Page 9 of Unholy Confessions
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. I'm sorry I've been lying to you. I'm sorry I let you down."
"You didn't let me down, son. I let you down. But we're going to fix this, okay? We're going to get you the help you need, and you're going to feel like yourself again."
I don't know how long we sit there, but eventually my tears slow down and I can breathe again. Dad doesn't let go, just holds me like I'm something valuable that might break.
"RJ?" A soft voice from the doorway makes us both look up. Mom is standing there in her pajamas, her face pale and worried. She must have just gotten back from New York.
"Mom," I say, and my voice cracks on the word.
She crosses the room quickly and sits on the other side of me, completing the circle. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry we didn't see how much you were hurting."
"I filled her in on the way home from the airport," Dad explains quietly.
Mom reaches out and gently takes my bruised hands in hers, examining my knuckles with the careful attention she used to give my scraped knees when I was little.
"We're going to get you help," she says softly. "Whatever you need. Therapy, medication, time off school if necessary. We're going to figure this out together."
"What if I can't get better?" I ask. "What if this is just who I am now?" I need the same assurance from her that I got from dad.
"Then we'll love you anyway," Mom says simply. "But RJ, honey, you're going to get better. You're going to be everything you want to be and more. This doesn't define you. It's something you're going through, not something you are."
For the first time in months, I feel something that might be hope stirring in my chest. Maybe they're right. Maybe this isn't permanent. Maybe I can get back to being the person I used to be – or maybe I can become someone even better.
"I love you guys," I whisper.
"We love you too, son," Dad says. "More than you'll ever know."
Chapter 4
Montgomery (Age 15)
I pull my thumb nail in between my teeth, as I sit outside the library, waiting for RJ. He texted me last night, and asked me to meet him so we could talk. I haven't seen him in a week, or talked to him other than a text here and there.
All I know is that his parents took him to the doctor, and they've been trying to figure out what's going on with him. My friend, Hilary, told me she saw him last night at Hattie B's, and that he looked good.
It sucked when I heard she'd seen him, and I hadn't. Jealousy had coursed through my body, but then he texted me, asking to see me alone. This gazebo in front of the local library is where we tend to meet when we have serious discussions.
My stomach is rolling with nervousness as I see his truck pull into the library parking lot. Should I go meet him? Should I stay here? I don't know, but what I do know is he looks good. There's a relaxed set to his shoulders, and a smile across his face, one I haven't seen in months.
He waves at me from across the parking lot, and I wave back, my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always does when I see him. RJ has this way of making everything else fade into the background, like the world shrinks down to just him and me. I watch as he walks toward the gazebo, his stride confident in a way that's different from before. There's something lighter about him, something that makes my chest tighten with hope.
"Hey, Montgomery," he says as he climbs the steps of the gazebo, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that makes my name sound like the lyrics of a song.
"Hey yourself," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady despite the butterflies performing acrobatics in my stomach. "You look..." I pause, searching for the right words. "You look like you again."
His smile widens, and he settles down beside me on the wooden bench, close enough that I can smell the scent that's uniquely his. "That's because I finally feel like me again. Or maybe like the me I'm supposed to be."
I turn to face him fully, tucking one leg under me. "What do you mean?"
RJ runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture I've seen him make a thousand times when he's trying to organize his thoughts. "I got a diagnosis, Gum. What they think's been wrong with me all this time."
My heart skips, equal parts excited, and scared. "What did they say?"
"Depression and ADHD." He says it matter-of-factly, but I can see the relief in his eyes. "All this time, I thought I was just broken or lazy or couldn't get my shit together. But it turns out my brain just works differently."
I reach out instinctively, covering his hand with mine. His skin is warm, and I feel him relax under my touch. "That explains so much," I whisper.
"Right?" His eyes light up in a way I haven't seen in months. "Like why I could never focus in school, why I'd start projects and never finish them, why some days I felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts. And the depression..." He trails off, his gaze drifting toward the library's brick facade. "I didn't even realize how bad it had gotten until I started feeling better."
