Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (12 page)

“You're finished, but before you can look, I want to know what you're thinking about the job offer,” she tells me as she walks around to stand in front of me, her thighs touching my knees.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Seriously? That's all you got?”

I grin. “I want to do it.” Here's my live-a-little for today. I tell her something I don't have to. “My dad was a carpenter.”

“Really?” I nod. “That's cool. I bet you'll at least enjoy learning some of the things he knew how to do.” She gives me a smile. “Okay, you can go look and get a shower. I'm going get ready too and then meet you back over here, okay?”

“You're not going to stay for when I judge how well you did?” I run a hand over my head. Oh, man. It's short, maybe too short. Why didn't I tell her how I wanted it cut? What if I hate it?

“Nope. I have extreme faith in my abilities.” She smiles, gathers her things, and leaves.

Maybe I'm prolonging the inevitable, but I sweep up the mess she made before finally going to look at my hair. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. Actually, it looks pretty good. I smile because the way it looks right now makes me think of what Olivia said about sometimes getting a little wild. Hair sticks this way and that, looking crazy. Satisfied, I get into the shower.

AFTER THAT LAST experience with her driving, there's no way in hell I was going to let her drive today. She wouldn't tell me what we were originally going to do, only our new plans, which is to go see a movie.

“You're safe from having to talk for about 90 minutes or so,” she teases after I buy our tickets for the noon showing, which starts in a few.

I chuckle, only giving her a little laugh. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Always.” Olivia shrugs.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Patrick. He's probably still pissed from when I ignored him the last time he called. I glance at Olivia.

“Take it. We have a couple minutes.”

I wish she didn't say that. With a deep breath, I answer, “Hey.”

“Hey, about time. I know you have class in a few, but I wanted to check in since you didn't answer last time. Though, I hear you talked to Luce.” I can't tell if he's happy about that or slightly irritated.

“Yeah, things are fine. I've sent y'all some more money too.” Sending money is normal and that's what he wants to hear. And things sort of are fine anyway. A small bite of guilt hits when I realize he thinks he's caught me right before a class I no longer take.

Patrick ignores the part about the money, choosing to focus on the part where things are fine. “Really?” His tone tells me exactly why I lie to them. He wants to know things are good again, just like that. He's hopeful he doesn't have to worry about me so much. He wants me to be better way faster than what's possible.

“Yes, really. Stop questioning me. I'm your older brother, don't forget that.”

Part of me expects him to laugh, but he gets serious instead. “And don't you forget that we're your family too, Corey. If it gets bad again, you need to tell us. We can help.”

I run a hand over my face. No, they can't. I'm barely able to help myself. “I'll do that,” I lie. “You all stay out of trouble. I gotta go.” When we hang up, Olivia's looking at me like she wants to say something. “Don't even think about it. Let's go watch this movie.”

We chose a comedy, and it turns out to be a really good movie. However, by the time it's over, there's not enough time for me to take Olivia home before my appointment. I'm going to have to take her with me. Even though she won't go into the back with me, it's still churning my stomach with the thought of having her there. It's almost as if by someone else being there, it's cementing the fact that this is real. I need help. I'm getting help because I'm suffering from depression.

Plain and simple.

And so, so real.

Olivia gets to be a witness to something I wouldn't want anyone to know once again. She distracts me by intertwining her fingers with mine that are resting on the console between us.

“You don't have to be tense all the time, you know. I'm not judging you, I'm not telling anyone about this, and you have me for support. This doesn't change who you are, and no one will look at you differently for it, Corey.” Her words are softly spoken with such firm belief that I almost,
almost
, have a hard time not believing her myself.

My thoughts nag me anyway. How do I even know if this really changes who I am and how people view me when I don't even know who I am anymore? People do look at me differently because I don't play football anymore. If they know, there's pity in their eyes followed by, “Oh, it's a shame what happened” from their mouths. Pity that would be so much worse if they discovered how badly I've handled it. How badly I've always handled things.

Everyone's first instinct when something bad happens is to talk about it. Share it with at least one person. They know it's bad now, but things will get better. They still know where they're going in life. They still know who they are.

Me?

I run.

I stay silent.

I don't know things will get better.

I don't learn how to adjust because I don't see a way
out
.

I'm
stuck
.

I'm
lost
.

I lost myself and continue to lose a little more every day.

I'm buried between so many emotions that my only visible option is to shut them down and ignore them.

Without another word, I remove my hand from hers. Strength used to run through my veins, but not anymore. All I know how to do now is get tired and crash with weakness.

I'm weak.

I've
always
been weak.

Except when I was playing.

That life is gone now.

When I park my car, Olivia reaches over and touches my arm before I can get out. Her touch isn't welcomed, and I shrug her hand off. There's hurt in her eyes, but I can't manage to say anything to her.

Her mouth parts. She doesn't say anything at first. “I'll wait here.”

In the car? The words have to push their way up in order for me to speak. “The waiting room has chairs too.”

“I'm okay here.”

Fine. She can stay in the car if she wants. I stick the key back in the ignition and crank the car, turning the heat up, so she won't have to sit in the cold. Then, I leave her. My legs are both jittering up and down after I check in and sit down to wait. At least if she'd have come in, I could make small talk with her.

“Dr. Stewart's current appointment is running over. It'll be a few more minutes,” the receptionist tells me from behind the glass. There's no one else in here, so I guess it's okay that she said it from across the room.

One minute passes before I start to feel a little bad for how I treated Olivia. Shrugging away from her touch hurt her. Enough so that she decided to sit in the car instead of the waiting room. Another minute passes before I cave with guilt and text her to come sit with me in the waiting room.

Sixty more seconds go by before she walks through the door, my keys clutched in her hand. She sits down next to me, her hands in that damn hoodie of hers, her eyes focused on looking around the room, anywhere but me.

I don't know what the hell happens to me, but I lay an arm around her shoulders and tuck her tense body against me, pressing my lips to her temple. “Sorry,” I murmur. For what? Everything? Anything? Whatever it may be, I had to apologize. It's not her fault I'm fucked up in the head.

Olivia relaxes a little. “It's okay. My see-into-your-soul radar wasn't working right.”

A laugh easily comes after her words. “Well, I still feel bad that you'd rather sit in the car. It couldn't have been fun.”

She shrugs. “I was watching traffic pass by.”

“That proves my point.”

Olivia finally looks at me. “Not really. I like watching traffic. It's like people watching, but a bit more variety and at a faster pace. I'll show you how exciting it can be after this.”

“Only if it means I don't have to do yoga tonight.”

She smiles. “I can deal with that.”

Our heads turn as someone walks out from the back and Dr. Stewart stands in the doorway. “Hey, Corey. Who's this?”

Why does he think he can ask me that? Do I have to answer? When I make no move to do so, he puts one finger to his temple and mocks thinking.

“Hmm,” he exaggerates. “Let me guess. Could this be Olivia?”

Olivia sits upright and looks at me curiously. “You talked about me to him,” she states with a touch of pride.

“Don't read anything into it,” I tell her. “Are you ready for me or what?” I direct to the doctor.

“Come on back. Will Olivia be joining us?”

“No.” Standing, I follow him into his office.

“I don't know about other people, but I don't cozy up with my neighbors like that,” he comments, taking a seat behind his desk as I sit in the one across from him.

“Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“I'm surprised you brought her, even if she isn't coming back here with us.”

“I didn't have a choice. That's not what we're supposed to be talking about. The medication sucks.”

Dr. Stewart drops the subject of Olivia's presence and starts discussing another medication. We agree to give a new one a test run, and he writes the prescription. Only, he holds it hostage.

“Have you made an appointment with the therapist yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he questions.

I want to yell, but I don't. “I don't want to.” Olivia's words run through my mind, so thinking it will help, I add, “Olivia is in school to be a therapist. She said I could talk to her if I wanted. That's what I'm doing. I know her, and it's easier.”

“Then let's bring her in here. That way I can really know how you're doing.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. “No. I just told you how I'm doing.”

“Do you want help?” He levels a stare at me, and I want to punch him.

“That doesn't have anything to do with Olivia,” I reply through a clenched jaw.

He is quiet for a minute. “Tell me why you're having trouble, Corey.”

What? Is he high on something? What does that have to do with what we were talking about? My jaw aches from how tightly I'm holding it closed. I glare at him. He wants me to say it. He doesn't know that I've talked so much already today, I'm nearly out of words.

“Tell me why you're
depressed
, Corey,” he tries again, emphasizing that one word.

“Tell me how you managed to get a degree. Give me the prescription, so I can leave,” I snap. He doesn't say a word. Only watches me with scrutiny. Each second ticks by louder than the next, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. When the words leave my mouth, it's like I explode, combusting into nothing. “I can't fucking play! I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I can't play football and I can't handle it, damn it!

“Football was my therapy and my medication and I
lost
it. I didn't even have a choice! There. Are you happy now? I lost the last thing I had from—” My words break off and I stop, my chest rising and falling from the anger pulsing rapidly in my blood. “Keep your fucking prescription. I don't need it anyway.” I stand and hurry down the hallway.

Thank God I paid before my appointment, so I'm free to leave. His footsteps are quick behind me, and he calls after me, but I ignore him. Olivia sits up when she sees me.

“Let's go.” My voice is harsh with my order.

She stands.

“Corey, wait,” Dr. Stewart says from somewhere behind me.

I don't.

Until Olivia puts her hand on my arm.

She doesn't know what's going on as she glances between us. We're paused long enough for Dr. Stewart to walk over to me. A long exhale leaves through my nose. He has two seconds to get the hell away from me before I hit him.

“I pushed too soon and I apologize. Here.” He holds out the prescription, but I make no move to take it. Olivia does, though. “I'd like to see you again in two weeks unless you have trouble.”

Still, I say nothing.

“I'll make sure he schedules something. Have a good day,” Olivia answers him, taking my hand and pulling me out the door. As badly as I want to yank my hand away from hers, I don't. “I'll drive,” she tells me.

I don't object. All I want is to go home and go to bed. Today sucks. Olivia doesn't pepper me with questions on the drive home, which is good because I'm lost in my mind anyway. He's fucking right he pushed. He should be sorry. I should find a new psychiatrist because I don't want to come back in two weeks to see him.

What good is talking anyway? I said it. Out loud. And I don't feel better at all. What's the point? My way works for the most part. Why do I have to change that?

“Corey.” I glance at Olivia and notice we're in line at a drive-thru fast food restaurant. “What do you want to eat?”

“Nothing.”

She frowns, and my thoughts overpower me again. There's really no help, is there? None for me. Maybe other people can get help from psychiatrists and therapists and medications, but I'm not like other people. This is hopeless, and I shouldn't have let all of Olivia's talking give me a glimpse of hope that there was.

When we get back to the apartments after stopping by the pharmacy, I pretty much leave her behind until I realize she has my keys. Her expression is full of worry when she makes it to the top of the stairs. She hands me my keys, the new pills, and the bag of food.

“Corey.” I sigh and face her after unlocking my door. “Do you—”

“No,” I cut her off. Doesn't matter what the question is because the answer is no. “I'll catch ya later.”

“If you change your mind, come over, okay?”

Without acknowledging her, I leave her standing in the hallway. I drop the bag on the counter and go straight to my room, stripping down and crawling into the sweet comfort of my bed.

Me: I can't sleep.

Olivia: Me either.

Her response is quick for two in the morning.

Me: I'm tired.

Olivia: Me too. Close your eyes and quit texting. That helps.

Me: I hadn't thought of trying that.