Page 112 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

April 8, 2019

Isit back and dropmy head against the door of the toilet stall. My heart is still racing and I’m trying to inhale deep breaths to slow it down. These panic attacks don’t happen every day anymore, but they still happen. Sometimes it’s the smallest thing that sets me off. I’ll hear a song on the radio, or my mom will make something he used to like for dinner. Other times it’s the big occasions that he’s missing that get to me. My birthday was last week, and even though I had an amazing day with Dylan and my family, I’ve been an emotional wreck on the inside ever since.

This morning wasawful. I couldn’t even make it up the front stairs to come into school. Happy memories of my dad singing happy birthday to me as he carried a cake into my bedroom mixed with the sheer helplessness I felt when I sat on those stairs waiting for him and it just shattered me. The contrast between what I felt about him then and now was too much.

I hate days like this because I crave a drink to take the edge off, but I promised myself I wouldn’t use alcohol as a crutch anymore. And I haven’t. I haven’t had one drop of alcohol since November. Even when it beckons to me and the craving is so intense, I’m on the verge of snapping at someone; I dig deep within myself to find the willpower to resist. Sometimes I do snap, but Dylan has been very accommodating in that regard because...boyfriend material. He lets me rant until I burn it all off.

He’s honestly the best thing for me because my bad days seem to be getting further and further apart. He’s learned how to deal with my crazy and I’ve learned how to deal with his disappearing act. Cat had a calendar stuck up on the dining room wall, which she stopped using, so I took it over to keep track of the passing of eight weeks. I give him the time he needs and then he comes back to me. I hate that he won’t tell me what’s going on, and when he disappears, I go a little crazy. Even though he told me I shouldn’t, I still keep calling to make sure he’s okay and then go a little more insane when I hearthe subscriber you have dialed is not available.

I hate not knowing where he is or what has happened, and he always comes back with little cuts or bruises, so it’s not easy to just sit back and accept his silence. But I do it because he wants to feel like life is normal and I want to give him that escape. Not easy, but tolerable.

I fight to swallow the nausea and slowly stand up. Once I’m ready to face the world, I open the door and head to the basin to apply my makeup. After neatening my hair, I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk out.

I find him waiting for me outside the bathroom, leaning against his locker as he scrolls through his phone. “Le sigh, De Lorenzo.”

He smiles, looking up from his phone. “That bad, huh? Better or worse than yesterday?”

“Worse. I couldn’t even get up the stairs this morning. It’s been almost a year and a half. Surely, I should be getting over this by now.”

“You’re just weak, is all.” He throws his arm over my shoulder and kisses my temple before we start walking down the corridor. “What did my dad tell you last weekend?”

I roll my eyes. “If he had to mix kryptonite and Archille’s heel, he’d get me.”

Our arrangement has been going on for six months now and we spend a lot of time in each other’s houses with each other’s parents. I was very wary of his parents at the beginning. Despite what he told my mother, I thought they were the ones hurting Dylan. I thought maybe they’d lied about his sister being in boarding school and they had her trapped in the cellar, and sometimes they got mad and chucked him in there, too.

Wild imagination, I know, but that’s what happens when one is kept in the dark and has to figure out where mysterious bruises come from. But his sister is in boarding school because I overhear his mother on the phone with her often. I’ve also discreetly checked for chains and locks in the wine cellar every time his mom has taken me down there and there is no evidence whatsoever.

So, with no proof to the contrary, I warmed up to his parents quite quickly because they’re just loveable people. Just like Dylan, they overlay all emotional issues with an inappropriate dose of humor. This past weekend I was helping them set up a new dresser for his sister’s bedroom. The mirror of the old one apparently broke, though I’m not sure how. His mom told me her room stays vacant until she comes home over the summer.

I didn’t question it because Dylan and his dad were so hyped that they got me excited to start building. It was actually a lot of fun, and while we were putting the dresser together, they asked me about my parents. I got a little emotional talking about my dad. Lorraine gave me a hug and, out of nowhere, Giorgio cracks this joke about me being weak. He said it so casually, not even lifting his eyes from the bolt he was tightening. I almost took him seriously, but then Dylan pulled his lips in to stop a smile, and I realized his dad was just yanking my chain for no good reason, so I laughed and was instantly crowned a loser. It’s a weird game they play and that whole scenario made me feel like I’d just been accepted into their little clan, so I didn’tfeellike a loser.

I take hold of the hand on my shoulder and interlink our fingers as we continue walking. “I want you to know thatyou’rethe real loser. Do you remember the movie you chose on Saturday night? Who choosesThe Longest RideoverTaken?”

He flinches as he should because the shame must be overwhelming. “You’re still on about that? I didn’t wanna watchTaken. It’s overrated. AndThe Longest Ridewas...great.”

“It was not! But that’s what you get for choosing Nicholas Sparks over Liam Neeson. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who suffered through that.”

“Hi, Dylan,” Nicole greets as she passes us. She doesn’t touch his arm anymore, but he still gets a discreet wink when she thinks I’m not looking.

“Hey, Nicole.”

“You still don’t see that she’s into you?” I ask once she’s out of earshot.

“I don’t see any other girl because I only have eyes for you.” With the hand holding mine, he twirls me around, and when I turn back to face him, there’s a short-stemmed red rose in front of me.

I snatch it from his hand. “A rose? Why? My birthday was last week.”

“I don’t need a special occasion to give a pretty girl a rose.” He pulls his lips in, trying not to smile as he waits for the comment he knows is coming.

Because he’s expecting it, I have to make sure it’s a good one. I lift the rose to my nose and sniff it as I think about it. “Roses are red. Violets are blue. If I cut you, motherfucker, I’m sure you’ll bleed pure cheese fondue.”

Laughter fills the hallway and that cute tint on his cheeks gets a few shades darker. “Yasss, Queen!” He wraps his arms around me. “Come here and get your hug for the day.” He dips his head to kiss the tip of my nose. “You are blushing, though.”

I use a pin to secure the rose into my messy bun. “It’s second-hand embarrassment for you.”

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