Bash
I can’t remember the last time I went a whole day without hearing from Lydia. And as much as I love talking to her and hearing how her day is going…right now, I’m not even thinking about those things. I just can’t stop worrying if she’s okay. So I do the only thing I can think to do.
Sandro: Nah, I didn’t even talk to my sister yesterday. What’s going on?
Three bubbles appear pretty quickly.
Sandro: Want me to ask Lani?
Bash: Please
It feels like forever before I hear back from him.
Sandro: She said Lydia didn’t come back to the dorm last night. They’ve been out looking for her and calling her all day
My heart drops. I hate this feeling. I hate worrying. I hate not having any control here. I have no idea what’s happening or if she’s okay, and my mind won’t stop going to all the worst possibilities.
Bash: Can you send me Lani’s number so I can meet up with them
He sends it to me, and I immediately click on it and hit call.
“Hello?” a little voice asks on the other end, confused and also kinda out of breath.
“Um, hey, Lani. It’s Bash.”
“Bash! Hey. Have you talked to Lydia?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see. It’s not for her; it’s for the disappointment. “No,” I say, and I know my voice gives away my nerves, but I can’t even care right now. “Where are y’all?”
Once she tells me, I hang up, grab my keys, and rush out of my dorm building.
As soon as I hit the front seat of my car and press the push start, my phone buzzes in the seat beside me. I grab it and see Lydia’s name pop up. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and then my heart sinks again when I read her text.
Lydia: I relapsed…please don’t hate me
I throw my head back on my seat, pinching the bridge of my nose, wishing I could erase that message from ever existing.
I need to know where she is. I need to be wherever she is. I need…I don’t know what I need. It’s not about what I need. I just need to go be whatever she needs.
Bash: Where are you
She texts back a barely coherent location that I piece together is a dorm building on the other side of campus…near where the recovery group meets…where it met last night.
What could have happened between the time I left her and today?
I know she was having a bad day, but for it to go this far…
I quickly call Lani and tell them what I know and ask them to give me a moment with her. She tells me that’s probably best, and to text her when and where they can meet up with us, and to tell Lydia they’re here, however she needs them to be.
When I pull up to the parking lot near the building, I see her sitting against the brick wall, head tucked between her knees, arms wrapped around her like that’ll protect her from all the bad in the world. My heart starts running to her before I’m even out of the car.
When I walk up to her, I don’t touch her, don’t move her. I just sit down next to her, resting my arms on my knees.
“Hey,” I say, gently trying to pull her attention up to me.
She slowly raises her head, and I see the tears running down her cheeks.
For a moment, all I can see is the little girl version of her hiding behind the woman in front of me, waiting for someone to say it’s okay to come out.
My thumbs brush the tears away, and she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, just stares up at me, helplessness in her eyes.
I want to be able to take away the pain for her—the pain in her heart, and in her head.
“No one hates you,” I whisper to her since I know that’s the lie she’s telling herself right now—with me, with Lani and Simone, with her parents, with her therapist, with everyone who wants to see her happy and healthy and sober. “I don’t hate you…not today, not because of this…not ever.”
She laughs a kind of laugh that’s bitter and self-deprecating. “You should,” she says. “I gave you a speech about trying, and then I went and proved that I’m just a liar.”
I see the distress in her movements, in her tone, in her eyes.
I just keep my eyes on hers, wanting to reach out and bring her into my arms to protect her…even if it’s from herself.
“What’s your color right now?”
I know it’s stupid to ask, but I want her to have something to talk about gently and maybe something positive to pull from.
She stares back like she’s searching for the answer to give me, then decides to just be honest.
“Red,” she whispers. Then, sharper. “Does it matter? The ‘deep breathing and water’ thing won’t make me less of what I am.”
“What are you?” I ask, gently.
Sometimes repeating the accusation out loud shrinks it because you hear the lies in it.
She swallows and runs her tongue along the inside of her cheek.
“Poison,” she says. A bitter echo of a joke made on a good night.
She looks away like she regrets letting that one out.
“I’m—” She chokes on it and then pushes through.
“I’m the girl who will always ruin anything good.
And you—” She looks back, anger taking over the shame.
“You don’t want this. You want the version of me that makes you feel like you helped fix something.
You want the miracle girl, not…me. Especially when I’m a mess. ”
My first instinct is to reach for her and tell her that’s a lie, argue the case, but I just place my hands on my knees instead.
“I want you alive,” I say simply. “And I want you to have a day two. Not because it makes me feel needed. Because I like you. Sober. Messy. Bored. Angry. Whatever version you wake up as. I’m not here to be some savior, Lydia.” I tip my head toward the brick. “No cape.”
She snorts at that, but her mouth wobbles a little. “You keep saying that like you don’t always have one hidden.”
“I just have a mediocre plan,” I say.
She looks at me, curious…and hopeful.
“The plan is…water, a walk back to somewhere that feels safe for you, food if you can stomach it. Then Lani and Simone, if you want them. Then sleep. Then maybe brainstorming a map for tonight and tomorrow. No speeches. No worrying about any guilt.”
Something in her tightens back up again, panic flashing across her face. “I can’t—” Her breath hitches. “I can’t see them yet. Not like this.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “So we don’t call them yet.”
She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and shakes her head, angry at herself. “God, I hate this. I hate that I want you to fix it. I hate that I want you here. I hate that I keep using you like a—” she cuts herself off and bites down on the word, “crutch.”
“I’m here because I choose to be,” I say. “You’re not using me. You asked for company, not to be rescued. I can be company.”
She exhales painfully. “You should go.”
“If you want me to, I will,” I say. “Mean it, and I’m gone. But I think that’s just the shame talking. How about I stay for ten more minutes…then you can tell me to leave if it doesn’t change.”
She stares at me. “Ten.”
“Ten.” I look at my watch and set a mental timer.
We don’t talk for the first two. We just breathe silently together. Her hands tremble, and I slide my water bottle toward her. “Small sips,” I say. “I’ll even pretend to hate the water with you.”
She glares at the bottle like it offended her, then takes a sip, and another. The shaking doesn’t stop, but it eases up.
“What happened?” I finally ask.
She shrugs, and the tears cloud her eyes again.
“Therapy was…rough,” she says. “Pulled some old crappy memories out. I felt all raw and exposed and exhausted, so I…you know, shut down.” She looks away.
“Then I kinda had a panic attack in the courtyard alone. Then you came along and helped…until the help stopped working. Then I went to group thinking that would help. It didn’t…
and after the group, I was walking back to my dorm when I ran into that guy. The one from um…the party.”
I know the confusion and disbelief has to be written all over my face. “The guy who…”
She nods.
Every muscle in me goes tight. “Did he touch you?”
“Yes…but not like that. Just…grabbed my arms when I bumped into him,” she says quickly.
“It was enough, though. I ran…and I didn’t know where I was going, and there was a party going on in the building I ran into, and—” She shrugs again, disappointed in herself.
“I didn’t mean to end up there…but I did…
and I just…I wanted the quiet it was offering so easily. ”
“You deserve a quiet that doesn’t hurt you,” I say, keeping my voice flat so it doesn’t show the fury in my chest. Not at her. It’s never at her.
My timer ticks us into eight minutes. “You still want me to go?” I ask, knowing she deserves to set her own boundaries.
She looks at me like I’ll answer for her, but this is her choice. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Then…let’s find a want that’s simple and small and easy to do.
” I point across the lawn at the student union.
“There’s a couch in the quiet lounge. No one will bother you there.
We can just sit. You can relax. I’ll text the girls to meet us later if you decide you want them there.
If you don’t want company, or you don’t want me to stay…
I’ll just make sure someone is here with you, who you trust.
She stares at me, debating it all in her head. “Okay,” she says finally, so softly I almost miss it. “I want the couch.”
We stand, and she sways before I offer my arm to steady her.
She takes it and lets me guide us toward the door.
Inside, I keep a little distance at first, wanting her to feel comfortable.
We claim the little corner in the back, and then I make sure it’s okay with Lydia before I shoot a text to Lani.
Bash: I’m with her. She’s safe. She’s exhausted. We’re at the lounge in the union. Can you and Simone come in a little? She said it’s okay
Lani responds in less than two seconds.
Lani: On our way with snacks/water. No questions. Tell her we love her
“You ready for them?” I ask out loud, showing her my phone.
She bites her lip, then nods. “Yeah,” she says, all tiny. “I don’t…I don’t really want to hide from them.”