“You’re a muse. Not a therapist.”
“Do you have a therapist?”
“I used to.”
“Do you want to kill yourself?” The words come out like a breath I’ve been holding too long—the thing everyone is thinking, but no one wants to say.
And now I know why.
Saying it makes it feel like a real possibility. There’s no more deniability. If she does it, no one can say, “I had no idea.”
Fuck.
What have I done?
“What are you going to do if I say yes?” she asks with no emotion in her words.
I slam on the brakes just before pulling into the garage, racking my brain for what possible reason she would have to kill herself.
“You’re depressed,” I say, and I’m not sure if I’m asking her a question or stating the only possible reason she might have.
“Have you ever been depressed?” she asks.
“I don’t really know what that means. Sad? Are you asking if I’ve been sad? Because my life has been a constant string of awful things. Is that sad? Probably. Do I want to kill myself? No.”
“Do you feel sad every day?”
I shake my head, feeling irritated. Discussing emotions has never been my thing. But I can’t complain because I started this conversation. “I get angry and pissed off. Annoyed by others. Sadness just feels like a worthless emotion. What’s the point ofit unless someone dies—” I close my eyes and slowly shake my head as a light goes on. “Someone died,” I whisper.
Silence.
I’m afraid to look at her, so I open my eyes and stare into the garage. Rupert’s cars. The far wall where I have my belongings hidden. I look at anything but her.
“Thank you for going with me to class,” she says. “See if there’s anything Rupert wants you to do. You’ve inspired me enough today.” She doesn’t wait for me to open her door. And I don’t feel like she’s being honest about me inspiring her today.
When she’s in the house, I call June.
“Hey!” she answers with a cheery voice.
I immediately relax. “What are you doing?”
“Shopping with my mom before I have to work this afternoon. What are you doing?”
“I’m in a unitard, sitting in Callie’s Tesla, talking to you instead of checking in with Rupert, which is what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Wait.” She laughs. “Back up. You’re in a unitard?”
“Yeah. I look like a wrestler.”
“Is there a reason you’re wearing it?”
“I’ve been enrolled in Pilates with Callie.”
June snorts. “And you wore a unitard to class? Why?”
“Because Rupert is a dick.”
“I’m going to need a picture.”
