“Well, that was a first,” I joked, still a little out of breath. Clay smirked at me as he buttoned himself back up.
He pulled me back onto his lap. “I just needed to be close to you. Sorry the setting wasn’t more romantic,” Clay apologized, kissing my temple as I snuggled into his chest.
I sighed and laid my head down over his heart. The steady beat both calmed and soothed me. Clay rubbed my back and traced the length of my shoulder blades with his fingertip. “You’re all that I have,” he said quietly, kissing the top of my head. I let him hold me and tried to convince myself that everything would be all right. But I knew I was just living another lie.
chapter
twenty-three
funny how two days can change everything. Even my staunch refusal to let anything come between me and the boy I loved. My picture of the world had been flipped on its head and I lived in a constant state of confusion and near-paranoia.
We went to bed at night curled around each other. We never said anything; no words were needed. Clay clung to me as if I would disappear. We made love frantically and desperately, as if we were trying to hold on to something that would be snatched from our grasp at any moment. But I couldn’t pretend any longer that things were going to work out. It was only a matter of time until we were discovered.
Rachel had been texting me nonstop, urging me to come home. She worried that things would only get worse the longer we were gone. And I knew she was right. I didn’t want to think about what would be waiting for Clay back in Davidson. But with every hour that went by, I saw Clay deteriorating. He was paranoid and hypervigilant. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight. He had unplugged the phone in our room and put a chair against the doorknob when we slept.
He was edgy and angry, snapping at me for no reason and then immediately pleading with me to forgive him. He was also cutting again. I saw the marks on his skin, even as he tried to hide them. I thought about confronting him but thought better of it, knowing he was dangerously close to losing what small semblance of sanity he had left.
Things were spiraling out of control, not just for Clay, but for me as well. I was scared all the time. I could barely sleep and I couldn’t handle sitting by and watching the boy that I loved slowly slip away into the darkness of his mind.
I needed my parents and my friends. I wanted their support and the safety of home so badly that I ached for it. I wanted Clay to get some help, because now I couldn’t deny that that was exactly what he needed. He didn’t need me pretending that we would gallop off into the sunset like some fairy tale.
Because that wasn’t our story. Not by a long shot.
After seeing the newscast, I knew I had to call my parents. They were probably going out of their minds if they thought Clay had kidnapped me. Who knew what bullshit Clay’s parents had fed them?
I waited until I knew Clay was asleep, and I quietly got dressed and went outside. I gripped my cell phone and with shaking fingers dialed my mom’s number. I realized how late it was, almost 11:30 at night. But I needed to hear her voice.
“Hello?” I heard my mother’s shaking voice on the other end.
I almost hung up, scared as hell to say anything. “Maggie! Is that you?” my mom pleaded. I took a deep breath.
“Yes, Mom, it’s me,” I whispered. I heard her choking back asob.
“Oh, my God, are you all right? Where are you?” she asked me.
“I’m fine, Mom. Clay and I are in North Carolina...”
“North Carolina! What are you doing there?” I didn’t answer her—not sure what to tell her. My mom seemed to make an effort to pull herself together. “Please tell me he isn’t keeping you there against your will,” my mother asked, as calmly as she was able.
“No, I left willingly,” I assured her.
My mom sighed in relief. “Okay. Well, that’s something, I suppose. Clay’s parents have shared some things about Clay that have your father and me worried sick. He isn’t hurting you, is he?” my mom asked, and I could tell she was crying.
“God, no, Mom. Clay would never hurt me! What have Clay’s parents told you?” I asked coldly.
“That Clay has a history of violent and suicidal behaviors. His mother said he needs to be back in treatment but he refuses to go. Then she told us that he... that he tried to stab them.”
I blew out a breath. “It wasn’t like that, Mom. Please don’t believe everything they tell you,” I urged.
“So you’re saying there’s nothing to these stories they told us? That they’re making everything up?” my mother asked in disbelief.
Here was the moment of truth. Did I lie, like I’d been doing for months? Or did I finally come clean?
I was silent for a while, prompting my mother to say my name again. “Maggie? What is it?” she asked.
I felt the tears slide down my cheeks and suddenly I was sobbing. I cried and cried until there was nothing left. And then I told my mom everything. Every last bit of Clay’s story. This was the second time in as many days that I had shared what was going on. And it felt good to do so. I had been holding on to this stuff for too long and I couldn’t shoulder it alone any longer.
“My God, Maggie May. Why in the world didn’t you say something?” she asked, her voice quiet and hurting. I sighed after I had calmed down.
