Page 234 of Releasing 10
“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Hugh!” Mam cried out, throwing her hands up. “Why can’t you see that I’m trying to protect you? You are too young to handle the sadness in that house!”
“And you think this place is any better?” I demanded, chest rising and falling quickly. “When Dad’s depression blankets every room in this house!”
“Hugh!”
“I’m not Claire,” I strangled out, feeling too damn much in this moment. “I see. I hear. I observe. So don’t try to keep me from her when you would never leave him!”No matter howbadly he drags the rest of us down. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, does it?”
“Hugh, wait!” Mam started to say, but I’d had enough.
Ignoring my mother’s pleas, I stormed out of my room, bags in hand, and moved for the staircase at top speed.
“Whoa—where are you going in such a rush?” Gibs asked, hovering on the top step of the stairs, clad in a dinosaur onesie and balancing two bowls of cereal. “Hugo?”
“Get out of my way, lad” was all I could reply, too consumed in my anger to think clearly. The hypocrisy in this house was stifling and I’d had enough.
Beyond furious, I stalked out the front door without a backwards glance and moved for my bike.
“Wait!” Mam called out, running out of the house after me. “Hugh, please just wait a minute!”
“Don’t bother,” I warned, balancing the saddle between my legs, while I adjusted my bags over both shoulders. “I’m going.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.” Sighing in defeat, my mother plucked her car keys from her pocket. “I’ll drive you.”
I looked at her, feeling uncertain. “You will?”
“It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, now, does it?” Another weary sigh escaped her and she moved for her car. “Pop the boot and load your bike in—and for the love of God, call me if you need anything. I mean anything, Hugh. Just pick up the phone and Iwillcome to you.”
THE BOY WHO STAYED
Lizzie
AUGUST 4, 2000
WHENHUGH ARRIVED AT MY HOUSE THE MORNING AFTER OUR PHONE CALL ARMEDwith a duffel bag and his beloved PlayStation, he proceeded to set up camp on a blow-up mattress on my bedroom floor.
My nightmares didn’t scare my boyfriend off, nor did my rapidly altering mood swings or my inability to get out of bed most days.
Hugh quickly adapted to the dysfunctional dynamic of my home life, and instead of shying away, he threw himself into the mix, learning from my father about the different kinds of meds I needed to take and when.
He didn’t buckle under the weight of my mother’s illness, like I did, or my father’s increasingly bad mood. The revolving door of nurses to the house didn’t seem to faze him, nor did the horrendous side effects of Mam’s chemo, and he waited patiently outside every door of every psychiatrist I was deposited in front of.
Deep down inside, I had always known I didn’t deserve a friend like Hugh Biggs, but that knowledge was only vindicated further by his actions this summer. Anyone else would have turned on their heels and bolted, but not Hugh. He stayed despite the tears, trauma, and tantrums.
He stayed.
For me.
Five weeks had quickly ticked by, and Hugh had remained faithfully by my side throughout, proving, once again, thatthisboy kept his word. Aside from the two nights each week that he had to be home for dinner, we had spent every single second of summer together.
I’d always known I loved Hugh, but my feelings for him had deepened over the summer. Like the roots of the tall oak tree in the meadow that sprawled deep beneath the surface of the earth, the love I felt for this boy had taken ahold of my heart to the point where I honestly thought I might die without him.
Even on my darkest nights, when I truly felt like death was my only option, I held firm in the knowledge that I could endure the agony that was my fucked-up mind if it meant I got to stay withhim. If I died, he wouldn’t be there, and I couldn’t bear it.
So Ihadto keep going.
I had tofight.
“Mam called,” Hugh announced on Friday evening when we were washing the dishes after dinner. “She collected my uniform today.”
