It's Never Enough: Book 1 in the Never Series (16 page)

In an attempt to regain myself, I closed my eyes and stopped and focused on my breath. I couldn’t die if I was breathing. One, two, three in; one, two, three, out. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. The world around me slowly came back into focus.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Ignoring it, I continued breathing. One, two, three in; one, two, three, out. My phone buzzed again. When I took it out and looked at it, I saw a text from Fiona.

On way to Mom’s. Hope it went okay w/Devin. CU soon. <3

“Well, you’re saved by the text,” I said to the etching of Haley. Her wavy hair framed her petite face with perfection. Her gray eyes stared at me hauntingly. Her little mouth that looked like a bow pursed in such a way that it looked like she was hiding a secret. And she was. “Sorry. I’m not sorry for yelling at you. That probably makes me a bad person, but, Haley, I love you. You know that. I just…I’m so scared right now.” I leaned forward and kissed the etched picture, leaving a smear of pink lip gloss on her bow-shaped mouth. Somehow it made her look more alive. With heavy feet and a heavier heart, I walked away from her, again, and started my drive to Janet’s party. All the while feeling the ghost of Haley sticking to me like tar.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When I drove down the street of my dad’s house, I saw Fiona fly past me headed in the opposite direction. She must have forgotten some party essentials or something. It was still an hour before guests were due to arrive, so at least she had time to pick up whatever it was she forgot. This was pretty much one of the last places I wanted to be since all I could think of was Devin. Kissing Devin under the moonlight. Holding Devin’s hand as Amy Parkson sang her heart out. Laying on top of him and listening to him slowly breathing in and out. His scent. His touch. His smile. Where the hell was he? I texted him just after I had left Haley’s grave, but as expected, I’d yet to receive a response.

Earlier, Fiona had left a bag of streamers in my car, which I now grabbed, as I exited my car and walked up to the front door. After two knocks, my dad answered.

“Mallory,” he said in a solemn voice. Apparently he wasn’t in a party mood either.

I walked in past him. “So where does Fiona want me to hang up these streamers?”

“Mallory,” my dad said again.

“The dining room?” I asked while heading that way.

My dad sidled up next to me and took me gently by the arm. “Honey, wait.” His face was pensive.

My palms began to itch, and an immediate knot formed in my stomach. Something wasn’t right. “What is it?” I demanded while setting my back straight and braced for the blow that was sure to test my balance.

He put his hands on my shoulders as he took a deep breath. “Janet just got back from the doctor.” He took a beat before continuing. “She’s had a miscarriage.”

The bag of streamers fell from my hand. “What?” I gasped.

“She’s upstairs now. I’ve already called everyone and canceled the party but…” He mouthed something else, but I couldn’t hear him over the noise in my brain.

“Is she okay?” There was a crack in my voice.

He shook his head. “It’s…very hard,” he swallowed.

“Are you okay?” The crack reappeared.

He pulled me in for a hug. “I love you, kiddo. You know that, right? I just want the best for you. I just want everything…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He pulled back.

My brain was muddled with a thousand thoughts at once. “Fiona? Where’d she go?”

He ran his hands over his bearded chin. “Back to your place. She went to grab some stuff. She’s going to stay here for a few days. You know, to be close to her mom.”

“Of course,” I said. “Can I see, Janet?”

He shook his head. “Not just yet, okay? She’s really not doing well. But maybe tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Okay. I should go home and see Fiona.” I hugged my dad one more time, and he held on extra tight. Then I left so I could at least catch Fiona before she left our apartment. I hoped I wasn’t too late.

***

As I drove home, I was overcome with a feeling of overload. When I stopped at a red light, I noticed the check from Casper sticking out of my purse; my final paycheck. What the hell was I going to do for money? Then as the light dragged on I grabbed my phone and —
triple?
—checked for any missed calls or texts from Devin. As I’d expected, there were none. Knowing Fiona wouldn’t have been home for long and that she’d need some sort of a pick-me-up, I made a quick stop at Perked. I grabbed her a double French vanilla latte and a slice of carrot cake. For myself, I grabbed a straight black coffee and spoonful of caramel brownie—thank goodness Eliza was working so no questions were asked.

At our complex, I took the stairs two by two to our apartment. Balancing the drinks and the food, I opened the door to find Fiona sitting on the couch. Her head was face down, and there was a tissue in her hand.

“Fiona, I’m so sorry about your mom. Are you okay?” As I stood there, a feeling of dread washed over me. Something about the vibe around Fiona told me not to go closer. Not to sit next to her. So I backed up and placed the drinks and cake on the kitchen counter.

My back was turned to her when she spoke. “So I have a question for you,” her voice was harsh but also laced with sorrow.

I spun on my heel and walked closer to her. I remained standing as she sat wringing the tissue over and over again in her hand. “What the hell is this?” she said pointing to a white plastic bag that laid on the coffee table in front of her.

“What?” I said as I moved forward and peeked inside the bag. Oh my God. My stomach careened into a ball of nails poking my insides from every direction. “Fiona,” I began.

“You know what, don’t,” she said as she stood up. I got to look into her eyes, and betrayal shot out at me. “There is no way you’re going to talk your way out of the fact that I found a bag filled with ten candy bars and a bottle of vomit juice. No fucking way you can dance around that.” She crossed past me, brushing hard against my arm as she went and grabbed her overnight bag, which was on the floor near the front door.

Desperation and fear swirled around me like a whirlpool. “Fiona, please. I can explain,” my voice pleaded, and I tried to move closer to her but when she turned and glared at me I stood still afraid to move.

“You promised me.” Her voice was even and controlled. A beat passed and then she yelled, “You promised me!” She advanced a step towards me. “We were in this kitchen together, and you promised me you’d talk to me if things were getting out of control. If you weren’t able to handle shit anymore!”

My entire body quaked. “Fiona, please let me explain—”

She held up her hand to cut me off. “Save it, okay. I’ll be at my mom’s.” She grabbed her bag and flung the door open. Then she stood and stared me down for half a second before slamming the door closed and leaving me utterly and completely alone.

I began to cry. A blubbering cry that made spittle and mucus cover my face along with the tears. I staggered over to the couch and collapsed. The plastic bag stared back at me. It was the candy and ipecac I’d bought on the day we ran into Mrs. Emerson at the mall. But I’d been strong. Strong enough not to eat it. Strong enough not to drink it. Strong enough to control myself, knowing it was in the house. I’d been strong enough
then
. But
now
, with my brain on a loop of devastation after devastation I’d endured, the time of being strong was over. Because the truth was, I was tired. I was lost. I was confused. I was scared. I was weak. And I was too weak to fight my demons.

In one quick swoop, I pulled the bag towards me and set it on my lap. Hungrily, I tore open the paper and foil wrapper of the first candy bar. Fragments of chocolate fell onto my clothes as I broke the bar into jagged chunks and jammed the pieces into my mouth. The instant sensation of familiarity and desperation guided me as I moved onto the second candy bar. And then the third, and the fourth, and so on, until I’d eaten all ten. My eyes darted to the kitchen counter where I left the piece of carrot cake I’d bought for Fiona. I dashed to the counter and ripped open the bag. Cream cheese frosting leaked through my fingers as I squished the cake into a crude ball in my hand. Once I’d devoured it, I searched the cabinets for more, but I needed to go grocery shopping, and all that was left wasn’t worth eating. Clutching my stomach, I trotted to the bathroom. Kneeling in front of the toilet—I didn’t need any damn ipecac—I stuffed my cream cheese frosted fingers down my throat and forced myself to throw up. It had been a long time, and retching made my stomach hurt. But as I rinsed my mouth out in the sink, I knew it wasn’t enough. Drying off my lips, I looked at my reflection. Smeared bits of mascara and eyeliner surrounded my bloodshot eyes. I stared long and hard, and the longer I stared the more I saw her. Haley. She was with me, and she wasn’t letting me go without a fight.

***

Driven by Haley’s ghost, I pulled into the drive-thru of the local burger place. They were known for their king-size burgers and insanely large fries. I ordered two king burgers, two large fries and two chocolate shakes. My hands shook as I handed the cashier my money. As soon as I pulled away from the window, I dove into the food. Cramming beef and fries into my mouth at record speed. A five-minute drive later—as I polished off the last of the fries—I walked into the ready-to-go pizza place and took the two cheese pies they had ready to go. When I pulled through the ice cream shop, my head was spinning. Haley danced and danced in my mind. She was joyous that I was about to join her.

When parking my car near the dumpsters that sat behind the grocery store, I made sure that no one was around. Then like a shifty cat, I moved to behind the large dumpster and stuck my fingers down my throat, vomiting up everything that I couldn’t handle being bottled up inside me any longer. But it wasn’t enough.

As I walked through the aisles of the grocery store, I felt drunk. My vision blurred as I tossed cookies and cakes into my basket. Knowing I could process my check out quicker than any of the cashiers—plus not wanting to stir up any attention—I breezed through the self-check-out station. The soft marshmallow cookies were easy to grab and chew as I walked back to my car. Thankfully, there mustn’t have been many police on duty that night since I sped all the way home, eating double-filled cream cookies as I went. I kept my head low as I darted my way to my apartment.

Like a thief, I slunk through the halls before shutting and locking myself inside my apartment. The last of the pizza was shoved down my throat with effort. The stomach pains that jabbed at me from my torso were unbearable, and I waddled into the bathroom. Haley coaxed me as I threw up again. But just like before, it wasn’t enough. So I tried to throw up again, but nothing was happening. I fled to the kitchen and finished off the last package of fudge-filled cookies. On my hands and knees, I crawled back to the bathroom. My entire body shook as I plunged my fingers down my throat again. Hot acidic bile crossed my throat, and I yacked for the last time. I only had a moment to stare at the bright red blood that covered the toilet seat before I fell back to the floor and watched the room go black.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I watched my dad, Janet, and Fiona wave goodbye to me as the intake coordinator walked me down the hallway towards my new room. I’d been released from the hospital after an overnight stay, and it was my first of a five-day inpatient program at The Myer Treatment Facility—a center for eating disorders. After a week-long stay, I’d be part of their intensive outpatient program for two weeks, followed by a continuation program that would last several months.

Through the window, I caught a glimpse of Fiona and telepathically, she found me and gave me a wink before getting into Janet’s car. If it hadn’t been for Fiona, who knows what would have happened to me? On the night of our fight—after the binge fest which led to me passing out with blood coming out of my mouth—Fiona came back to our apartment and found me. I spent the next twenty-four hours in the hospital. That’s where she told me she was upset by how she left things between us that night. When I didn’t answer her calls or texts, she said she had gotten a bad feeling in her gut, so she came to the apartment to check on me. Thank God she had.

My days at Myer were vastly different from my previous stint in rehab after Haley died. Back then, I told the therapists just what they wanted to hear. It was an easy game to pretend that I was well, which seemed to be all the therapists wanted, anyway. They wanted to know that they’d succeeded, that all their training had paid off, and that they’d made a young girl see what was wrong with her. They didn’t really care if I had been healed or not, only if I appeared to be so they could check me off as a successful case on their files.

Therapy at Myer was different. There wasn’t any bullshitting. There wasn’t any telling them the right answers and getting pushed through the program. There was deep-rooted work to flush out my issues and bring me back to square one.

My days were full from when I woke up at seven a.m. till the moment my head hit the pillow at ten p.m. They had a concrete system that worked out almost every moment of the day for you. Our morning schedule started with breakfast in a cafeteria with other patients, followed by a recovery group session. A snack was served mid-morning, again with the other patients. From the end of snack time through the afternoon, I’d meet with my personal therapist, Terry. Unlike any other therapist I’d been to, Terry wasn’t warm and fuzzy; she was diligent and blunt.

“Why do you binge and purge?” Terry asked me on my second day at Meyer.

I twisted some loose threads on the cuff of my shorts. “I don’t know.” My eyes stayed glued to the geometric pattern on the floor of her office.

“Mallory, why do you binge and purge?” she asked again.

After letting out a frustrated exhalation, I moved my stare from the floor to Terry’s blue eyes. “So I won’t gain weight.”

She tossed her pen down onto pad in her lap. “Bullshit.” Her body pushed back into the soft, brown leather of her chair, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Please don’t waste my time here, Mallory. Because bulimic girls are a dime a dozen, and many of them don’t have families that would bring them here for treatment. Many of them don’t even realize how bad off they are. Many of them will die in a pool of their own blood. Since you were spared from that heinous death, how about you tell me the real reason why you binge and purge? Or would you rather have a headstone next to Haley’s?”

That was it. That was the moment that I felt the wall around my secrets start to crumble. The vision of my blood on the toilet before I passed out was so vivid it scared me. It was a place I never wanted to go back to again. Though I knew that I’d always remember how far I’d fallen, I was finally ready to stand up and fight the battle.

In addition to my several hours of therapy with Terry, I also attended group therapy sessions, art therapy sessions, and yoga therapy sessions. The community of support and alternative resources were part of what made Myer different, and that’s what made it work.

***

“So, how was your session?” Fiona asked as I got into the passenger side of her car.

I let out a moan. “Could you sound more like a parent?” I playfully batted her arm while buckling my seat belt.

Fiona smirked. “Okay then, how’s this? What’d you skinny bitches talk about in therapy today?”

God, she was lucky I loved her so much. I was in my second week of the intensive outpatient therapy portion of my treatment. Myer was just a thirty-minute drive from our apartment, and Fiona insisted on driving me there every day for my six-hour treatment. I was grateful for Fiona sticking by me and stepping up in ways I never even expected her to. Also for my dad not blinking an eye and loving me unconditionally. And for Janet not hating me.

When we pulled up to our apartment building, my heart stopped. Standing there by our security door and looking around was Devin.

Fiona and I exited the car. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked.

Nodding was all I could do. I couldn’t speak. Fiona walked past Devin and gave him a head nod, which he returned, and I stayed frozen by the car.

After a beat, Devin moved cautiously towards me. “Hey.”

“H-hey,” I managed. My palms started to itch.

His face sported a short beard, and his hair looked like it needed a trim. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?” I kept my tone flat. What was he doing there? I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. Did he think that was okay? Did he think it would be cool if he just showed up? Did he think I’d run into his arms at the sight of him? Forget the fact that I wanted to, because that was irrelevant. Damn, why did he have to smell so good? It was literally like maple syrup and sex wafting over to me.

“I’d like to explain if you’d let me.” His eyes were soft as he looked at me. Something about them had changed.

My head didn’t want to hear his explanation, but my heart did. “I guess that’s okay,” I said while taking my keys out of my purse. “Wanna go up?”

He looked to the security door, then back to me. “Um, no. How about we head to the park? If that’s okay.” His words were soft as Egyptian cotton.

I nodded, and we walked side by side down the street to the park two blocks away. So she wouldn’t worry, I texted Fiona to let her know where I was headed. After putting my phone back in my purse, my hand brushed against his. The electricity I’d always felt from his touch bolted through me, and I quickly stuffed my hands inside the pockets of my jeans.

We walked back towards the large tree where we’d sat just days after meeting each other. Devin leaned his back against the tree and let out a long sigh. My heart raced as I pulled on blades of grass to calm myself.

“First, I have to say I’m sorry.” His words were soft and sincere. “That was completely unfair to you, and I’m so sorry about that.”

“Okay,” I said. Not as in
that’s okay
, but as in I didn’t know what to say since he was taking a pause.

“I haven’t been around the past few weeks. I was in West Virginia staying with my uncle. He’s a former Navy SEAL.”

“Okay,” I said again, sounding like a moron.

Devin’s lips curled up into a forced grin for just a moment before his face went somber and he continued. “I went and saw him because I knew he was the only person that could help me.” His words sent a chill down my spine. He leaned forward and sat directly across from me, taking my hands in his. The warmth from his hands permeated my skin instantly. “My uncle’s gone through some major shit in his life. I watched him go through a lot of it. He lived with us for a while, and it was rough.” He paused and stroked my thumbs with his. “He suffered from PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder.” The words caught in his throat. “And that’s….that’s what I realized I have too.” He took a moment to catch his breath, and I remained quiet and let him.

“I’d been ignoring it for a while, but I knew I was fucked up. I can’t deal with closed spaces. I haven’t slept in my bedroom since I got back. Hell, I don’t sleep.” He dropped my hands and pulled back a bit. “I can sometimes get two hours or so a night, but not much more than that. I just lie there awake, constantly feeling like I’m on patrol or something. And if I do somehow manage to fall asleep, I have these awful nightmares. Horrible nightmares that haunt me. Blood and body parts. Guns and fire.” His brow furrowed. “Sometimes, I just get these massive panic attacks, and I don’t even know what sets them off. But I feel like I’m dying. Literally.” His hands flung to his chest. “My chest feels constricted. I can’t breathe. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my head.” He moved his hands to his scalp. “Everything just feels closed and panicky.”

My brain processed the information at a mile a minute. I remembered the time he couldn’t handle being in my room, especially after I had shut the door. I had no idea, and for that I felt like an idiot.

“My worst moment so far was with you.” He gazed at me, a look of sadness and loss in his eyes. “The day at Fort McKenny. That damn car backfiring clicked this massive trigger in my brain, and I was brought back to the battle lines. I couldn’t see straight. I couldn’t see anything. All I could do was feel like I was back on the front lines, and I had to protect you as part of my troop.” His eyes glassed over for a moment before he blinked away the memory.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. I felt horrible and responsible for bringing him somewhere that I thought he’d love, only to have it set him off on a horrible panic attack.

He shook his head. “Mallory, you have nothing to apologize for. That day you came to my house, I wanted to tell you what was going on. I really did. But the fact that I let you get hurt just fucked me up so bad. And you have to believe me when I planned on seeing you the day after. It wasn’t bullshit when I told you to come see me.” He touched my arms and looked deep into my eyes. “I really
was
going to be there, but that night I lost it.” His voice deflated. “That night I was on the couch trying to sleep, but all I could think about was you and your ankle and how I needed to tell you what was up with me, and then it hit.” He looked off into the distance. “I shot up off the couch and started pacing. I thought I could shake it off, but I honestly felt like I was dying. Everything inside me seemed to break. My bones, my organs, my brain, everything.” He paused and looked at me. “I literally thought I was going to die that night.” He couldn’t hold my gaze.

His pain was so evident that I could feel it. The air between us was warm and heavy. With all that I had, I wanted to pull him to me and tell him everything was going to be all right.

“So,” he continued. “My mom took me to the ER that night because I thought I was having a heart attack. The next morning, I knew I had to go stay with my uncle because all the shit I’d seen him go through was happening to me. He took me to talk to some people that had helped him, and I’ve finally accepted the fact that I have PTSD and that I can’t ignore it anymore.” He let out a long breath, and it seemed like a weight had been lifted off of him. “I spent a week and a half with him before coming home. Once I got back, I made arrangements with a local group that does therapy specifically for veterans that have PTSD. I know it won’t be overnight, but I know I’ll get better.” He looked at me with solace in his eyes. “And I hope that maybe you won’t think I’m a huge freak, and that you’ll maybe be able to forgive me, and maybe we can start again because Mallory, my world isn’t the same without you.” Clearly exhausted, he dropped his head.

The hot prick of tears poked at the back of my eyes. I’d known there was something going on with him. I just had no idea that it could be post-traumatic stress disorder. But now it all made perfect sense. If anything, I saw him as stronger now. Stronger for telling me and for facing his demons. From two different paths, we had arrived in exactly the same spot.

“I don’t think you’re a freak.” I sniffled and wiped away a stray tear. “I have confessions of my own to make.” For the first time in forever, I could say I didn’t feel anxious. As I talked about my disorder and the culmination of my recent breakdown, I actually felt a bit free. There wasn’t any shame anymore. Devin and I were both broken in a sense, but together we were on our way to being healed, and I wanted to share my journey back to recovery with him. As we kissed under that tree, I felt a new wave of passion and curiosity wash over me. His mouth upon mine felt different but the same. We were coming together from a new, pure place of healing and empowerment, and I wanted to sink into him and feel that way forever.

***

“What type of announcement do you think they’re going to make this time?” I asked as Fiona turned into our parent’s driveway.

She shrugged. “As long as my mom made my favorite ratatouille, I don’t care,” she quipped as she unbuckled her seat belt.

Janet greeted us warmly, hugging us both in the foyer before she walked with her arm linked with Fiona’s to the dining room.

My dad wrapped me in a big bear hug before pulling out my chair for me to sit down. There was an obscenely perky vibe going on here, and while it didn’t make me anxious, it did make me curious.

While Fiona scooped a mound of ratatouille onto her plate, I portioned my plate out with four equal sections of salad, ratatouille, a wheat roll, and half a chicken breast. As I ate a bite of salad, enjoying the fresh taste of a cherry tomato as it popped inside my mouth, I glanced over at my dad. He was staring across the table at Janet who was staring right back at him. Something was up for sure.