Beautiful Rose (Beautiful Rose 1)

I shrugged. “It comes and goes. Most of the time I can distract myself by keeping busy. But sometimes no matter what I do, I can't keep myself out of my own head.”

“Are there specific things that make you anxious?” he asked.

“Who are you, my therapist?” I quipped.

He laughed.

“Yeah. Thinking about my family makes it flare up a bit. And worrying about work . . . and other things,” I said, flushing, praying he wouldn’t ask what other things. No such luck.

“What other things?” he asked. He brushed the crumbs off this shirt and lay down on the blanket, facing me.

“Things I don't feel comfortable talking about with you,” I replied after a while.

He nodded, as if he accepted my answer. I was not talking about Jack to Alex. Not going to happen.

“So, talk to me about your family.”

I winced. Talking about my family was hard, but then that was the point, right? You talk about it more and more, and slowly it gets easier until you no longer associate the trigger with the pain you feel.

“My family . . .” I repeated, unsure of where to start. “Well, I’m an only child. Parents who worked too hard and left me to basically care for myself. I don't know . . .” My voice trailed off as I struggled to sum up my family. “I know they love me but at the same time, I can’t remember the last time they showed me any affection.”

“Ah, I can relate.” Alex grinned. “You think your family is fucked up, well, yours has nothing on the Falcon family.”

I giggled, my mind wandering to Jack, imagining them both as little kids, growing up. Whatever Alex told me about himself got me one step closer to learning about Jack. I felt bad, almost like I was using Alex for information. I really liked Alex, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin that friendship.

“Oh?” I said, expressing my interest. “Tell me, did your mom send the gardener down to pick you up from hospital after you tried to kill yourself at age eleven?” My voice was light, but there was no mistaking the undertone of sadness.

“No, my mum left when I was seven after my father beat the crap out of her one too many times,” he replied with a wink.

I shut my mouth, not sure what to say to that.

“So what made you decide that enough was enough at eleven?” What? He turned the tables on the conversation so quickly it had left me breathless.

“That was my third attempt. Why?” I shrugged. “If I knew the answer to that, I'd be in a better place than I am now. I don't know. I've seen so many therapists, and none of them have been able to tell me what the fuck is wrong with me.”

“Can you describe it?”

I looked at him, shocked. “What I do?” I asked, confused. That sounded so…morbid.

He chuckled. “No. How you feel. Just before you do it, what's going through your head?”

“I feel like . . . like there’s no point. To anything. I don't hate my life, but the uncertainty of everything I struggle to cope with. What is the point of living if all we do in the end is die?” I toyed with the edge of the blanket. “I’m not scared of dying itself…it’s not knowing. I guess that’s why so many people believe in a religion. The idea of death and dying becomes so much easier to deal with when you have some hope to cling to.”

“So it’s almost like you can't cope with not being in control.”

I nodded, wiping my eyes. “It's stupid, and irrational, and I know that, but I feel so empty and so overwhelmed. I'm convinced anything good that might come to me will end in some horrible way, and it’s just easier for me to end it all first.” I took a deep breath, staring out in the distance across the lake. “I don't want to be left alone, crying over what I've lost. I’d rather not have it at all. But then something comes along that challenges everything I’ve just said and I end up feeling confused, and even more alone.”

“Something…or someone?” asked Alex.

I didn’t need to answer that. He knew. Apparently everyone did.

“Have you lost anyone close to you before?”

“I've never let anyone get close enough for me to lose,” I mumbled, focusing on the blanket in my hands. “I lost a grandparent, but that’s it. I’ve never even had a pet to lose.”

“What about love? Have you ever been in love? Those kind of feelings about loss and death must be incredibly hard to cope with when you’re in love.” I shook my head.

That was the point. I avoided love to avoid the pain. I kept myself closed off so as not to feel pain, and because the only thing worse than not knowing what comes after death would be knowing I’ve left someone behind.