Saving Laurel

59. Give Him Time

Laurel Gilroy

I've called Wes a thousand times over the course of the past two days. I've ignored everyone else, though if Brett called me I'd at least answer, even if I am scared to hear what he has to say.

The metal blade clinks against the counter in the sink of my bathroom and I watch as the blood trickles down my arm, catching on the other cuts and redirecting before finishing its gravity led course.

I haven't found any peace yet. Every time I think I might be close an image of Wes on the ground behind the parking lot blows it all to shreds.

Mason was right.

But who am I kidding? Mason's always been right.

I'm the problem. I'm the one that ruins things, I brought this on myself. I don't deserve to be loved.

Grabbing my phone off the counter, I pull up Molly's thread and tell her I'll come for the weekend.

—————————

Before I officially head to Molly's I go by Wes's house. He's even ignoring me at school, unwilling to look at me. All I get is sympathetic glances from Ellie and Savannah, I'm sure they've all heard what I did. In fact I'm surprised Brett is still allowing me to sit with them. Though I keep my distance when everyone is with Wes, afraid of backlash.

I shut my car off and with a deep breath that inflates my lungs in hopes to propel my body forward I walk the path to the front door and knock.

I can hear the piano seep through the brick walls of his house, perfectly envisioning Wes as he sits at the piano. His long fingers moving deftly over the keys, his body relaxed, eyes closed as he submerses himself in the music. He's beautiful.

There's no way someone so wonderful would ever love me back.

The door pulls open just enough for Brett to fill the open gap.

"Hey Laurel." He says, clearing his throat. "Wes is playing."

I scoff, that's a nice way of telling me Wes doesn't want to see me and I know it.

"Is he ever going to talk to me again?" I ask Brett.

He pushes his glasses up his nose with his index finger before he says "yeah, probably. He'll come around."

But I'm not comforted by it.

Brett lets out a sigh, stepping through the doorway as he closes it behind him. "Maybe Wes should have told you this but when we were like 11-12 his Tourette's peaked I guess you'd say, his OCD was so bad he would barely leave the house. Grace actually pulled him from school for a little bit."

I fold my arms across my chest, a burning sting flashes through my upper arm and I think back to earlier and the short lived reprieve I got when I cut myself.

"Wes has worked really hard to manage his OCD and redirect his violent tics so he could come back to school and..." he clears his throat again. "To control them in public."

"I don't understand."

"You know how he touches his nose?" Brett asks, mimicking the action as if I haven't seen it a million times. I nod my head. "So he used that tic to redirect hitting himself in the head."

"But he still hits himself." I point out.

Brett nods, dark curls bouncing around. "Yeah, but not as much as he used to."

"So every time he touches his nose he actually wants to hit himself?" I'm trying to piece together how many times I've seen him do that particular tic, what that would mean.

"I guess I don't know for sure." Brett shrugs, shifting on his feet as he looks down the street. "I've never really asked if it just became its own tic or not."

Silence falls between us and I stare at the window in the dining room. If I shifted just a little I might be able to see him, sitting at the piano.

"Listen, I'm just saying, I get what you were trying to do. Sawyer's a jerk and it's not fair to Wes what he does." He says. "But Wes really hates tic-ing especially like that in public. People think he's on drugs or crazy. But it hurts him too, tic attacks leave him pretty sore and exhausted."

A lump settles in my throat, I feel like such a jerk.

"You kind of betrayed his trust, ya know?" Brett's voice is soft and gentle like he's trying to deliver the news as kindly as he can which feels a little out of character for him. I mean we're talking about Wes but nonetheless sympathy fills his voice as he sends me the final blow. And boy does it hit hard. "Manipulated him a little."

My vision blurs as tears rush my eyes and I bury my head in my hands. "Oh my god."

"Hey." Brett's voice is low, trying to soothe as he wraps his arms around me. "He'll come around just give him time. It's Wes." He tells me but it's worst than just Wes being mad at me.

It's the fact that I did the complete opposite of what I set out to do. That my intention wasn't to hurt him but nevertheless that's exactly what I did. And that feels too much like something Mason would do. Hurt someone.

"Wes never stays mad." Brett tries to reassure. "Just give him some time."

The wind is cool as it blows past us rippling through the trees as it tugs leaves from the branches. It causes a chill to rush over my skin even beneath the sweater I have on. My eyes squeezed shut trying to seal in the tears that want to fall as I stand wrapped in Brett's arms.

I realize how dramatic I must seem. How unattractive and needy I'm being. Seeking comfort in Wes' best friend. Tugging myself from his arms, I pull that indifferent mask over my face, forcing down the blush that wants to redden my cheeks.

"Will you just tell him I'm going back to my old town." It's a sad attempt at sparking jealousy in Wes, I know that. But even though I'm putting an end to my insecurity in front of Brett, I'm desperate for Wes to look at me again. "Please."

"Yeah sure." He clears his throat, shifting on his feet.

It's clear the conversation is over but I hesitate there for just a moment before I turn back to my car without a goodbye.

"See ya Laurel." Brett calls anyway.

I don't return it.

                              ————————

How do we all feel about Laurel going home?!

Number 4: