Fall Back Skyward (Fall Back #1)(74)

I reach for the phone but something tumbles out of my hand and onto the bed. The penknife. I fell asleep last night, clutching it in my hand like a life line. I was so close to cutting when Elon walked into the room. I’d thought of sending her away but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because as much as I wanted some sort of release, I craved someone to hold me. Be with me.

I shove it under my pillow and grab the phone, swiping a finger across on the screen to answer without checking the caller.

“Eleanor?”

I bolt upright and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Dr. Thorsten?” I whisper into the phone, darting a look over my shoulder to check if my sister is still asleep. “Could you please hold on a sec? I’ll be right back.”

After my therapist’s confirmation, I place the phone on my pillow then turn on the bedside lamp. I stand up, round the bed and scoop up Elon in my arms, careful not to jostle her. I head out of my room to hers, lay her on her bed and pull the covers over her body. I return to my room and close the door, my heart beating frantically in my chest at the thought of talking to Dr. Thorsten.

I snatch the phone from my pillow and grip it in my hands so it doesn’t slip from my clammy palms. I’ve been waiting for her call and now that she is on the line, I’m dying to blurt out the words fighting to break free from my chest. “Hello. Dr. Thorsten?”

“I’m here, Eleanor. I got your message. Is everything okay?”

I scoot up on the bed until my back hits the headboard, and then draw my legs to my chest. “Not really.” I drop my chin on my knees and inhale deeply, but my lungs can’t seem to absorb enough air. “Today wasn’t a great day. I wanted to cut so badly. . .I think I’m relapsing. God, I can’t go back to cutting. Everything is going well and I’m scared I might lose—”

“Eleanor. Take a deep breath.” I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose and out my mouth. I repeat this several times until the thudding in my ears fades. “Very good. Tell me what happened.”

I give her a short version of what has happened so far since we moved to Florida. I tell her about Cole, Megs, Josh and Simon. She knows my entire life story so she understands the impact my new friends have on my life. She listens and stops me to ask questions. We fall silent when I’m done.

“Do you feel the urge to cut yourself now?”

My fingers slide under my pillow and wrap around the cool object there, and wait to feel something. “No.”

“What do you feel when you are with Cole?”

“Like everything is right in the world,” I answer without thinking and those words make me pause. I’ve been too busy riding on the rush I feel when I’m with him. What if something happens between us? Would I be able to handle it?

“You are over thinking this, Eleanor,” Dr. Thorsten’s gentle voice breaks through my thoughts.

“I’m way too deep in this,” I whisper. “I’m so terrified of losing him. I’m scared of the kind of person I’ll be, if I lose him. I don’t want to be like my father. He is so obsessed. . .it’s like a sickness.”

“You are not your father. Your heart beats to a different rhythm than his. You have gone through so much. You are strong. Only you can teach your heart to be strong enough, to prepare for any inevitability.”

Finally, I open my eyes and focus on the moonless night sky out the window through the parted curtains, breathing in the cool night breeze filtering through the window.

“I guess I better let you get some sleep,” I sigh into the phone.

She chuckles. “Actually, I’m about to go out for a fundraiser. No sleeping for me. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days, all right? Call me if you want to talk.”

“Thank you, Dr. Thorsten.” Peace settles inside me, the tension that holds my body captive melts away. She always had a way of making me feel lighter after each session.

After saying our goodbyes, I hang up the call and set the phone on the pillow next to my head, and scoot down the bed until I’m lying on my back, fighting the urge to text Cole.




It’s almost midnight when Cole finally climbs through my window. I see his outline in the soft light from the lamp on the nightstand. He tiptoes toward me, kicks off his shoes and crawls up on the bed. I scrambled out of bed, head toward the door and lock it before returning to him. I shift and lie on my side, facing him and wait for him to talk because I’m too scared to open my mouth.

He rubs his eyes, looking exhausted, and then drops them to sign, “Mom and Dad had a fight. I have never seen them fight like that before.”

This is all my fault. I wish I’d never caught my dad and his mom arguing. I wish I’d never confronted her. I wish the razor had gone for my father’s throat, instead of his cheek.

Not every wish is granted, though.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. It is not your fault.” He assures me, running his fingers through my hair and resting them at the nape of my neck. He pulls me to him while moving his body toward me. “I love you.” He signs with one hand before crashing his lips with mine, his breath warm on my skin. I pull away from him and sit up. If I can’t comfort him, at least I have a little something I wrote for him a while back. “I have something for you.”