One Time, Badly Read online

  She wasn't sure how it would turn out, but she knew that Max would read it and she wanted to be there when he did. She wanted to see his reaction just as much as she wanted to get a reaction out of him. Because he seemed to be able to spend four days nearly dying in bed and not speaking a word without ever bringing it up in conversation again, but she had a lot to say that she was too scared to bring up.

  She didn't want to be a trigger or to risk taking him back to that awful place when he was doing better, but it felt like she'd been through a silent war, and no one could really relate to the helplessness and the paralyzing fear that sat at the back of her mind day in and day out. Even now, she didn't feel truly sure that the problem was solved. Because she was so bad at recognizing the signs.

  And this is where her fear really came from. Because maybe she'd never known him without this darkness hanging over him and maybe she would never see the signs because they were always there and had always been there. For as long as she'd known him he'd been like this and he seemed just the same to her now. And, as she began writing that last entry, as she let the crisp fall air wash over her at the end of October, she knew that she had been deluding herself.

  A person doesn't just come off of a years-long addiction without a single part of his personality being affected. He'd be different, wouldn't he? If he really had stopped, wouldn't there be new habits or the loss of old ones? Wouldn't he be, essentially, a new man as she'd told him he would be each time he lay shaking in bed?

  And, if he seemed so content staying exactly the same, she'd have to be the one to make some changes.

  Chapter 17

  2015

  October – November

  Max had asked her in September if she'd want to go away for her 24th birthday. It would fall on a Saturday this year, so he figured he could get all of his schoolwork done ahead of time and they could drive to Boston or somewhere similar for a few days and just be alone.

  Cecelia hadn't known the mental state she'd be in when she agreed to this trip, but she was happy now, as she packed her bags, that she'd suggested just getting a little cabin in the Poconos and laying low for the weekend, rather than taking on a city. She filled up her duffel with sweaters and leggings and warm socks and she was sure that Max had stuck to a similar selection process.

  They were bringing up frozen pizzas and hot chocolate and some beers with them, and there seemed to be a market near their cabin to grab eggs and milk and any essentials they'd need to get by. Max would be driving his old green Jeep up and Cecelia was happy to sit in the passenger seat and just observe him as the miles went by. He really was so handsome with his long nose and his strong jaw and that dark brown hair that curled just the slightest bit when it was overgrown, as it was now.

  He'd been living like a hermit for the past few weeks, just trying to survive law school. His workload was insane and he insisted on keeping his hours at the bar even though his parents had offered to help him financially until he reached graduation. His pale skin and his thin frame had a pit forming in her stomach. She'd reached for his hand then, and she'd held it for the remainder of the drive. She just wanted to be as close as she could get to him, to breathe him in every single second.

  Max shot her a small smile as they reached the cabin and it took every ounce of strength in her not to burst out crying at that. Instead, she'd smiled back and kissed him soundly on the lips. They had the weekend and it would have to be enough for her.

  As soon as they stepped into the cabin, she knew this would be good for them. This would be the perfect ending to their story, at least for the moment. There was a warmth that seemed to radiate from the walls, from the slouchy furniture laid out before them and the deep hues of the area rugs spread throughout the room. It came from the heavy drapes and the plush throw blankets scattered about.

  It came from somewhere deep inside Cecelia that could only feel the importance of these impending moments. Max didn't know what this would come to represent for them, but it would be a good memory, something golden to hold onto. So Cecelia stepped inside and reached behind her for Max's hand. He shot her a lazy smile and she dragged him to her, pushed him past her, and she was on him the second the back of his knees hit the couch in front of them.

  They made love everywhere that weekend, but it was this initial encounter that stuck with her the most vividly. There was something about the way that they didn't speak a word before or during or even for a long time after. It was the way her body felt when she was so close to him. It was just the comfort, really, of knowing that you're with the right person and that they're with the right person and you've created moments that no one can touch.

  There would never be another man in another cabin in another life that could do this to her. That could make her forget how awful everything actually was, forget that fact that it was all about to get so much worse. Yes, she was giving this up. She was about to walk away. But it wasn't with the hope of ever replacing Max.

  It was with the hope that Max would stay somewhere in her heart forever and that she could access some fraction of this warmth from time to time. That she could get by and eventually find a different man to be there, to start something new with. But it wouldn't be this. This was once-in-a-lifetime. And she would put her hands on him and put her mouth on him and rest her head on him for as long as she could, until the very last second.

  Cecelia woke on the couch with Max's arms wrapped around her, legs entangled, head in her hair. She found herself playing with his hands, tracing the outlines of his fingers on her stomach as she often did to wake him up. He tended to be a heavy sleeper, but this always seemed to irritate him enough to pull him back to her.

  "Hey," it came as a whisper just behind her ear.

  "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," she whispered back.

  He gripped the hands that had been playing with his and pushed a gentle kiss to the side of her head.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Just laying with you, you're so warm," she rolled towards him now, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  He didn't answer, just kissed her.

  "Are you hungry? We don't have anything to cook yet, but we could have some cereal," she wasn't very hungry herself, but she'd felt his stomach growl a time or two.

  "I'm ok, I think we need to stay on the couch for now."

  "We need to stay on the couch?"

  "Yeah, this couch is the best part of the whole cabin, I wouldn't mind staying here the whole weekend. I like us on this couch."

  "I like us here, too. Let's not move an inch."

  "Well, I'm going to have to move just a little bit. Not off the couch, but to make optimal use of the couch there needs to be some changes made."

  "Whatever you say, Max. You make those changes and I'll meet you there."

  They were talking in between kisses at this point, hands everywhere. She was thanking God for the cushions below her and their width. They really could stay here all weekend. They really should stay here all weekend.

  They didn't actually leave the couch until late Saturday morning, when they really couldn't ignore their rumbling stomachs any longer. They each had a bowl of dry cereal to hold them over until they could make the snowy drive down to the market and grab some real food.

  They picked up the eggs and milk they needed for the rest of the weekend, with the plan to just whip up some easy meals. Pasta and mac and cheese would be on the menu and that was about it.

  The small shop had been about 6 miles away from their cabin and the friendly older couple that owned it couldn't have been any sweeter. She envied them for a moment, as she watched Max pull $20 out of his wallet and pay for their goods. They'd grown old together, they had a peaceful life here in this small town and they had something to show for it. It was funny the things she'd come to admire as her relationship fell apart. It was sad to have to let them go.

  Over the past few months, she'd tried to remember the signs of health, and to always have an eye out for them. Easy laug
hter, full cheeks, and flushed skin. She realized that she need not settle for one of three. It was all or nothing. And that realization led to nothing but more fear and, eventually, genuine panic.

  And all of the talking, the honesty and the fighting side by side was in clear contrast with what she now knew to be true of addiction. She could support him every step of the way, every millisecond of every day, but she would never be on the battlefield with him. She would never feel his urges and let him tag her in, give him a break so he didn’t have to fight all the time. This truly was his war, and she was no more than a bystander.

  And if he wasn't strong enough to fight it, then she couldn't watch anymore. She had a life to live, without the constant worry. Without switching the radio station or turning off the news when a song or a report made her feel sensitive. There were people dying all around the country from the same thing that Max was doing. She hated that she now had a personal stake in it, that it all hit her so close to home when all she wanted to do was turn a blind eye.

  She had work and family, she had friends that she hadn't seen in years, she needed to get back to all that. Max had become a recluse right before her eyes and now, it seemed, the same thing was happening with her. She went to work and she came home to see Max. She spent hours watching TV and reading books while he studied.

  She should have been out with friends or visiting her parents or even heading to the movies solo as she used to do when she was younger, but she felt a pull towards him. She wanted to make sure someone was with him. Because God forbid something happened with him and she was out having a glass of wine. He could overdose; she'd known it since she first found out about all of this. And she was terrified of this fact, it was the most prominent thought on her mind most days and she could never seem to shake it.

  And so she didn’t. Instead, she dropped everything else and went to him. And it never really felt like she was giving anything else up. Sure, she'd love to take Louisiana up on her happy hour offers or join the girls for dinner one night, but would she even enjoy it? She would spend the whole night worrying, she'd be texting Max every second about absolutely nothing just to make sure he would respond. This is what it had all come to while she'd been too busy focusing on other things.

  She couldn't live this way anymore. She loved him, but clearly there wasn't much she could do to help. She'd done the best that she could, short of admitting him into a rehab center. She thought of his parents, of their inability to solve this for him, but that couldn't stop her anymore.

  And so she hurried back into the cabin with Max and they cooked themselves three boxes of mac and cheese to split for dinner. They snuggled up on the couch and talked about anything but themselves. They laughed about things that happened in college, they argued about how their favorite TV shows would end, they made out, they made love and then they fell asleep all tangled up.

  When they woke up on Sunday morning they packed up and they hit the road. They drove home in silence, Cecelia wrapping her fingers around Max's hand and holding on tight. The drive was beautiful, all snowy trees and icicles. The warmth of the heated car made it all so much more romantic, made it feel so much safer than it actually was. Because every second that passed had Cecelia feeling more and more like they should have never left the cabin.

  The brakes on Max's jeep let out a sharp squeak as they slowed to a stop outside of Cee's apartment building. Cecelia tightened her grip on Max's hand, knowing he'd need it to shift the car into park, knowing he was about to pull it free.

  "Do you know what my favorite thing about you is?" Her words came out in a rushed, nervous mess. Tripping over one another to reach Max.

  "What's that?" He broke his hand away from hers, moved the gearshift and leaned back to get a better look at her. His tired eyes sparked with amusement, but just for a second. She nearly missed it in the darkness.

  "My favorite thing about you is how you pull me in without reaching out. Sometimes you’re just lying on the couch watching TV, you haven’t even noticed me yet, you don’t even realize there’s pulling to be done, but, somehow, you’re drawing me closer."

  "Cee?" Max searched her face. "Why are you crying?"

  "I just love you," she wasn't even bothering to wipe her tears and Max remained still behind the wall she was raising between them.

  "Cecelia, why are you crying?" his voice was soft, quiet.

  She could hear the anxiety starting to creep into his words and she wanted to talk to him about ownership in any and every form. She wanted to say to him whatever you do and whatever is done to you is yours and yours alone. We spend so much time trying to obtain things. It’s all about what we want and what we can get, but we never seem to consider all that is simply handed to us.

  “I’m scared of you. And for you. I don’t trust you right now, and I think that you’re maybe not doing as well as you say you are," he didn't respond, didn't seem able to, so she continued.

  "I watch your eyes, I try to gauge your reactions to even the smallest comments, but I don’t even have a reference point to compare them to because maybe you weren’t yourself in the particular moment that I’m remembering. Maybe I've never seen you not high. I just need you to be honest with me, right now. Please tell me how you’re doing, and please don’t leave anything out.”

  "I don't know what you want me to say. We both know what's going on. If you need to hear it, I'll say it for you, but it's been nothing you haven't heard from me before. It's nothing I haven't crushed you with already over the past year."

  "I don't need you to say it. I guess I just wanted to make sure we're both on the same page and that we agree on the fact that nothing's really changed. We haven't been able to do the things that we wanted to do or get to the place that we needed to get to."

  "No, not yet. We're not there yet," she could tell he wanted to say more, that he understood going on the defensive was the only option now. But he also seemed to understand a step beyond that impulse.

  "I can't do this anymore, Max," she didn’t mean for it to be a whisper, but it was out there all the same.

  "Cee," it was her name, she recognized that, but it sounded like a hiss of pain. As if he'd touched a hot pan. As if she'd burned him.

  “I feel like you killed someone. I just can’t figure out who it is. Most days it feels like me, but sometimes it feels like you,” she was focused on a point just over his shoulder, on a dim street lamp casting shadows all through its domain.

  "I never meant for it to be like this," he brought his hands to his head. "I never meant to do this to you."

  "I know. I know that," she shrugged now, feeling the tears dripping from her chin.

  "I'm sorry. I've never been so sorry in my life."

  "I can't believe this is happening," she was wringing her hands together, white knuckled. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

  "I gave you no choice. I want you to always remember that," he was crying openly now, but the look on his face was determined. "I gave you no choice. This isn't your fault."

  "I wanted to help you. I just thought that I could help you, you know? I should've been able to help you."

  "You've helped me every single second of every single day, ok? You've helped me more than you could possibly ever know or I could never show you or explain it to you, but you are the reason that I have anything good in my life right now."

  "It means nothing though, Max. Nothing. You're so sick and nothing else matters but that and there's nothing that I can do to help you."

  "It's not your fault, it's on me. It's all on me."

  "I just love you so much. I need you to be ok. Can you just be ok? Can you please just be ok?"

  "I have to go Cecelia." And she could hear his voice breaking over the words. Small cracks that did more damage to her heart than she was prepared for – and she'd been ready for one hell of an onslaught.

  “Max? Please, just two minutes. Max. Just one minute.” Tears painfully clawed their way from her eyes, so warm they burned as though
they were small trails of lava edging down her cheeks.

  "I'm sorry. I can't be here right now. I have to go." He was unbuckling his seat belt and swinging open his door.

  "I want to know that you're going to be alright. Please just let's calm down for a second before you leave."

  But he was already pulling her bags from the trunk and heading towards her apartment building. She followed behind him, trying to steady her breathing.

  "I love you, Cecelia, and I completely understand why you have to do this. Okay? I'm not mad; I don't blame you. I know that it's my fault. I just can't breathe right now and I need to go. Can I go? Will you please just let me go?" His voice was edging on desperation and she really didn’t want him to go. She knew what his first stop would be.

  But that was the whole point of this. She needed to stop worrying about these things and putting him first when she'd been hurting for so long, too. She looked up into his eyes, they were frantic in the moonlight; he looked panicked. She wanted to reach out for him, but it wouldn't do either of them any good. Not now.

  "Okay. Yes. Go."

  "Okay." And with that he rushed by her and jogged to his car. She was surprised the tires didn't screech with the intensity from which he pulled away.

  Chapter 18

  2015

  November

  Max was a liar and Cecelia was a fool. These are the things she needed to remember, because they were true, and because they hurt. Everything else must be pushed aside for now, or she was sure that her feet wouldn't move and that her hand wouldn't turn when she gripped the doorknob. Max was a liar; he'd made a fool of her. In this small hour of this big day, Max was not funny or kind or sick or in need of help. He was only a liar, and Cecelia, though a fool she might be, would not stand for a liar in her life.