Her explanation does nothing but remind me how oblivious I’ve been. I peel her hand off, pressing some cash into her palm.
“Yeah, you’re right. You should’ve told me.”
She calls after me as I rush from the bar.
The heavy clomp of her boots tails me to my truck.
“Jesus, fuck, Remy, come on,” she pants. “Can we talk about this?”
I rip the door open and slide into the driver’s seat.
“No.”
She stops it from slamming with surprising strength. “I fucked up, ok? I didn’t really put it together until you just—”
“Andrea.”
She clamps her mouth shut. My trembling hands grip the wheel, a singular impulse screaming at me.
“I have to go.”
“But—”
“Look, I get it. Do I like it? Fuck no, I’m pissed. But right now, my boyfriend needs me whether he wants to admit it or not so please, for the love of fuck, let me go to him.”
Awe slackens her features. “Maybe you’re more ready to be with him than I gave you credit for.”
Conflicting emotions tie sailing knots around my windpipe.
She takes a step back. Another.
With a sad smile, she murmurs, “We’ll work this out, Rem. We always do. Go be there for your man.”
My eyes sting and burn. I swallow hard, nodding as I close the door and aim for a house I haven’t visited in six years.
37
Remy
Five Years and Eight Months Ago
It’s a utensil. Just a metal spoon.
You can do it.
White noise roars in my ears. The cafeteria table beneath my bowl is miles away. My arms are too long and my fingers are noodles. Voices aren’t speaking; they’re blaring monotonous static at different pitches. I’m in a vortex, unblinking as thousands of thoughts flit by at lightning speed.
The spoon falls from my trembling fingers for the third time.
Numbness. It’s what I wanted right? For the endless agony to stop. To breathe without knives puncturing my weakened lungs. For the bleeding to slow. To stand without my limbs on the verge of collapse.
The promise of peace in my mind.
After the night my world ended, I was presented with a magic cure in the form of SSRIs. Sertraline, fluoxetine, escitalopram— just to name a few of the pills I’ve swallowed in hopes of relief.
In return, I’m gifted insomnia, brain fog, dry mouth, shakes and loss of appetite. Not calming your racing thoughts? Fine, we can switch to a different brand. You’re sluggish now? Too bad because if you drink coffee you’ll puke. Oh, no, the generic isn’t any good. You need a refill? Sorry, the pharmacy won’t be restocking that one, but we can get you something similar. If it’s not enough, up the dose until you’re shivering on the floor, black spots dancing in your vision while you try to figure out where the fuck you are.
You’ll feel better soon.
