17. Lifeline
Chelsea
Winter break has been a whirlwind. It’s already mid-January, and I don’t know how we got here so quickly—except I do. Trevor and I have done all the things. First there was the winter carnival Joel’s brother Jesse organized at the Binghamton Knights stadium. Trevor acted as emcee for the baseball trivia and a few other games. Of course, he had a great time, and watching him full of charisma and sarcastic quips was hot as fuck.
Did I give him a blow job on the way home from there? Maybe.
Every day I feel a little more free with my sexuality, and the big S—sex, or is it the big I for intercourse?—has been on my mind. I’m getting closer to being ready, but that’s going to be a whole conversation and not something I’m ready to get into while we’re staying with either my family or his mom.
After the winter carnival, it was straight into Christmas things. All the Christmas things as we tried to balance his family and mine. Not to mention taking time for ourselves. The day after Christmas, there was the annual friend group party, which apparently Rae and everyone have at Joel’s house. It’s grown since they were in high school to include lots of other friends. It was a good time. Mostly. Hyla and Mackenzie had a heartbreaking confrontation. I still don’t know all the details there, but it’s clear they still love each other, but there are things holding them back from being together. A part of Hyla has been utterly broken since then, even if she’s trying to play it off otherwise.
Trevor is, unsurprisingly, concerned about it all and wants to fix it. He can’t, so supporting her is all he’s got left. Apparently, that includes going to some dinner with her family in a couple of days. I offered to go if only to be a buffer. They don’t know me and I don’t give a fuck about them, but Trevor said it’s something Hyla wants and needs to do. He doesn’t sound thrilled, but if they’re as awful as he’s said, that’s not surprising.
In the midst of all that, though, we made time for a cozy New Year’s Eve celebration, just the two of us in a little cabin at my family’s campground. It was absolutely freaking perfect and the best New Year’s of my life.
Now, since we didn’t have time to do it at the start of winter break, we’re finally meeting up with Bridget and Lex. At the best bar in Birch Lake, apparently. They still haven’t gotten the message that I don’t like to drink much.
I’m finally comfortable having a little here and there. I had a glass of champagne at Rae and Aaron’s wedding, and Trevor and I split a small bottle of champagne on New Year’s Eve. But other than that, drinking is minimal, and not a social activity I enjoy. But whatever. I’ve decided to meet them where they are, offer whatever friendship I can, and work on being okay with that.
Trevor pulls into a space down the street from the bar and rests a hand on my thigh.
“Are you ready? Because if not, we can go. Run away to Mexico.”
I laugh at that. “Sounds like something someone would say right before the bride walks into a wedding.”
He shrugs. “It’s multi-use.”
“I’m ready. Ish. I just want it to be low-key. I want no drama. But I’m also not willing to let them hurt me anymore, even if it is unknowingly.”
He grunts in that very Trevor way. “I doubt it’s unknowing. But I will go in there with my supportive face on. I’ll be nice. I won’t flip my shit on them. Unless you ask me to.”
I grab his chin between my thumb and fingers. “You’re so cute when you’re respectful of my boundaries while still somehow being all growly and protective.”
“Cute.” He hmphs.
“Sorry. I meant adorable .”
He shakes his head, but can’t keep his smile in. “You’re lucky you’re sexy, gorgeous, smart, kind, and put up with my annoying ass.”
I shrug and fling my door open. “Five out five. Not bad.”
With a wink, I climb out, channeling that inner strength I haven’t needed to rely on in a while. I’ve healed more than I realized in these last few months, and maybe that’s what I’m most afraid of walking into the bar. I don’t want to feel like that broken shell of a person I was before.
Then Trevor steps up beside me and wraps his arm around my back, and I know I won’t feel that way. I’m stronger now, and when I’m not, I have his strength to bolster me.
I’m wearing a shimmery gray sweater dress and heeled boots that make me feel sexy as fuck and give me an extra boost of confidence. Trevor likes it too. At least if the hand resting on my ass is any indication.
When we walk in, I quickly spot Bridget and Lex. They’re at a table at the far side of the bar near a row of windows.
“Hey, bitch!” Lex yells, throwing her hand up in an over-the-top wave.
The subtle grumble under Trevor’s breath is everything. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Bridget and Lex both stand up when I get to the table, throwing their arms out for me to hug them.
I step away from Trevor and into their arms, but when I do, I notice something I never have before. How hollow it is. When Amanda hugs me, she throws her arms around me and holds me like a mama bear would. Rae’s hugs are soothing and comforting. Hyla hugs like she might never let me go. But this? It’s empty. There’s space between our bodies. It’s more like one of those bro-hug, pat on the back things. Oh my god. Is there such a thing as a cliché girl hug? Because I think I might’ve found it.
“Yay! I’m so glad you’re here,” Bridget says.
“And we get to meet the boyfriend,” Lex claps.
“Yes. This is Trevor. Trevor, meet Bridget and Lex.”
“Best friends since first grade!” Bridget says.
“It’s nice to meet you ladies.”
He pulls out a chair and sits down, then drags the other chair right next to him and pulls me into it, protectively wrapping his arm around me.
Lex notices and giggles about that. “So romantic.”
But that mood is quickly broken when Bridget loudly calls to the nearby bartender, “Shots!”
I hold up my hand. “I’m not drinking.”
Bridget rolls her eyes. “Of course you’re not.”
“Mm, but maybe your boyfriend will. If we get him drunk enough, maybe he won’t notice if one of us steals him.”
Oh my god.
It comes rushing back to me, all the times they’ve said things like this. Things I wrote off as innocent jokes, but when I look between them, there’s something cold in my stomach as I realize they might actually do something like that. I don’t know.
“Yeah, that’s not cool,” I say clearly.
“You know we’re just kidding,” Lex says.
“Plus, it’s clear he only has eyes for you. And hands,” Bridget adds, tracking the movement of his fingers over my shoulder. A calm reassurance.
“Anyway, we want to hear all about the new college!” Lex exclaims, giving me a genuine smile. And finally, I relax.
We settle into a conversation about school and what we’ve all been up to, and it’s easy to remember why I’m still friends with them. There’s a lot of shared history, and I really do believe they care. But I’m not sure they’ve ever learned what a strong female friendship looks like. Who knows if they ever had it modeled for them. Or maybe they have it with each other in a way they don’t with me. Whatever the answer, it’s okay. No one is perfect. My issues are less about them and more about me. What I want from my friendships and what I’m willing to tolerate.
In my last session with my therapist, she reminded me that boundaries are essential for building the lives we want. They’re there to help us structure our lives the way we want. They don’t shut anyone else out. People shut themselves out if they refuse to respect those boundaries.
So, that’s my plan. Set boundaries as needed with Bridget and Lex—or anyone else—and if they want to be in my life, they’ll learn to respect them.
Overall though, tonight has been good. We’ve talked and laughed, told some old stories that even had Trevor laughing, and ate a shit ton of appetizers.
When I’ve yawned three times in a row, Trevor says, “Babe, maybe we should head out.”
Another yawn stops me from answering. “Probably should. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t,” Bridget says.
And even though it’s said playfully, it makes me feel a bit icky. Assumptions that we were up all night having sex. When we haven’t even done that yet. Not that I have any intention of telling them that. The only reason I didn’t sleep last night is because my mattress is so freaking old and uncomfortable that I couldn’t find a position that didn’t make my neck or back ache. Trevor sleeps like the dead and can fall asleep anywhere.
“Wait,” Lex says. “Come on. Do one round of shots with us before you go!”
“I told you, I’m not interested in drinking.”
“It’s just one shot,” Bridget protests.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you I don’t want to. Why you still can’t get it through your heads is beyond me.”
“Maybe because it’s been over a year of this,” Lex says. “When are you going to stop letting that night destroy your life?”
Trevor’s hand tenses on my thigh, but I go stock still.
Only my eyes move, dancing between Bridget and Lex.
“First of all, not drinking is not destroying my life. I drink here and there when I feel like it, but most of the time, I don’t. It’s not fun for me anymore.” I hold up my hand. “And no, you don’t need to crack yet another joke about me not being fun. I get it.”
“We just want you to stop letting what happened define you,” Bridget says, a hint of snark or maybe condescension in her tone.
I brace my hands on the table and stand, making sure I catch both their eyes before I say this.
“There is a difference between letting something define me and staring into the darkest storm and finding my way through it to the other side. I don’t let what happened define me. But I continue to let how I heal from it shape me into a new, better, healthier version of myself. My work isn’t done. Some days, I feel like I’ve barely healed at all. Some days, the memory still suffocates me, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other and trying to move forward. I won’t apologize for that. Or for not being the fun person you remember. But that you can say those words to me at all shows how little you understand of what I’ve been through. Every experience changes a part of us, no matter how small. To reduce anyone to being defined by their trauma while they work to heal from it is one of the most disrespectful and ignorant things someone can do.”
They both gape at me, both a little pissed, a little hurt, a little drunk. Not a good combination.
“But you have let it change you,” Lex insists. “Doesn’t he win if you let it change you?”
“All you did was lay around and wallow, and even when you stopped, you turned into this sad, small version of yourself. How is that healing?”
I wish I’d worn my sleigh the patriarchy shirt—which has a cute picture of Mrs. Claus driving the sleigh on it. Because that is them spewing back the internalized bullshit our society has pushed for years.
Instead of helping and protecting women who have been raped or assaulted, we shame them. Then on top of that, there are horrible stigmas surrounding getting help of any kind—especially mental health help—so many women never get the help they need and fight through it alone. Or they pretend they’re okay, when really, it’s destroying them on the inside.
I haven’t done anything wrong, but because I didn’t plaster that pretty smile on while I was dying inside, because I let myself grow and change from who I once was in the face of something terrible, somehow society looks at me like I’m in the wrong.
I get it. That’s the messaging women receive from the time we’re young.
Stand up. Dust yourself off. Smile pretty. Move on. If someone tries to break you, they only succeed if you let them. It’s all bullshit.
We are allowed to break. Every single person in this world is allowed to feel the very real fractures that life and other people inflict on them. We’re allowed to process and grieve and cry and scream however we need to. And we’re allowed to grow into something better in spite of it all.
I won’t be sorry. And if Bridget and Lex don’t get that, then they’ve just collided with one of my boundaries.
So I grab my coat off the back of the chair and offer what little smile I can muster.
“This isn’t working for me.”
Lex scoffs. “What are you doing? Breaking up with us?”
“I’m saying I need space. If you can’t understand that I have grown and changed for the better and all I need is your support, then this friendship isn’t what I need.”
“You’re serious? After all these years? You get a new boyfriend and new friends and just drop us?” Bridget demands, hands on her hips.
“I’m not dropping you. I’m telling you what I need. If you can’t give it to me, then maybe this is where our lives diverge. No matter what, I will always wish the absolute best for both of you, and if you really need me, I’ll always be around. Take care of yourselves.” I look up at Trevor. “Ready?”
He nods, pride shimmering in his eyes. Then he pulls out his wallet and puts down two fifties. “That should cover everything. Goodnight.”
Of course. Of freaking course he’d do that. Because he’s a good man. A damn good man.
He wraps his hand around mine as we walk for the door, and I give him the slightest pinch.
Forever my sweet, kind, protective, real-life book boyfriend.
We got back to my family’s house to find a new gel mattress topper on the bed. Apparently, Trevor ordered it a few days ago.
Sigh . He’s truly the swooniest guy ever.
As we lie in bed—far more comfortable tonight—he lazily strokes his fingers through my hair. “How are you feeling?”
I swallow and shrug. “Okay, I guess. Hearing them say all that again tonight was hard.”
“You handled it really well. With dignity and grace. You should be proud of that.”
“Thanks. And I am. But…” I bite my lip. “It all kind of hit me at once. They’re right. I am different now. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but not so carefree. In some ways, I miss that girl. Sometimes I wish I could let loose and completely forget about everything I went through, but I can’t. I miss that freedom sometimes—no matter how careless or naive it might’ve been.”
He throws his leg over mine, using it to pull me closer as he tugs at a strand of my hair. “I think it’s natural to grieve who you once were, but it’s also important to remember the things that are more beautiful about who you are now. You are amazing. You inspire me with your strength. You awe me with your grace. And you crack me open with your love. I love this version of you, and I’m so glad I get to be the one by your side.”
Tears trickle down my cheeks.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. In case that wasn’t clear.”
We share a gentle kiss, then I rest my head on his shoulder.
“What are you thinking about?” I whisper.
He sighs. “About what you did tonight. Setting boundaries. Being compassionate but firm. Wishing Hyla could do that. She needs to do that. I’m worried about how things will go with her parents.”
I graze my knuckles over his cheek. “I know you are. But all you can do is stand by her and help where you can. She has to be internally ready to make those decisions. If she’s not, they won’t stick.”
He kisses my forehead. “As usual, you’re right.”
“Duh.”
We share another quick kiss.
“Night, baby.”
“Goodnight.”
His arms close around me, and that warm feeling of safety surrounds me.
Standing up for myself tonight was important, and it felt good. The weight is off me.
I hope Hyla can find the strength to do that too, if for no other reason than she deserves to let go of the mountains she’s trying to carry.
Trevor
Life is unfair.
People are disgustingly cruel.
Hyla has been struggling. I’ve known that. But I didn’t realize how bad things were until after that moment with Mackie at the Christmas party. Until she suddenly had a chaotic need to put everything on the line with her parents and essentially beg them to still love her. That’s what happened tonight. It didn’t go well.
Hyla’s parents pulled out all the shitty stops, and while I’m not surprised by much with them anymore, they even surprised me with their manipulative bullshit. And then I had to watch it break Hyla. It took everything in my power—and the reminder that her father is a state senator—not to beat the shit out of her dad. Hell, not to scream at them about what vile, despicable humans they are.
I made my feelings clear in only a few words and then got Hyla out of their house.
But the damage has been done. And I don’t know what to do now. We’re back at Hyla’s apartment. She doesn’t want me to call my mom. I haven’t even dared touch my phone because I don’t want her to get angry. I’m her last lifeline, and I can’t risk severing that when she’s at the edge. But I can’t stop questioning if I’m doing the right thing.
Maybe we should’ve gone to the mental health unit, but she said she wanted to go home.
I’m scared, and I have no idea how to help her, so I’m just staring at her, and that’s all I’ll be doing tonight, at least until she finally falls asleep too.
She’s sitting numbly on her bed now, watching some sitcom rerun, and I don’t know what else to do. I want to text Chelsea. Want to call in a lifeline. But everything feels like the wrong decision now, and I’m panicking. But I don’t want her to see that.
So I check to make sure she has water. Try to get her to eat something, even though she refuses. Then sit back down next to her, everything inside me screaming that I have to fix it, but I don’t know how. Fuck, I have no idea how.
I should’ve done something more. I fucking failed her.
“Can you try to take a deep breath for me?” a paramedic says, but I’m looking past her, into the bathroom where I found Hyla on the floor, blood seeping from her wrists.
I don’t say the words I want to. That I’m not important now, and they should be taking care of her. But my face must say it anyway.
The paramedic rests a hand on my arm. “They’re taking good care of her. She was still breathing on her own. That’s a good sign. Is there anything you need? A glass of water? Is there someone you can call?”
I already called my mom. I called 911 from Hyla’s phone, then called my mom from mine afterward. She’s on her way over, but at this point, it might be better for her to meet us at the hospital.
And… even if she got here, she’s not the person who can make it better. Not better, but I need… I need Chelsea.
I look down at my phone, then back at the bathroom.
“Make the call,” the paramedic says. “She’s in good hands.”
Good is relative, but I reluctantly step away, sink down onto Hyla’s couch and dial Chelsea.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, baby. How was last night? I’ve been thinking of you, but didn’t want to go crazy texting.”
Fuck. How do I say this?
“Babe?” Her voice rises with concern, and the fragile threads holding me together threaten to snap.
“Chels…”
“What happened?”
“It went really bad. I stayed at Hyla’s with her. Then this morning, I woke up to noise in the bathroom, and”—my voice breaks—“she slit her wrists. She’s alive, but—”
“I’m on my way. When you know what hospital, tell me. I’ll be there the second I can.”
“Drive safe. Please, please drive safe.”
Because I can’t lose her. I can’t. I fucking can’t. It will destroy me.
“I will. I love you. This wasn’t your fault.”
It sure fucking feels like it was. Like I should’ve seen it coming, been able to stop it.
When I don’t respond, her voice comes through loud and strong.
“It was not your fault. Don’t take that on. Breathe. Take everything as it comes today, and I’ll be there soon.”
“I love you, baby.”
“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you? Or call anyone else?”
“No. That’s okay. Focus on driving. I… fuck, I should call someone. Maybe Mackenzie.” Though the thought of telling her makes me want to vomit.
The paramedics come out of the bathroom with Hyla unconscious on a stretcher.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon. Keep breathing.”
“Do my best. Bye.”
She hangs up, and I follow the paramedics out of the apartment. My mom is pulling up to the curb, which is good since they won’t let me ride in the ambulance with Hyla.
I fucking hate that. But it’s probably for the best. They don’t need me glaring at them the whole way. Or having a panic attack from staring at her body. Wondering if she’s going to die.
Mom pulls me into her arms, and I hold her tightly, fighting back my emotion. I know she’s scared and pissed and probably wants to rip Hyla’s parents’ heads off.
The nagging what if in the back of my mind is ugly.
What if she dies?
She seems like she’ll be okay—whatever the fuck okay is after all this—but what if I hadn’t found her? What if it still wasn’t fast enough? I’m not—I can’t lose her. I call Hyla my sister because she is. She’s my best friend. Aside from Chelsea, no one knows me like her. No one sees me like her. She came to our house as often as she could after my dad died, just to try to bring us light and joy and make us smile. We always did. Because that’s Hy. Bringing joy to the world when her own is shattering.
I failed her.
When she needed me the most, I let her down, and I don’t know how to forgive myself for that.
The rhythmic beep of hospital monitors threatens to drive me insane as I sit by Hyla’s bed, waiting for her to wake up.
Mom’s on the other side, intently reading something on her phone. Thankfully, Mom has taken over and made the executive decision to keep all of this from Hyla’s parents. Which is doable since Hyla is twenty-one and on her own insurance.
Mom sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. Besides the obvious.
“I’m trying to figure out what her insurance will actually cover. Too many insurances pretend mental health isn’t important. Clearly it fucking is.”
She sets the phone to the side and lets out a shuddery breath.
“Mom,” I whisper, reaching over the hospital bed for her hand.
She takes it, but it doesn’t stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks.
“I should’ve done more to help her,” she breathes. “All these years I stuck it out, putting up with all of her parents’ bullshit just to be there for her, but I should’ve done more. I—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell her, even as I feel the weight of that blame on my own shoulders.
Maybe I didn’t get all my protectiveness from my dad. My mom is just more subtle about it.
There’s a sharp breath and Mom and I pull apart and stand, both of us staring at the bed. My eyes are tired and itchy from crying, but I stare, refusing to blink until…
Hyla mutters something as her eyes slowly open.
She looks around in a haze, but I see the moment realization hits her all at once.
Then she’s crying, and Mom leans forward, gently sweeping some hair off Hyla’s face.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay. You’re here with us. You’re here.”
Hyla clamps a hand over her mouth as she sobs, but I can’t move. I’m still standing here, staring at her.
All I manage is to whisper, “Don’t fucking do that again.”
“Trevor,” Mom says, voice gentle but firm.
Probably not the best words, but I can’t stop them.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again!” I sink back into my chair as my emotions overwhelm me. I’m still so on edge that it happened and now it’s mixing with relief. I can barely breathe.
But then I hear her crying too.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
I lunge forward and throw my arms around her, hugging her as tightly as I can. She’s still here.
“I love you. Do you hear me? I fucking love you. Do not—do not ever do that again because I need you. I have lost enough. I’ve lost enough, and I cannot do this without you. I can’t. I don’t care what I have to do to get it through your thick skull that my life will be a much shittier place without you, so don’t you fucking leave me. Do you understand?” My voice breaks. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. I promise I won’t. I’m sorry. I fucked up. Everything is so broken. I need—I need help,” she says into my shoulder. “I need so much help. I don’t know where to go from here, but I need help because I can’t do it alone.”
Thank fuck.
I slowly stand and wipe my eyes as Mom sits down on the edge of the bed with fierce determination in her eyes.
“That’s exactly what you’re going to get.”
The doctor is talking with Hyla and Mom, plans are being made, and Hyla seems better. Better than she was last night, at least.
But I’m not better.
I’m not okay.
I called Sarah as soon as we got to the hospital, and she rallied the troops. Nick got here first, but everyone else has been filing in. I’ve just finished explaining the gist of what happened—as best I can when I want to cry and throw up—when the elevator at the edge of the waiting room opens.
The first thing I see is her auburn hair, then Chelsea is pushing her way through our friends, and the dam inside me breaks. She throws her arms around me, and I bury my head in her neck, holding her tight, her body molding to mine. Everything inside me shatters as I melt into her. Finally, I have her in my arms. I’m safe. Like the world can’t get me as long as I have her.
Somehow, she guides me over to one of the double chairs and pulls me onto it with her. She curls up against me, still holding me close.
“This has been the worst day of my life,” I mutter.
All Chelsea does is run her fingers through my hair.
“I thought she was dead. I really thought—I should’ve taken her to the mental health unit last night, but I thought me being there would be enough. I was wrong. I—”
“Breathe,” Chelsea whispers. “She’s here. She’s going to get the help she needs. And she’s going to have a lot of support while she does.” Chelsea looks around the room. “So will you.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Of course you do.”
“I just need you.” I drop my head against her shoulder again, her hands soothingly rubbing my back or playing with my curls.
“You’ve got me. Always.”
She moves closer, like she’s trying to wrap herself around me, protect me.
There’s no protecting anyone today.