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“Yeah,” she replied groggily. “I was…uh, bad at school.”
“You weren’t bad, Liz,” I told her, fucking hating when she said that about herself. “You’ve never been bad.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Not sure.” Liz tried to shake her head. “Just am.”
“Well, Iamsure, Liz,” I told her, feeling my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. “I’m sure that you’re good and kind and the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.” Swallowing down my emotions, I smoothed a hand over her hair and leaned in close to whisper, “You are all of thegoodthings in the world and none of the bad. You won’t feel this way forever. Okay? You’re going to feel better again.”
“No, I’m not, Hugh,” she mumbled drowsily, eyelids fluttering shut. “I’m bipolar.”
“Bipolar?” I croaked back. “What do you mean you’re bipolar, Liz?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Is that what they diagnosed you with?” I asked, feeling beyond concerned for my friend, while I worked frantically to register the wordbipolarand bring what information I had on the matter to the forefront of my mind.
“Liz?” Sitting straight up, I took her hand in mine, feeling a million complicated emotions crash through me all at once. “Did the doctors say you’re bipolar?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Liz.” At a complete loss, I stared down at the girl I’d spent most of my childhood adoring and croaked out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Too scared,” she mumbled, squeezing my hand. “You’d leave.”
“I wouldn’t leave,” I strangled, chest heaving, as I tried to make sense of all I’d learned in such a short space of time. “Iwon’tleave,” I quickly clarified, heart thundering violently. “I’mnotleaving.”
Bewildered by the complex emotions I had for this girl, I took her hand in mine and kissed the back of it. I had no idea why I did it, only that I needed to. “I’m staying, okay?” I kissed her hand again. “No matter what.”
“I need you.”
“I know.” Nodding, I cradled her hand to my cheek, needing to feel her touch. “I need you, too.”
“So tired.” With her eyes still closed, she nodded sluggishly before mumbling, “Please stay.”
“I am staying,” I promised, attention flicking to her hand I was still holding. “Right here.” Turning it over, I stared in horror at the deep welts on her wrist. “Brian didn’t do that to your wrist, did he, Liz?”
Nothing.
“Liz,” I said, a little sterner now, attention still riveted to her wrist. Beneath the fresh cuts were older scars. Deep scars. Ones I’d never noticed before because she always wore dozens of bracelets. “Where did these scars come from?”
“Don’t go,” was all she replied, and it was a barely coherent mumbled slur. “He gets me when you’re not here.”
“It’s okay, Liz. You can sleep,” I whispered, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t getting answers tonight. She was too out of it. “I won’t let the monster get you.” Trembling, I blinked back the tears filling my eyes because I knew this was bad. “Or the scary lady.”
“No matter what?”
“Yeah, Liz.” Sniffling, I used my shoulder to wipe the tear on my cheek. “No matter what.”
I waited until I was sure Lizzie was asleep before sneaking out of her room and straight into their family bathroom. I spent enough time at this house to know where everything was kept. Including the prescription Liz took daily.
Stalking over to the cabinet above the sink, where they kept the medicine, I swung it open and started rummaging through the countless bottles until I found one with her name on it.
Elizabeth Young.
Clonazepam.
