Unforgiven(63)

I pull into Reagan and Landon’s long, paved driveway and immediately see my mom’s car. I had planned to go talk to her in the morning on my way to Raleigh. Pulling the car into the garage, I kill the engine and spend a moment collecting myself. My cheeks are spotted red from crying and there is no hiding the dark circles that have taken up permanent residence under my eyes. “Fuck it,” I mumble and step down from the SUV.
Reagan meets me at the door with a sympathetic look on her face. “I tried to get her to leave,” she says, and I shake my head.
“Thanks. I may as well get this over with tonight too.”
“How’d it go with Matt?” If my splotchy face and red eyes aren’t indication enough, I politely answer.
“Not good,” I mumble and step out of my sandals. “Did you know he’s seeing Melissa?” I ask her. “A little heads up might have been nice.” I realize my tone is sharp and accusing.
“I don’t think they’re seeing each other. I know they’ve been hiking once in a while, but Lindsay, don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Well, she just showed up at his house, in a dress, at nine o’clock in the evening. Hardly hiking attire,” I say as I walk past her and into the living room where my mom sits on a couch talking to Landon. I feel guilty for snapping at Reagan.
My mother gasps when she sees me, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, then her heart. She jumps up from the couch and pulls me to her. “Lindsay,” she says her voice breaking.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What is going on? Are you sick? You’re so skinny. Oh my god,” she gasps again and holds on to my upper arms, standing back to inspect me further.
“I was going to stop by tomorrow, Mom.”
“Tomorrow? I wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow to see you. You’ve been avoiding my calls, and when Reagan told me Landon flew to Phoenix, I knew something was going on.” I glance at Reagan and narrow my eyes at her. She mouths “sorry” to me and scurries away into the kitchen. I give Landon the “don’t you dare leave” look and he sits back down in his chair as I take a seat next to my mom on the couch.
“What is going on, Lindsay?” my mom asks in a hushed tone.
“I came home to get help,” I say quietly. I’ve learned that admitting my problems to my family and close friends, whom you’re supposed to love and trust the most, is harder than admitting them to a complete stranger. That’s because those that love you will be the ones let down by your mistakes—and the most likely to judge you.
“Help for what?”
“I have a lot going on, Mom.”
“Well, I know. You’re always so busy. I hardly even saw you when you were here…”
“No, Mom. I have a lot of issues I need to seek help for. Anorexia being one of them and addiction to prescription pills being another.” My admission is quiet, shameful. She inhales sharply.
“Lindsay,” she cries.
“I’ve been on a collision course for a long time. In college, I was anorexic and used recreational drugs to numb the emotional pain I dealt with from my childhood.”
“That’s my fault,” she musters as she wipes tears from her eyes. “I blame myself for everything you two went through.” I look at Landon, who sits watching us, his chin resting on his steepled fingers. He remains silent but focused while I continue my story.
“I was able to get it together in college. I stopped using, started eating better, and was feeling really good, but I never really dealt with the issues from my past. I buried them. I never learned how to cope when things got hard.” I pause, looking at Landon, who still remains silent. “I dove into my internship and career, and then Matt I got together, and everything felt perfect. I honestly thought I couldn’t be any happier.”
“What happened, Lindsay?” She reaches out and grabs my hand. Reagan comes into the room quietly and sits on the arm of the chair that Landon is sitting in. She wraps her arm around him and he pulls her into him.
“Life happened. The car accident with Reagan happened and I still blame myself for that. I was reckless. I knew better than to drive in a storm like that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Reagan says quietly. “I never blamed you for that—ever. You need to stop blaming yourself.”
“That’s easier said than done.” I take a deep breath. “They gave me OxyContin for the pain when I was in the hospital—and it was heaven in a little prescription bottle. I didn’t feel anything. It didn’t just numb the physical pain from the wreck, but it numbed the hurt inside too.” My mom pulls tissues from her purse and wipes her eyes and nose.#p#分页标题#e#