Seven Years Ago
ELLIE
The walls were closing in on me.
Probably because they weren’t actually walls; they were boxes. And every time I blinked, they seemed to multiply.
My breaths came in short spurts, playing tricks on my mind. I was horizontal on my childhood bed, unmoving, but my pulse hammered. I was so aware of it. I was so aware of my entire body, the way it functioned, analyzing every part of it.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
They said the clots were lodged so deep in my lungs there wasn’t a risk of them moving and cutting off my air supply further, and the ultrasound of my legs was clear, meaning there weren’t any clots there that were at risk of traveling to join the ones already in my lungs.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
An elephant sat squarely on my chest, squeezing me, crushing me, and I couldn’t escape. I put my hand on my stomach, looking down my body to see it rising and falling as I took deep belly breaths.
See? Fine.
There was a twinge of pain in every inhale and a deep-seated tightness I worried would never leave.
But they wouldn’t have released me from the hospital if I wasn’t fine. My treatment plan was already working. Which was good, of course, except I had to inject more of it—my medicine.
I had yet to do it alone, but I could. I would. As soon as I put a stop to this mini spiral I had going on.
It was nothing like what I’d experienced in the emergency room, when I’d waited for Sully and my mom to arrive.
Alone, staring at fluorescent lighting, listening to nurses speak in hushed tones, as if I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
As if I didn’t hear the fake brightness when they spoke directly to me.
Like they didn’t want to quite let on that I was, in fact, having a medical emergency.
They thought maybe I wasn’t panicking yet, and maybe it could stay that way, but they didn’t know I was completely knotted on the inside.
My breaths had been shallow, each one seemingly getting worse. And I’d kept wondering if I’d stop breathing altogether and whether Sully would make it before that happened.
He had. Sully eventually burst through the doors and told me everything was going to be okay.
My phone rang, and I snatched it off my bed beside me.
Relief trickled into my nervous system from the name on the screen.
“Sawyer.”
“Hi, baby.” The muffled sound of his breaths made mine come easier. “Have you taken your next dose yet?”
“No.” I closed my eyes. “I’m working through something here.”
I heard something like mattress springs as he moved. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. “Just trying to decide if I’m having an anxiety attack or another life-threatening emergency and I’m going to die.”
“You are not going to die,” he said, a lot calmer than he had the first time I’d said something similar.
He’d been telling me I wasn’t going to die for the past several days. At first, it had been more of a demand. Like I wasn’t allowed to die. Like he wouldn’t allow it. And then, once he understood what was happening, it became more reassuring.
Technically, I was lucky.
I knew I was lucky, having the best-case variety of a medical emergency.
But I wished I felt lucky. Wished I were a better person who could trick my brain into optimism instead of anxiety.
Maybe I was just a pessimist. Or a narcissist. Maybe it was selfish of me to say these things aloud, the things in my brain.
It probably was.
I needed to do better.
“But I do want to let you know that you’re making me want to burst through your mother’s front door to check on you,” Sully added.
“Don’t do that,” I said. Weakly, because part of me wanted him to.
My mom had brought me to Rosewood when we left the hospital, insisted I take some time off from school until I was feeling better.
I’d stayed at the Londons’ the first night because she had a closing shift, but then she wanted me home.
Which was a good thought. In theory, it might have been nice.
If she hadn’t filled my room since I’d left, making it unrecognizable, making the bed hard to find.
I didn’t really want Sully in here, didn’t want him to see it. Didn’t want to watch his hulking form try to fit through the boxes and fail. He’d only been inside my house once or twice, and that was years ago. When it hadn’t been so bad.
“Talk to me, El,” Sully said softly.
“I’m okay,” I said—trying to convince the both of us.
“You are,” he agreed. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Are you taking deep breaths?”
“Yes.”
“Does anything hurt worse? Is it hard to get air?”
“No.”
“Good, baby.” He inhaled and exhaled, like maybe he’d forgotten he needed to breathe, too. “You’re okay.”
I nodded.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
“Do you want to tell me five things you see?”
No, I didn’t.
That was part of the problem. There was so much visual clutter, I didn’t dare open my eyes.
“I’m looking at the inside of my eyelids.”
“Four things you can hear, then.”
I nodded. “Your voice, your breathing, someone’s lawn mower, the jingle of Honey’s collar through the phone.”
“Good,” he said softly, and I could hear his smile. “Three things you can feel, El.”
“My mattress. The stitching in the quilt on top of it.” I breathed deeply. “My hand on my stomach.”
“Taking deep breaths, yeah?” he asked.
“Mhm.”
“Two things you can smell,” Sully prompted.
“Freshly cut grass.” Another breath. “Your cologne. I’m wearing your shirt.”
“I bet you look good in it.”
“Sawyer?”
“I’m here, El.”
“I need to take my shot, but I still feel unsteady.”
“Okay.” His calm was my lifeline. “Let me come do it.”
“No, there’s no—”
Room. There’s no room. Not for him in this house.
“Is your mom home?”
“No, she’s at work.”
“Come here, then.”
“You’re at home?”
“Yeah, I haven’t left. Wanted to be close to you, El. You shouldn’t be alone.”
I was already rolling off my bed. I didn’t want to be here with the walls closing in on me. Not when I could be with him instead. “Okay, I’ll get the shots and come downstairs.”
“I’ll be on your porch,” he said, and then we hung up.
Sure enough, by the time I threw on one of Sully’s sweatshirts (stolen, of course), grabbed my medication, and made it to the front door, my boyfriend was there waiting.
His hands flexed, like he wanted to reach out, grab me, sweep me into his arms, and walk me across the street.
But I’d told him how scared it had made me when they insisted on wheeling me into the emergency room because what did that mean?
So Sully didn’t carry me. He took my hand and crossed Maple Street with me, next to me.
Then he followed me up the stairs to the bathroom, where he washed his hands and sat on the toilet, positioning me in front of him.
Where he lifted my shirt, exposing the bruises on my stomach.
He cleaned a spot right next to one, where he was going to make a new bruise.
“I can’t believe the pill did this,” he muttered to himself, tossing the alcohol pad in the trash. “Did you know? That it might happen?”
I shook my head, not really trusting myself to speak.
“You stopped taking it, right?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He looked up, smiling at me, and I had a feeling he was trying to distract me from the sting of the needle. “We don’t need it anyway. Maybe this is just a sign that we shouldn’t wait to have kids.”
My chest cracked open.
Because it was, in fact, the opposite.
Sully hadn’t put two and two together yet, hadn’t realized that the factor in birth control that had caused this life-threatening side effect would similarly be a factor if I were to ever get pregnant.
That no less than three medical professionals had already warned me not to have kids until I spoke with my gynecologist and made a plan.
“I don’t know about that,” I said numbly.
“I know, I know.” He huffed a laugh, not understanding. “We should probably finish college. But I’m just saying, with you and me, it’s not like it would be a problem if you were to get pregnant a little early. You know I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”
I swallowed hard, not sure what to say.
But I was saved from answering when Sully pinched a bit of my skin together, telling me he was about to poke me with the needle. I sucked in, nodding when he asked if I was ready, and squeezed my eyes shut until it was done.
I didn’t open them again until I felt his lips on my stomach, trying to kiss my pain away.
I wished it worked.
You’re fine, you’re lucky, you’re fine, you’re lucky.
“You did so good,” he murmured against my skin, seeming to breathe me in. His hands were on my hips, and his eyes were shut. He pulled me closer, and I stepped between his legs. “I love you, Eleanor.”
My knees felt weak.
“I love you, too.”