Swell (16 page)

Each day was precluded by terrible sleep. I spent most nights dreaming that I was awake, and that I couldn’t find my way around the house I was trapped in. I knew Hillman was somewhere around the corner, and could smell his scent.

My mom and dad took turns talking to me about drinking, alcoholism, and what I’d been through. In particular, my mom said that I might be having some kind of post-traumatic stress from the Hillman situation, and asked if I wanted to see a counselor. Like the bell on your first bike, a “ding” hit me between the ears and my heart felt open to the possibilities that a shrink could offer. It would be nice to have a third-party point of view.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” My eyes showed the first sign of life in days. A pleased look spread across my mom’s face, and before I knew it, I had an appointment with a guy named David.

/////

Boxes of Kleenex surrounded the couch I sat on. Pamphlets were tucked into kiosks, and handmade pillows filled the small of my back. A small water cooler sat in the corner, and there were no paper cups left in the box that sat to the side of it. Probably due to some of his water-addicted patients. Oh well.

David was tall, extra-skinny and, to my horror, a redhead. He didn’t look anything like Hillman, except for his hair color. He wore gold wire-rimmed glasses that covered his friendly eyes.

“Welcome, Rebecca.” He opened his office door and invited me into a hippie den. There were tapestries on the walls and giant pillows on the floor that surrounded a low table. A big, round candle sat in the middle, emitting a scent that smelled like the health food store.

“Choose any pillow you like and make it your own,” he said, sitting down at the head of the table on an orange cushion. I sat dead opposite on a purple one, crossed my legs, and hunched over to inhale the candle’s aroma.

“I’ve read your patient questionnaire.” He held up a blue folder. Great, now there was going to be a history of my madness.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I understand that you’ve been through a very difficult situation.” It went on like that for most of the session. He pulled information from me without even trying. I told him about the party, waking up in a car, the unidentified male voices, Hillman hitting me and trying to…

“Rebecca, how often do you drink?”

I stopped. Until this time, David hadn’t said anything about my drinking.

“Call me Beck,” I started. “And I don’t know. I just do it for fun. Doesn’t every kid do that?”

“Sure. Lot’s of
adults
enjoy drinking. But it sounds like you
need
it.”

“I don’t ha—“

A buzzer cut through my reply. David had a little digital clock tucked behind his pillow, barking at me that it was time to go.

My mom was sitting on the couch, reading a pamphlet titled
Depression, Is That You?
David walked me out. He gave her a warm smile, and she reciprocated with a look of hope.

Please make my daughter well again.

She tried to ask me questions about my session, but I was vague. After all, it was my business, even if she and my dad were paying to have me analyzed.

Chapter 18

When I returned to school, it seemed like everyone was looking at me. Some of the kids had seen me collapse in front of the bathrooms, so they were more than happy to spread the news. Surely, all my teachers knew I was a mess.

Christian clung to me every chance he got, wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me near. I melted into him every time, and I felt lightheaded from his sudden adoration. Whereas I had once starved for his love, I now sat at his banquet and ate my fill.

Every class was a nightmare, except for art. It was like nothing had happened. Jesse was sitting there in his jacket, a stick of beef jerky in his left hand as he drew with his right. I knew that he saw me come in because of the cute smirk on his mouth.

I took a pencil and started working on my drawing, too ashamed to say anything to Jesse, especially after he saw me go down in flames in Principal Blanford’s office. He, on the other hand, wasn’t embarrassed about anything and broke the ice.

“Saw you in Blanford’s office.” I wished he’d chosen a lighter topic to start with, like
hello
.

“How nice of you to notice. What were
you
doing there?”

He tapped his fingers for a moment. “Let’s just say I was checking in.”

“Oh, okay.” I hoped he would leave it at that.

No such luck. “I hear you do a lot of baking.”

“Excuse me?” I looked up; he kept his head low to his paper.

“You use a lot of vanilla.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Here’s a question for you,” he said, finally making eye contact. “Do you know why the best bakers never use artificial vanilla?”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Jesse, but tell me, why do the best bakers never use artificial vanilla?” I tried to brace my emotions and remain calm.

“Because, Rebecca,” he said, leaning close to my ear. “They’re all alcoholics.”

He went back to his project. I sat there, saying nothing. Tears blew into in my eyes and I stood up and approached Mr. Stanley’s desk.

He looked up at me with calm, understanding eyjs.
“Yes, Rebecca?”

“I don’t feel well.”

Not wanting to push me off of the deep end, Mr. Stanley simply nodded toward the door. I stepped out and leaned against the edge of the building, wishing a bottle of bourbon would fall from the sky. Even if it did, I wouldn’t want to drink it in front everybody, especially Jesse. He already seemed to have his suspicions about me.

I stayed in that position until the bell rang, and went back inside to get my things. Jesse was already standing by the door with them in his hands.

“Here.” He handed me my stuff. “I didn’t want you to forget them.”

I took everything and turned to walk away. He shadowed me as I trudged toward my locker, walking so close that I could hear him breathe.

“Rebecca.” He touched my shoulder. I spun around, lost my footing, and landed on the ground. My butt felt like it had cracked in half.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you lose your balance.” Jesse helped me up.

“Sure, yeah. Whatever, Jesse.”

“You’re pissed-off at me,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Gee, you think I’m not?”

“No, I think you are. I was just joking with you. Sort of.”

“What I’ve been through is no joke,” I muttered, tears about to spill again. I wanted to turn around and run.

“I know that, Rebecca.”

“Really? You know what I’ve been through.
Y
ou
know exactly what it feels like?” I asked, dropping my bags and putting my hands on my hips. He shrugged.

“You seem so sad sometimes, like life is leaving you hollow.” He shook his head before walking away. I grabbed my bags and ran toward him, but he kept a steady pace.

“Do you
know
what happened to me?” I had to know if the stories had circulated down to the lower ranks — a place I knew well and hadn't seen since before I’d dated Christian.

“I think I do, and I don’t like it.” His legs were impossibly long, and my own were moving at twice the usual speed just to keep up.

“Can you stop or slow down for a minute?” I begged, and he finally brought his pace down to a level I could live with.

“So, you do know,” I said. He stopped and gave me a hard look.

“Let’s just say I’ve heard more than enough from the flapping mouths around here.” I thought about the mouths on Allison, Devin, and Hillman.

“You look puzzled,” he said as he removed the khaki jacket. Underneath was a black
Misfits
t-shirt. It was the first time I’d seen him without his jacket. I’d never noticed anything else he wore.

“I just. Feel--”

“You probably feel a lot of things. Look,” he said, taking a pen out of his backpack and reaching for my hand. “Here’s my number. Give me a call sometime, you know, if you want to talk.” He opened my palm and wrote the number across my life line.

I clenched my hand into a rock-hard fist, as if I had captured something valuable.

“I’ll call you later,” I said, knowing that although I wanted to, I probably wouldn’t because I’d be out with Christian.

/////

Christian was stoked that I was going to have coffee with him. I was a little addicted to the milkshake-like blended drinks and considered, for one ridiculous minute, using them as a booze substitute. The price of those frothy drinks was more than I could pay and beer was cheaper. And unlike coffee, beer wasn’t something I had to be in the mood for. I just
wanted
it.

To my knowledge, Christian hadn’t stopped drinking. As the hour of our coffee date approached, I thought of ways to get him to give me beer, wine, or anything that could be used to fuel a car or ignite a flame thrower.

Even though I wasn’t allowed to see the likes of Allison and Devin, my parents did let me go with Christian. After all, he rescued me from the son-of-a-bitch, to quote my dad. As far as they knew, Christian wore a white hat and carried silver bullets.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for today.” He put his hand on my thigh as we drove, massaging it as if we’d never broken up. My lungs quivered with stifled breaths, excitement bubbling in my stomach over what might happen. Kind of like a first date, part two.

“Where are we going for coffee?” I asked.

“Down by the harbor,” he said, zipping onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Good, cause I need a drink… of coffee, I mean.” I pretended to check my purse on the floor, but instead swept my hand under the seat to check for a bottle. Shit! There was nothing!

He stared at me for a moment when we got there. I hoped he was buying, as my parents had cut-off my allowance in an effort to keep me dry.

“Beck, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” He leaned in for a light kiss on the mouth.

“I know, Christian.”

We settled on the patio and watched the cars whiz by. I was a fast drinker, whether it was beer, coffee, or orange juice. I finished my drink before Christian.

“Wow, you’re fast,” he said, putting the finishing sip on his coffee.

“I had to keep up with you.”

“I never expected you to keep up with me, Beck.”

“Ah, I don’t think so. I was expected to keep up with a lot of things.” Like socializing with assholes and drinking until it sweated out of my pores. Some things, I figured, you did for love, or because you really wanted to.

“That’s the pressure I told you about on our first date.”

“When you brought a jug of wine?”

“Oh yeah. That. I was nervous about our date,” he said, looking the other way as he tapped his fingers on the table. “Wanna go?”

“Yes.” I stood up and took his hand, which prompted him to snake his arm around my waist and cinch me close.

At the Partymobile, Christian opened the back, lifted the floorboard above the spare tire compartment, and brought me close to see inside. Twenty-four glistening cans sat in a cardboard box. My jaw dropped.

“Do you want to go
somewhere
, Beck?”

My rapture was blatant. The sheer number of beer cans boggled my mind and I was instantly attracted to them. I would have even curled up with the spare tire just to be close to the cold ones.

We went to the beach where we’d spend long hours drinking and making out in the sand. The sun was already setting when we shoved several cans in Christian’s jacket and pranced to the shore.

What bliss! The taste of frothing pilsner cleansed my palate of sobriety, and I was hooked once again on the concept of more. More beer. One more. Another. Then another. This time, Christian had to keep up with me.

“You’re downing these like you haven’t had a drink for weeks.”

“I haven’t!” I cheered, holding up a can to celebrate the goodness. I could feel the love that I had for Christian pouring out with each sip I took. It oozed from my brain, down to my chest, and then even lower into my private parts. Ideas came to my fizzled mind that made my inner giggle laugh harder than it had in a long time.

“So, Christian,” I asked, slinking over to sit spread-eagled on his lap. “How
much
have you missed me?”

/////

It felt like pure power when I had sex with Christian on the beach. It was love, but also possession as I took back what was mine. He surrendered to my need without  question and I hoped that as I glided aggressively over him that he would remember his feelings for me.

The magic of the moment disappeared when I woke up on the beach in the middle of the night. I had sobered, and my head pounded with familiar hangover static that ran from ear to ear. Had I passed out?