Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

I don’t want to, though.

I just want to move on.

I stare at the email that’s been sitting in my new inbox for a day and a half. The one from the University of Alabama. I reached out the other day to recruitment, letting them know my old email address was outdated and giving them this new one. Within five hours, I got an email asking me to commit to their program. I look over it again. The benefits are sick. Nice place to live, free everything. Complimentary laptop, clothes, shoes, even a fucking travel budget.

I look at the campus pictures. Lots of big trees. I look at the gay shit the place has. Check. It’s got more students than its rival, Auburn. If there’s more students, that means there’s more gays. Yeah, it’s in the same state that my bigot father lives in, but it’s also the Crimson Fucking Tide. If it’s a big, state school—which it is—maybe I could get lost there with…nobody I know.

But I’m trying to stop thinking fucking negative. Even though I felt like shit the last few days—dizzy, cold sweats, lots of good old-fashioned detox anxiety—I’m not going to stop trying.

I’ve wanted to play college ball my whole life. I might not remember anything from the last six months, but I did something right in Fairplay. I made one of the best college football programs in the country want me. I know there’s Ohio. Stanford. Notre Dame. My mom mentioned them. Even Auburn. But I think it’s the Crimson Tide I want.

I email back—and commit. It’s a big moment, but I can’t enjoy it. I linger online, trying to hack into my Facebook account with no success. Can’t do that without my OG email password. Which I don’t have.

I type my dad’s name into the search bar and then quickly shut the window.

No distractions.

There’s a yoga class in the backyard in five minutes. I force myself to eat an apple. Then I grab a mat and go out. There’s two other residents out here—an older girl named Lara and a guy who looks my age named Yancy. I try to ignore them and just focus on the instructor. Yoga is weird. It hurts my back. I think I still like it. I like breathing.

I get my clothes out of the dryer. There’s a whole room here of clothes, so I got a few shirts and pants out of there and washed them for myself. After folding the clothes, I take them to my room. I check my email again.

UA has already replied. The guy seems happy, wants to do a phone call ASAP. Now it’s time to drop the bomb. I email back, telling him I assume he knows I had to pull out of school due to a death in the family. I let him know I’m taking the GED in early summer and ask him to look back over my high school transcripts. I don’t have a fucking clue about this past year, but I’m good in school. I took the SAT and ACT when I was living at Mom’s house; it was one of the first things I did after getting out of SP the first time. And anyway, I aced them both.

I’m pretty relieved when the guy replies right back and CCs an academic counselor. He says he knows my grades are good. That they’re not worried. I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing deep for just a minute.

You got this. It’s gonna be okay.

I shut the computer…lie on the bed face-down with an arm around my pillow.

I know I forgot stuff. I can feel it.

I got this feeling, back at Mom's house, right after whatever happened with the ECT. It was like...this falling feeling. Like being scared, like falling. Grasping for something. But I can’t reach it.

But now it's sorta shifted. Now it's like something is scratching my brain from the inside. I can't explain it. It almost hurts. It's like this…pain. Still makes my chest tight.

I don't let myself dwell on it too much. I could always die if it gets too bad. It's weird, because I remember when I wanted to. And, okay. I still sort of want to. I would like to be done. I'm 19, and I feel 79. So much shit has happened to me. Things that I can't ever fix. I can't undo.

You know what you need to stay alive? I figured this out. You need someone. It can even just be one person. That makes you feel...tethered to life. Like you're not alone and drifting with no meaning. Like you're not the only alien on the planet.

After Alton, coming home to my mom...with her being how she was. It made me feel like there was nothing I could do but end it. Stop the torture. Get off the ride.