In the Stillness(15)

“Yeah, actually, I do.” My hands shook but I felt amazing. It felt like I was literally bleeding my anxiety away.

“Okay,” she spoke cautiously, “look, your mom called earlier. She said she called your cell phone a bunch of times . . .”

My mom and I had a huge argument the day before when I tried to get her off the phone to spend time with Ryker.

“Make sure you don’t lose your focus on school,” was her main concern.

My dad was more understanding; told me to tell Ryker he was proud of him. I’m sure he said that out of my mother’s earshot. She thought soldiers were all dumb or poor; it ruffled her cashmere f*cking feathers when I told her Ryker was a student at Amherst College.

I didn’t call my mom back. I took a shower instead, and washed all the blood and the pain from the morning down the drain. The pain felt strangely good. I controlled it. It felt like the only thing in my life I could control inside that moment.

*

Now I sit in the bathtub, feeling good again. Pulling the razor across my hip, slow like a bow on a cello, every skin cell bursts open along its path. Just one time will do. Just one. My hair stands on end; my body jumps into fight-or-flight mode as my heartbeat thuds through my chest. My body knows a normal person would run away from this pain, but my brain knows I’m not normal.

That poor f*cking girl.

Seconds after Danielle left I was reliving Ryker’s deployment, and I wanted to cut. The urge muscled its way to the front of my brain to focus on a pain I could control.

Inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth, I revel in those first few seconds when the pain goes away. It feels so good to have pain go away, just like that. Then I make another cut. Just one more, I promise this time.

As I drain the bathtub, I reach for the almost-empty bottle of peroxide splash it over the razor; wincing a little as it spills across my hip. I sit in the empty bathtub until I hear Eric get into bed.

I have to leave him.

We don’t love each other. I don’t love him, and there’s no way he can really love me after what I’ve put him through over the last four years. He’s not blameless in that regard; he had choices, too. We all have choices. It’s pointless to wonder what our relationship would be like if we hadn’t had the boys. I know what it would have been; we’d either be broken up or in some strange long-distance relationship. I was supposed to be traveling the world and studying cultures for my Ph.D. He would still be in that lab. It wouldn’t have worked.

But man, it would have been awesome.

I dread the thought of going to bed right now, to lie next to the man I once cautiously planned a future with in my head before one was planned for us. I suddenly remember I have fresh laundry folded on the living room couch. Grabbing my cell phone, I tiptoe over to my favorite dress. It’s just warm enough outside for the paisley boho dress that makes me feel ten years younger. I call Tosha.

“Nat?” She’s clearly in a bar.

“Where are you? I’m coming to meet you for a drink.”

“Woo! Praise the Lord, Natalie Collins is busting out! I’m at The Monkey Bar, you snit, get your ass over here.”

Thank God I can walk there, I’ve got some drinking to do.

Half a block and a world away, I find Tosha smoking outside. Ditching her conservative professional wardrobe, she’s wearing an almost too-short sleeveless black dress with ridiculously high red pumps. I love her.

“And just how often do you and your sexy-ass girlfriend come drinking a thousand feet from my apartment?” I hug Liz—Tosha’s girlfriend—first. She’s wearing red skinny jeans and a black tank. They match but I don’t mention it. They’d kill me.

“A few nights a week. You know that.” Tosha smacks my butt as we head inside to the glorious noise of anything but toddler screams and marriage cries.





Chapter 8





“So what brings you out on this fine night?” Liz hands me a margarita to get started.

She’s a hilarious contradiction to Tosha; Tosha is a funhouse of crazed dirty blonde curls and wicked green eyes, while Liz is polished with perfectly ironed mocha hair and almond-shaped eyes. They met during what became our senior year. Tosha’s a year younger than me, but was my roommate during my sophomore year. She met me just a few months before Ryker left and stayed by my side. She’s more than anyone could ever want in a best friend.

“Ugh,” I grumble, “end of the semester. Eric’s all bi-polar these days. God forbid I ask about his job prospects.” I slam my empty glass on the bar and motion the baby bartender for another.

“What’d he say when you told him you were coming over here?” Tosha raises her eyebrow behind her beer.

“He’s asleep, he has no idea I left.” I shrug.

Tosh and Liz freeze in place and stare at me bug-eyed before Tosha speaks again.

“She’s back!” Tosha exclaims, “My screw you roommate is back!” We’ve referred to each other as “roommates” ever since we were.

“Sort of. He was just such a jerk today to one of his students. I wanted to punch him in the throat. I’ve never seen him behave that way. He’s buckling for sure.” I lick the salt from around my glass.

Liz rests her hand on my barstool. “What’d he do?”