Pushing the Limits(53)

     



 

Anticipating another attack, I brace myself for what's to come.

That's the one thing people never tell you about anxiety-people like me  know it's an irrational state of mind, but we can't stop it from  happening. Everything in my logical brain screams that it's going to be  okay, I'm fine, that this is ridiculous, but that other piece of me  can't see that logic and refuses to listen. The dichotomy of it all is  overwhelming and completely frustrating.

Splashing cold water on my face, I look down into the sink, watching the  water swirl down the drain while my mind shatters my walls and leaves  me helpless. I don't know how long I stare into the water, but my eyes  burn with tears and my chest aches heavily with guilt.

Pushing off the vanity, I start the shower and undress, needing to  cleanse my body. Thoughts of her consume my mind, images of that day  take over, and soon, I'm curled up into a ball as the water streams over  me.

I hear Morgan's muffled voice above me as he grabs me and pulls me up.  "Aspen!" My body goes limp as the emotional exhaustion cripples me. I  feel my body against his chest as he holds me tight and walks me out.

"Sweetheart, open your eyes. Please." I hear the desperation in his tone as he places me down on the bed.

I try, but they close the second I get them to open.

"Can you hear me?"

I nod.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I'm just so tired," I manage to say.

"I'm going to get you dressed, okay?"

I nod, lying helplessly as he dries me off with a towel and dresses me  like a two-year-old. It's mortifying, but my body is so drained, moving  seems like an impossibility right now.

"I know what I need to do," I finally say as he tucks me back in.

"Shh, baby. You need rest." He soothes me with his hand over my head and  pushes the hair back. "Let's talk when you're feeling better."

With no energy to argue, I nod my head and let sleep take over.



MORGAN



I don't sleep the entire time I lay with Aspen. I watch.

I watch and make sure she's breathing. I watch her chest move up and  down in steady rhythms. I watch her body calmly sleep as I tuck her  inside my arm.

I wish I knew what to say or even do for her. I know when I first  returned home and I'd run into friends or friends of my parents, they'd  give me that look. The look of pity. They'd tell me how sorry they were,  and if there was anything that they could do to just let them know.

But there's never a right thing to say to anyone who loses a sister or  brother. Even with the circumstances, the emptiness still exists. But  she's been fighting this battle for six years. Six long years with no  answers or closure, and now it's all come surfacing at once.

I can't blame her for handling it the way she is. I just wish I knew how to help her through it.

"Aspen, sweetheart," I whisper as I kneel next to the bed. She's still  in a deep sleep, but I don't want her to think I just left her. "Baby, I  have to pick Natalia up from my mom's and take her to school. I'll be  right back, okay?" I set a glass of water down on the nightstand. "I  brought you some water."

She shifts slightly, moaning as I rub a hand alongside her arm. I kiss her temple and stand up.





After dropping Natalia off at school, I make a quick coffee run before  heading back to Aspen's apartment. I expected her to still be sleeping  or at least in her bed, drinking the water and relaxing.

But that's not the scene I walk into at all. Hardly.

When I walk in with our cups of coffee, I hear music blaring from her  studio again, and I immediately begin panicking that she's right back  where she was last night. I set the coffees down on the kitchen counter  and walk to the studio, anticipating the same scene as I walked into the  night before.

There's paint everywhere, her brushes strewn on the floor haphazardly, and she's standing there in the middle of a mini-tornado.

"Aspen?" I call out slowly walking up behind her in hopes I don't scare  her. "Sweetheart?" She's standing in front of her easel, painting with  harsh, aggressive strokes. I can feel her anger seething from the back  of her head, smoke blowing out of her ears.

I watch as she furiously attacks the canvas with her brush, making  stroke after stroke, no real concept of what she's painting. I notice  the finger marks along her jeans where she's wiped the paint from her  fingers. Her beautiful golden hair is in a tangled mess on top of her  head.

I stand next to her and see the tight lines on her face as she focuses  on the canvas in front of her. I call her name again, but she doesn't  move.         

     



 

Walking over to the iPod dock, I turn the music off. The silence is  deafening, and the moment the sound ceases, Aspen turns towards me, her  arms collapsing at her sides, paintbrush falling to the floor. I've  never seen someone look more devastated than she looks at this moment.  Her normally bright eyes are swollen and bloodshot. Her lips are puffy,  but not in the sexy way after she's been thoroughly kissed. It's the  kind of puffy a person gets when they've been crying. And by the looks  of it, she's been crying a lot.

"Aspen … " My voice is rough with emotion.

Her face crumples and fresh tears fall down her cheeks. Her voice cracks  on my name, her body sways slightly, and I close the distance between  us, wrapping her in my arms before she can fall. She buries her face  into my chest and fists my shirt in her hands.

"Sweetheart, what happened?"

After a beat, she steadies herself and speaks. "I called my mom."

"C'mon, let's sit," I offer, but she shakes her head.

"I asked why she sent me them. I asked if she's read them or if she had any idea she was feeling that way."

"Okay … and what'd she say?"

She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, her eyes fixed on  something on the wall. "She denied everything. Said she was just going  through old things, cleaning up the room, when she found a bunch of her  stuff. She was going to give them to me when I came home, but since I  never did, she mailed them instead."

"You don't believe she didn't read them?"

She shakes her head. "No, she sent them to me knowing what was inside them."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she's punishing me."

I place my hands on top of her shoulders, her eyes finally looking up at me. "Why? Why would you say that?"

"Because you don't know my mother. Something changed the day Ari died.  The mom I knew died along with her. When I didn't come back home per her  request, she sent them to me knowing they'd hurt me. She's awful like  that."

A fresh wave of tears fall down her cheeks, but this time, she doesn't  wipe them away. I see the pain in each tear that slips down to the  floor.

"I'm so sorry," I say, pulling her to my chest. I don't know what to  say, or even if there is anything I can say, so I just hold her for as  long as she needs it.

"As much as I hate her, I'm glad she sent them to me," she says softly after a few moments pass.

"You are?"

She takes a step back and nods. "It gave me what I needed. It gave me  answers. Knowing the truth is more painful, but at least I'm not left  with what ifs." She blinks, clearing her eyes. "I hate that she  suffered. I hate that she didn't tell me, and I hate that I didn't  know."

"I know, baby." I rub a hand up and down her air, feeling the goose bumps against my palm. "It can't be easy to digest."



I help her clean up, her mood shifting back and forth from bitterness to  sadness. I know this can't be easy for her, but I don't push her to  talk about it. I know her life's just been shifted upside down.

"Thanks for helping me clean all that up," she says softly as we lay on the couch.

"Of course," I say soothingly. "I'm not going anywhere," I tell her, just in case she needs to hear it.

She wraps an arm around my waist and nuzzles herself under the crook of my arm. "I know."





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ASPEN



Hearing my mom's pathetic excuses over the phone make me want to vomit.

She's managed to ruin half of my life, and I can't stand the thought of  giving her anymore to control. She's a puppet master, manipulating  people into thinking she's one person, but in actuality is this horrible  woman inside. Ari's death wrecked her, as it did me, but instead of  leaning on each other to heal, she's just poured more hurt and added to  the pain.

I feel content that I've officially told my mother off and let go of  whatever relationship we had left. It wasn't much, but she managed to  place a hold on me that I finally released.

No more.

I only wish it mended the ache in my heart. The fact that Ariel let go  of my hand on purpose is killing me instead, but I don't want to go back  to that girl-the girl who's friends all give pity looks and bows their  heads anytime I'm around. I dealt with enough of that during high  school, and I don't want to go back.

Morgan's been absolutely incredible. He only mentions it if I bring it  up and is sincere in listening to me. He watches me paint and it no  longer makes me nervous. Rather, I find it soothing, comforting in the  way he interprets the pieces.