Page 75 of Lovesick
I’ve worked so hard to overcome my past, but now I’m slipping back down that black, bottomless well where I’m not strong enough to pull myself up. The more I descend into darkness, the smaller the light gets. I’m surrounded by walls of tightly packed earth, arbitrary root fragments, and impenetrable bedrock. I can’t climb out; I can’t scream for help; I can’t even dig an escape route. No one’s coming to rescue me.
I got what I wanted, didn’t I? Six feet underground and free.
I need to get out of here. I can’t—I can’t breathe. My heart feels like it’s been through a paper shredder, tiny flaps of tissue spilling onto the floorboards of the place I once called home.
As I go to exit the room, I turn to look over my shoulder, a rainfall of tears impairing my vision. “I hope it’s worth it, Dad. Your contentment for my future.”
21
GREAT ESCAPES AND ICE-CAPADES
MERIT
Coming down from the high of the fight, I face-plant onto my childhood bed, trying to suffocate myself in my girly comforter that my parents didn’t burn when I moved out. It’s like a time capsule in here—everything untouched, accumulating dust, and a direct reflection of my prepuberty mindset, including but not limited to the glow-in-the-dark stickers on my ceiling and a small army of plastic horses.
I don’t have the energy to drive back to my apartment and move my things right now.
School is one of the last tethers I have to my old life before it was overtaken by frequent hospital visits, a diet of government-issued medicine, and a self-diagnosis of hypochondria. It makes me feel normal. I love throwing myself into schoolwork and being a part of something bigger—something that values my brain over my body.
If I have to live under my parents’ roof and forfeit my social life, then so be it. It’s not like I had an exciting one anyways.
I’ve been holed up in my room for the better half of the day. The weather outside is in a similar depressing state, withmonochromatic shades of gray marbling the sky, accompanied by a thick layer of storm clouds that rest over the small basin of Maple Grove.
A steady downpour falls through the miniature apertures, discoloring the gables and forming gulleys in sodden concrete. Apricot-colored leaves break off from shivering trees, floating to the ground to disintegrate into mush. I usually find the syncopated beats of rain comforting, but in this instance, they’re yet another barricade standing between me and escaping this godforsaken hellhole.
I don’t remember the last time I fought with my parents like that. I don’t remember the last time I felt thismad. I want to block it all out. I want to start over. This helpless feeling? I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.
And to make matters worse, I’m not even sure where Crew and I stand. What did I say to him last night? He was acting weird this morning, and it wasn’t because he was woken up by my phone playing “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot on repeat. He was distant. It felt like he’d only stayed the night because he didn’t want me choking on my own vomit—not because heactuallywanted to be there. Why did I have to get drunk? I’m so stupid. I’ve been preaching that I don’t want to be an obligation, yet I constantly put myself in situations where I am.
I may not remember the exact conversations we had, but I do remember the feeling of his arms wrapped around my body. The warmth, the comfort, the security. He was like my own personal safety blanket, shielding me from all the harsh things in the world.
Rolling onto my back, I hug my arms around my torso, trying to replicate that same sensation, but it’s laughable in comparison. A cheap knockoff of the real thing.
Tears bubble at the corners of my eyes, and a sob pounds against the dam in my throat, trying to wheedle its way through the thinnest crack. Memories of Sig Chi’s dance floor flashacross my hindbrain like clicking reels of film—how Crew spun me around, how he held me close to his chest, how he smiled at me every chance he got.
Who knows when I’ll see him again. My dad will be patrolling the premises with the internal order to kill on sight. I’ll have to get used to a life of isolation…and celibacy.
Thankfully, I still have access to my car, but I can only use it to go to and from school. I don’t think I’ll get to go out on the weekends until I graduate. On the bright side, Irelyn has a whole apartment to herself for half the cost. I’ll miss accidentally stumbling across her Tuesday hookup rummaging through our fridge at two in the morning.
I stare up at my ceiling fan, half-hoping that it’ll crash down on top of me. But it doesn’t—it just sweeps cobwebs in a lazy rotation, whirring around stale air. And I’m content with just drifting off into unconsciousness when there’s a high-pitched plinking sound coming from the window, too resonant to be from the rain.
What the hell?
Peeling myself off my bed and dragging myself over to the mystery noise, I see a pebble bounce off the tempered glass, scaring the living daylight out of me. I cower on instinct, covering my arms over my head like the rock will fly through my window and impale a hole through my skull. It doesn’t, obviously.
When I peer over the windowsill, my gaze homes in on a proportionally small Crew waving his arms above his head frantically. He’s absolutely waterlogged, sacrificing his dry clothes and all-around comfort toRomeo and Julietme.
What is he doing outside my house?
Thankfully, my parents were lenient enough to still let me use my phone, because that thing sure isn’t going to kill me. I launch myself across the mattress, grab my device, and open my home screen to find a message from Crew.
Crew
Come outside.
Me
I can’t. Jail bound.
