Chapter 17 #2
She nodded. “I had a pretty serious Xanax addiction at that point. I mean, I was overdoing a lot of things back then, but that was the biggest, and the worst, and the hardest to quit. I had it prescribed because I was afraid of flying, but I started taking it to come down after shows, too, and it totally spiraled out of control. I tried to taper off a few times, but then the panic attacks would get worse.”
Beside her, Niko was still as a stone, but he was leaning forward now, hanging on to every word. Merritt’s focus was on her hands, intertwined on her lap to stop them from shaking.
“I don’t remember a lot from that night, especially after I got offstage. But I guess I wasn’t answering my phone, so they sent someone to check on me, and…they found me unconscious in the bathroom.”
It was easier to tell it this way. The passive voice, the omniscient distance. Maybe it was a cop-out, but at this point, it really did feel like it had happened to someone else.
He didn’t need to know the details—like that the “someone” who’d found her was her sweet and soft-spoken bodyguard, Roy.
She’d been so racked with guilt for putting him through that that she’d paid for his therapy for the next five years.
To this day, they sent each other birthday cards, out of unspoken gratitude that they still could.
That was mostly what stuck with her now, when she thought about it: how she’d been too wrapped up in her own pain to conceptualize all the lives she’d bruise by trying to end her own. Whether she could ever forgive herself for it.
Her reps had successfully spun it as accidental, and it had never been reported as anything but.
She’d even let herself believe it for a while, when it was still fresh, the alternative too unbearable to consider.
But she’d had to face the uncomfortable truth that if she was truly serious about getting better, she’d never get anywhere by lying to herself.
She still wasn’t looking at Niko, but she heard his sharp inhale, and a wave of nausea crashed over her, filling her mouth with saliva. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue, delivering her next words with as little emotion as possible. It already felt melodramatic enough.
“All I remember is how trapped I felt. Trapped in that life. Trapped inside my own head. And then I felt so guilty for feeling that way, that I couldn’t appreciate everything I had. That I wanted it all to just…stop. I couldn’t see any other way out.”
She heard rustling next to her, and she looked up to see Niko was standing. He held her gaze as he slowly moved toward her, her heart rate increasing as his proximity did. A flash of lightning lit them both up before a furious roll of thunder rattled the windows.
So much for avoiding melodrama.
He eased down on the couch next to her, their thighs pressed together, his hand intertwining in hers.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry you felt so hopeless. I’m sorry you thought that was your only choice. But I’m glad you got out. I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Me, too,” she said, his sudden presence next to her both comforting and completely overwhelming.
They sat there like that for a while, silently holding hands, his thumb brushing softly over hers, back and forth, as they watched the fire.
She felt almost dizzy with relief, even more unburdened than she’d expected. She took a deep breath, drawing on one last burst of courage.
“Do you know what BPD is?”
He turned his head toward her, his brows knit together. It was a long beat before he offered “Baltimore Police Department?”
Merritt laughed, despite herself. “Well, yeah. But I meant borderline personality disorder. That’s what they diagnosed me with. When I went to treatment.”
His bemused expression remained. “I don’t know anything about it. But I can look it up.”
She shook her head. “Don’t. I did when I was first diagnosed, and it was basically like, ‘You’re a monster and a huge burden to everyone you love.
’ There’s a lot of stigma around it. Some therapists won’t even work with BPD patients.
Honestly, I go back and forth about whether it resonates with me anymore.
The therapist I have now thinks it might be complex PTSD that was misdiagnosed, which actually happens a lot.
But…I check a lot of the boxes. Especially when I was younger. ”
“Like what?”
She rattled them off without having to think twice.
It felt like they’d been tattooed on her forehead since the first time she’d encountered them, her stomach swooping uncomfortably with recognition.
“Mood swings. Impulsive and reckless behavior. Dissociation. Overwhelming emotions. Unstable relationships.” She glanced at him, then quickly looked away again. “Self-harm.”
His frown deepened, and he squeezed her hand. “But you’ve gotten help for it? There are things you can do to treat it?”
She sighed. “It depends who you ask. Trying is half the battle, and I’m really, really trying.
I’ve been in therapy for a long time and found meds that seem to work for me.
Also, I think I’ve just mellowed out as I’ve gotten older.
I’m able to manage it a thousand times better than I used to.
” She turned her head, meeting his eyes again.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have… episodes.”
“Like that night at the restaurant?”
She nodded. “Dating…relationships…they’re a huge trigger for me.
It’s been two years since my last one ended.
None of them have been anything close to healthy.
That’s why…that’s why I’m scared to get too close to you.
That’s why everyone keeps warning you about me.
When I’m with someone, I’m either completely detached or completely obsessed. There’s no in-between.”
He took a deep breath, and she felt herself mirror it subconsciously, her heartbeat marking the endless seconds before he responded.
“And how do you feel about me?” His voice was low, his face close enough that she could feel the ghost of his breath across her lips.
She laughed a little in the back of her throat. “What do you think?”
Something flashed across his face, and the column of his throat flexed. “I think I might be kind of obsessed with you, too.”
She was suddenly too aware of how close they were, their bodies pressed together from knee to shoulder.
His other hand drifted over, resting on her forearm between them, then slowly sliding up her arm and back down again, the warmth of his palm radiating through her sweater, making the rest of her feel unbearably cold in comparison.
She shivered, her nipples tightening involuntarily, and she saw his chest expand in response as he angled closer to her, millimeter by millimeter.
She had to say something—clearly lay out every last reason he shouldn’t want her—before he could get any closer.
“I’ve been a nightmare girlfriend,” she murmured. “I’ve cheated. I’ve been the other woman. I’ve been possessive and manipulative and an emotional terrorist. You don’t deserve to deal with that. Nobody does.”
“You think you deserve to be alone, then?” he asked in a low rasp.
Her breath hitched, tears unexpectedly springing to her eyes. “Maybe.” Her voice was reedy, a fraction away from cracking.
“If it’s been two years, how do you know you’d still be like that?”
She laughed, a hollow sound in the back of her throat. “I think getting wasted and attacking you outside a restaurant bathroom is a pretty bad omen. How is that your takeaway from all this?”
“What should my takeaway be?” He seemed distracted as he said it, his gaze following the path of his hand up and down her arm, which, admittedly, was drawing a lot of her focus, too.
Every time, he stopped short of the spot where her cardigan ended, the stretch of skin where her neck met her shoulder.
She ached for the brush of his fingers there.
“ ‘Get me the fuck out of here’?” she suggested, and he gusted a quick laugh.
“I already am getting the fuck out of here.”
The two of them were quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, with a sense of revelation, he continued, “But maybe that’s the answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I’m leaving town in less than two months. And I don’t want to spend it pretending you don’t exist. I don’t think I can.”
Merritt swallowed hard. “I don’t think I can, either.”
“So why should we?” He brought his gaze back to hers again.
“I want to spend it with you, Merritt. Whatever that looks like. You’re so sure it’ll end badly…
but I’d rather regret trying it than regret not trying it.
And if it blows up, well, I’ll be gone soon enough.
We can’t rock the boat if we know it’s coming.
I mean, I’ll be getting out of the boat before it rocks.
Or while it’s rocking.” Niko’s brow creased, and he glanced away for a second, gathering his thoughts.
“What I’m trying to say is, knowing there’s a definite ending might make it easier.
It can just be what it is. We don’t need to put any pressure on the future. ”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Her voice was timid, barely audible.
He met her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like all her skin had been peeled off. “No relationship is forever. How long does something have to last for it to be meaningful?”
Merritt was rendered speechless.
She fought to think clearly, even as potent, unchecked desire clouded every higher brain function.
Maybe he was right. Maybe they should just give in, stop fighting this thing between them and let it run its course instead: a relationship that was all honeymoon phase, with no need to worry about how to sustain it.
It could burn as bright and hot as it needed to, and once it flared out, they’d go their separate ways.
And maybe if she weren’t sitting this close to him, if he weren’t touching her quite so tenderly, if he weren’t looking at her with the darkest and most soulful eyes she’d seen in her life, she would’ve had the wherewithal to say no.
“Niko,” she said softly, once she regained the ability to speak. “Sometimes I think you might be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
With that, she took off her glasses and placed them on the coffee table before bringing her hand to cup his jaw, the Days Since You Last Kissed Niko counter inevitably flipping back to zero.