When I wake up the next morning, there's a few hazy seconds during which I can't remember anything that happened last night. For a few moments, I just lie there and breathe as I listen to the usual Sunday morning racket throughout the house; the loud whirring of the coffee machine downstairs, Andrea and Isabel racing down the stairs, a vacuum being used in the hallway.
Then I open my eyes and the memories come crashing down over me like a tidal wave. Chloe in Aaron's arms at the party. Aaron against the night sky, a grin on his face, Want me to help you? His hand on the back of my head and his knuckles against my lips, the sweet smell of smoke, a heartbeat of silence.
And then the moment that ruined everything.
Immediately, the same shaky feeling settles in my stomach and I sit up, trying to breathe through it. Looking down at myself, I realize that I'm wearing nothing but my boxers. I think I can dimly remember Elena helping me get out of my clothes after hauling me off the bathroom floor and to my room last night. Next to my bed, there's a bucket that she probably placed there in case I had to throw up again and a glass of water on my nightstand.
Next to that glass is my phone.
I have to take several deep breaths before I can get myself to grab it it, only to stare down at the screen, dumbfounded, when there's not a single notification. I numbly click onto Aaron's contact, my throat tightening when I see that his last text was from before the party.
I thought I would be relieved if I didn't hear from him, but staring down at my phone, the only thing I feel is dread.
Aaron sends me a good morning text almost every day. Especially the morning after parties he always texts me something; a stupid photo of him hungover in bed, of the bruises he got falling off his bike on the ride back, of the chaos he left behind when he came home, even just of the fucking time he woke up on his alarm clock. It's never been like this. And it's not because he's still asleep either; at the top, it says that he was last online an hour ago.
It's already half past twelve; he's probably on the flight to France by now, getting farther away with every second.
Shakily, I type: i'm sorry about what happened. i didn't mean to. please forget about it until you leave for college, i promise i won't do it again. i just want things to stay how they are.
My fingers hover over the send button for a few seconds, but before I can bring myself to press it, there's a knock at the door.
"Yeah?" I croak, dropping the phone onto the mattress.
The door inches open and reveals mom. She's wearing a colorful dress and a small smile as she softly says, "Hey. Is it okay if I come in?"
I nod, the lump in my throat too large for me to answer, and watch as she crosses the room. She's carrying a bowl of soup in one hand which she sets down on the nightstand before she sinks down next to me on the bed.
Gently carding a hand through my hair, she asks, "Elena told me you weren't feeling well last night?"
"I threw up," I murmur.
She hums quietly. "Was it because you were anxious?"
I give another small nod.
"Was the party not good?"
"No," I whisper. "The party was alright."
"But...?"
Gulping, I stare down at my hands. "Nothing. I'm fine."
She's silent for a moment, studying me. Finally, she breathes a soft sigh and reaches for the bowl of soup on my nightstand. "Here," she says, carefully handing it to me. "Abuelita got up early and made menudo. Maybe it'll make you feel better."
Traditionally, menudo is said to help with hangovers, but in my family it's considered the cure for all things. However, staring down at the broth and smelling the meat and spices, my stomach turns.
"I don't really feel like eating anything yet, mom," I mumble.
Her expression only grows even more concerned at that, her eyes momentarily travelling down to my upper body. She looks up again when I shift a little and draw the blanket up higher to hide my chest. I hate the way she always stares at me, like there's reason to worry, like she's afraid that from one day to another she'll see my ribs protruding.
"Maybe your appetite will come back later," she says and slowly stands up. She turns around to leave, but pauses at the door and looks at me again. Wringing her hands, she quietly says, "You know you can always talk to me, right, mi amor?"
I feel a little bit like crying. "I'm fine, mom. I promise."
"Take the day to rest, okay?"
"Okay," I whisper and watch as she leaves, pulling the door shut behind her.
Once she's gone, I set the bowl down on my nightstand and grab my phone again. I read over everything I've typed, once, twice.
In the end, I hit delete.
+++
Three days go by with not a single sign of life from Aaron.
I try to distract myself by babysitting Andrea and Isabel, watching documentaries, riding aimlessly around the town on my bike, but I can't get the memory of the night on the playground out of my head. I type out at least five different versions of my first message but don't send any of them. At night, I lie awake and stare at the ceiling and imagine him in a hotel room half a world away, and I try not to wonder if he thinks about me too.
On Thursday afternoon, it takes everything in me and three reminders from mom to force myself onto my bike and ride down to the bus station. There, I realize that I forgot my ticket, but the bus driver waves me inside anyway; it's not like he doesn't know me.
For twenty minutes, all I do is stare out the window at the desert and dust and the few run-down buildings rushing by outside, a blur of red and brown with nothing to hold my attention. The bus is almost unbearably hot, to the point that my shirt is sticking to my back by the time I get off twenty minutes later.
Melissa's office is in a tall office building right around the corner. Even after years of coming here, I still have to swallow hard before I press the bell with her name tag on it. A moment later, a buzzer sounds and I push the door open, entering the stairwell with the familiar scent of floor cleaner.
I take my time climbing the stairs, but still arrive at the door slightly out of breath, straightening my shoulders and wiping my sweaty hands on my pants before I enter.
"Felipe, honey!" the older woman behind the front desk exclaims, beaming at me. She's so short she can barely see over the counter, her eyes twinkling at me behind her glasses. "Always so on time. You can go right through!"
Nodding, I try for a smile and walk past her desk to the door at the end of the empty waiting room. Even though Melissa knows I'm coming, I still give a knock and wait for her "Come in!" before I enter.
"Hello, Felipe," Melissa says, momentarily looking up from her laptop to gesture at the couch. "You can have a seat, I'll be right with you."
I nod and slowly sink down on my familiar spot on the bright yellow couch. Before my first session with her, I always imagined a therapist's office to be dark and claustrophobic, with a brown leather couch you have to lie down on while a stern-looking, old white man with glasses stares you down and scribbles notes in a leather-wrapped notepad.
Instead, I was surprised to find Melissa, a woman younger than my mom with skin as tan as mine and a penchant for bright clothing with polka dots on it. With its high windows, the sheer amount of plants on every free surface, the vibrant abstract art on the walls, and the colorful throw pillows, her office is also the opposite of dark and claustrophobic.
I look around the room while she finishes typing notes, probably from the session with her last client, in her laptop. Despite the ceiling fan and the light breeze coming in through the windows, I'm still sweaty and thirsty. In front of me, there's a small coffee table with several glasses and a large bottle of water on it that I could help myself to, but I've never done that, no matter how thirsty I get. I've also never told Melissa when I had to use the restroom or when the ceiling fan was on too high. I would rather die, I think.
"So," she finally says, looking up from her laptop with a smile. Today's polka dot item is a bright red blouse with white dots that matches the hair clip she has used to pin some of her dark curls back. "How was the bus ride?"
"It was fine," I murmur.
She smiles, fanning herself with one hand. "Pretty hot today, isn't it? I've been sweating all day."
I only give a nod.
Melissa tilts her head slightly, warm brown eyes studying me. "So, tell me about your week. How are you feeling lately?"
My first instinct is to say I'm fine, but then I remember that this isn't my family but my therapist. "Uhm... not that great," I murmur, staring down at my hands. "I've been feeling really anxious lately. More than usual, I mean."
"Mh. Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know." I lift a hand to rub at my neck. "I guess it's because of college, mostly." It's not a complete lie. That's really how I navigate through all these sessions; with half-truths and sentences that tend to leave things out, sometimes not even on purpose.
Still, Melissa nods encouragingly. "Yes, you've mentioned that before. If you had to narrow it down to one thing, what do you think scares you the most about it?"
Everything. "Just... being away from my family," I murmur.
"I understand," she says. "It's a difficult transition, for sure. It's natural to feel anxious in times of change like this one. Have you talked to your family about this?"
"No."
Melissa hums quietly. "I see. Do you-"
"I went to a party on Saturday," I blurt.
It's an obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from the topic, but Melissa lets it slide for now. "That's great! How was it?"
"It was okay. I stayed for almost three hours."
"Good! And how did you feel?"
"Alright. I got a bit anxious and had to take a break, but Aaron-" I break off abruptly, the air knocked out of my lungs as his name slips out of my mouth without my permission.
"But Aaron?" Melissa asks, still smiling patiently.
I swallow thickly, directing my gaze at my lap again. "Aaron helped make it less scary."
"You're very lucky to have a friend as good as him, you know?" Melissa says. "In fact, I think a friendship as close as yours is something very few people get to experience."
Almost immediately, warmth begins to pool behind my eyes. I blink repeatedly to keep the tears from falling and whisper, "I know."
"Hey." She leans forward in her armchair, voice soft. "Felipe, what's wrong?"
I shake my head, wiping a hand over my nose. "Nothing. I'm fine."
Melissa is quiet for a moment, still looking at me.
I wish the fucking tears would go away. I've never cried in front of her before; not when I first met her and had to tell her my entire history, not when we talked about my parents' divorce, not when she disclosed my diagnosis, not when she told me she thought it would be good for me to go on anti-depressants. Why the fuck do I feel like crying now?
"What about the homework I gave you?" she finally asks. "Did you try filling in the thought log?"
"No," I say, my voice so shaky it's barely audible.
Melissa looks at me in a way that makes me feel like she knows I'm lying, but her eyes lose none of their warmth. "Alright. How about this then." She gets up and walks over to her desk, grabbing another sheet of paper. "It's similar to the one I gave you, but maybe a little easier to work with. What I want you to do is, again, write down your thoughts, but then instead of doing all the work of assessing them yourself, you can simply answer the questions at the bottom. You don't have to answer all of them if you don't want to; maybe start small and try to think about at least two. Sound alright?"
I nod and hesitantly accept the paper.
"Awesome," she says with a smile and sinks down in her chair opposite from me again. "Now, I would like to circle back to our first topic. What exactly is it that scares you when you think about leaving for college?"
My brain immediately rattles off a list similar to the one that's scattered in pieces across my desk: Not seeing Aaron. Having to go to the pharmacy myself. Not being good enough in class. Not having anyone to talk to about my problems. Losing touch with my family. Not fitting in. Realizing journalism isn't what I want to do after all. Having to share a room with someone I don't know. Aaron finding new friends and forgetting about me.
Out loud, I say, "I don't know."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Felipe..." Melissa murmurs, lifting a hand to rub at her temple. "We've already talked about this. In order for me to help you, you need to open up. I know that it might be uncomfortable or even painful, but I can't guess what you're going through. Do you understand?"
I nod, wishing the lump in my throat would go away. The office feels unbearably hot all of a sudden.
"This is a safe space. You can talk to me about anything, Felipe." She pauses, expression softening. "What do you need to get off your chest?"
I hold her gaze for a moment. I want to tell her about Aaron, about the thing at the playground and my panic attack, about the way my throat feels like there are hands wrapped around it every time I look at his profile picture and how they squeeze a little tighter every time I try to send him a message.
But then I try to form the words and nothing wants to come out, my tongue paralyzed with fear. All it manages to whisper is, "I don't want to talk to you about anything right now. Please, can... can I go?"
"You still have over twenty minutes left," she softly says. "But if you really want to leave, I can't stop you."
I abruptly get to my feet and am almost at the door when Melissa says, "Your worksheet."
Biting the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts, I turn around and grab the paper from the couch. Melissa watches me with a smile that I feel is supposed to be reassuring, but really only makes me feel worse about what I'm doing. "See you next week."
I nod, afraid what will come out if I open my mouth, and bolt out of the room.
"Done already?" the lady at the front desk asks, but I don't stop to answer.
Instead, I stumble out into the hallway, almost running into someone with how quickly I sprint down the stairs. Somehow, I manage to make it to the bus stop in time to catch the next bus, half an hour earlier than the one I usually get on.
I keep my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the other passengers, so I don't notice them right away. It's only when I've almost made it to the back of the bus that I notice the smell of vanilla and look up.
Chloe, Bryce and Lewis are sitting sprawled across two rows, a bunch of shopping bags at their feet, all eyes on me as I make my way towards them.
I look down again and try to walk past them as quickly as possible, only to jump when I suddenly feel a hand on my arm.
"Hey," Chloe murmurs. "Are you alright?"
I stare down at where her perfectly manicured fingers are resting on my wrist. The words come out without my permission and so much harsher than I intended: "Don't fucking touch me."
She winces and immediately pulls her hand back, eyes wide. "Sorry."
Instead of responding, I take off towards the second to last row of the bus, where I frantically dig my earphones out of my pocket and fumble with them until I manage to connect them to my phone.
I've only just shoved them into my ears when I hear Lewis saying, "Fuck is wrong with him? Did he hurt you?"
"No," Chloe murmurs. "I'm fine."
"Fucking freak," Bryce spits. "I don't understand why AJ keeps him around. He makes far too much trouble to be a lapdog."
"Bryce," Chloe softly says.
He says something else, but whatever it is gets drowned out when I finally manage to press play on the first playlist that pops up on my phone. I exhale shakily when I realize that it's Lover's Spit, but don't skip the song.
Instead, I turn it to the highest volume and squeeze my eyes shut as the bus starts moving. There's wet on my cheeks and salt in my mouth, but I don't have the strength to hold back the tears as I lean my head against the window and frantically wish I could go back to the night in Aaron's bed, with the stars glinting above us and the fleeting feeling that things could really turn out okay.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Hey everyone!!
This one's an ouchie, but it's not going to be the last one I'm afraid :o
Did you guys expect things to turn out like this? And what are your theories as to why Aaron has dipped? I kinda miss him already tbh :(
I hope you enjoyed this chapter and have an amazing weekend!!
xoxo