He sounded so helpless. So utterly destroyed. How did I possibly think I could help him? That I could do this on my own? His issues, what he needed, was so beyond what I was capable of providing. “I can't do this by myself. I don't know what to do, or what to say. I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself.” I said matter of factly.
Clay looked at me for a second, then crossed the room toward me. “That's where you're wrong. You save me every single day. You are the one thing that makes me happy. You are the only thing I need.” His words were so passionate and I felt myself being pulled along by his conviction. “But, you're still cutting.” I argued, fighting the Clay haze that threatened to overshadow my better judgment.
“That was a one-time thing. I swear it. I was just upset about what happened with your parents. About not being the guy you need me to be. I just got depressed. But now that you're here, I'll be fine. We're fine. I promise.” There were those words again. I promise.
I had just said those same words to my mom as I assured her I would be fine. That Clay and I were fine. What a freaking lie.
And here was Clay saying the exact same thing. Was he lying too? What was the use of those words when they were so often untrue?
I knew I shouldn't let this go. Clay was sick. He needed to see someone. Ruby needed to know what he was going through. But I stupidly let him pull me into his arms, his breath teasing my lips as he leaned into me. I loved him so much. But was it enough?
“I love you, Maggie. You're all that I need.” He murmured as his mouth captured mine and I forgot everything else. Stupid, stupid girl.
Chapter Fourteen
The week and a half leading up to Thanksgiving break found me stuck in a weird balancing act. I continued spending every free moment with Clay, which then forced me to lie repeatedly to my parents about what I was doing and who I was doing it with. They continued to make their dislike of Clay very clear and nothing I said seemed to change it.
I felt like I was living my life in the shadow of everyone's disapproval. My parents', Rachel's and Daniel's. I saw it when they looked at me. Heard it between the lines of their words. They could mask it in concern all they wanted, but it didn't change the fact that they wanted me to forget about Clay and our relationship. To find my way back to the person I was before.
Well, that wasn't going to happen. Because I was different now and I didn't want to be the girl I was before Clay. She was boring. Disinterested in life. That girl had never known what it was like to love someone more than herself.
I didn't like that girl anymore. She was my past.
And Clay, for all of his flaws, was my future. Whether my family and friends agreed or not. And honestly, I didn't give a damn.
But I couldn't ignore the gigantic elephant in the room. Clay's arms had healed after I had found him cutting. I tried not to touch the rough scabs when he held me. I avoided being reminded of that scary place I had found myself in with Clay by my side.
We never talked about it. Not once. There were times when it sat on the tip of my tongue to ask him about the cutting. To find out more about what triggered him. I wanted to understand that dark part of him. Because if I loved him, I had to love every part of who he was. But I was a wimp. Instead I refused to address it, choosing instead to bury my head in the proverbial sand like a damned ostrich.
I had decided to look up bi-polar disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder on the internet one evening while I waited for Clay to call me. I didn't know much about mental illness, having never known anyone, before Clay, who suffered like that.
When he threw around words like cycles and mania, I had no idea what he was talking about. So I sat myself down, intent on solving at least part of the mystery that shrouded my boyfriend.
A few clicks later and the words started swimming in front of my eyes. Manic and depressive episodes. Heightened mood. Hypomania.
Okay, having had enough of the bi-polar research, I had moved on to the Borderline thing. That wasn't any better. I skipped over statements that read, pattern of instability and intensity within interpersonal relationships, frantic efforts to avoid abandonment. Inappropriate anger. Suicidal behaviors.
I had closed my browser. I couldn't handle reading anymore. It was that ostrich mentality again. The less I knew, the better.
Since then, I staunchly avoided all discussions about Clay's cutting and his mental health. But even though I wouldn't talk about it, it didn't stop me from thinking about it all the time. But, Clay wanted normal, so damn it I would give him normal. And that meant that I refused to dwell on the blackness that threatened to engulf us.
Clay, for his part, was trying to keep things even-keeled. He took me to the movies, brought me my favorite coffee every morning. Beautiful drawings and heartfelt poems filled my locker. He was the picture of the considerate and thoughtful boyfriend. We became even more fixated on each other. The physical need to drown our fears in each other was overwhelming.
Our kisses had become almost desperate, our hands less than patient as we sought to erase the nagging doubts that tickled the back of our minds in the hours we spent together. But nothing could erase the truth that had taken root in my mind. That this would all blow up in my face in the most agonizing way possible. I felt like my life was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.
I started waking up in the middle of the night. Startled out of sleep by horrible nightmares. I could never remember all of them. Only that Clay was leaving me and there was nothing I could do about it. I was wound as tight as a violin. Those dark hours before seeing Clay again were the worst. I couldn't sleep for worrying about what he was doing.
I knew this was bad for me. I knew that perhaps my parents had been right. But I needed Clay as much as he needed me. We existed in this symbiotic relationship where our hearts beat and our lungs breathed only for each other.