Page 13 of Take Me With You

I had more fun than I could have imagined on those slopes today. Kincaid’s presence only made it that much easier. He was a patient and well-informed teacher, and I could tell by his moves that he was also an expert in the sport.

I was thankful that he hadn’t left my side as my stepsister so easily had. Not once had he shown an ounce of resentment for being stuck with me. Because there are nine of us on this trip, I find myself being paired up with him more often than not, like this morning after breakfast when we’d played a game of cards.

I hoped his attentiveness toward me hadn’t distracted his intentions to relax on this trip.

My phone vibrates again, and I get off the bed to grab it.

Unlocking my phone, I see a couple of missed calls and text messages. My stomach drops when I see who the calls and messages are from. I climb back onto the bed, chewing on my bottom lip. As I ponder whether to respond, another one comes through.

I scroll to the top.

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SYD:I know it’s been a while, but I’ll be in town soon. Can we talk?

SYD:You know we cut off contact with you because that was best for us all, right?

SYD:Are you just going to keep ignoring my calls and messages?

SYD:You know what? Maybe we were right. Fucking nut job!

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THERE IS AT LEAST HALFan hour between each message.

I can’t imagine what would be so urgent that she would reach out to me after all this time. Seeing her name throws me back into a space and time I’d hoped to never revisit.

My fingers tremble as I remove my shorts and throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before grabbing my coat and putting it on. Sticking my phone into my pocket, I slip out of my room, down the hallway, and out the front door.

Making my way to the side of the house without balconies, I pull the phone from my pocket.

My breathing picks up, and my chest begins to hurt as a knot forms in my throat. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I know this situation is unhealthy for me. I shouldn’t be considering making this call, but my finger hovers over the number.

I can’t bring myself to dial the number. It’s too torturous. Why would I want to put myself through that nightmare time in my life again?

My heart races at the thought of hearing her voice again. Someone that was closer to me than any other person in the world and whom I trusted with my life I no longer spoke with. When I needed her the most, she turned her back on me, proving that she didn’t love me as she claimed to.

Not how I loved her.

Dropping the phone into the snow, I push my fingertips into my eye sockets to force the images away. I try to press back the vision of the derision on her face, the judgment in her eyes and how I begged her to help me.

I try my damnedest to ignore the stifling feeling of being locked away that surrounds me. I try to remember the good times.

Unable to do it, I let the hot tears pour down my face.

The sadness.

The loneliness.

The grief.

The fear.

The despair.

I’m drowning in them all until I remember what the therapist said.

When you release the image of control, you will realize you control what matters the most. You.

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