45
I WAKE UP TO Alecia's hair dryer blowing.
Their new place is nicer than the last, and I like it. It's an actual apartment, sixth floor, beige walls. And the couch is the same, so it's like a piece of home from their old place has been brought here.
Still, I barely slept. Yesterday feels like it wasn't even real; some parts dreamlike, others nightmarish.
Colt was arrested. That's the best dream I've ever had.
But then there's Elliot.
He screamed at me. He threw a vase at me, smashed it off the ceramic tile. It was terrifying, because he was no longer himself; Elliot transformed into Colt, into my father, into every other man who has ever tried to hurt me. I love him, but for a moment, he'd embodied everything that I hate and fear.
Violence.
So I ran away.
I pull the quilt off my body and sit up, guilt making my stomach unsettled. He'd begged me not to go, but...
You scared me, Elliot. I couldn't stay there. Not when you were like that.
All night, I paced this living room, replaying the scene in my head. Yes, Elliot scared me, but that vase landed nowhere near my feet. He wasn't trying to hurt me, he just... snapped. That isn't okay either. But I know that he's prone to emotional outbursts, and I know he didn't mean to call me a bitch or say any of those horrible things. I don't hate him for what he said, and I'm trying to understand, I really am.
What I do understand is that he loves me. For the first time in my miserable life, somebody good actually loves me. It was selfish to leave like that. He needed me. I should have called his parents, or the police, or someone. Instead, I ran here like a coward.
The early afternoon sun shines through the windows, so Elliot must be awake by now. Biting my lip, I send him a text.
Hey, I'm sorry for running out like that. Are you okay? Can we meet?
When he doesn't answer after ten minutes, I send another.
Please don't ignore me. Are you sleeping?
I have the insatiable urge to write I love you, but I can't tell him I love him via text. It has to be in person. Because I do love him, more than anything. And even though I'm a selfish bitch, he loves me too. I've put him through hell, haven't I? He needed me and I left him.
Over and over again, I left him.
Maybe it's too late now. Maybe he doesn't want to talk anymore. Minutes pass, and he still doesn't answer.
I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for Charlotte, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to recover my relationship with Elliot's parents. But maybe, if we give it one more chance, we can take it slow. It's not like I have to move back in with his family; I can stay here and get a job, and Elliot and I could just... date. Maybe go to the movies, be a normal couple for a while. That sounds nice.
Only, he hasn't texted back.
Alecia walks out of the bathroom and runs a brush through her silky black hair. "Hey, sleepy head. You're up."
"Yeah," I say, looking at my phone.
"What's up?"
"Just waiting for Elliot to text me back."
She sits on the couch as Brett walks out. When his eyes fall on me, he leans against the archway to the room.
"Hey, Luce. How you feeling?"
I give him a small smile. "Okay, thanks."
They both saw me storm in last night and pathetically cry myself to sleep, but Brett and Alecia don't judge me. They never do.
They go back to doing their thing, and I bite on my thumb as I check my phone repeatedly. Still no response. I can't take it anymore, so I call him. He doesn't pick up. As I'm about to put the phone down, it buzzes. Elliot's name on the screen fills me with hope.
"El?"
"Lucy?"
My stomach sinks. That isn't Elliot's voice.
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes, it's me. Are you busy?"
"No... where's Elliot?"
There is a long, long pause, before she finally says: "Elliot is in the hospital, Lucy. I think you should come visit."
"Why? What happened? Is he okay?"
"No, not really. Will you come in, please?"
I don't have time to think. I hang up the phone and rush out of the apartment.
* * *
The psychiatric ward has a sterile smell. As I hurry down the long, brightly lit hallway, it's all I can think about. Pills, drugs, and mental illness.
Elliot Wexler is a lot of things. Bipolar is one of them. Last night, when I left; oh God, how could I leave him like that? How could I not think about the fact that he's been suicidal before?
Did he know he was going to hurt himself if I left? Was he scared? My blood is cold and tears singe my eyes. I cover my mouth to repress a sob and rush down the hall, zipping around another corner.
Oh, Elliot, I'm so sorry. I didn't think.
Elizabeth stands by a waiting room filled with blue plastic chairs. Adam is nearby with his arms crossed.
"Hi," I say, breathless.
Adam doesn't look. He must hate me for what I've done to his family. I can't say I blame him. Elizabeth's face is sullen and grey; she doesn't smile at me, and there's no warmth left for me in her eyes. It breaks my heart, but I can't blame her, either.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Would you mind talking to one of the doctors about El?" Elizabeth says, her cold shoulder toward me.
"Of course..."
Still not looking at me, Elizabeth knocks on one of the doors. I'm expecting a lab coat, but a woman with a black and yellow patterned dress and bright red lipstick opens the door. Her smile radiates the warmth of the sun. I can't explain why, but I'm immediately calmed by her. Her name tag reads Dr. Balewa.
"Ah, hello there," she says. I recognize her voice from the last time we were here; smooth and relaxing, like a soft saxophone.
I clasp my hands. "Hi."
"This is Lucy, Elliot's girlfriend," Elizabeth says.
"It's nice to meet you." Dr. Balewa smiles and holds the door open. "Why don't you come in and have a quick chat with me?"
"Okay." Nervousness bubbles inside me, so I glance to Elizabeth for comfort, but she turns away from me. Swallowing, I enter Dr. Balewa's office.
The door closes behind us and traps out the noise from the hall. Now it's as quiet as I imagine it is deep underwater; only the trickle from the goldfish tank in the corner fills the silence. An orange fish swims through the green seaweed swaying over its shiny scales.
"Cute, isn't he?" Dr. Balewa asks.
"Oh, yeah." I turn around. Motivational posters hang on the walls of the small room: be yourself, you can do it, believe. They're cheesy, but they work. I feel okay in here.
She sits behind her desk, and I ease onto the plush chair in front of it. I smooth out the wrinkles in my jeans and chew my lip. It feels like my body is constantly rumbling.
"Do you know why you were asked to come here, Lucy?" Dr. Balewa leans her elbows on the desk.
"I—I think I have an idea."
She nods. "Elliot tried to kill himself last night."
I already clued in to that, but hearing it out loud constricts my windpipe. I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter. "Oh," is all I say.
"Yes, it's not an easy thing to talk about."
"Is he okay? Please tell me he's not—"
"He's okay. They were able to save him."
Oh, thank God.
"I've been Elliot's psychiatrist since he was thirteen," Dr. Balewa says. "This isn't the first time he's tried to do this. Though, this is the first time he's come so close to succeeding."
I'm silent.
"You're his girlfriend, right?"
"I was. We broke up."
"Sorry. He told me that. Ex-girlfriend, then."
"Yeah," I say.
"He told me about your relationship. How it's... affected him."
I picture his face. His smile. The boy he used to be.
"I destroyed him."
"It could have easily been another girl."
"But it wasn't. It was me."
She takes off her glasses. "You can't blame yourself. It wasn't your responsibility to cater to Elliot's mental health needs. You didn't drive him to suicide, Lucy, his mental illness did. You understand that, right?"
Do I? I don't know. "I guess, but... he asked me to stay. He asked me to stay and I left him anyway. I didn't even think about his problems." I hold my head low in shame. "I just ran away like I always do."
"Like I said, it wasn't your fault." An apologetic look laces her stare. "What you do now, however, is your choice."
"What do you mean?"
"Elliot... feels like he can't live without you, and that, in itself, is unhealthy. While we, as people, do need others as crutches, it's very toxic for him to rely on one single person for his own happiness. That isn't fair for you, either."
I swallow. Hard. I don't like where this is going.
"The ultimate decision is in your hands," she says, "but Lucy, I've treated hundreds of patients like Elliot in my twenty-five years of practice."
There are certificates on the walls next to family photos. She knows what she's talking about. And I know what she's saying.
I have to leave Elliot. Tears surge to my eyes, and my chest is so tingly and tight, I think I'm going to explode. But then the realization—the acceptance—washes over me, leaving only a distant thought in my head: but I thought, maybe, we could fix things.
"Anyway." Dr. Balewa shifts a silver ring on her finger. "I can't control what you do, and Lord knows I'm no relationship guru. I just know that what I'm seeing is toxic behaviour. Elliot can't resort to suicide every time he gets in a fight with his girlfriend. Do you understand, Lucy?"
"I do." It burns, but I do understand. Elliot and I can't be together. Now it isn't up to me, or him, or anyone. It's just the right thing to do.
I meet her eyes. "What will you do for him?"
"He's agreed to let us help him, which is a good start. We'll be monitoring his mental health and making sure he gets the care he needs."
"And you think it's a bad idea if I stay?"
"In my professional opinion, I think that he'll still associate you as his only source of happiness."
"Which will stunt his recovery."
"It could. I've seen it before. Elliot is certainly not the first suicidal teen I've seen cling to a romantic partner for meaning."
"But he can get better, right?" My voice breaks. "Will he get better?"
"Definitely. All of these events in his life, with his hockey team and his high school bullies, will pass. Elliot has a promising career ahead of him, and after high school—that's where the light begins. But I have to be honest, as long as Elliot is holding onto your relationship, I think he's going to have a hard time in his recovery."
"Okay." I stand and try to keep my composure. "I understand. Thank you for telling me."
"What will you do?"
"What you suggested. I'm going to leave."
She nods. "I know it's hard to walk away from someone you love, but sometimes it's the right decision."
She's right. I smile at her, and this time, I mean it.
"What should I say to him?" I ask.
"Be honest. He might not understand now, but he will someday. No matter how hurt he is, take comfort in that."
"Okay. Thank you."
I zip out of the room, press my back to the door and shut my eyes, hyperventilating. I have to leave him. I have to.
"Hey." It's Ollie.
I quickly wipe my tears and look away. "Oh. It's you."
"Yeah." He slings his hands in the pockets of his jeans, still wearing the same outfit from last night, reminding me that Elliot isn't the only Wexler in his hospital.
"Is Charlotte okay?" I ask.
"Not really. But she's alive."
"Good. I'm glad."
He points to Dr. Balewa's office. "What did she say to you?"
I can't stop clenching my jaw. "She said I need to leave El."
"Right..." Ollie averts his eyes. "That's probably for the best."
There's something different about him; he isn't being rude to me. Actually, his face is almost penitent, like he feels bad, which isn't the Ollie I know. But I guess people always act differently than how they feel. I know I do it all the time.
"I'm going to," I say.
He nods. "All right. My mom and dad are just in there talking to him, but if you want to see him... go ahead."
"Thanks. I will."