I suck in a deep, courage-mustering breath. “You know I was…” How do you describe depression to someone who’s never experienced it? “Sad. But not just sad…”
David takes the last step between us, backing me into the counter, as if his physical support could steady my emotions. And strangely, in some ways, it does. And suddenly, I want him to understand. I’m not worried about him thinking me fragile, because I don’t feel fragile. If David thinks that what I’ve been through makes me weak, then that’s his problem. Because, ironically, in this moment, as I try to explain the worst of my demons, I’ve never felt stronger.
“I felt…empty.” I tell him. “And it wasn’t just because of Brian. I’d felt like that on some level or another for as long as I could remember. What happened with Brian, it just exacerbated everything—made it all come into the light at once. Or drown out the light.”
“You are the light,” David says softly, and it draws a small smile from me.
“But I didn’t feel like it, David,” I tell him. “I felt like emptiness and darkness were all there was. And a week after the breakup, I started taking my mom’s Klonopin.”
David scowls, not judging, but scolding.
“Not taking them,” I amend. “But taking them—stealing them—one by one. I put them in a little jewelry box I hid under my mattress.” I’ve never told anyone that before.
“Why?”
“Just in case,” I admit. I notice the tension grow in his neck, his shoulders, but, still, I continue. “It wasn’t even a conscious choice at first. I just wanted to have them. Like a Plan B. A way out.”
“A way out of what?” David still doesn’t get it. And why would he?
“Life.”
His frown is deeper than I’ve ever seen it, and I give him a moment. “What was your Plan B?” He already suspects, because his tone is almost accusing, but mostly it’s apprehensive.
“To take them. All of them. At the same time.”
David pales, his hands gripping the counter on either side of me until his knuckles turn white. “You didn’t.” But he knows I did. And his gorgeous face grows pale as my silence confirms it.
“Why?” he demands, and I’m shocked to find his eyes wet. There are no tears, just a shimmer I’ve never seen on them before, and it takes me aback.
“It seemed like the best option at the time.”
David retracts and slams his palm into the countertop. “The best option?” he snarls.
“I know it wasn’t now. But I didn’t have my meds then, David, and when things were bad, they felt like they would never get better—like I would never get better. Like I would just keep slugging along in misery indefinitely, dragging everyone down around me.”
David’s head shakes in denial through my every word.
“Once I made the decision to do it, I felt, like, unburdened. It was the happiest I’d felt in as long as I was able to remember at the time.”
He swallows audibly, his mouth a thin line, his jaw clenched, as if he takes personal offense to what I’m saying. And maybe he does. But it wasn’t about him. It wasn’t even about Brian. It wasn’t about anyone but me. “I planned it for a night Sammy and my mom would be out. You were all at Cooper’s party after the last day of school. I looked forward to that day like you look forward to spring break after a brutal week of finals,” I admit, “only times a thousand.”
My hand comes up to brush his jaw, wanting to relieve some of the tension I caused. But it does nothing. Still, he turns into my touch.
“But Sammy came home early and found me, and thwarted all my careful planning.” I smile, but David doesn’t like my joke, and his glare wipes it off my face. “I didn’t do it for attention, David. Waking up in that hospital room was the worst disappointment I’ve ever felt.”
David grimaces, gritting his teeth like he’s angry with me.
“But it made me get help. And it wasn’t easy, I admit. But I’m me again. I’m a better me than I ever was even before. And I’m stronger for it, okay?”
That seems to ease his distress marginally.
“I’m not going to fall for Brian’s bullshit, or give him any more chances. I ran into him today—literally—and he caught me. That was all. I told him after Hot Box that I was done. I gave him a chance—at friendship—and he blew that when he called me a slut in a club. End of story.”
For several moments, David just stares down at me. “I was trying to get information about the Brody investigation,” he murmurs finally. “From Liz. That’s why I was whispering to her today. I didn’t think she’d tell me anything if anyone could overhear.”
“And did she?”
His jaw locks. “No.”
