Pushing the Limits (2 page)
ASPEN
Even after six years, I can still hear her voice in my head. Her giggles. Her silly jokes. The way she’d snort after hearing something funny.
I hear it all.
It used to keep me up at night. I’d wake up in cold sweats, heaving and panting as I painfully relived our childhood memories. I don’t mind the dreams as much anymore—anything to see or hear her again—but I could do without the anxiety attacks that come with them. They come without warning and wreak havoc in my entire life.
Losing my twin sister feels like a part of me of missing—as if my soul isn’t complete without her.
Feeling the overwhelming guilt and wishing you had been the one to die that day instead will not only get you an unhealthy dose of post-traumatic stress, but also more therapy than you can imagine. After standard therapy proved useless, the counselors then decided to go an unconventional route. But not just any therapy.
Art therapy.
When you refuse to talk about your feelings to your therapist for eight months, you get placed into something that doesn’t require any talking at all. This was fine by me and actually ended up being a blessing in disguise. It helped me find my passion for art and pointed me in the direction of finding a career in art history.
I think about Ari every day, more so when I’m in my studio, but she’s always on my mind no matter what. We were identical twins, but sometimes I think about what she’d look like now. We could still be a perfect match, but maybe she would’ve dyed her hair or shaved half of her head and streaked it purple. Maybe she would’ve needed glasses and braces, or perhaps she’d taken after my mom’s rebellious side and gotten a tattoo on our eighteen birthday.
Whatever she would’ve looked like, I know she would’ve been beautiful. Not just on the outside, but the inside, as well. Her soul was the most beautiful one I’d ever met.
“Are you going to order, ma’am?” A snippy voice in front of me interrupts my thoughts as I come to the realization I’d dazed out again. Kendall elbows me in the side, clearing my attention back to where I am now.
“Yes, sorry. I’ll take an Iced Caramel Latte, please. Grande.” She presses the buttons on her screen and tells me my total. I scan my phone and pay through my app.
“Your order will be ready at the handoff in a few moments,” she says to me in a robotic tone as she hands me my receipt.
“Thanks.”
Kendall follows me down as I wait for my drink on the other end. She’s playing with her phone now, and I look out the window and gaze at the cars driving by. Berkeley is a chilly sixty-two degrees today, which is normal for this time of year. Being only a forty-five-minute train ride to San Francisco is only one of the many perks of living here. Ari would’ve loved exploring the city and walking down Chinatown. She was always so adventurous.
I start to remember part of the dream I had about her last night, but it’s hard to know for certain due to the sleeping pills I sometimes take before bed.
They knock me out until morning, but sometimes I can recall the dreams later on. When I can, I replay them in my mind, scene by scene. Mostly, they’re a movie reel of our lives—memories of things we did, places we went—but other times they turn dark. The motions aren’t usually steady, though. We’re usually in some kind of slow motion hell. I’m never able to run fast enough or reach her quick enough before I wake up or my mind goes black. Sometimes, I remember the conversations or events that take place in picture perfect clarity, but other times, I worry it’s my mind playing tricks on me.
The barista calls out my order, and I’m quick to retrieve it. I thank her again before Kendall and I head out the door, and I begin sucking it down. We’re meeting up with Zoe for breakfast just down the road. Kendall and Zoe are roommates who live down the hall from me.
I first met them last summer when I moved into the building. I had lived on campus for two years before finally getting my own place. I’ve grown closer to Kendall since we both attend the same school. It’s just a ten-minute walk from the university, but we carpool together often when our class schedules match up.
My phone rings as I open the door to my new used car—a green Kia Soul. My new baby.
It’s my mother.
I sigh and bite my cheek before accepting the call. “Hello, Mom.”
“Hello, Darling. How are you?” Her voice is tainted with fake politeness, always so smooth and sweet sounding. It’s too early for this.
“I’m just fine.” I hop in the driver’s seat and start the engine. “How about yourself? How’s Dad?”
“We’re both fine, thank you. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, just getting into my car with Kendall. What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to confirm your arrangements on coming home to visit during spring break.”
I frown, not wanting to have this conversation with my mother right now. Or ever. “Uh…that’s like three months away.” Spring break isn’t until April and classes are just starting tomorrow.
“I know, Darling. But since you’re always
so
busy…” I can hear the annoyance in her condescending tone. “I figured I’d need to get on top of this beforehand. Set it in stone.”
I exhale, rolling my eyes at her dramatics. “Sure, Mom. I’ll do my best.”
“Now, listen, Aspen…” Her tone firm and deep, as if I was a child and she was sending me to my room or something. “We agreed to let you go all the way out to art school in California with the agreement you’d come home once in awhile. Even Aaron is driving in for a few days. He’s bringing his new girlfriend, Dana. It’d be nice if we could all be together.”
I grit my teeth.
Still not far enough,
I think.
“I know.” I agreed to nothing, but I let her think it anyway. I’m not going to let her guilt trip me into coming back. The last place on Earth I want to be is back home with two parents who resent me. I left to escape the memories, to escape the looks of sympathy on everyone’s faces, and to escape the constant reminder of how I ruined their lives. I could’ve moved to Mars and it still wouldn’t feel far enough.
Her tone changes, but is no less condescending. “Good. We’ll plan for it.”
“Great,” I reply flatly. We say our goodbyes and hang up.
‘Everything okay?” Kendall asks, not taking her eyes off her phone, her brown hair falling over her shoulders.
“Yeah. Just my mother crushing my caffeine high.” I furrow my brows in mock annoyance, taking a long pull of my drink.
“You have a serious addiction,” Kendall states as she watches me with wide eyes.
“Your point?” I counter.
“Waffle House serves coffee, you know?”
“Yes, but not good coffee.” I smile, taking another sip.
“Ugh,” she mumbles after a moment.
“What?” I face her, seeing the wrinkles crease in her forehead. “What is it?”
She groans. “Kellan.”
“I thought things were going great?”
“They are!” she insists. “But when we went out last night, he got drunker than usual, and I thought maybe just maybe…”
She doesn’t need to finish her sentence to tell me what’s going on. Apparently, drunken Kellan isn’t much better than sober Kellan.
“Still nothing below the belt?”
“Not even close. I thought maybe with a few drinks in him, he’d loosen up a bit, help ease his nerves. But he was all ‘I just wanna make out with you. Your lips taste so good’…
blahblahblah
.”
“Maybe he had whiskey dick.”
She bursts out in laughter, whining, “Gah! Why won’t he just have sex with me? I’m a good lay!” Her outburst makes me snort out in laughter, the iced drink spewing right out of my nose.
“Jesus, Kendall.” I wipe my mouth and laugh. “Maybe you’re going at it all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Guys like the chase. If you’re an easy target, it’s not a challenge.”
The corner of her lips wrinkles in disgust.
“Play hard to get,” I explain.
She scoffs. “Why do guys always want to play stupid games? I’m your girlfriend…you’ve got me! Now,
do
me!” She shouts to the ceiling of my car.
“Rather, do that.” I laugh and point at her pathetic plea. “That’ll have him ripping your clothes off in a heartbeat.”
She glares at me, and I smirk.
I park in front of the Waffle House and we walk inside, finding Zoe in one of the corner booths.
“Look who finally decided to show up after all,” Zoe taunts in her thick, New Jersey accent as we both shift into our chairs. She has her long, dark mane pulled up into a high bun, a few shorter pieces falling around her face.
Zoe moved to California three years ago when she turned eighteen to pursue a singing career. After rejection after another, and eventually going broke, she moved up to Berkeley, found Kendall to live with, and started working at one of the bars downtown.
She says it’s only until she figures out what she wants to do long-term.
But I think fear is setting her back more than anything.
“Oh, please. We’re thirty seconds late.”
“I managed to get off, showered, dressed, and arrive before the both of you. I deserve some kind of medal for that.”
I snort. “You get the bill. There’s your medal.”
“Ooh…apparently someone had a bad Saturday night.”
“It was fine.” I narrow my eyes. “Kendall’s the one stuck in make-out city,” I tease, earning a glare in return.
The waitress arrives with glasses of water and asks if we want our usual. We say yes, handing her back the menus. We order the same things every time.
I sip on my iced latte, glaring at Zoe’s pleased smirk. “So was this guy a keeper?” I ask referring to the guy that she brought home last night.
She shrugs carelessly. “Maybe. But if we get married, I’m keeping my surname.”
A wide smile spreads across both Kendall’s face and mine. “Why?” we ask in unison.
She frowns. “Because he has a horrible last name.” I raise my brows, silently motioning for her to tell us. “It’s Litoris.” She hangs her head in shame as the both of us burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I say in between trying to catch my breath. “But that can’t be true.”
“It is! I even Googled him.”
“Dude, that’s unfortunate,” Kendall adds. “But if he ever runs for Senate, I’ll be sure to vote for Mr. Litoris.” That cracks us up even more as Zoe shakes her head and scowls.
“Laugh all you want.” She groans. “But his tongue is definitely nothing to laugh at.”
“I bet not.” I smile, biting down on my lower lip to hold in the laughter at her embarrassment.
The waitress arrives with our food shortly after, and we start a new topic of conversation, one that doesn’t cause lack of air from laughing too hard.
“So your mom wants you to come home for spring break this year,” Kendall asks once we begin eating. “You going?”
I keep my head down and shrug. “I don’t know. I really don’t want to.”
“How pissed will she be if you don’t go?” Zoe asks.
“Probably pissed enough to never talk to me again, which just might be enough of a reason to not go in the first place.” I smirk, knowing they’ll understand what I mean. My parents and I never really mended our relationship after Ari’s death. It was just kind of there…not moving or evolving. Once I graduated high school, I couldn’t wait to move away.
“You know they have coffee here,” Zoe says, eyeing my Starbucks cup and changing the subject. She knows I hate talking about my family.
“Gah! What is it with you two? I do know.” I grab it and pull the straw into my mouth before setting it back down. “But they don’t have it the way I like it.”
“Filled with caramel and sugar?” Kendall laughs.
“I live on four hours or less of sleep every night. Caramel and sugar are the only things that keep my eyes open.”
Kendall lets out an audible sigh. “I’d feel sorry for you, but the fact that you have more strange men doing the walk of shame every weekend than I have pairs of shoes, I don’t feel sorry at all.”
“Stop exaggerating,” I retort as Zoe begins to laugh. “It’s not
every
weekend. And sometimes they only get to third base, thank you very much.”
“What’s your definition of third base?” Zoe asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
“No penetration,” I answer matter-of-factly.
Zoe snorts.
We continue talking and eating. If it weren’t for these two, I’d feel really lost—more than I already feel. They’re the closest thing I have to any kind of healthy relationship, even though they don’t really know all of me. They know what I show and tell them, but most of the time, they see what I want them to see. Not the inside that’s burning with unbearable pain and guilt. But they get more than I give anyone else, and sometimes I even find myself thinking of them like sisters—that is until the guilt eats at me.
MORGAN