Dating Games(98)

“No one really knew how to handle me in any of my foster homes. I never got the help I should have when I was first placed in the system. I went to therapy, but it didn’t work…at least not for me. I kept blaming myself for what happened. When I got to be too much for my first family, they sent me on to the next home. The cycle repeated for years, so much so that I thought this was my penance for taking another man’s life.”

“Julian…” I tighten my arm around him, kissing his chest. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

“I did at the time. And I’ll admit there are times I still do. I had no direction in life. When I first arrived at a new home, my foster parents would care for a little while, hoping to save some poor kid from becoming another statistic so they could brag to their friends about all the good they were doing. Until they realized how difficult it was. They’d quickly lose interest and wait for Child Services to come and take me to a new placement so they could try all over again with a new kid. By the time I was sixteen, I was so used to the cycle, I stopped caring, stopped trying. I’d been through so many foster homes, I’d lost count.”

“It couldn’t have been all bad. I’m sure you had friends at school.”

“I was never in the same one long enough to make friends. Child Services did everything to keep me in the same district, but it wasn’t always possible. I always had to start over again in new schools. After a while, I stopped trying to form friendships with anyone there, since I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was uprooted again. Plus, I hated being teased by everyone about the fact that I didn’t have real parents. I acted out, allowed my anger to get the better of me. I was suspended from school a lot. And that’s actually what brought Theodore Price into my life.”

“How so?”

“I was living in a foster home with five other kids in Fort Lee, just across the Hudson from New York. My foster parents had their hands full, so they never realized when I wasn’t there. Hell, when I brought home my notice of suspension, they signed it without even reading it. They were just going through the motions, knowing the clock on me was ticking. I was a few years from being eighteen and aging out of the system, with no hope for a future.

“When my mother died and Child Services came to take me away, they let me bring a few items with me. I’m not sure how, but my mother’s old address book ended up in my things. I think I just wanted something with her handwriting on it and that was the first thing I could find. Well, as I grew older, I became more and more angry about the shitty hand I’d been dealt. I figured everything would be different if I had a real family, people who actually cared about me. So I looked in my mother’s address book and paid her parents a visit at their multi-million dollar home in the Upper West Side.”

“Did they know who you were?”

He exhales loudly. “Yes, but they turned me away. Said my mother’s death was due to all the bad decisions she’d made. That she was dead to them years before her actual death. That I never existed in their eyes.”

“My god.” I cover my mouth, struggling to understand how anyone could say that, especially to their own blood. No wonder he has trouble accepting love.

“I had a lot of problems, Guinevere. A lot. I battled depression, anxiety, along with a slew of other things. After they said that to me, I started to think maybe it would be better if I didn’t exist.”

Tears well in my eyes at the pain I hear. I squeeze him tighter, reveling in his warmth, reminding myself he is alive. I can’t imagine a world without Julian in it.

“I never went back to my foster home that night. I just walked and walked. Hours passed as I tried to think who would care if I weren’t alive. I couldn’t think of a single person…” He trails off, his voice wavering before he clears his throat and continues.

“As I crossed the George Washington, I came to a stop. I remember standing there, looking at the Hudson swirling below, wondering if I could actually do it, if I could really jump. I kept wondering if it would hurt, if dying would be painful. Regardless, I knew it would be nothing compared to the pain I lived with every day.

“I was about to hoist myself over the railing when I heard someone say, ‘The bravest thing I’ve ever done is continue to live when I wanted to die.’ It stopped me cold. I looked to my right. Mr. Price stood a few feet from me. And that’s exactly where he remained for the next hour, talking to me about everything and nothing. By the time the sun rose, I was no longer interested in jumping. But that wasn’t enough for him. He made a phone call and got me in to see his therapist, the man who helped him with his own depression after his youngest son had jumped from that same bridge years before.”

“Oh, my god.”

“That’s why he was out there. It was the anniversary of his death, so when he saw me in the same place, he felt compelled to save me. And that’s exactly what he did. He was the first person to take a genuine interest in me. Everyone else only did because they were getting paid to do so. But not Mr. Price. He had nothing to gain, yet he still cared. Not only did he get me the help I needed, he encouraged me to focus on school. He told me if I graduated, he’d pay for college. Before then, I never put any effort into my education. By the time college rolled around, I’d no longer be considered a ward of the state and would be on my own. Why bother studying when I couldn’t afford college? But Mr. Price did something no one else had. He made me see I had potential outside my life circumstances.”