Page 37 of Don't Leave Me

We practically ran to my bedroom.

“You know, you look a lot like your mum,” Michael commented as we lay naked on my bed, posters of James Dean covering my walls.

“Oh, I’m aware. You should see pictures of her when she was my age; we’re practically identical,” I laughed.

He smiled and laid on his back, putting his hands behind his head.

“So, who am I meeting tomorrow?” he asked curiously as I rested my head on his chest.

“Hmm. My uncle Rob, who was married to my aunt Jenny, and their daughter, my cousin Emily. She’s like my best friend,” I explained.

I missed Emily – I hadn’t seen since a few months prior when she spent the weekend in Brooklyn with me before she started her graduate program at UPenn. We drank a lot, stayed out till 4 AM…just general mischievous things. Billie wasn’t a big fan of her; she declared that Emily was a bad influence on me, which was true, but I loved her nonetheless.

“And my grandparents from my dad’s side are flying in from Tennessee. And probably a few of my other aunts and uncles,” I shrugged.

Michael started to gently rub my back. “How did your aunt Jenny pass?”

I was thrown off by his question. It was a sore subject and my heart stung every time I thought of it.

“Suicide,” I answered vaguely, a lump forming in my throat already.

I heard Michael sigh. “I’m sorry, Hana,” he said quietly, his hand up to my hair now.

“Yeah. Emily and I took it really hard,” I went on, wanting him to know about my past.

“I can imagine,” he responded before he kissed the top of my head.

I closed my eyes to stop myself from crying.

“I want to go to sleep,” I whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back, then turned off the bedside lamp before holding me in his arms.

The next morning I woke up in a panic. I couldn’t remember the last time I took my medication…did I even bring them? They might be in my purse. Why am I so irresponsible with that crap?I slowly crept out of bed, Michael sleeping soundly next to me, and opened up my purse to frantically search for my Lamictal and Wellbutrin. I sighed with relief when I spotted each bottle at the bottom of my purse.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked with sleepy eyes, leaning up on his elbows in bed.

“Nothing,” I shook my head and smiled, setting down my purse.

I wasn’t sure how convincing I was.

“Back to bed,” he ordered, patting the empty space beside him.

I quickly crawled back into bed with him and he fell back asleep soon after. I, on the other hand, remained panicked.Why didn’t I tell Michael about my bipolar disorder before? It’s no big deal. Yes it is. But he won’t care. He’ll take care of me. He’ll remind me about medication. But then he’ll be even more watchful of me: no drinking, no going out. I was torn.I’ll tell him later. My thoughts continued to race and I stayed wide awake for the next two hours, staring at the clock and the morning sun rising higher and higher.

“Good morning,” I heard Michael say as he kissed my shoulder.

It was 9 AM and I heard loud chatter downstairs for the past hour.

“Good morning,” I smiled, turning to him, still feeling my heart drop whenever I looked at him.

“Let’s shower,” he grinned at me, poking his morning wood against my thigh.

I bit my lip. “Yes please, sir.”

I managed to sneak taking my medication as Michael got dressed. I felt horrible, being sneaky and basically lying to him, but I was still afraid to tell him. The right moment just hadn’t happened yet.

The morning went by in a blur. While I helped my mom in the kitchen, Michael and my dad seemed to bond over golf…who knew?My dad then proceeded to show Michael the backyard and our tennis court, both of them walking around our property until relatives started to show up. I jumped every time the doorbell rang, hoping it was Emily, both of us texting back and forth about how excited we were to see each other. Each time it would be an aunt, or uncle, or a distant relative I forgot about it.

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