Chapter 19
NINETEEN
SUTTON
I t’s been weeks.
Three miserable, exhausting weeks, and I still haven’t adjusted to my new routine.
Today is family visitation, and all the other people here are bustling about, as various levels of excited and nervous energy hang in the air.
For me though, it’s just another day. Mom and Dad wanted to be here, but I told them not to come.
Honestly, at this point I think it would fuck too much with my head if I saw either one of them.
I’m not ready for that yet. The guilt eats away at me and I resist the urge to chew on my lip.
There’ll be other visitation days. It’s fine. They understand.
I did get to speak with them on the phone though, and that was.
. . well, about as emotionally exhausting as I expected it to be.
I reassured them that I’m doing fine, the program has been going well, I’m healing , blah blah blah.
And from the hopeful sounds of their voices, I could just tell that they wanted to ask more, but I couldn’t give them that .
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Instead, I gave them what they wanted to hear.
The reassurance that I was improving and would be ‘back to my old self’ in no time, whatever the hell that even means.
After the third or fourth rounds of “are you sure you don’t want us to come?
” I had to hang up the phone. I just. . .
I love my family, but if I’m going to do this, if I am going to get better, I can’t have them hovering.
It’s too hard, too much of a reminder. The guilt is so overwhelming that I can feel myself slowly drowning in it.
I’m their only daughter, their only child.
How the hell could I be such a selfish asshole?
They expected more of me. I expected more of myself.
Aw, hell. I’m sure this is something else I’ll have to circle back to in the endless rounds of group and individual therapy that are mandatory participation as part of the rehabilitative process. Ugh.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Startled, I glance up from the page of my journal that I’d been blankly staring at for. . . I don’t even know how long, and I take in a sharp breath as I look up into the most beautiful chocolate eyes I have ever seen.
“What’s your name?”
I blink, unable to process that he is actually talking to me . I notice his discomfort, and realize with a start that I’ve been silently staring for too long. God, why am I always so awkward as fuck? And yet, I still can’t find a way to form words in response.
“I’m Jonah.”
The tall guy sits down next to me, our shoulders just barely brushing where my back still leans against the trunk of the tree.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. You new?”
Jesus, he’s tall even when he’s sitting down.
Hell, he must be at least as tall as. . .
well, no. I can’t even think of his name in my head right now.
Tall guy’s hair styled into tightly weaved cornrows, muscles practically bulge out of his t-shirt, and his thick thighs in those dark wash jeans are quite the mouthwatering sight for my sore eyes.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” He smirks at me.
Shit. I was still staring. Wait, did he ask me a question and I completely ignored him again ? Double-shit.
“I - ” My voice catches, and I try again. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Ah. So she does speak.” This time a genuine smile, one that you can see in those chocolate eyes, lights up his whole face. “I asked if you’re new here?”
I swallow, forcing myself to nod. “Uh, yeah. I’m new here.”
His mouth tugs on one side, as if he is trying to tone down the smile. “Alright then, newbie. Got a name?”
“Oh, um. I’m Sutton.”
“Well, Sutton, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jonah.” He repeats his introduction, holding out his hand to shake in greeting.
Tentatively I reach to grab it, my fingers appear even more thin and frail in his overly-large, steady ones.
Instead of shaking though, he just holds my hand in his own, staring thoughtfully back at me.
My cheeks flush from the attention, and I look away in embarrassment.
I know what I look like, what he must see right now.
“Mind if I sit out here with you for a bit?”
As if he has to ask. He’s already sitting down, and he still hasn’t let go of my hand for that matter.
I try to slide out from his grasp, but he gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, not letting up.
I don’t respond, unsure of what to say so instead I just sit there, our hands still connected, sitting awkwardly together as silence fills the space between us.
“My younger brother is in treatment here, too. Been here for a while. This is my third time coming to visit for a family day. He’s with my parents right now.” From the corner of my eye, I see him shrug. “So I thought I’d give them some space, ya know?”
Shifting slightly, he turns his back so leans it up against the tree more comfortably, still not holding on to me as if he’s the one who needs a friend. . . And we just sit in silence.
“You’ve got mail, Farley.”
I’m just walking out of my group therapy session, trailing quietly behind the people that walked out ahead of me.
Today was a hard day. After breakfast and my daily weight check-in, I had a group session in the morning, followed by art therapy and lunch, and then my double session of private counseling.
During the dinner hour it was my turn to help with meal prep and trying to work through negative associations surrounding the kitchen.
Then it was back to another lengthy group session.
I’m finally done for the day, and was surprised when I was stopped by one of the administrative staff to tell me I have mail.
Lena always writes to me, but usually her letters come on Fridays, so I can get the scoop starting from her previous weekend all through the current week.
And my parents, they both write letters too, but theirs always come toward the end of the week as well.
I’ve never really gotten mail on a Tuesday before.
I can feel my stomach twist into knots, anxiety filling me.
If it’s Lena or my parents, something must be wrong for them to be writing to me outside of their normal schedules.
No, Sutton. Calm . Breathe in. Cool . Breathe out.
Collected . Breathe in. Long, slow breath out.
I try to reassure myself; if something were truly wrong, the facility would have made an exception for me to have an emergency phone call. It has to be something else.
With a shaky hand, I reach for the small envelope, my grasp tentative. I refuse to look at it until I’m back in my room, but once there, my brow furrows in confusion as I look at the label. There’s no name, and I don’t recognize the address, nor do I recognize the handwriting. Huh.
I open the letter, pulling out a single college-ruled piece of paper filled with neat, small print.
Hey Newbie,
You looked like you could use a friend, so I hope you don’t mind, but I figured I would write to you.
I get not wanting to talk and all that. I’m sure it can be a lot, being in that place.
Like I said before, my brother has been there for a while, and from what he‘s told me, things can be pretty. . . intense.
But I also couldn’t help but notice that you were rather alone for family visitation day. And that can be pretty shitty too. So anyway, this is me saying hi. How are you?
Oh, by the way, if you don’t want to respond that’s cool too. But I promise I’m not a creep or anything. And I’m not trying to hit on you either. Just thought you could maybe use a friend. Either way, if you are interested in writing back, you can just send me a note at the address below.
– Jonah
I stare blankly at the page, blinking a few times in surprise.
That was. . . really sweet actually. After he’d introduced himself on Family Visitation Day, I’m not even sure how long we sat there, not saying a word to each other.
But he didn’t seem bothered by the quiet.
And I honestly couldn’t bring myself to talk.
Later, when he said his goodbyes, he introduced me to his brother and his parents.
I had already met his brother, of course.
It’s a small program after all, but still, it was a kind gesture.
Luka and I are in several group therapy sessions together.
Which means we know more about each other than either of us would like at this point.
But when Jonah introduced me as his new friend, Luka nodded in acknowledgement, while his parents each gave me a hug.
And their hugs were so warm and so full of love, it honestly reminded me of my own parents.
In turn, this of course sent me back down a rabbit hole of guilt that continues to eat away at me for refusing to let them visit me here.
Still, even though their momentary kindness felt like a lot at that moment, it was nice to be .
. . normal for a minute. To just be an ordinary girl, being introduced to a guy’s family as a friend for once, rather than with the ‘oh look at that sick kid’ vibes I‘ve been receiving lately, or being the cruel butt of everyone's jokes back home.
I didn’t respond to his letter right away, too drained after the therapy sessions I’d had that day, I just kinda sat and stewed on it for the rest of the evening.
And then, for the next several days, I debated whether I even should or not.
I mean, for all I know, he was probably just trying to be nice.
He probably wasn’t actually expecting a response from me.
I shouldn’t respond. . . but I did, eventually.