my best. I was alone with you. And I think I did a pretty decent job of raising you. And with Johnny, I just—I can't handle him. When you were taken, I couldn't handle it all.”

“So you ran away, like you always do—” The lump in my throat returns unexpectedly. Not because of her, but because of Sam. He left me just like she did.

“I don't know what you want, Vesper. Was the world supposed to stop moving because you were gone? Was I supposed to stop living?”

“You said I was dead a few weeks in. You didn't even give me a chance,” I scold. “You can justify it all you want. But just be honest with yourself. You were glad to be relieved of the burden for the first time in decades. To be that woman in the commune fucking every dick she could find.”

Tears fill her eyes and she shoots up from her seat, marches over to me and slaps me across the face.

I stand tall. “You think that hurts? You think that's pain?” I grab the steak knife and hold it to my forearm.

“Vesper!” she shouts.

“I could do this and I wouldn't even feel a thing!”

I hear the suction sound of the sliding door to the backyard opening. Hands grab for my arms. I wasn't going to do it. I was making a point. But the way they all look at me, it's like they finally see I'm not me.

I'm not the girl put here to make them all feel better. To make their lives easier. Not anymore. I am difficult. I am unwieldy. Nothing fits and I am always uncomfortable, tugging on odds and ends, trying to get things to fall into place. I've seen and felt things that make pleasantries seem trivial.

They see the trouble I have become and I can tell they don't want this. They want their sweet, compliant Vesper back. Now they feel obligated. Just like my mother always has. But they don't want this.

I don't want this.





I wake up with what feels like a hangover. Except I didn't drink. I trudge out of the bedroom and see Carter pouring himself a cup of coffee.

I moan to myself, everything aching with the recollection of the ugliness of the night before.

“Well, that was a disaster,” I say.

Carter’s face is tense. “Vesper, I think you should see someone.”

“See someone?”

“Yes. A therapist. You have been through an ordeal and I think you are having a hard time adjusting.”

“Carter, it's been hardly two weeks, give me some time.”

“I understand, and that's my point, now is the time to get help. The sooner, the better.”

“I don't need help.”

Carter puts his coffee on the counter and releases all the tension in the room with an exhale. “Look,” he starts before taking a few steps to me and cradling my shoulders in his hands, “I understand there are things you may not be comfortable discussing with me, or your mother, or anyone you know. That's why an objective person would be ideal. They won't tell and you can just sort out the things you are feeling.”

“I know how a therapist works, Carter. I was a semester away from being a nurse.”

“I know you do, I'm just trying to make things clear for you. I feel like you think we're all against you. You've been defensive. And I wonder if it's because you've got all this stuff inside you are trying to protect. Like a shell. It's made you hard. And I understand these things do. I just want you to have someone you don't have to be hard with, a safe space, and then you can get back to living your life. Maybe finish school.”

“I'll think about it,” I say. I don't know if I want any of that. Nursing was once this trophy on a pedestal I was climbing towards. But as of late, that goal seems unappealing.

He gives me a tight-lipped smile. Hope.

The phone rings.

Carter, rubs the top of my head, gazing at me wistfully, before turning to grab the receiver.

“Yee-ello.”

He scrunches his brow. “Hello? Hello?” He grunts and hangs up the phone. “Wrong number or a bad connection,” he informs me.

“Oh,” I respond casually as I pour myself some coffee, my stomach rolling with disappointment at the missed opportunity to scold Sam.

“Why don't you get me some recommendations from your colleagues and I'll see about setting an appointment?” I'm not sure how truthful I'm being, but I don't want Carter to worry about me. He lingers when he does.