I just never imagined it would be my mom who did it. My mom was dying before my very eyes and I hadn’t any idea how to stop it from happening. I ran for the house phone and dialed for an ambulance as I ran back to my mom and flipped her onto her side while shoving my fingers down her throat. I didn’t know if it would help, but I was scared and all I could think about right then was getting whatever she swallowed out of her.
I barely even remember the phone call with the woman on the receiving end, but it went something like, “send help. Mom overdosed. Twenty-two hundred Huckleberry Lane. Hurry!” Before I dropped the phone and held my mom’s hand while sobbing and begging any deity that would listen to save her life. I couldn’t lose my mom—my best friend in the entire universe. The only person who’d been there for me, to get me through this new life we’d set out for together.
Admittedly, that had been the wrong way to handle it and I’ve since taken an annual CPR class and trained for situations like that, you know, just in case. My mom felt so terrible that she’d gotten drunk enough to make the decision to take all of her antidepressants at once, that she hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since and she is adamant that she no longer takes medication. Instead, choosing to live clean and use exercise as an outlet, along with meditation and therapy.
I’d called my dad from the hospital that day and cried into his voicemail over and over and over again, begging him to come fix what he’d broken. I’d called so many times that I’d killed mom’s cell phone battery. I was alone that night, sitting in the waiting room on a rigid plastic chair in a hospital with no money, no phone, and a revelation that I had a mom who wished she were dead and a dad that was so absent, he may as well have been. That was the exact moment I gave up any hope that I’d ever have a real relationship with my dad. It was then that I knew in my heart that I needed to be better and I couldn’t do that hanging on to a toxic relationship with my deadbeat father who cared more about his music than he did his family.
To this day, I wear these clothes that donate a portion of their proceeds to different mental health clinics around the world, and support as many programs as I can to honor and support suicide awareness. Those numbers given out for suicide hotlines? Those calls and texts get forwarded to me from the hours eight pm to twelve pm, seven days a week. In fact, I have a follow up caller that requests me at exactly eight every night and has for the last two months. It’s not normal, but if I’m totally honest, Jax isn’t exactly normal. He seems harmless though, just very lonely, and if I’m the one thing keeping him going, I’ll never give up on him.
I’ll be an advocate forever. No one should ever feel so alone that they can’t bear to live any more. Feeling trapped inside your own mind can be a dark and scary place to be, so I have no problem being a person that others can lean on when life gets too heavy.
What many people don’t realize is that it doesn’t have to be them that feel depressed or anxious in order to love and support people that do fight that battle every single day. It costs exactly zero dollars to be a good fucking person or offer a kind word to a stranger. Why shouldn’t I be the reason someone smiles today? I don’t have to know someone to understand that they may be fighting demons I know nothing about. It’s why I strive to keep things as happy and positive as I can on a day to day basis.
The hardest lesson I’ve had to learn over the years is how undeniably remarkable happiness can be, so much so that it doesn’t matter if it’s mine or not. I don’t own the copyrights to it, so I share it everywhere I can and on the days I can’t find it for myself, knowing I’ve given that gift to someone else helps.
Now if only I could get my brain to let go of the hurt caused to my heart by my dad, I may be able to apply that logic to my feelings toward him too. Forgiveness is a powerful tool, I can only hope that one day I learn to use it before it’s too late.
Chapter Three
Ainsley James Dylan
“AJ,waitup!”Ihear the voice of my friend Ranger calling for me as I exit my Fundamentals of Audio and Music course. It’s my last class of the day and he knows it. Now that classes have officially started, he’s got my schedule memorized. I like him a lot, but I think his feelings for me are a little more than just friendly so I’m wary of continuing down this path of friendship with him. I try not to be mean to anyone though and he’s such a nice guy, so this will be hard to navigate if he keeps up the way he has been. He’s probably the closest thing I have to a best friend, if I’m being honest, but I don’t tend to let people get too close to me. There’s too high a risk of losing them. I’ve learned that lesson already.
He’s not super touchy feely or anything, it’s more the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention that makes me uncomfortable. Not in a sleazy way or anything, more so like ‘I think you’re beautiful’ kind of way. It’s sweet, just unfortunately not reciprocated.
At first I thought he’d recognized me as theRock Princess, only for him to never bring it up, not even once. So now I just assume he has a harmless crush. The problem is that I don’t date. Not ever. He’s a sweet enough guy and hot as hell. I just see him as more of a brother and don’t have it in me to commit to anyone when I’ve seen the reality of how love can destroy someone. Love isn’t always pretty and it isn’t always kind. I’d rather give my attention to people who want me but aren’t looking for anything too deep. Surface level is more my style.
I’m not some prudish little thing that doesn’t know anything about dick. I like it just fine. I just don’t need it like some people do and I’ve realized that it’s easier to maintain lighthearted friendships and own a kick ass vibrator than it is to date and feel locked down. I’m just not ready for that. Or maybe I haven’t found the right guy that can change my mind. Either way, it’s just not in the cards for me.
“Hey AJ! Fancy meeting you here,” he wiggles his eyebrows at me, making me giggle at his silly antics, before wrapping me up in a big bear hug.
“‘Sup Range, how was your English Lit class? Professor Windsor still got her eye on you?” I tease, doing my best to make light of what I know is a messed up situation. He makes a face but ignores the question, instead opting to grab my arm and pull me into a slow walk with him towards the car park.
It’s not usually my style, but I worry about him getting mixed messages from my concern at another woman wanting him. It’s not that I’d care if he wanted her. He doesn’t though and I’d feel like shit if he thought my concern was born from stronger feelings for him than I have.
We joke about it often, but I know how much he hates that the woman won’t pass him because he won’t sleep with her. Unprofessional? Yes. Definitely. But it’s his word against hers with literally no proof that she’s cornered him a time or two. Plus, he’s a big guy and she’s a small woman. If anything, the chances of anyone thinking the role reversal was a thing are slim. He’s a good guy at the heart of things and doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.
“Wanna catch a bite and a movie? Friday night movies on the quad. I’ve got a blanket and some snacks ready whenever you are,” he says, winking at me.
“I can’t tonight. I’ve got work, volunteering, and two papers to write. Plus I have to be up early for a tutoring session tomorrow. Some of those kids genuinely need my help to pass and I’d hate to let them down because I overslept,” I respond, hating the way his smile falls. I wish I could find him a nice girl that truly cares for him. If he only knew that I’m doing him a favor by keeping him at arm’s length. Relationships and I go together like fire and ice.
“Oh, yeah. Okay, sure. I get it,” he grouses, sighing his disappointment loudly. The disheartened resignation in his eyes turns to a simmering rage out of nowhere though and he snaps at me. “You know what? I actually don’t get it. You’re always busy. There’s literally something always going on or someone always needing your time. What about your friends though? Can’t I be important too?” He asks, and I hate the underlying meaning behind those words.
“You’re important, Ranger. You are. You’re the closest person to me. In fact, you might be the closest thing I have to a best friend. But it has to be that. We can only be friends. You do understand that don’t you?” I question.
“Um, first of all, that’s not even true. You’re constantly surrounded by people. You have a ton of friends and you don’t really let me in at all. Second, no. No, I don’t understand. Why would it be so bad for you to give us a shot? Why won’t you let me care for you the way you deserve to be cared for? I could be so good to you, but you’ll never give me that chance, will you?” He’s raised his voice to a level I’ve not ever heard from him. Not exactly yelling, but the frustration rings loud and clear in his tone.
“We can’t—no,Ican’t. I don’t want to sound cliche but this really is all me and has absolutely nothing to do with you. I’m so sorry, Ranger.” I try to plead with him, silently begging him to understand, the words tasting like ashes on my tongue. Causing people hurt, even unintentionally, doesn’t sit well with me. Shaking my head and feeling tears well up in my eyes, I barely fight back my own sadness because he deserves more from me. It isn’t his fault that he’s developed feelings for me and it isn’t his fault that I don’t feel the same way. This is on me and me alone, which is genuinely one of the worst feelings.
I don’t let my tears fall, because his guilt over making me cry will be unwarranted, and he’s the kind of guy thatwillfeel guilty despite it not being justifiable. Not here and now, but later, he’d feel bad because he’s a genuinely nice person. I deserve his anger, but he’ll feel awful for it later, so I hold in everything I’m feeling, because it’s not his fault that I’m wired this way—that I’m broken beyond repair.
“Forget this! I’m out,” he grumbles and then turns and stomps off toward the car lot on campus. He only ever brings his car on Friday’s because that’s when he inevitably asks me out to watch the chosen movie of the night. Most of the time they play old classics on a big projector screen in the quad where a lot of students eat lunch here at U of NY—University of New York. There’s street carts that line the walk, with everything from coffee to a full course meal within them, and a massive grassy area to chill and eat or read, maybe even get an assignment or two done on a nice day.
Movie night is a big production around here because it’s put on by the students working on their art and film degrees. So, when they aren’t playing classics, they are showcasing the talents of the Universities student body. Sometimes I even get to help, because their majors are similar to my own, but my heart belongs to the production of music. I may have left my own musical dreams behind, but I sure love helping other people create the sounds that bring forth such strong emotions within a person’s soul.
I watch Ranger walk away, heaving a heavy sigh at the sadness thrumming through my heart at turning down one of the only people I’ve let semi close to me since I was fourteen years old and left my life behind to move to Maine. Turning around and running smack dab into a hard plane of muscles, I cause myself to stumble and fall backwards, only to get caught by the huge strong hands of a big guy who smells delicious, like leather and motor oil with a hint of sweetness, vanilla maybe.
“Oops! My bad, I didn’t mean to—”
