Page 111 of Sad Girl Hours
I raise my hand to my mouth and touch my lips with my index finger, remembering how incredible that night was, and how safe I felt with her.
I’m in love with her.
I know that.
What else do I know?
Notthink, not choose tobelievebecause it fits the story that my depression has created to try and keep me in its grasp. What do Iknow?
I know that when I think about space I feel completely calm. I know that learning more about it fills me with a sense of awe and wonder unlike almost anything else.
I know that my parents don’t love me in the way parents are meant to. Or, I think, in the way that I deserve to be loved.
My breathing quickens.At last.
I deserve to be loved more than I am by them. It’s not a nice thing to know, but realising it does feel strangely hopeful. If I know I deserve to be loved more, that means that there’s more out there. Like Nell. Nell really loves me – or I hope she still does anyway.
No, I’m sure she still does – a feeling as strong as this doesn’t just fade in a few days. But whether she’ll want to do anything with that or not, I don’t know. I would understand if she’s scared in case I run away again.
Love isn’t just an aimless feeling: it’s something youdotoo. I want her to not just think of it as an abstract noun – I want her to use it as a verb. I want her to keepdoingit, keep loving me.
And I have my friends. They drove all this way. This time, the thought doesn’t make me feel guilty: it makes me feel warm.
What a joy it is to be loved by them. All of them.
They don’thaveto love me either. They choose to.
God, what am Idoing?
I’ve been feeling so disassociated from reality recently, living in a kind of foggy grey haze, but now I feel awake.Alive.
Why have I been telling myself such horrible stories when there are so many lovely ones I could have been telling myself instead?
I stand up and walk over to my dresser where I left a crumpled-up piece of paper. Nell, sweet, perfect Nell.
I move round my room, doing what I have to do, and then I run downstairs, Kenneth following me. I grab his lead, clip it to his collar – he wags in excitement at the prospect of a walk.
“I’m taking Kenneth out,” I call to my mum, surprised at how calm my voice comes out.
I jog us to the end of the drive and start walking. When we’re at the end of the street, I lean back against the wall, pulling out my phone.
When I unlock it, I notice a notification there that feels like fate telling me I’m doing the right thing.
I hit a few buttons and listen to it ring before I hear them answer.
“Hi,” I say. “Is it too late for you to turn around?”
Chapter Fifty-two
Nell
I get the email to say that I have, in fact, been shortlisted (and Becks isn’t a big teasing liar) while I’m backstage ‘helping’ Vivvie set up for her showcase.
Uni have pulled out all the stops for this. It’s taking place in the Ashton Memorial in Williamson Park, a beautiful white stone building with stairs that wind up several f loors to the domed roof. The showcase is on the ground f loor. We’re upstairs, though, where everyone is getting ready. The models for the evening are having their make-up done, the sound of everyone chattering scattered round the room, all the fashion students frantically sewing or steaming things with a wild, manic look in their eyes.
Vivvie’s dress is a wonder. I’ve seen parts of it over recent months but seeing it all together … it’s incredible. We watch the model slip into it, and I literally gasp out loud.
“Oh, Vivvie,” I breathe. “It’s a marvel. You’re incredible.”
