Page 40 of The Lies We Tell Ourselves

I don’t know if I closed my eyes or passed out, but they snapped open as a wave of warmth washed over me. A door banged, and I became hyper aware of my surroundings. The stale smell of the dorms filtered through my nose, and his thudding footfalls were now muted by carpet. Lights flashed above me as we moved swiftly along the corridor toward the elevator, the soft ding perfectly timed as the doors slid open. I caught a glimpse of my fuzzy reflection. I looked like shit, but after what I’d been through in the last few… hours? Minutes? I wasn’t surprised in the least.

“Here you go,” Dillon muttered as he pushed the door open to my room. His head swung from side to side before he looked down at me. “Which one?”

Which one is what? Oh, bed. He meant bed. “The right,” I rasped. He softly placed me down as if I was something fragile and precious, then removed my shoes and socks before starting on my pants. The button was undone, the zipper halfway down before my brain kicked in. “S-stop.” My hand shot out and grabbed his arm. If he could feel the ferocity of the shakes running through me, he didn’t react to them.

“Jamie?” The pained tone of his voice tugged at something inside me I didn’t want to look too closely at. “Please,” he begged. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes. I… I can’t—” He turned away in frustration, hands fisted in his hair as I gingerly pulled myself up onto my elbows, my eyes enraptured by him. He paced back and forth, burning a path in the carpet. No matter how many times he retraced his steps, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He was beautifully broken, fierce and deadly. But right now, he looked small and lost. He looked like mine.

“I can do it myself.” My breathless words were softer than a summer breeze, but Dillon heard them and froze. His shattered eyes trained on me as his chest heaved, shoulders rising and falling. A myriad of emotions played across his face, eyebrows scrunched as if he wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find wherewithal to articulate them. He stepped toward me with an arm outstretched. I held up my hand, and he turned to stone. “I-I can manage. Y-you should go.”

“Jamie.” His pained exhale was almost enough to make me change my mind, but I locked that feeble thought down. He’d done enough; too much, really. I was vulnerable, raw and exposed in a way I never wanted him to see. He acted like he hated me one minute, then became my dark knight the next. I was getting whiplash. It was a total mind fuck. What I needed was silence, rest, and sleep. With him hovering, I wasn’t going to get anything.

“No, Dillon. You need to go.” It hurt to say those words, and if the look of devastation that flickered across his face was anything to go by, he felt it too. But I couldn’t do this. Not with him, not now. “Just go. Please.”

His hand wrapped around the handle, and he slowly pulled it back, his eyes a vortex of agony. I bit down on my cracked lip, the pain helping to keep my emotions in check. All I wanted to do was reach out to him and beg him to stay, but I knew it was the wrong thing to do.

“Can I…” He shook his head and slipped out the door like a thief in the night, like he was never here. The Dillon I knew still existed—I knew it in the marrow of my bones—but he was buried beneath the pain and the anger he carried. Was he crying out for me as much as I was for him?

I’d spent the last week hiding out in our dorm. Mal had been an absolute saint, and if it wasn’t for him, I’m pretty certain I would have packed up and left. When he heard what happened, and I didn’t answer my phone, he burst through our door like his ass was on fire, threw himself on the bed, and wrapped me up in his arms until I stopped crying. When I finally did, he looked me over and arranged for one of the medical students to check me over. That’s how I ended up with a prescription for some seriously strong painkillers that knocked me out for nearly three days straight.

Today was the first day I felt remotely human. I ached like I’d been hit by a bull, but I couldn’t keep hiding. Mom never did. She dusted herself off and got back up again. She told me I was her reason for fighting, her reason to keep on going. It made me feel special but also like a curse. All I’m left with are painful memories and unanswered questions. Did she stay all those years because of me? Am I the reason she got hurt to begin with? I’ll never know, but I can’t help but wonder.

The pills went down easily as I sipped on my water and focused on what I needed to take to the art studio. I grabbed my sketch book, charcoal sticks, and pencils before slipping my bag over my shoulder. The halls were quiet as I headed out of the building. It was strange not having to duck and dodge large groups of people. It was nice to be able to just be in the moment without the distraction of everything around me being so loud I couldn’t think.

My mind had been working overtime the last few days, trying to understand why Dillon was the person who found and rescued me. It doesn’t make sense. How did he know I was there after the building was evacuated? The last thing I remember clearly was Velecote looming over me as the room emptied around us, the only sound louder than the stampede of feet was the wailing alarm. I can still hear it ringing distantly in my ears, like some kind of haunting tinnitus.

It’s like I’ve got all the pieces of the puzzle, but they’re not fitting together. Maybe I’m looking at it all the wrong way. Just like in art, perspective is everything. I want to know the answers, but also I fear they might be the final nail in the coffin. I’ve got myself caught in a catch twenty-two situation. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Thank god for my ten minute warning alarm—I don’t know where I’d be without it. Time management has never been my strong point. I turned it off before checking for any messages, but the screen is blank for once. A small smile lifted my lips at the background photo of my little sunbeam. I sucked in a deep breath and brushed off the melancholy clinging to me like a second skin. It’s a new day and all that.

The art rooms were always a hive of activity, and today was no different. The smell of old paint and oils saturated the air, permeating every surface. To many, it might be overpowering, but to me, it was a comfort I refused to let go. I settled at my table and waited for Mrs. Wright to tell us what our next project would be. Gina, the girl that shared my table, slipped into her seat.

“Hey, Jamie.” She smiled sweetly at me, her fiery-red hair illuminated by the sun streaming through the windows. “I heard you had a bit of trouble recently. You doin’ okay?”

If only she knew the truth. Mal told me no one knew what went down after the alarm was set off, and I took some comfort in that. “Yeah.” I sighed. “Just had the stomach flu. Knocked me out for a few days.” I hoped that was enough for her. I didn’t really know her beyond the few interactions we’d had in class, and they’d been painful enough. I liked people, but I found it unbelievably hard to talk to them. I sucked at inane, surface-level chatter about the weather and classes, and the more someone pushed for an answer, the more I shut down. Mal and Ava were the only two people I had ever immediately felt comfortable with. Lie.

“Alright, everyone.” Mrs. Wright clapped her hands together to gain our attention. “Today is going to be fun,” she said as she cast her eyes over the room. They landed on me for a beat before moving on, and air wooshed out of me when she turned her back. “I’d like you all to go outside this afternoon and look at natural structures…” I tuned her out as she continued, my mind focused on being outside. I knew exactly where I was going to go. I needed somewhere peaceful where I could work without getting disrupted. “I want you to look at form, how its natural composition supports the structure, and really try and convey that depth in your work. You can use any medium you like.”

Five minutes later, I strolled across the green expanse of lawns that separated the main part of campus from the sports fields. The shrill sound of a whistle belted through the air moments before the bellowing roar of a team in the middle of practice took over. I didn’t know who was out there, and I didn’t especially care, as Mal had hinted the issues I’d had on campus were because of the football team. One member to be precise, but there was no way of verifying that fact because apparently what happened at football practice, stayed at football practice.

I scoffed and kicked a stone that bounced along the grass until I lost sight of it. The light today was perfect. The skies were overcast, and gray clouds were marled across the vast expanse of blue. I could get lost in the ever changing patterns they created, but sadly, they weren’t my focus today. There was an old gnarled oak down by the lake that would be perfect…

A pained cry rendered the air, followed by a sharp gasping breath. “Hello?” I called out, treading carefully across the grass. The world fell silent, and even the bird song seemed to have ceased as I strained to hear the sound again. When nothing happened for a while, I shrugged it off and kept walking in the direction of the lake.

“Fuck!” My head snapped to the right, my interest piqued, and I turned to head in the direction of the rasping voice. “No. No. No,” they chanted, each word growing more and more pained, their agony palpable. Twigs cracked under my feet as I broke through the tree line, slowly heading toward whoever was hiding in the woods. From what I could hear, it sounded like someone having a panic attack. Their stuttering, gasping breaths ratched up my own anxiety with every step.

I couldn’t explain what drew me toward them, other than their suffering pulled on something inside me, and I had this overwhelming urge to make sure they were alright. I’d suffered a fair few panic attacks in my time, and it was one of the worst things to endure alone without someone or something there to anchor you and help you fight back. Someone to hold you, to guide you as you worked on pulling yourself back from that ledge.

“I-I…I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I-I-I…” A low groan helped me cross the last of the distance between us, and what I found made me feel like I was free falling from a thousand feet with nothing to catch me when I crash landed.

Dillon sat on the ground, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them, head buried in the space between them. His breath hitched with every labored inhale, and my heart squeezed in sympathy and ached with confusion. What happened to bring someone I thought of as so strong to this point? Frenetic energy radiated off him as he rocked side to side.

Unsure what to do or how to help without making things worse, I crouched a few feet in front of him. As if sensing me, he lifted his head and stared at me through unseeing eyes. Tears tracked down his flushed cheeks, but it was the swirling darkness that had hold of his eyes that made it impossible to breathe. I reached out to him, the need to wrap him in my arms tangible. My fingers tingled as I brushed the damp strands of hair off his face. “Dil?” I said softly, so as not to exasperate his emotional turmoil.

Dillon blinked, unleashing a fresh wave of tears as his lips trembled. I want to wipe them off where they clung to his plump bottom lip but apprehension held me hostage.

“Dillon? Can you hear me?”

He blinked again, and some of the shadows cleared from his eyes like a breaking storm. For a fleeting moment, recognition sparked in his ebony eyes, but it was gone before I could react. He gasped, fingers clawing at his throat like he was struggling to draw in a breath.

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