I’m not alone. Even if in the memory I am, all alone with my guilt and the penance I have to do.
“I killed her,” I whisper. “I wasn’t careful. Didn’t do as I was told. I went out to play and didn’t clean like Grandpa told me to, and then… I didn’t notice that she was unwell. Drunk. Sick. I was too late.”
“But she lived.”
“Grandpa said I killed her. That it was my fault. I fucked up.”
“She lived, West. And you were a kid. You weren’t supposed to keep your mom from killing herself with the bottle.”
Shivers run through me.
“Come here, West.” He tugs me toward him and wraps his arms around me. Even weak, he’s strong, and then Nate and Syd join us, their arms around us.
“I’m no good,” I tell them, relieved and mortified to admit it. “I’m half-crazy. These repetitions of words in my head, of things I need to do, this…. OCD thing. This need to clean everything.”
“You’re plenty good,” Kash mutters, rocking me a little. “You’re awesome, West.”
I snort and shake my head.
“You can’t leave us, West,” Nate says against my shoulder. “I’ll personally hold you down if you try, motherfucker.”
“Let us help,” Sydney whispers. “Please, West.”
“What do I have to do?”
“You come with me to the psychologist’s office,” Nate says. “You need to talk about that trauma, cleanse it, patch it. And there’s medicine for OCD, I’ve researched it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not. But you don’t have to fight it all alone. There are pills and therapies that can help, like exposure and response prevention therapy. But you have to say yes. You have to want it.”
He did research it. And God, I want that. If there’s any chance of getting better… I want to stop being a prisoner of my twisted brain. I want to live, not just survive. Live with these people I care for and be happy.
“I will,” I tell Nate, I tell all three of them. I search their eyes, their faces. “I want to stay. Please, help me.”
Nate gets me an appointment, and he’s going with me. I feel jittery, but also lighter, as if I’ve shed off a great weight.
Kash is napping again on the sofa, after taking his antibiotics. Guy’s beat.
And I’m still shaky, goddammit, the mantra that I had going through my head still echoing, hammering against the insides of my skull.
So I figured I’ll cook. Yeah, cook again. Breakfast is long over. When Kash wakes up, he’ll need to eat with those huge-ass pills he’s taking, and so do we.
Sydney comes and slides her arms around me as I stand in the middle of the kitchen, trying to figure out what I can cook with eggs, butter and old bread.
“Okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I’m not really lying. I’m okay right now. I pull her flush against me, kiss the top of her head. “Much better.”
“I love you, tough guy,” she whispers, and that word from her mouth never fails to send a thrill of pleasure through me. “We love you. You know that, right?”
It warms me up inside. “Love you, too, girl. It’s just that my brain likes fucking me over.”
Sydney giggles. She rubs her cheek on my cotton-clad chest and suddenly I wish I could take her to bed and fuck, and forget about my breakdown. “You’re one of the best people I know.”
I squeeze her, then I grip her chin and tilt her face up to look into her eyes. “I’ll be the best I can, for you, and Nate, and Kash.”
“That’s all one can I ask for,” Nate says, entering the kitchen, ruffling my hair as he passes by. “Whatcha making, amigo?”