Page 134 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Sure, he did—they both did, him and Arthur—but not physically. More mentally, I guess, and they’re not really asking that so I shake my head.
“I don’t want to be this person,” Athena holds her hands up. “But I really think you need to break up with him.”
“Me too,” Spencer says quietly.
Rub my eyes, yawn. “I know.”
And before they can ask anything else, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. Digby pops his head round.
Looks sad when he sees me.
“Can we talk—”
I sit up, Athena gives him a once over and a dirty look.
“Sure,” I mutter, getting off the bed.
And of course, I don’t want to go with him or talk to him or be alone with him after last night but also I don’t want to be with him because he made me want to cut last night and that hurts me more than any hit he could throw at me.
It was the truth that I hadn’t cut since Arthur left but that’s only because three days after that fatal morning, my sister forcibly dragged me out of my bed, fed me, washed my hair and then took me over to Dr.Kane’s office where he immediately put me on antidepressants. Turns out I had been depressed for a long time. But depression is funny like that. You don’t really know that you are until someone tells you. Arthur made me depressed, apparently, which I thought was wrong because why would I let him make me depressed? That doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone let that happen?
At that point, I still didn’t really understand why I cut myself. In some ways I thought it was okay? Like, I wasn’t harming myself to the point of hospitalisation or hurting anyone else—what was the big deal? Dr.Kane then labelled me a ‘self harmer’ and wrote me a care plan which I didn’t like because I’m not mental and it seemed so overly dramatic. I’m me, for crying out loud. I knew I was never going to cut too deep but then again, he didn’t know that.
Anyway, I took the antidepressants for three months. The first few weeks were strange. I felt the lowest I had ever felt in my life but everyone told me it would get worse before it got better. And it wasn’t a shame thing, either, I mean, I know at least ahundred people off the top of my head who are on some kind of medication but I stopped taking them.
I woke up covered in sweat, couldn’t cry, couldn’t feel anything. I felt like a robot. It was horrendous. I thought if there was a time I needed them, it was back in school when Arthur was still around. Some numbing would’ve done me good but not now. I had to move on and being on Sertraline made me feel almost glued to the same spot. I went to uni, met Digby and then things felt a bit greener so I came off them. Cold turkey. Worst decision of my life. My brain felt funny for weeks.
I haven’t taken a single one since—in fact, I went right off them. I think people can tell—I mean, they probably can—but they wouldn’t say anything anyway.
But last night knocked me for six. I mean the urge to hurt myself was so strong that I almost understood why people had addictions. Dr.Kane said I cut because feeling something when you feel nothing makes sense. Maybe last night that was how I felt. Digby had hurt me so much and so had Arthur that I wanted to be in control of something—just one thing. And cutting was the thing I was in control of. I didn’t, though, so I guess that’s the take away. I’m a bit better, stronger, before I would’ve just gone and done it.
I’m not sure why I didn’t do it, though.
I wanted to.
Badly. Probably more than I’ve ever wanted to do it.
“Phoebe!” Digby snaps.
I blink a few times. “Sorry.”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
He looks pissed off.
I shake my head a bit sheepishly.
He rolls his eyes airily, playfully. “I said I was sorry, alright? Hate myself for last night. Should’ve never lost my shitwith you like that but I saw you kiss Arthur and it just took me by surprise, you know? You’re mine.”
I pull back. “Am I?”
He reaches for my hand, laughs. “Course you are.”
“I don’t know, I mean, I feel like I’m my own person,” I say quietly.
Please, Digby, for the love of god, let me be my own person—you can have everything else.
“I know that,” he nods. “But you’re my girlfriend and I get possessive. I don’t wanna see another bloke’s lips all over you, do I?”
