INTO THE FLAMES

Chapter 20

Summer flies by. Before I know it, my desk is overflowing with a shitload of summer-related pictures, most of them Matt with the sunshine behind him, a serious expression on his face. Aria comes in second, pictures of her romping through the dandelion fields behind our house. There are a few of mom and dad, drinking wine out on the porch under the stars. Detective makes an appearance in a few, but she preferred it safer to stay out of it.

We've all flowed through summer as best we can. Yes, I'm in love with Matt (and no, I haven't told him), but I still have my days. I'm still taking my medication, but for a straight week, no matter how nice it was outside and no matter how well things were going with me and Matt or my family, there was such a lack of appeal for getting out of bed.

Everything just seemed so damn dull, so pointless. The first morning, Matt was already awake when I opened my eyes. He had the most adorable, full smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with boyish charm as his eyes scanned over the parts of my body that weren't covered by the sheets.

The sun seemed too bright.

The sheets seemed too soft.

His energy seemed to positive.

I must have made a face, a grimace or something, when his fell. He didn't key in.

"Is everything okay, baby?" He asked me. 

I wanted to tell him, tell him that I was drowning in myself, darkness sucking me in like it had in those months after Jax. I wanted to tell him that I still cried in the middle of the night and tried to manage my panic attacks. I wanted to tell him that I was still afraid of him, of my parents, my sister, of everyone. I wanted to tell him that I was still afraid of myself.

But I didn't. 

And I couldn't.

So I swatted his hands away, told him not to touch me. I'll never forget the look on his face, wondering if he did something wrong, if he hurt me, if he ruined things.

I turned away from him, cocooned my body and wrapped it tightly in the comforter that he hadn't bothered to try and fight for in the coolness of the morning breeze.

"Avery? Talk to me."

After ten minutes, he got up and left.

I heard him in the hallway, pacing. It was creating a draft, and I was already cold enough as it was with the windows open. 

"I don't know. She looked so repulsed. She won't talk to me. She won't even look at me."

There was silence for a few moments, and I wondered if he was trying to get my attention. Then, I heard my sister, a voice that had begun to come back in the last few weeks of summer.

"She's on antidepressants, Matt. They can't work all the time."

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Mom left food outside of the door. She came in once, probably after talking to Aria. She closed the window, shut the blind. Crawled in next to me. Tried to get me to talk. I couldn't look at any of them. Every time I tried to open my mouth, my throat would constrict, my pulse would quicken.

And every time I shut my eyes, all I saw was Jax. Fucking me. And then walking out.

This happens a lot, like it did after my panic attack in July. After I first started the pills, poor Landon couldn't get me to go to class for a week. Once I pulled myself out of bed, I no longer felt like projecting myself off of a bridge. But I showed up on campus with a puss on my face. Apparently, Landon had emailed the dean and he told my professors that my mental health was in question.

Yeah, pretty much.

So for the next month I drifted around Chicago, depressed and lonely, but mostly numb. I didn't cry anymore. I couldn't. When I tried, when the pain was so crippling that I thought my heart would burst in my chest, I sat in the dark and tried to cry as I listened to Landon and Xavier's soft moaning from the next room over, the bustling of the streets, and the beating of my own pathetic heart. Or whatever was left of it.

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About a week after starving myself and holing up in the dark, I opened my eyes. I saw a little crack of sun shining through my blinds. Drool was crusted at the corners of my mouth. I could suddenly smell something, and it wasn't pretty. I took a cautious whiff under my arm.

Big mistake.

I refocused on the light. I felt so rested, so new, but too warm. My pajamas were a week old. My sheets were full of tears and crumbs. Dirty laundry piled up in the corner. I could see a thin layer of dust on y dresser. My bedside table was littered with empty cups and dishes. And pill bottles.

I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and burst into tears.

Sometimes I didn't have words for how much I hated myself, how much I despised myself for becoming this way because of a guy who, in hindsight, wasn't very good for me anyways. But I couldn't help myself. I let him take what he wanted from me, then he left me high and dry.

Now, I have something so much better than I could have ever imagined. And it's about time I try and get my shit together.

I threw the covers off me and swung my legs around. I listened, but I couldn't hear anyone in the house. I checked my phone for the first time in a week. I had a few messages from Landon and Xavier, a couple from mom and dad, one from Matt.

I'm here when you're ready.

Yeah, I know. Thank god.

I walked over to the window and stared at the light on the floor. I knew what it meant- that there would be no darkness, I would be accepting today, getting out of bed.

So I took a deep breath, and opened the curtains.