Read Online At the Water's Edge by Harper Bliss - Free Book Online Page A

attention from attractive women. I had every reason to be happy. When I looked at my life objectively, like an outsider, I could almost see it. But I never, ever felt it. Not longer than five minutes anyway—which was, quite possibly, the cruelest aspect of it. These fleeting glimpses of how it could be. Of how other people must go through life. Able to face adversity because of normal levels of self-esteem. Always ready to battle the downs because of this unstoppable zest for life. While I, with my PhD and promising career, wallowed in misery.”
    Kay leans forward in her chair, placing her elbows on the table, her hands close to mine.
    “I didn’t understand, so I studied it. Because that’s what I do. I read dozens of books, some of which delivered the aha-moment I was so desperately looking for, lifting me out of my depression for short bursts of enlightenment, but all the knowledge in the world can’t change your brain chemistry.” I pause to let my gaze wander over the water, the effect it had on me, predictably, already wearing off.  
    “Unfortunately, I possess a very dramatic, hopeless streak. One that doesn’t allow me to shrug things off and move on. I’m not resilient.” A familiar pressure in my chest. “I’m weak.” I try to take a deep breath. “And I went to great lengths to prove it.” The way I burst into tears is how my forehead can burst out into a sudden sweat when running, instantly drenching, all of it raining down my skin at once. “Oh fuck.” Pushing my palms against my eyes doesn’t help.
    “Hey, hey.” In a flash, Kay is by my side. One hand inside the robe, on my knee, the other stroking my arm. “You’re not weak. You’re brave.”
    I shake my head. “You don’t know the half of it.” It comes out as a howl, a cry for help too late to make a difference.
    “You’re here. That’s what matters.” Kay’s voice is raw. Low. It sounds sort of undone. Her fingers knead the flesh of my knee.
    “I’m sorry.” I straighten my posture a little. “This… shouldn’t be happening. You never asked for this.”
    “I did, though. I asked you what happened.” With the sleeve of her robe, she catches a few tears on my cheek. But my emotional confession has left me numbed, and the significance of the moment passes me by. “Why don’t we go inside? You can take a shower. You should stay in my guest room tonight.”
    “I haven’t told you everything yet.” For the first time since cracking, I look into her eyes.
    “But you’ve told me more than enough.” Endless kindness brims in her eyes.
    “I need to tell you now. If I don’t, I may never do it.”
    “Okay. Of course.” Kay pushes herself up, leaving one hand on my shoulder while she speaks. “Let me just do some rearranging.” As if it’s made of the lightest plastic, she shoves the wooden table to the back of the deck, grabs her chair and sets it down where the table was, next to mine. She refills both our glasses, hands me mine, and sits, her face so close I can hear her breathe.
    She doesn’t ask me if I’m comfortable with her being so near—touching distance—just assumes she’s doing the right thing. I like that about Kay. And I don’t mind that her hand is hovering close to my exposed knee again, the coffee color of her skin contrasting starkly with the white fabric of the robe, even in the dark.
    When I start speaking, my voice is small, because it’s the only way it can be to say this. “When I said earlier that I gave up, I—” A sharp intake of breath, because admitting defeat out loud is never easy. Putting the moment I decided to let go into words—the moment I had never planned on recounting to anyone. “I meant that I tried to kill myself.” I stare into my glass, into the dark-golden liquid. “Pills. My housekeeper found me. Maybe because I wanted her to. But, mainly, I just wanted to slip away. Leave unnoticed.” I take a sip to relax my throat.
    “When I woke up in the hospital,