“Dustin,” she whispered. “Please look at me.”
Slowly, as if the movement required fighting a lateral type of gravity, he turned his face toward her. His eyes were as clenched as his jaw.
She held his hand very tightly, or perhaps extremely loosely. Her sense of perspective had gone, making way for more important things. “Did you mean to do it?”
“It was the dog. I told you.”
Her heart crumpled in on itself. “Dustin. Why did you cut yourself?”
He sighed, like he was too tired to keep up the lie. “I just wanted to see if it made me feel better.”
Ellen had told her to cut her losses, but here was Dustin, physically cutting his. For so many months now, she’d been looking at every bright side, bright spot, and bright sliver, trying to tell herself that Dustin was improving and that he’d beat the depression soon. But now, reading the story written in the dark-red ink of his own blood, she was forced to see everything she’d tried to close her eyes to—how Dustin wasn’t any better now than he’d been two and ahalf years ago when she’d started trying to be his friend, how the upward path she’d attempted to steer him toward had turned out to be nothing but an upside-down roller coaster ride, how she’d reached a dead end on how to help him but had kept going anyway, banging her own head against his steely walls in an attempt to break through, but the only break had been in her own bones.
She’d justified so much in the name of love. But if she overlooked his cutting too, she’d be complicit in his pain, an ally to his illness.
Rae stood up from the couch. “Come on,” she said. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“What’s a hospital going to do?” His tone was scornful, but a faraway part sounded curious too.
“I don’t know. But we need to get help.”
“You’re overreacting. It’s hardly even a scratch.”
“They’re cuts,” Rae said, gulping on the plural. “You cut yourself.”
“I told you I was broken. You knew what you were signing up for.”
The words sliced her with the blade she pictured Dustin pressing into his wrist. She searched his face and tried to find the man she loved more than anyone in the world. All her imagination still left her short.
Dustin didn’t budge.
“I’m calling an Uber.” Her voice sounded muffled, like she was talking into a coffee mug. She took out her phone and ordered a car to the Mount Sinai Emergency Room in the East Village, just on the other side of the Williamsburg Bridge.
“Let’s get up,” Rae said, though she was already standing.
“No.”
“Please. Meet me halfway.”
“I don’t like halves.”
There was a poem in there somewhere, too dark to spot.
Her phone buzzed, announcing the Uber was arriving. If she didn’t leave now, she’d have to pay the $5 cancellation fee. It soundedsmall, but the metaphor felt large—the price she’d pay to cancel on this car waiting to take them to get help.
The thought of leaving was impossible, but she realized she’d already lost him. Whether she was directly beside him or many miles away, she’d miss Dustin just the same.
She tried to picture their wedding day, her favorite image to seek shelter in when things got bad. It felt like a memory now from all the times she’d conjured it up to help her keep hope. But this time the vision was so smoky that she couldn’t discern Dustin and she couldn’t even discern herself.
It took that image of her own invisibility for her to start to see herself again.
Ellen’s voice echoed in her head, only now the words sounded almost like her own thoughts. She hadn’t just changed for Dustin; she’d bent herself in every direction, rearranging her present to fit the version she’d hoped would heal him—neglecting her friendships, her work, her own health. But when that hadn’t worked, she’d gone two steps further, shifting around all her future plans too, telling herself she didn’t care about getting married or even having kids, all so she could continue to defend her decision to stay.
But now, all the bending was finally about to break her, if it hadn’t broken her already. It was hard to tell, but she knew it was time to stop making excuses for Dustin. She couldn’t help him until he wanted to be helped, and she had to respect herself enough not to let him take her down with him.
She was finally strong enough, or perhaps just exhausted enough, to do what she had to do.
Jamming her feet into her still-tied sneakers, she walked back to the couch once more. “Come with me?”
