“Then that’s a chance you’re going to have to take.” She reaches forward and caresses my jaw. “You can’t hold back because you’re afraid.”
I’ve heard this countless times, have probably said it to people myself. Somehow, it never registered in my psyche. Somehow, until now, I hadn’t really listened to it. They say sometimes you need to hear something at the right time for it to make an impact, like a book you read at a certain age in order to really appreciate it.
Maybe this is that moment.
Hadley must see the change in me before I even figure it out myself. “She’s like you, Thomas. She’s strong and bright, and she loves you.”
For the first time in months, I don’t hold myself back. I don’t choke the tears that come to my eyes. I let them fill to the brim. “You think so?”
“Yes. She has what you have.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fire.” Hadley nods. “She has your fire.”
I think of her smile, her raven hair, her violet eyes. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her slender limbs wrapped around my body. Her tattoo. Her laughter. Her courage. Her words.
We’re soul mates, Thomas. You’re like my favorite song. You have to talk. You can’t live like this. You’re holding on too tight. You remind me of some kind of fire-breather.
Layla Robinson, the fire-breather.
My fire-breather.
We don’t make a circle in this class. Even though it is a critique class. The professor here doesn’t insult anyone or doesn’t comment on horrendous word choices. He is not rude or mean or arrogant.
He is also not a genius.
I like him, though. He’s a good teacher, encouraging, full of kind words. ‘Like’ is the best thing, the right thing to feel for someone who teaches you. Anything other than that…anything even close to love or even hate? No. That’s a big no. It only complicates things.
So I’m happy with my new professor. He is not Thomas Abrams. But, that’s fine. That’s more than fine. I don’t want a professor like him. Ever. I don’t want to go through what I went through ever again. I never want to do all the bad things that I did.
My family is dying because you love me.
It’s not your fault.
Thomas’ last words haunt me and frustrate me and I hear them all the time. They are always loud and clear, and always send my numb heart spiraling, so much so that I want to hunt him down and shake him and demand all the answers. Was it my fault or not?
But it’s better this way. I don’t want to look to him for answers. I don’t want to be dependent on anybody for that.
Dr. Apostolos says we have all the answers, always. We just need to look for them, and in order to do that, we need to love ourselves. Love yourself and the rest will follow.
She is my therapist, and she is a legit one, not like Kara. I met her at the youth center in New Jersey, after I confessed everything to my mom and the dean.
I told everyone it was me. I was the one who pursued Thomas. I was the one who stalked him, went to his house. I showed them my tattoo. Yeah, I stood up in the hospital room full of people and lifted my shirt. They all cringed and grimaced at my shamelessness. Sometimes being crazy pays off, because they dismissed the case and kicked me out of school. Thomas had already quit his job by then.
It’s fine. I wasn’t going to stay anyway.
My mom had reached her limit though. She sent me away, and I didn’t protest. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t have a home, and I didn’t have the energy to make one. So, for the next thirty days, the rehab center was it for me.
Dr. Apostolos was nice to me. She never judged, only listened, and then handed me tissues when I was all cried out for the day. I told her everything. About Thomas, about the affair, about Nicky. About Hadley, and the fact that she was suffering from post-partum depression. This I found out from Emma when she called me early in my stay. There were rumors going around and she wanted me to know. We’re still friends, though she was hurt I didn’t tell her about Thomas.
I told everything to my therapist. She told me post-partum depression isn’t something I could’ve brought on. In fact, to reach a point where Hadley wanted to kill herself, that takes a lot of time and a lot of depression. It wasn’t my doing. I didn’t trigger it by going to their house.
I know that. I’ve heard it a million times. I’ve researched everything about depression, but I don’t know why I don’t believe it.
Even so, I’m focusing on loving myself. Love yourself and the rest will follow.
I’m climbing down the stone steps of the building, having just now finished my creative writing class. The steps merge with a busy sidewalk, but that’s New York. Big and loud and crowded, always in a hurry. Everyone is going somewhere. I like that. I like everything about this city.
A small smile blooms on my lips before it drips off. The heat fluctuates in the air. The temperature goes up. There can only be one reason for it. Thomas.
He is here. Despite the mass of bodies, I see him. He’s standing at the end of the block, by the red light, watching me. As if, he knew I’d be out here, at this very moment.
Maybe he did know because Hadley was here yesterday.
To be honest, I was expecting him. I don’t know why he’s here, though. I don’t even know why Hadley showed up out of the blue like a ghost and scared the shit out of me. I could only stand there and stare at her while she talked about that awful, awful day. She told me how she’d given up and how when she got back, she pretty much knew what she was going to do. It had nothing to do with me. She said that probably five times, confirming what Dr. Apostolos already told me.
The entire conversation, I couldn’t look away from her. She appeared so…healthy and beautiful. It was blinding. I’m not proud that I was comparing her otherworldly beauty with my very worldly one, but I couldn’t help it. In the end, she apologized for traumatizing me, which made me snort. She was saying sorry to me when I’m the criminal.
Taking a deep breath, I swat my breeze-ruffled hair off my face. I straighten my checkered skirt and my top.
I can’t take any more of this suspense, so I walk up to him. He’s staring at me with his blue, blue eyes. They never fail to make me heated or cause tingles all over my body. It’s like the sun is watching me from the sky. The tingles spread out of my scalp and radiate toward my neck, my spine, the back of my thighs. Everywhere.
His eyes are beautiful but tired. He’s lost some weight and his face has become sharper, more bony. His hair, though dark and rich, is overly long, dangling over his shoulders, his forehead. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a while. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a long while either.
He looks like he hasn’t lived in a long while.
I stop a few feet away and in the frenzy of the city, the silence is thick between us. Until he breaks it. “How are you?”
“Good,” I say, awkwardly.