Chapter Two #4
again. To try and accept the fact that he's going to get away with
ruining my fucking life!"
My rant is hysterical, and
my awareness of this fact in no way helps me to change it. My tears
run freely down my cheeks, and the horrified look on my mother's
face only delivers a fresh wave of guilt.
Dr. Schall clears his
throat, as if to remind us both that he is still present, but I
don't break eye contact with my mother.
"Rory if you don't feel
ready to discuss Cameron Foster then that is okay," he assures me.
"I think what your mother is trying to understand is why you felt
able to discuss him with Sam Caplan, but not her, or
myself."
I open my mouth to
respond. But I don't have
a response. I don't know how to explain my
connection with Sam, or how in that moment I just felt as if I
could tell him anything. I don't know how to explain how
conversely, I can't talk about Cam to my mom. She knew him. She
loved him. How can I look her in the eye and witness her own grief
when I know I am the cause of it?
"Cam's dead." My voice is
low and toneless, like it's coming from someone else. "There's
nothing to talk about. He's not coming back." I feel physically
sick to my stomach. It's a hard truth for me to voice, one I'm
reluctant to accept, but one I know to be true.
"Rory, why don't you have
a seat," Dr. Schall suggests, but I can't. I'm jumping out of my
own skin. I feel cornered. Like they planned this. Like they got me
in this room and tried to trick me into talking about
Cam.
"Honey, I know how hard
you're trying. I do. And I'm so proud of you. I just think if you
talked about him—"
"I don't want to fucking
talk about him!" I wail. Why won't she
just get the fucking point?! "I never
should have talked about him to Sam! I never should have gotten
close to Sam at all! All I do is fuck everything up!"
I'm practically blinded by
my own tears as I dart out of the office, only vaguely aware of
them both calling after me. I ignore the receptionist's startled
look, and flee through the vestibule. Only when I'm outside can I
take a deep breath. I feel for my purse strap, and realize that in
my haste to get out of there, I left it behind. Fucking great.
Now I don't have my car
keys or my pills. In fact, I realize that it's probably the only
reason my mother didn't come after me, since it's more than clear I
shouldn't be driving right now.
Instead, I lean back
against the brick facade of the medical office building and squeeze
my eyes shut in an attempt to squelch my tears. I count backwards
from ten, again and again, and breathe. I breathe in and out, in,
and out.
It's long minutes before
my breaths even out and my tears start to slow. I swipe at my
cheeks with the sleeve of my leather jacket. It's then that I
remember I left a lone cigarette in the pocket, bummed from Dave
several days earlier.
I don't want to smoke. I
know how unhealthy it is, and the last thing I want is to develop a
nicotine addiction.
Well, no. That's not
actually true. The last
thing I want is to feel like this for another
fucking moment. So I pull out the matchbook that I keep in that
same pocket and light the cigarette. I inhale deeply, embracing the
calming effects, all the while silently lamenting over how much I
hate my life. And then I hate myself even more for my
self-loathing. Because this isn't who I want to be.
"Rory?"
I'm startled by a girl's
voice. I hastily drop my cigarette and stub it out with the sole of
my boot and wipe my eyes again. I recognize her
immediately.
"Hi Bits." I greet Sam's
kid sister with a shaky voice. I've only met her a couple of
times—once here at Dr. Schall's, of whom she's also a patient, and
once at dinner at the Caplans' house.
I watch her expression
grow concerned as she approaches, and I add mortification to my
list of overwhelming emotions. I try hard to hide my distress, but
I doubt I'm all that effective.
"Everything okay?" she
asks.
It's a ridiculous
question. It's obvious that everything's not okay.
Nothing's okay. I don't
even know what okay is anymore. But something in Bits's eyes expresses the
sincerity of her concern, exuding an empathy reminiscent of her
brother's. An exceptionally rare degree of understanding and an
answering compassion.
Of course, Bits knows what
it's like to feel like utter shit. When she'd intentionally
overdosed on pills last summer, after what had once been described
to me as a bad breakup, it had really shaken her older brother. And it was Sam who
confided in me about it. But pain knows pain, and I recognized
something kindred in Bits almost immediately.
"No," I whisper. It's the
first time I've admitted it out loud, and there's something vaguely
freeing about it. Bits just nods and, to my surprise, wraps me in a
hug.
I lean into her, accepting
her offer of friendship. We pull away at the same time, and though
I hate that Bits went through what she went through, it helps to
know someone has gone through hell and come out the other end okay.
She certainly seems okay, anyway.
"I know it doesn't feel
like it right now, but you're going to get through this. And one
day, maybe not as soon as you'd like, but one day down the road,
you're going to look back at all this and see it differently," she
says with a wisdom that is far beyond her sixteen years.
I don't know if it's true,
of course. It doesn't seem likely. That there will be a time when
I'll come to terms with being without Sam, when I'll accept the way
I lost Cam. If I'll be able to move on from Robin. If he'll even
let me go. Sam will move on eventually. If he hasn't already. He'll
meet a girl, and if I want to stay in his life I'll have to be okay
with it. How could any of that ever feel okay? It all feels so hopeless. I
feel the ache in my chest and the emptiness in my gut as sharp as
ever.
But it lifts my pitiful
mood to hear that at least for Bits, her depression is in the past.
To see her looking genuinely happy.
"Sure hope so," I
mutter.
Bits smiles faintly in
reassurance. And then I nearly panic again.
"Shit, Bits, please don't
tell Sam about this. I don't want him to think-"
"Don't be ridiculous." She
says a line her brother has dropped so many times. "Sammy
only thinks I
tell him everything," and she smiles wryly.
From absolutely nowhere, a
small laugh makes its way up my throat, and in its wake a small,
barely-there smile.
The door opens behind me
and my mother emerges from the vestibule, holding my
purse.
"Rory, I'm sorry—" she
begins.
"It's fine." I cut her
off. She's relieved, but she doesn't let it show long as she
notices our company.
"This is my friend, Beth,"
I tell my mother. Really only her immediate family calls her
Bits, and it's probably
weird that I call her that, but it's the way Sam introduced her to
me.
My mother would have
recognized her if I'd called her Bits, but I don't want to embarrass
her by explaining exactly who she is. We are at a therapists
office, after all, and one who specializes in teen victims of abuse
and depression at that. Though the hint of recognition in my
mother's expression tells me the unmistakable midnight blue of
Bits's eyes didn't get past her.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Sam
Caplan's sister," she introduces herself. I guess she's not quite
as ashamed of her issues as I am of mine.
Bits excuses herself so
she can get to her appointment, and I spend the next several
minutes convincing my mother that I'm now okay to drive.
When we meet up back at
home, neither of us brings up Cam or our failure of a therapy
session, and dinner is a quiet and somber event. We don't force
conversation, there's no need. It's not our first dinner shrouded
in silence and regret.