Therapy (9 page)

“Mom, this is my friend Jessica. Jessica, this is my mom, Ariana Collins.” She steps closer to me and extends her perfectly manicured hand with an obviously forced smile on her very obviously Botoxed face.

“Nice to meet you, Jessica...” She lifts the last half of my name in question. “What was your last name again?” Apparently she needs to find my place on her social ladder.

“Alexander, ma’am,” I answer timidly. With those two words, I confirm that my family’s last name is not on the country club’s member list. My eyes nervously flit back and forth from hers to the ground, and I just want to escape the horrible moment. She looks down at my shirt and then back at me. There’s an awkward pause right before she insists on making the situation even more embarrassing.

“Do your parents know you dress like this, Ms. Alexander?” she asks, arching an eyebrow and pursing her shiny lips, which are probably just as fake as her wrinkle-free skin.

She’s pissing me off. The fact that she’s asking about my parents makes me mad as hell. Little does she know that I’m very aware of how far out of touch she was with her own daughter. She has a look of disdain on her face as if I’m a big bug that she really needs to squash. Before I’m able to answer her, Jace saves me from saying something completely disrespectful and utterly stupid.

“Mom, who cares about the shirt? It’s cool. If they had it in a color other than Pepto-Bismol pink, I’d wear one too. Even though boobs and other things make me horny, not music.”

I jerk my head in his direction, and then back at his mom, my mouth agape.

Did he really just say “boobs” to his mom? Yes, I think he did.

“Jace Collins! You need to watch your mouth, young man. It’s highly inappropriate to talk like that, especially in front of a lad—girl.”

“Sorry, Mom,” he apologizes. Then he looks to me. “Sorry, Jess.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, but his mom doesn’t see it. I try to contain my laughter. I’ve already made enough of a fool out of myself today.

“You’re home early, Mom. What’s up?” he asks, rolling his soggy toothpick back and forth in his mouth. I’ll never look at toothpicks the same way again after Jace.

For Halloween, maybe I’ll be a toothpick just to give him the hint that I’d love for him to roll me around in his mouth too.

I shake the toothpick thought from my head as his mom goes into a spiel about a charity dinner they have to attend this evening.

“You’re going, Jace. Don’t try to worm your way out of it. The Brants are meeting us there at seven o’clock, so make sure you’re ready and wearing your nice suit and tie.” With that, she turns on her expensive heel and goes inside.

Brant. They’re going to an event with the Brant Family, which means Jace, my Jace, will be spending the evening with his ex-girlfriend, the queen bitch herself—Elizabeth Brant. I immediately tense up and my stomach clenches in anger and jealousy. All of a sudden, I feel sick. I turn around and walk over to the fancy yard bench and grab my bag. I toss it over my shoulder and start walking to my car.

“Whoa, wait a minute. Where the hell are you going, Jess?” he says, running up beside me.

“Home,” I mutter.

I don’t look up at him; if I do he’ll see that I’m about to cry, or that I’m so full of jealousy I might explode. I know what’s happening, and I have to get out of here. I haven’t felt like this in months, and I have to get away from him before he sees the real me.

All I want to do is cry, scream...cut. Because no matter how wonderful these two months have been, I can see ever so clearly now that I’ll never fit into his world. The contempt in his mother’s eyes was unmistakable. He says he only wants his mom to be proud of him. Well, she could never be proud of him being associated with someone like me. He’ll drop me like everyone else has and it will hurt, hurt like no pain I have ever felt.

He grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. He has a confused look on his face as he searches mine for answers.

“Why? We aren’t done with our game,” he retorts, looking a little dejected.

“You have somewhere to go, Jace. I’m just getting out of your way so that you can go get all dressed up for the charity event.” I’m trying to keep the sarcasm and sadness out of my voice, but I’m not sure if it’s working.

“Jess, it’s only four thirty. I have plenty of time to get ready. You don’t have to leave yet.”

I look up at him, willing the tears to stay away, and do my very best to smile.

“I know, but I have lots of homework to do, so I should get home and get started on it.”

LIAR.

I’m such a liar.

I realize now that instead of completely taking down my walls to let Jace in, I’ve reconstructed beautiful new ones, ones better suited to his likes and dislikes. He may think he’s seen the real me over the past two months, but he’s only seen glimpses. I lied to him, lied to myself, and now this shiny new façade that belongs to him, for him, is crumbling layer by layer. Even I don’t know what will remain when it’s all gone.

His brow creases and I can see he’s carefully contemplating what I’ve said. He doesn’t buy my story.

“Jess, all of our classes are together but one, and I don’t know anything about a bunch of homework.”

I have one class he’s not in, thank God.

“Spanish.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“I have a ton of Spanish homework,” I say, trying to convince myself more than I’m trying to convince him. I pray that he won’t see right through me.

“Spanish? Really? Well I guess if you have to get it done, go ahead.” He doesn’t look totally swayed, but I can’t worry about that right now. I just need to leave.

I open my car door and throw my bag in the backseat. As I’m getting in, he leans down with his arms propped up on my door and the rooftop of the car.

“You good? Is everything okay? You seem off or something. I hope my mom didn’t rattle you with the shirt remark. Just let it roll off your back. She’s just like that. I ignore it, and so should you.”

Yes, your mom rattled me, and yes, I’m off right now. So far off that it would make you dizzy if you really knew how much.

“I’m fine, Jace.”

Lie, lie, lie.

The lies just keep on coming. I have to get out of here.

“Okay... Well, have fun with your Spanish homework, I guess.” He shoves himself off my car, and then closes the door and motions with his finger for me to roll my window down.

“You sure you’re good, because I really feel like something’s wrong. You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?” he asks in a voice that drips with sincerity and concern.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.

Then I do it.

“Why would anything be wrong, Jace? Your mom just looked at me like I’m some trashy whore who’s dirtying her perfect, popular superjock son, and you’re going to some fancy event with the so very upstanding Elizabeth and her family. I have no idea why something would be wrong with me.”

The sarcasm in my voice soaks the air between us. The moment the words pass through my lips, I regret them. The look on his face solidifies my remorse and anchors my heart to the pit of my stomach. He crosses his arms over his chest defensively and looks at me in a way I’ve never seen him look at me before.

I don’t like it at all.

“Wow! Perfect, popular superjock, huh? Is that how you see me? Have I ever acted like that guy with you, Jess? I know my mom can be a little judgmental, but I seriously doubt she thinks you’re dirtying me, whatever that means. As far as Liz goes, there’s nothing there anymore. You know that more than anyone.”

He pauses briefly.

“What’s odd to me is that I get the feeling that my mom isn’t really the issue. Are you jealous, Jess? You do realize we aren’t going to be celibate or not date people just because we’re friends with each other, right? I mean, you’ve become like my best friend, but I’ll eventually date again, and so will you. But when I do date again, rest assured, it will not be with Liz.”

I gape at him, wishing more than ever that I’d never said a damn word. This is a conversation I’ve been trying to avoid for two months. I know he hasn’t dated since Elizabeth, but I grow more and more anxious every day worrying about this topic. The thought of him with another girl makes me physically ill.

I don’t have a damn clue how to answer him, so I do the next best thing. A stupid thing. I lie again. Only this lie is a big, fat, Texas-sized lie.

“No, Jace. I’m not jealous. I just hate Elizabeth! Also, your mom does think those things, regardless if you think so or not. I’ve been getting those kind of looks for years; I know very well what your mom was thinking about me.”

I can feel my palms getting sweaty as this nervous, jealous energy poisons my thoughts.

“As far as the dating thing, yes. I’m well aware of that fact, so aware that I actually have a date this weekend. I hadn’t told you yet, but there. Now you know. Hopefully that will ease your worry over my possible jealousy and some horrible bout of celibacy-bound friendship. Have all the sex you want and so will I.”

I roll my window up without giving him a chance to respond, and pull out of his driveway. Just before I turn onto the blacktop road, I look once in my rearview mirror. He’s standing in the very same spot, unmoving and staring at me as I drive away.

The drive home is one hundred kinds of awful. I rock back and forth in my seat, slamming my hand on the steering wheel and cursing to myself. TWO MONTHS. That’s all it took for me to screw things up with the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

When I get home, Mom’s baking cookies and humming to herself.

Hello, Martha.

“Hi, sweetie. You want some cookies? I made your favorite,” she asks.

My favorite? Does she even know what my favorite anything is?

I walk over and take a cookie off the pan before walking to my room. After I lock the door, I drop the cookie into the trashcan.

Snicker doodles are most definitely not my favorite.

My phone buzzes, and as soon as I look at the screen, my heart rate speeds up. Jace. I swipe the screen, revealing his text, and his words make this dreadful day even worse.

Jace:
Jess, I don’t know what your deal is or why you went all superbitch on me, but I do know that it was bullshit. I have been nothing but a friend to you, and this is how you treat me in return? I don’t know why you’re so pissed or acting all psycho... And just so you know, I didn’t make the comment about dating because I need to go get laid. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I just needed to know that you weren’t having feelings for me that would cause you to be jealous. Whatever your deal is, just know that I did not like how you acted today. Friends don’t act shitty to each other like that.

I throw my phone across the room and drop down onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow.

How did I ever think he’d want me like I want him?

It’s obviously the furthest thing from his mind. Am I that bad? That unattractive? Or maybe the problem is the fact that he knows how many guys I’ve slept with.

Whatever it is, I know that our friendship is never going to be the same after today.

“Second chances are sometimes needed

more than once.”

—Kathryn Perez

I SIT UP, peeling my face off my tear-soaked pillow, and reach over to yank my nightstand drawer open. I pull my box out and open it. The familiar smell of rubbing alcohol hits my nose, and it triggers me to want this even more than I already thought I did.

I pull my shorts down and my breathing picks up. Adrenaline zings through me the second before I press the razor’s edge into my flesh. Dragging it nearly two inches across my lower stomach, I feel the warm blood flow and the endorphins fire off in my brain like bombs on a battlefield. Tears trickle down my flushed face, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I'm so fucked-up. There's something seriously wrong with me and I know it. Suppressing it for the last two months, trying to fool Jace and myself into believing I’m a normal girl... It was a pathetic attempt to change. Just like putting a bandage over my ugly cuts doesn't change what they hide, putting a front up for the past eight weeks didn't change the mentally disturbed girl that I really am.

I curl up in the fetal position and clutch my journal, running all of the day’s events through my head. I can’t even dream of sleeping until I do some writing. Tonight's entry will be nothing like the last entry. I run my fingers over my handwriting from a few days ago. I can almost feel the happiness flow from the page through my fingertips.

The cracks

Mending slowly

Loneliness no more

Home is with him

He is what for

Darkness fading

Smiles and laughter

We are creating

Opening my eyes

Seeing for the first time

A reflection

That may not

Equal her demise

Reading this last entry hurts. My heart aches. In the end, I always sabotage the good things that cross my path; it’s inevitable.

My phone has buzzed two more times, but I can’t force myself to look. I’m too terrified that he’ll say he never wants to see me again. I can’t handle that. Not tonight.

Pulling the chewed-up pen cap off and grinding my teeth against it, I start to write. Pain and fear burst out of me in the written form of words.

So tired

Can’t let go

Can’t move on

Standing still

Running away

Can you still see me?

Am I fading away?

Back to that place

Darkness

Did I ever really leave?

Or am I poisoned at the core?

He will never understand

The storms that are raging

His fingers slipping

Through my hands

For too long I’ve weathered

Violent thunder quaking

Losing him

Only means going under

My phone buzzes again and I push off the bed, irritated that he won’t just let me be. I grab the phone and swipe the screen to find three texts from him. I look at the time. Almost seven o’clock. Shouldn’t he be on his way to spend the evening with the evil bitch?

I tap the first text.

Jace:
Why aren’t you responding? I know you got my text.

He texted that not too long after the first book-length text that he’d sent about being pissed at me. I tap the next one.

Jace:
Are you really giving me the silent treatment? Are we in grade school, Jess? This is dumb! IDK why you’re acting this way, and it’s frustrating the shit outta me. Text me back, even if all you do is tell me to fuck off. Just say something...please.

Now I feel like shit for not reading the texts earlier. I would have texted him back after that one. I tap the last one and hold my breath.

Jace:
I’m coming over. See you in 15.

Holy hell!

He’s coming to my house. I look at the time of the text and realize he’ll be here within ten minutes. I run into the bathroom, wiping the smeared eyeliner from under my eyes as I go.

Shit!

My eyes look like I’ve been toking up on a ginormous blunt or something. Now he’s going to think I’m a psycho and a druggy.

I run a brush through my hair and twist it up in a loose knot on top of my head. Then I quickly straighten my bed blankets, hide my journal, and drop to my bed to take one last calming breath. I hear the doorbell and freeze. He’s here, and the fact that I never have anyone come over makes me extremely nervous. I’m so happy that Martha Mom is here tonight and not Drunk Mom.

I make a beeline for the front door, but Mom beats me to it. She’s holding a glass of clear liquid, and I immediately know that Martha is well on her way to drunkenness, if not already there.

Great.

Now he can see my drunken mother along with my bloodshot eyes and know what winners we are here at the Alexander house.

Mom opens the door and the most handsome man—yes, I said man because the person who’s in my doorway at the moment is no boy. He has on a solid black suit with a white button down and turquoise tie. I drink in every inch of him as my chin rests comfortably on the floor. His hair is gelled and styled like some Hollister model, and I have the urge to plow straight through Mom and tackle him.

Is he trying to torture me with all that sex appeal?

There it is: the motherlovin’ toothpick rolling back and forth between his full lips, lips that I just want to suck on. I feel the heat creeping across my cheeks and I swear I hear my heart beating in my ears.

“Hey,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets innocently.

He looks at me first, and then over at Mom. I freak immediately. The last thing I want is for Mom to do or say something stupid, so I walk past her onto my front porch. I look back at Mom just before shutting the door. “Mom, I’ll be a few minutes,” I say, and then turn to face him.

“Um, you couldn’t introduce me to your mom, Jess?” he asks harmlessly, like there isn’t this huge gaping hole between us right now. If either of us takes a wrong step, we’ll surely fall feetfirst into it.

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet her tonight.” Our eyes meet; the awkwardness between us is uncomfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the charity thing?” I ask.

“Nope, I’m where I’m supposed to be,” he says, stunning me into a state of disbelief. “Have you eaten dinner?”

I stand there, staring at his mouth and trying to make sure I’ve heard the words correctly, all the while being totally distracted by the toothpick.

“Jess, dinner—yes or no?” he asks while I stare at him like a love-struck puppy.

“No,” I deadpan.

“Well, go let your mom know that we’re going to go grab a bite to eat, then. We need to talk.”

I don’t say anything. I just nod. Then I look down at my clothes and back at him. I feel seriously underdressed, not to mention
Music Makes Me Horny
is still written across my chest.

“Don’t worry about what you’re wearing. We’ll go through the drive-thru.”

Drive–thru? Really?

Okay, whatever. I’m hungry as hell, and I know we need to talk if I want to salvage any kind of relationship with him. He’s too important to let my warped brain completely screw this up.

“All right, just let me tell Mom and I’ll be right out.” I feel jittery nerves waving through my body. What if he wants to tell me we can’t be friends anymore?

God, please don’t let him tell me that!

I walk in the house and peek around the corner to the living room. “Mom, I’m going with a friend to grab something to eat. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She holds her hand up and murmurs, “Okie dokie, sweetie.” Sounds like she’s a happy drunk tonight. I guess that’s better than sloppy drunk, so I’ll take it.

I grab my phone and purse from my room and walk out to his truck. He has removed the jacket and untied his tie. His sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled halfway up his forearms. The top two buttons of his shirt are also unbuttoned, and he looks even better like this than he did all put together five minutes ago. His lip is slightly upturned, giving me a little grin. It helps me breathe a little easier, knowing that he isn’t so pissed anymore.

“Are you okay with DQ?” he asks and I giggle. “What? Dairy Queen is the best. Steak Finger Country Baskets are the shit!” he says, backing out of my driveway.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re supposed to be at a fancy dinner eating fancy food and you want to go to Dairy Queen. It’s funny, that’s all.”

“Fancy doesn’t always mean good, Jess.” His comment is ambiguous, but I don’t question him about it.

As we drive, we sit in silence until he reaches over to turn his stereo on. The quiet is replaced with lyrics by Staind, and I gaze out the window, wondering how the night will end. I doubt things will go well if I’m honest with him, but lying won’t resolve this either.

We get to the Dairy Queen just as the Staind song fades into one of Hinder’s. He pulls into the drive-thru and turns the volume off before rolling his window down.

He looks over at me and asks, “What will it be?”

A small smile stretches across my face. “Well, I guess I’ll have the Steak Finger Country Basket since you say it’s the shit. And a Vanilla Coke, please.” He grins and orders one for each of us. “Oh, and I want ice cream too. A Peanut Buster parfait with no peanuts, please.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, obviously confused by my strange request. “You want a
Peanut
Buster parfait with no peanuts? Jess, what’s the point of ordering something with peanuts if you don’t want them in it? That’s weird.”

“Well, that’s me. Weird,” I answer flatly.

I don’t want to get into my weird food issues, so I don’t elaborate. The thing is, I don’t like crunchy stuff inside my food. I like peanuts just fine, but not in my ice cream. Just like I love pickles, but won’t eat them on a burger. Biting into something and feeling a crunch inside of it creeps me out.

I have several weird tendencies that I’ve hidden well from Jace. I don’t like my food to touch on my plate, and I won’t use the same fork for two different foods. If I have mashed potatoes and green beans on my plate I need two forks. Thankfully, forks are not needed to eat a Steak Finger Basket.

I’m also completely repulsed by dirty dishes. When I have to load the dishwasher at home, I gag repeatedly. Touching old, stuck-on food makes me ill. I know I may seem like some weird OCD germaphobe, but the idea of bacteria or germs really doesn’t factor in. It’s the dried-up, gross food that bothers me so much. That’s just how I am.

I count when I fill the tub with water too. That’s another weird thing I do. Not sure why I do it, but I’ve done it since I was a little kid. Once the water is at the level I want, I stop counting. Sometimes it’s a 1,000 bath, and sometimes it’s a 500 bath. Weird, I know.

He orders the Peanut Buster parfait—sans peanuts—and we pull up to get our order. I reach into my purse to get some money out, but he holds up his hand.

“No way, I got this.” He hands the cashier the money and doesn’t even look back at me until she gives him his change.

“Jace, I can buy my own food. It’s not like we’re on a date or something.”

I don’t know why I’m such a glutton for punishment, but I just have to go and say that—with a shitload of sarcasm in my voice. He grimaces at me before turning back to get the food. He plops the bag down in the seat between us, and places the drinks in the cup holders. The cashier hands him the ice cream last.

He turns as he hands it to me. “Here’s your weird ice cream,” he says in a monotone voice.

He’s mad again. I can sense it, and it’s totally my fault. We pull onto the road and the direction he’s driving in tells me we’re going to his house.

Why are we going to his house?

“Where are we going?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I’m hoping he’ll elaborate on why without me having to ask.

“My house. My mom’s not home and she won’t be until late, so we’ll have privacy to talk, which we apparently really need to do,” he suggests.

God, he is still mad, and he still wants to talk. This won’t end well. I can feel it.