Pushing the Limits(52)

Rubbing the pad of my thumb under her eye, I brush away the mascara that's smeared. "Tell me."

She shakes her head slightly.

"Baby, please." I rub a hand along her throat and jaw. "You don't have  to suffer in pain alone anymore. Let me take some of that burden." I  rest my forehead against hers, feeling her hot tears against my cheeks.

Slowly, she leans forward and grabs one of the open notebooks on the  floor next to us. "This was from a month before she died." She clears  her throat as she begins to read.



I had the same dream again last night. Each time, it becomes scarier and  darker. The dark shadows close in on me, making me claustrophobic. My  throat tightens, and I choke out for air, but I can't breathe. I always  wake up right before I pass out, but I feel the darkness surround me as I  try and fall back asleep.



She swallows and turns the page. "This is a few days later." She begins reading again.



The dreams are getting worse, and I can't sleep. It feels as if there's  this demon living inside me, torturing me in my mind every time I close  my eyes. It dampens my mood immediately, and I feel nothing but fear.  During the day, I feel back to normal, but as soon as the sun sets, I'm  scared again. I'm scared because I know what's coming.



She turns another page. "This was a couple weeks before she passed."



Aspen is so excited for our birthday that's coming up. I keep thinking  of ideas on what to make her, but I can't seem to think straight  anymore. Even in school, my eyes feel so heavy that I almost fall asleep  and my teachers constantly ask if I'm okay. It's embarrassing when all  the kids turn around and look at me like I'm some kind of circus freak. I  just wish the dreams would go away. They're getting darker and more  detailed, making it harder for me to wake up from them. A few nights  ago, voices started echoing in the dreams, saying awful things, telling  me to do awful things.

I feel more alone than ever. I'm afraid to tell Aspen. I don't know how  to explain it to where it'll make sense. The anxiety of it all makes me  want to cut more and deeper. I cut until I bleed and nearly pass out. It  helps me forget, even if it's just temporary.

Mom and Dad think it's all an act, so I pretend everything's okay when  they're around. I pretend I'm their happy, adventure-seeking girl. Aspen  sees the scars, but always blinks away. I think she's afraid to talk  about it, and I'm afraid she'll start seeing how weak and tortured I  feel. I wish I knew how to explain it so they would understand, but when  I try to sleep, it feels as if the life is being sucked out of me more  and more each night.

I'm not sure how much more I can take.



"This is a week before." She flips the page again.



I cut deeper than I ever have before last night. My wrists have all  scared over, but my legs are like fresh canvases, waiting for my marks  on them. The sight of fresh blood surfaces a new wave of emotions-one  part relief, one part grief.

My thighs ache with the dull pain that the razor left behind. I focus on  the pain, focus on the blood gushing down my legs and over my knees and  ankles. I feel lifted as if I'm floating and the world can't catch me.  The feeling is only temporary, but for those few moments, the pain  vanishes and I'm no longer that girl.

But then reality comes crashing back down, and I'm that girl again. The  dreams, the dark thoughts, the sadness-it consumes me. It's getting  harder to pretend that everything's okay. Smiling is now a constant  chore and acting like everything is fine is a constant reminder that  it's not.

I just have to wait until our birthday.

One more birthday with Aspen.

Because I love her.



Tears fall from my cheeks as I see the agony written all over her face. I  want to reach inside and take all her pain away, but I know this has  been haunting her for too long to ever fully be pain-free.

"You don't have to read anymore."

She sniffs, wiping under her eyes. "No, I want to."

She flips the page and starts again.



I died in my dream last night. I've had similar dreams before of  floating up to the sky and watching above, as my body lay motionless. It  doesn't even hurt. There's no pain, no remorse. All I feel is relief.  I'm lighter and for the first time, I smile genuinely.

When I wake in the morning, I know I shouldn't be feeling those things,  but I can't help it. I want to feel those things-the happiness, the  relief of no longer being in pain-but I never will as long as I'm here,  suffering.         

     



 

Our fourteenth birthday is tomorrow and Mom is already preparing  everything. Aspen is glowing as usual, talking about how in just a  couple of years, we'll be getting our driver's license. Then she goes on  about how much fun it's going to be going to proms and homecomings,  dates at the movies, football games on Friday nights. I always agree and  smile, but inside, I'm dying. I want to puke anytime I think about  those things. How long am I supposed to pretend? I'm hanging on by a  thread and the only thing getting me through it is knowing Aspen and I  will share our special day together one more time.

I love her with my whole heart. I cry in my bed at night when I know  she's sound asleep thinking about how much I'm going to miss her. How  much I'm going to miss. But this weight on my chest feels too heavy that  I can barely breathe anymore. I hate that I can't be like her, talk  about what the future holds, and all the stuff she gets excited over.  But as I look at the scars on my body, I know the pain is overbearing.  Aaron barely pays attention to us anymore as it is with his part-time  job and new girlfriend, but lately, he's been looking at me with this  look in his eye as if he knows something's different. I smile back and  put his worries at ease, because … what else can I do?



Aspen's voice is somber and gravely, but she wipes her face again and turns the page.

"This is her last entry." Her throat swells up as she chokes out a sob. I  grip her tighter as if she'll float away at any given time.



I love you, Aspen.



Her hand releases the journal as she bows her head down and cries. I  shift her body into mine, the journal falling to the floor. I grip her  with everything I have. She clings to me like her life support, her body  shaking and convulsing as she wraps her arms around me and releases all  the energy she has left out, shattering around me.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ASPEN



My body feels wrecked as I slowly wake up, feeling the warmth around me.  My eyes flutter open just enough to see that I'm in my bed, wrapped in  blankets.

I've no idea how long I've been asleep or what time it is. I reach a  hand out and search for my phone, but it's not in my usual spot on the  nightstand.

I shift, trying to feel around for it on the floor, but an arm pulls me  back, and as I inhale his scent, I know Morgan is laying with me here.

"What are you looking for?" he asks, his voice deep and hoarse.

"My phone. What time is it?"

"It's the middle of the night. You fell asleep in my lap."

I feel my breathing staggering as I remember everything from last night. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"Aspen … " He grabs my jaw and tilts it upward. "I don't ever want to hear  you say that again, you understand? If anything, I'm sorry. I'm sorry  you have to go through this. I'm sorry I don't know what I'm supposed to  be doing, but I'll do anything to help you."

I close my eyes as tears begin to fill up. "You're doing it. Just having you here is all I need."

Feeling my chest tighten, I press my body against his and inhale. His  strong arms capture me in a tight grip, molding our bodies together.

We lay there until my breathing steadies, but I still don't feel right.

"I think I'm going to take a shower."

"Are you sure? I'll hold you all night if you need me." He looks down at  me under his long lashes as the corner of his lips tilt slightly.

"Yeah, I think it'll help me feel better."

He leans down and presses a soft kiss on my lips. "Just holler if you need me, okay?"

I nod. "I will. I won't be long." I shift and throw the covers off. I grab a change of clothes before walking out of the room.

Needing to soothe my dry throat, I walk to the kitchen for a glass of  water. It feels as if I've been crying for hours and that my body is  drained of every ounce of energy possible. Setting the glass down in the  sink, I walk out and glance to where my studio is. Notebooks are spread  out on the floor, my easel and canvas are still out, paint tubes  scattered alongside.

I take a step and shiver as memories of reading over her journals smack  me right in between the eyes. The words she wrote, the pain she felt,  the secret she took to her grave-all these things that'll haunt me for  the rest of my life.

Feeling my throat burn with acid, I cover my mouth and run to the  bathroom as the water comes right back up. As I lean over the toilet,  dry heaving, and crying, I can't focus on anything but the emptiness I  feel inside.