Page 32 of Faithful

“Yeah. I overheard it by accident. There was no mention of any kind of drugs in the press or the official police report.”

We are quiet for a few heartbeats and for once I’m actually grateful for the silence. I have too much happening in my head and my anger is now dark and menacing and needs to be released. But of course I’m not going to lose my shit in front of my aunt.

I’m just going to lose it later. Alone.

“Walk me through it,” I ask her. “Walk me through it from the standpoint of a mental health professional. Not a relative.”

Amelia takes a shaky breath and straightens up. “Extreme mood swings. Emotional highs and lows. Loss of interest in activities one otherwise finds pleasant. Distractibility. Poor decision-making. Exaggerated sense of self-confidence followed by depression. Depressive episodes are oftentimes accompanied by either slowed behavior or restlessness…” She pauses. “And thoughts of worthlessness and suicide.”

Although I’ve taken a mental health class and am aware of all the symptoms of bipolar disorder, hearing them in this context still forces the air out of my lungs.

I can’t breathe. So I just sit there frozen and a little bit sick because of my own ignorance and self-pity while things are finally forming a very clear, very disturbing picture I failed to see sooner.

“I believe,” Amelia says softly, “she had some handle on it. I believe music helped her. She kept on switching hobbies so often, I was terrified she’d snap, but then she picked up bass and kinda stuck with it.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew. Just because Gavin made it clear he’d ruin my family doesn’t mean I couldn’t watch you two quietly from the sidelines.”

“What did he threaten you with?”

“That is a secret I’d like to keep, Dylan.”

“Okay,” I say.

The memories of that night when my father found Hayden and me together slam against the forefront of my mind. Nausea hits my stomach and makes its way up to my throat. My reaction is so sudden that I don’t even get a chance to put up any kind of mask in front of my aunt. I pretty much melt into a puddle right then and there, overwhelmed by the onslaught of old faded visions that are now sharp and in color and push against my eyeballs.

Amelia sees right through it, right through my pain and panic. “Are you alright, sweetie? You look ill.” She rises to her feet and crosses the room to stand next to me, taking my hand in her small one.

“I’m just not sure why I never noticed. I’m a social studies major, and I never realized that my own sister wasn’t alright.”

“It’s normal to feel guilty, Dylan, but you have to understand she wasn’t the only one struggling. You don’t think I know what your father did to you?”

I feel like I’ve just been slapped across my face with a basketball. “What do you mean?” I ask, looking up at her.

She loses all pretense of being a well-educated, refined, middle-aged woman and kneels on the floor. Our gazes are level now. “He’s been abusing you since you were a little boy.”

I want to say that no, that’s not the way it happened. He only started to get physical when I was seventeen, but I can’t seem to make my tongue move.

“He manipulated you, Dylan.” Amelia continues to talk in a low, soothing voice, her hands now clutching both of mine. “He controlled every single aspect of your life in hopes of making you into something you’re not meant to be. You never inherited any of his cruelty or selfishness, and I wish I could have done more, but I’m glad that at least you’re here now, glad that my hands aren’t as tied anymore, and that you turned out to be such a wonderful young man.”

“I don’t know about that,” I choke out. “Wonderful and Dylan Watson don’t seem to be compatible.”

“Silly boy.” She laughs shakingly and I realize there’s moisture in her eyes. “You’re nothing like your father.”

Somehow the long-overdue concern and tenderness from my aunt loosens me up a bit, and I have this itch to share my own secret since she shared a bit of hers.

“Can I tell you something in confidence?” I ask nervously.

“Of course. You know you can always talk to me. About anything.”

“Can you promise me that it won’t leave this room and you won’t judge me?”

“I promise.”

“I met someone.”

“Oh.” She looks stunned at first, then a smile breaks up the tension in her features. “Is that it?”

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