In the Stillness(23)

“I remember,” she nods, “you were both so focused on school that it’s amazing you even made it as a couple at all.”

An uncomfortable silence overtakes the steps on the busy sidewalk.

“I’m going to be really lonely, Tosh, with him continuing this many lab hours. It’s like being a single mom half the time.” I wipe under my eyes.

“Nat, you’ve seemed lonely for a while—even when he’s around . . .”

I smash out my cigarette and look at her as I exhale. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Like any true best friend, she shrugs and pulls me into a hug.

*

I hadn’t cut since the night of Liz’s party. It turns out it was a huge pain to hide the marks—more than I’d thought. I didn’t think, really. I couldn’t even wear a t-shirt to bed out of fear that Tosha would see and would question me. But, I didn’t go to any more parties that semester. If one cranky bitch could set me off like that, it was best that I stay in, despite Tosha’s insistence that I don’t “let her win”—whatever that meant.

Luckily, Liz and Tosha hit it off and were spending a lot of time together at Liz’s place. I had a lot more alone time all of a sudden. I used the time to write letters to Ryker, and wait for his phone calls. They’d been getting further apart, and my anxiety was slowly building.

Despite the complete insanity of it all, I was feeling insecure. What if he’s choosing not to call me? Or, worse, What if he’s calling someone else? I tried to drown out the sounds of those voices by cranking Staind or Incubus, but that turned out to be a bad idea.

It didn’t take too long before my schoolwork started to slip. At first, it was a reading assignment here, or an outline there. Before long, I’d failed an essay by not turning it in at all. That landed me in my advisor’s office quickly.

“Natalie, is everything okay?” Angela Davis was my advisor. She was notoriously stern, but had been pleasant enough with me.

I uncharacteristically squirmed in my seat. “I’ve just been really busy—”

“You’re a student, Ms. Collins, your first job is to be present in your classes and turn in your assignments.”

I nodded and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis, I’ll get that essay done and try harder.” I stood to leave, pleased I’d seemed to pull it off—when she continued.

“Your mother sent me an email, Natalie . . .”

She what?

“I’m sorry, she what?” I asked as I sat back in the chair.

“Now, of course I can’t share any of your academic information with her, but she told me your boyfriend is in Afghanistan.” Her eyes flashed with something that could have passed for compassion, but it didn’t last long.

I hadn’t told any of my professors about Ryker. I didn’t want any pity or animosity directed my way, and I certainly wasn’t in a position to judge who would give me either. My mother went behind my back as a means to keep tabs on me. We’d be having words about that.

“He is.” My voice was almost a whisper as I tried to appear strong—like the wives and mothers I watched on the news.

“I appreciate the sacrifice he’s making, Natalie, but it doesn’t do you any good to sacrifice your schoolwork while you wait for him to come home.”

I nodded, my voice silenced under threatening tears. In retrospect, I could have—should have—used that window as an opportunity to ask for help in dealing with my stress. Asked the woman in charge of overseeing my academic experience for a phone number, a name, something for me to deal.

But, who? What would I say? Hi, my boyfriend is in Afghanistan, like thousands of other people, but I seem to be having an extra hard time with it. Please help me? Yes, that’s exactly what I should have said. I didn’t. Instead, I murmured a polite “thank you,” to Angela Davis and fled to my dorm room.

Once inside, I burst into tears and walked right to the bathroom.

Screw trying to hide it.

I didn’t want to use the pin again. That seemed wrong, somehow, so I reached for the cheap razors Tosha and I used because, well, we were cheap. I felt weak. Weak that my boyfriend was voluntarily in greater danger than I’d likely ever find myself in, and I was crumbling. I needed to punish myself for being so pathetic, and I needed to feel better.

I held up my left forearm, where I could just barely see the lingering reminder of the last time I cut. I pulled the razor across my arm, but nothing happened. I angled both the razor and my arm and tried again. A little nick, but nothing satisfying. Fucking safety . . .

Breathless from anger and anticipation, I worked to bend the safety plastic underneath the blade until I heard it snap. After tossing the piece in the trash, I now had a wide open blade and nothing to stop me. I started haphazardly flicking the blade across the skin over the inside bone of my forearm.

God, it hurt like hell. It was a shocking pain, the kind that screamed, Wake up you pathetic, spineless, little girl, things could be worse! It took my breath away and flooded me with relief when it was over; relief I wasn’t feeling anywhere else in my life. Relief that I would only feel when Ryker came home for good. I wanted to feel that immediately. So I did, over and over again as the razor did its best job on my arm.

Just as I decided I was done for now, my phone rang.