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Authors: Trisha Wolfe
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Santa Rosa Beach circled in red. The last destination of our trip. We were going to stay there for a few days after traveling the country—our wind down stop. The knowledge of it steals the air from my lungs, and I can’t catch my breath.
Tyler hasn’t returned yet, and I’m starting to freak. What if he can’t find his way out of the darkness this time? What if he’s already lost, already forgotten me?
“We gotta go, Sam!”
The panic gripping me heightens with the shrill ring of my mother’s voice. Like hitting a wall, I remember my session. Crap. I was hoping to get out of it, but I forgot to tell her I wasn’t feeling well. But really, this will be my last meeting with my psychiatrists until I get back. And then I’m sure they’ll just have me committed. I can pull it together for one afternoon.
With one last look around my room, hoping Tyler will appear, I kiss my hand and touch the photo of Tyler, then close the door behind me.
Sun-glinting cars rush by us on the highway, the hot June sun reflecting off their shiny surfaces and glaring in my eyes. I plunder through my bag and dig out my sunglasses. Trying to stay focused on my meeting, I mentally recite what I’m going to say to Dr. Hartman—what she needs to hear to believe I’m improving. My thoughts keep returning to Tyler, though. Wondering where he is. And Holden. Stressing if he’ll really go through with my plan.
My mom reaches for the stereo knob to turn up the volume. Gold Dust Woman blares out of the rattily speakers. I roll my eyes, but can’t complain, even if listening to Stevie Knicks every time we’re in the car makes me want to crack my head against the window. She’s not only driven me to every one of my sessions, but everywhere else for the past five months.
I lean forward and lower the volume. “Have you heard from Dad lately?”
Her large sunglasses obscure her eyes, preventing me from reading her expression. But she can’t hide the slight dip of her mouth, her hands gripping the wheel tighter.
“Sorry, baby,” she says. “He has a real important client to take care of this week.”
I nod, averting my gaze out the window. “Just wondering.” It’s pretty shitty of him, the way he abandoned her, making her deal with all this on her own. I’d like my dad to be around to comfort her when I leave, so she’s not worrying alone. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about her pacing the house, calling my shrink, trying to get an armed force to hunt me down.
But I know his job is important (where would the world be without marketing managers?) I keep telling myself that he’s not really running from me. Bullshit . I glance back at my mom, the guilt eating at me. Maybe while I’m gone he’ll come back, and then she’ll have her husband again.
Any way I look at it, it’s for the best. Everyone will get something out of this trip.
As we walk into the wellness center, I’m told I can go straight in. My mom takes a seat and picks up an outdated magazine. I’m flying solo for this one.
I claim my usual spot, the fluffy blue chair that swallows me as soon as I sit down.
Dr. Hartman is changing it up today, sporting a red dress suit and black heels. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves instead of the tightly cinched bun she usually wears. I raise my eyebrows, and she laughs.
“I have a date after my five o’clock.”
Go her. “That’s nice.”
Her light mood doesn’t last, and soon she whips out her all business persona. “So, Sam, you started your medications yesterday?”
“I did.”
“It’s too early to tell, I’m sure, but has there been any change?”
Flipping through my mental notes of side effects from my medication pamphlets and the websites I Googled, I say, “I’ve been more tired.” Not tired. More tired. I’m always tired. “A bit antsy. And I haven’t seen Tyler since noon.” Which is the truth. But it’s not due to the meds (obviously they’ve disintegrated and are
Tyler hasn’t returned yet, and I’m starting to freak. What if he can’t find his way out of the darkness this time? What if he’s already lost, already forgotten me?
“We gotta go, Sam!”
The panic gripping me heightens with the shrill ring of my mother’s voice. Like hitting a wall, I remember my session. Crap. I was hoping to get out of it, but I forgot to tell her I wasn’t feeling well. But really, this will be my last meeting with my psychiatrists until I get back. And then I’m sure they’ll just have me committed. I can pull it together for one afternoon.
With one last look around my room, hoping Tyler will appear, I kiss my hand and touch the photo of Tyler, then close the door behind me.
Sun-glinting cars rush by us on the highway, the hot June sun reflecting off their shiny surfaces and glaring in my eyes. I plunder through my bag and dig out my sunglasses. Trying to stay focused on my meeting, I mentally recite what I’m going to say to Dr. Hartman—what she needs to hear to believe I’m improving. My thoughts keep returning to Tyler, though. Wondering where he is. And Holden. Stressing if he’ll really go through with my plan.
My mom reaches for the stereo knob to turn up the volume. Gold Dust Woman blares out of the rattily speakers. I roll my eyes, but can’t complain, even if listening to Stevie Knicks every time we’re in the car makes me want to crack my head against the window. She’s not only driven me to every one of my sessions, but everywhere else for the past five months.
I lean forward and lower the volume. “Have you heard from Dad lately?”
Her large sunglasses obscure her eyes, preventing me from reading her expression. But she can’t hide the slight dip of her mouth, her hands gripping the wheel tighter.
“Sorry, baby,” she says. “He has a real important client to take care of this week.”
I nod, averting my gaze out the window. “Just wondering.” It’s pretty shitty of him, the way he abandoned her, making her deal with all this on her own. I’d like my dad to be around to comfort her when I leave, so she’s not worrying alone. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about her pacing the house, calling my shrink, trying to get an armed force to hunt me down.
But I know his job is important (where would the world be without marketing managers?) I keep telling myself that he’s not really running from me. Bullshit . I glance back at my mom, the guilt eating at me. Maybe while I’m gone he’ll come back, and then she’ll have her husband again.
Any way I look at it, it’s for the best. Everyone will get something out of this trip.
As we walk into the wellness center, I’m told I can go straight in. My mom takes a seat and picks up an outdated magazine. I’m flying solo for this one.
I claim my usual spot, the fluffy blue chair that swallows me as soon as I sit down.
Dr. Hartman is changing it up today, sporting a red dress suit and black heels. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves instead of the tightly cinched bun she usually wears. I raise my eyebrows, and she laughs.
“I have a date after my five o’clock.”
Go her. “That’s nice.”
Her light mood doesn’t last, and soon she whips out her all business persona. “So, Sam, you started your medications yesterday?”
“I did.”
“It’s too early to tell, I’m sure, but has there been any change?”
Flipping through my mental notes of side effects from my medication pamphlets and the websites I Googled, I say, “I’ve been more tired.” Not tired. More tired. I’m always tired. “A bit antsy. And I haven’t seen Tyler since noon.” Which is the truth. But it’s not due to the meds (obviously they’ve disintegrated and are
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