Page 83 of Voracious

Eventually, she rested her head on my shoulder until she agreed to come home with me. She didn’t stay the night, but we did watch TV while the dogs made a fuss of her.

We walked them around the grounds – Stacey was drained, so I carried her to the manor on my back. She fell asleep, but she jolted awake in a panic when I laid her on my bed and demanded I take her home.

Neither of us spoke as I drove her home, but she did ask me to park a street away, because her dad was furious at her for sneaking out without telling him.

Everyone told me to give her time.

I was giving her as much space and time as possible, but then she showed up at the manor drunk a week ago, while Base andDezwere there. Her words were jumbled, and her eyes were so glazed that Mum thought she was on drugs.

Tylarshowed up;Dezhad called her.

We gave Stacey water, and I was told to leave the room soTylarand Mum could change her intoLuciella’spyjamas. Mum said she still had bruises on her legs and hips and doesn’t know why they hadn’t faded yet, though it wasn’t impossible.

I wouldn’t have known at the time, since it had been ages since I’d even seen her without clothes on. I understand why – I haven’t been in the mood either.

But I knew she wanted to see me, so when she fell asleep in the guest room, Isnuckin and held her to my chest and kissed her head and cheeks and nose until she fell back to sleep with mumbled words.

I wasn’t giving a fuck ifTylarcaught us – thankfully, for Stacey’s sake, she didn’t. I woke up the following morning to an empty bed: no message, no note, no nothing.

Not gonna lie, at that moment, I thought I was losing her.

That night, Stacey sent me a text – more like an essay – saying how sorry she was for failing me and our daughter, that she loved me and our angel more than anything. She wished she could have protected her and promised that if she’s ever granted the chance to grow another life inside her, she’ll do everything in her power to keep the baby safe. She said that when I’m ready, if I’m ever ready, that we should leave town and try again.

I told her she was my entire fucking world and it wasn’t her fault – I’d also move to the moon with her and have a football team’s worth of kids if she asked me to.

Ever since that message, I feel like I’m getting my Freckles back. She calls and texts constantly, and even stays over some nights. We don’t have sex or get intimate, which is totally fine with me. Holding her and having her smile at me is more than enough. I’d wait forever for her to be comfortable with being physical.

We’ll get through this. We’ll survive this grief. We’ll make our angel proud of us.

Dad breaks me from the trap in my head. “You said Doctor Turner had to up yourmedsagain.”

I nod, hands in the pockets of my shorts. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

I shrug.

“Are you still sketching?”

I shake my head, staring at nothing as we stop and sit down at the bench. My therapist was concerned about me and decided it was time to either change my dosage again or put me on differentmeds. I chose the former, because my body doesn’t react well to any sudden change in medication. And no matter what I do, I can’t draw. I can’t even think about drawing.

I’m still undiagnosed, so she studies my every move and emotion during our sessions. I’m not like my dad, but I hold some of hisASPDtraits. I’m aware of my surroundings and other’s well-being, but there are moments that everything’s black.

I’ve had those moments maybe three times, and once, it lasted for days.

It was like a mental barricade, formingarmouraround my mind. A dark shadow holding me back, dragging me into the abyss of my own self-destruction. I was trapped in a bubble, unable to be heard or seen. There were voices that terrified me, spoke to me about death and pain.

My therapist thought I was schizophrenic but ruled it out pretty quickly. That’s when they introduced medication.

I had so many fucking uncontrolled thoughts. Urges. So much anger.

No, pure fucking rage. I put too many holes in my walls and smashed up my room. I was fifteen after all. There wasn’t much I could actually do with my anger back then except break things and speak to my parents like shit.

But then I woke up and walked downstairs, and the tightness in my chest and the voice on my shoulder vanished when I saw Stacey sitting at the dining table. That infuriating yet infatuating human that I couldn’t stop looking at whenever she was nearby.

She gave me the finger when no one was looking, and I smiled deep inside while glaring at her.

I haven’t had a block since. Not that she’s the reason why. That’s not medically possible, according to my therapist. She mentioned that I spoke to her a lot about Stacey, and she wanted to make sure it wasn’t an impending, out-of-control obsession.

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