Chapter 67
SIXTY-SEVEN
SUTTON
- Present Day -
“ Y ou alright? You were quiet on the way home.”
I can feel Cal’s concerned gaze as he glances over at me. The takeout’s just arrived, and I glance up from where he insisted I rest on the couch as he plates our Chinese food, only to find him watching me intently.
Shrugging one shoulder, I grab the worn throw blanket off the back of the couch, and drag it across my lap. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. Tonight took a lot more out of me than I’d thought it would but that’s not really the issue.
I’m worried about Jonah. His relationship with his family is rocky, at best. After reconnecting at U of M after my stint at the ranch, it didn’t take long for him to open up to me about the complex dynamic that he had with them, which isn’t altogether surprising after having gotten to know his brother while in treatment.
You learn a lot about a person (including their tense family dynamics) when you spend six hours a day in various forms of group therapy with them.
I got to know Luka better than I knew most of my own friends back home at the time.
And while our circumstances were different, him being a professional wrestler and me being.
. . well, just me , there are many things that overlap for people who end up hospitalized and forced into in-patient treatment for disordered eating.
Even with being an only child, and having incredibly supportive parents, I know better than most the intense strain my illness put on our family dynamic.
I can’t even imagine what it was like for Luka, Jonah and Keagan.
Especially with all three siblings being various levels of competitive athletes at the time.
At least, in Keagan’s case, he had the benefit of already being out of the home and living his best life in the NHL.
I’m sure he carries a lot of guilt around that fact.
It certainly seems that way from a few of the conversations he and I’ve shared over the years; but still, he was largely removed from most of the challenges by the time shit really hit the fan with their household.
Jonah, though? He was right at the height of his career in Juniors.
He had the chance to jump straight into signing an NHL contract after being drafted at the end of his senior year, but the guilt he faced at the thought of leaving his younger brother to deal with everything alone, to be basically smothered by their well-intentioned parents?
It wasn’t in Jonah’s nature to do that. And all that after years of being put last between Keagan who was already a rising star, and Luka who struggled between maintaining the normalcy of an athlete in high school while being in and out of various treatment programs?
The number of times his parents altogether forgot about his games, his award ceremonies, the moments that were important to him?
Man, I can’t even fathom the hurt and resentment that built up from that over the years.
And with that, his parents still continued to set unrealistic expectations to be the best, to perform at peak capacity and then drop everything any time anyone else in the family needed something from him.
“Sutton?”
Dragging myself out of my spiraling thoughts, I’m startled to see Cal standing directly in front of me, a plate of food in one hand, glass of water in the other – a silent peace offering.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” My voice is sheepish as I offer him a thankful smile, taking the proffered refreshments and nodding for him to sit down across the way.
Instead, he walks back to the kitchen, grabbing his own food and drink before coming and sitting directly next to me, the large couch suddenly feeling way too small.
“I was asking if you’re okay. You’ve been really quiet since the end of the game.” One eyebrow raised, he looks pointedly from me to my plate, and I grab it once more, unthinkingly taking a bite without really caring what’s on it for once.
“Yeah, just tired. It’s been. . . a lot .”
“Oh?”
“Just -” I pause, unsure how to proceed.
It’s not my place to open up about why I’m concerned for Jonah. Besides, I couldn’t even begin to have that conversation without going into the how of it all, and that is simply a conversation I’m not ready to have with Cal. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
But the look on his face says he knows there’s more, even if he doesn’t know what that more really is.
Cal knows me though, even after all this time, he knows me well enough and I know he knows enough that this isn’t a conversation he’s just going to let drop.
Not after everything that’s happened between us. Especially over the last two weeks.
“The thing is -”
I pause once more, trying to figure out where to begin.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, and blurt the words out in a rush.
“Jonah has a complicated history with his family. And it’s not really my place to get into all of that, but it’s kind of a mess that I’m in the middle of and I feel guilty that I’m not there to support him, especially after everything he’s supported me with. It – he -”
“Hey.”
A warm hand touches my own, and I realize belatedly I’m shaking, even as I hold a fork full of noodles. Dropping the utensil back onto my plate, I blow out a shaky breath, leaning over to set the dish back on the coffee table before I manage to spill it everywhere.
“Talk to me, Shorty. What’s going on?”
Leaning back into the couch, I shift, propping one leg up on the cushion curled underneath me and scrub frustrated hands over my face.
“ Hell, I don’t even know where to begin.
And this – this is a conversation that is heavy .
I absolutely shouldn’t be dumping this on you. Not tonight. Not after your big win.”
He frowns, brows furrowed with concern before he sets his own plate down, readjusting to face me more fully.
“Whatever it is Sutton, I can handle it. Clearly it’s bothering you - so let’s talk about it. We won’t be able to move forward if we can’t even clear the air first. If there’s something more going on between the two of you – if something’s wrong -”
He hesitates, and I know there’s hurt in it. I know we’ve made it abundantly clear that Jonah and I are a “thing”, but clearly not in the traditional sense because of whatever the hell this is that’s been going on with Cal and I throughout all of it.
But I don’t want him thinking for a minute that Jonah would ever hurt me.
God, it’s absolutely the opposite. He’s practically killed himself, bending over backwards to help me even when I absolutely didn’t deserve it.
He deserves so much better than what I’ve given him over the years. Cal does too, for that matter.
Frowning at that, I try to gather my errant thoughts.
“God, no. It’s nothing – it’s nothing like that. Jonah’s incredible, he – well he -” Jesus, why does this have to be so fucking hard ?
With a frustrated breath, I blow a wayward strand of hair out of my eyes.
“Ugh. Okay. I don’t even really know how to get into this without getting into it. Just. . . this. . . shit, this is really fucking difficult. Just, please let me get this out okay? Try not to interrupt because this is something I really can’t talk about. Not normally. Especially not with you .”
The look of concern on his face at my intense rambling has an edge of hurt at that last part, and I scramble to backtrack. “Not like that, not because – just. . . Fuck, okay. ” I blow out a breath, hands shaking as I run them over my hair nervously.
“So the thing is, Jonah and I? We go back. Like, way back. The reason he has such a complicated history with his family; the reason I’m worried about him going out with his family tonight? Well it all ties directly back to how we met originally.
Normally it’s not something I would talk about with people, because god , it’s so personal.
And it’s not something he likes to open up about either, but I can’t explain one thing without getting into the other, so please just, please don’t say anything to anyone .
Not that I think you will. I mean, I know you.
We used to talk about everything. God, you told me – well, that’s really not relevant, and I’m getting off track. ”
“Sutton, I’m not going to say anything. You know I wouldn’t break your trust by disclosing anything you told me in confidence. Whatever it is you need to say, you know I’m not going to judge you, right? No matter what.”
He reaches out again, this time gently tugging my hand off of my head, pulling it into his lap and squeezing it reassuringly. “Take your time. Just know, I’m here for you, whatever it is.”
Licking my lips, my eyes flick down to our hands, my still shaking one now clasped tightly between both of his own.
I can’t look into his face. Can’t risk seeing the hurt there when he finally understands .
. . There’s a slight tremor in my voice, so low it’s barely more than a whisper, and a tear that I can’t hold back escapes as the words finally fall free, the wall inside my chest crumbling with the revelation of each bottled truth.
“I was. . . bullied a lot growing up.”
He doesn’t say anything as I pause, trying to gather my thoughts, to grasp at the straws of control that are barely hanging by a thread.
“I mean, you were there – you know . I’m not – I wasn’t small, growing up. I wasn’t pretty or popular, and I definitely had some baby fat that refused to go away, especially as I hit puberty. I had friends. I had Lena. I had – you – and then a few other friends, kind of -”
“I didn’t mean. . . didn’t mean for it to happen, the way it did. It was little at first. A skipped lunch because some mean girl made a comment in the cafeteria.”
I refuse to say her name, refuse to open that painful door even as the memories come flooding in.
“But then Lena moved with your mom, and you were gone for college, and the . . . well, the bullying. . .” I stop, shaking my head.
No, that’s not right. I have no one to blame for this but myself.
I am responsible for my own actions. I control my destiny .
Deep breaths. It’s in the past. You’ve got this.
You’re not the same person you were back then.
Clearing my throat, I continue brokenly.
“Well, anyway. It – it got worse, got out of hand. There was a turning point where it got completely out of control. Probably somewhere around when the bullying turned into compliments. Flattery was the sweetest poison. It fed those intrusive thoughts; the deepest, bitter hurts were soothed with cloyingly sweet, fake niceties . And that’s all it was, really.
Fake niceties. They didn’t mean it, no matter how desperately I tried -”
The lump in my throat is too thick to continue, and I desperately fight to blink back more tears. Cal reaches out a hand, brushing away one that escapes anyway, trailing a salty path down my face .
“Hey. I don’t -”
Looking up, I see the confusion written all over his face. I swallow hard, choking that frog in my throat down and forcing myself to continue. To cut myself open and hand over the broken pieces of myself, to allow him to really see my deepest hurts.
“I have an eating disorder, Cal.”
The words are the barest of whispers as they escape my lips. I’m afraid that if I say it any louder he won’t be able to hide his disgust from me.
But that’s the ugly truth . Present tense.
I have an eating disorder.
Because no matter how much therapy I’ve attended, no matter how many years have passed or how much intensive in-patient treatment I went through, the fact of the matter is that this is always going to be a part of me.
It may be under control now; my symptoms may be in remission, but the intrusive thoughts will never fully go away. That urge to give in to harmful behavior will always be a baseline that I have to fight against.