Believe (True Believers #3)(58)
Author: Erin McCarthy

She opened the door and gave me a smile. “I bet that wore you out.”

“It did.” Our house had been built in the seventies, and the hall bathroom had never been remodeled. It was still full of dark wood and lots of gold accents, and there was a little cutout for a vanity chair, which had been the same brass stool my entire life. I sank down onto it now, my lungs straining, the air too humid to breathe properly, hands still trembling. I was starting to worry that was a permanent thing, that weird little jitter to my fingers.

My mother came behind me and took the towel off the floor and dried my hair for me, her touch gentle. It felt so good to have her take care of me, like I was a little girl again, comforting me after my brothers had picked on me mercilessly. She picked up a brush and started to go through my hair, detangling the snarls that had been made as I had done who knew what in my incoherent state.

Suddenly, watching her in the mirror in front of me, the full impact of what had happened hit me and I started crying again. I could have died. Never, ever, in any way, had I ever been suicidal. I didn’t want to die. At all. Ever, frankly. I sure in the hell didn’t want to die now. But I could have, and it would have been my fault, and I would have caused my parents massive pain.

Phoenix had every right to be angry with me.

I was angry with myself.

“Robin. What’s going on?” my mother asked quietly. “Does this have anything to do with Phoenix? I have to admit, he wasn’t what I was expecting. He’s not the usual type of boy you date.”

“No, he’s not,” I said, voice tight with my tears. “Mom, I have to tell you something, and it’s not good.”

Keeping secrets hadn’t done anything good for me, and I realized that even if it meant my parents would be profoundly disappointed in me, I needed to be honest with them. I couldn’t do this by myself. Facing the truth was going to be hard, but hiding from it was worse.

“Yes? You know you can tell me anything. Are you pregnant?” she asked gently.

Ironically, something that would have given me a heart attack back in high school now seemed like the least horrible thing to have happening. Being pregnant would be way less frightening than being an alcoholic.

Still watching her in the mirror, her fingers smoothing over my now fully brushed hair, I told her, “No. I’m not pregnant. I don’t have the flu. I ended up in the ER last night with blood alcohol poisoning.”

Her fingers stilled. “Oh my God, baby. And you’re okay, the doctors said you’re okay?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. Phoenix and Rory called 911.”

She made the sign of the cross. “Thank you, Jesus.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said. “It was an accident. I was upset and I drank more than I should have.”

Her face had lost color, and I could see her searching for the right thing to say. “Do you drink more than you should often?”

I shook my head. “I did. But not any more. Phoenix doesn’t drink at all, and he’s really mad at me. I scared him. I scared myself.”

Her arms came down around me, and she gave me a hard hug, her lips brushing over my hair.

And I cried, because I had disappointed everyone who mattered to me. Most of all I had disappointed myself.

***

I wanted to text Phoenix. A hundred times I started, and a hundred times I deleted what I was writing.

The truth was, he deserved more than a text message apology. I needed to say it in person. I needed to look him in the eye and tell him that I understood why he reacted the way he had and that I was sorry I had scared him.

For three days I slept and sat out on the back deck in the sun and thought. About me, about my future, about who I was. I cooked with my mother and I sketched and I did research on my mom’s laptop, looking at the options my parents presented me for alcohol counseling. There was one program where you went every day for three hours for a week, then once a week for three months. I thought I could do that, actually wanted to do that. I didn’t think I was going to repeat the vodka disaster, but why not make sure? Phoenix was right—I needed to know how to handle a crisis without escaping into alcohol.

I looked at rental apartments, and I looked at art programs. I didn’t want to be a graphic designer. I didn’t want to sit in a cubicle and click my mouse in design software. I wanted to be outside, painting in the park.

With Phoenix.

Alone with the trees ruffling their leaves, the first hint of fall in the air as I heard the high school marching band practicing two blocks away, I ran my finger over my bluebird tattoo.

Then I sent three texts to three different people. All three said the same thing.

Can I see you today?

***

Kylie was the only one in the apartment when my mom dropped me off, giving me three hugs before she would let me leave the car. In the kitchen, Kylie leaned against the counter in a defensive posture, her expression stony.

“Hey,” I said, softly. “Thanks for meeting me. I just wanted to say in person that I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry.”

“I honestly don’t have anything to say, Robin. I don’t even know what to say.”

“I know. I don’t really know what to say either, other than that if I been sober, I never would have done what I did. It’s no excuse, but I care about you and I never, ever wanted to hurt you.” There was no apology in the world that was going to fix what I had done, but I needed to at least offer it.

She nodded. “Okay, thanks for saying that. But I can’t promise that I will forgive you. I just need time.” There were suddenly tears in her eyes. “I’m not in a good place.”

“I know,” I whispered, tears coming to my eyes as well. “Me either. If you want to stay here in the apartment, I can move back to my parents. Just let me know.”

Kylie bit her lip. “Remember our first semester at college? We were all so excited for the freedom, and we were all so sure we had everything figured out . . . now I know we don’t know anything. Nothing makes sense. I want to be stupidly naive again.”

I totally understood where she was coming from.

But the truth was, I didn’t want to go backward. Only forward.

“Well, just learn from me . . . alcohol is not the answer.”

“I just can’t believe how much I misjudged Nathan. You could see the texts he’s sent me. He’s so cruel.”

No clue what to say, I just did what made sense to me, not caring if she rejected my gesture or not. I just wanted her to know I cared that she was hurting, so I reached out and hugged her.