Seventeen - Part 2

My mom’s car came to a halt in the driveway and I leaned my head back, letting out a deep breath that I didn’t know I had been holding. For once, I’d come home from Colin’s house sober. His contacts were completely dry, so we kind of just sat around his room, playing Guitar Hero, watching shit on youtube, and waiting for his mom to leave so we could get into her liquor cabinet.1

She never did. 2

“So, you said something about finding a job in your interview?”3

My head lolled over to the side and my gaze shifted over to her. “I’ve been looking for one for a while, mom.”4

“I wasn’t aware of it, or I would have helped you.” There wasn’t any hurt or anything in her voice. Just an obvious statement.5

I shrugged, “I wanted to do it on my own.”6

“You sure?”7

I nodded, finally sitting up and opening the car door, hauling myself out of it and onto the gravel of the driveway.8

“You look like you’re about ready to crawl out of your skin.”9

Was it that obvious? I scratched between one of my wristbands the scabs were drying up. I needed to put some lotion on them or something. There was a tugging sensation right where I had been scratching, and when I withdrew my hand; the fingertip was wet with blood. Without another pause, I wiped it on my black t-shirt and walked into the house. It was quiet, which I guess was better than unbearably loud. But still, if it’s too quiet, my heart still starts to thump inside my chest like it’s trying to beat its way out of my sternum and live a life of its own.10

“Do you need a Xanax?” I jumped. the sudden sound in the silence had immediately sent my adrenaline pumping into overdrive, blood flowing straight into my muscles, telling me to run.11

I spun on my heels, staring my mom almost in the eye and shrugged for what felt like the millionth time that day. The interview alone had been full of shrugs. “Sure, why not?”12

“You seem pretty anxious today.” She mumbled as she walked by me.13

I followed her into the bathroom, trying not to shrug. “I don’t like interviews to being with. I guess I really just don’t see what the big deal of graduating is.”14

I watched my mother’s hand pause on my prescription bottle of Xanax, full of my tiny, white anxiety pills. “Ross, it’s not just that you graduated. It’s that you actually lived to experience your graduation.”15

“Am I supposed to feel lucky?” I’m usually not this bitchy with my mom. Really, I’m not. I mean, given the relationship most seventeen-year-old girls have with their moms; I’d like to think that mine is pretty good. It’s just… I really hate it when she brings this up. 16

“I certainly hope that you do.” Her voice was quiet, bordering on tense. “Out of all of the girls that this man has…” say it. “After all of those girls, you were the one who pulled through. That has to mean something.”17

“All it means is that I’m the unlucky little bitch who has to deal with everyone constantly tiptoeing around me.”18

“Ross, you’re just anxious. You don’t know what you’re say-“19

“I’m not anxious!” I screamed, grabbing a tuft of my hair and tugging. “I’m losing my fucking mind because nobody knows how to just open their mouths and say what they really mean!”20

Mom’s mouth went pale around the edges, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Roscoe, sweetheart… I’m sorry. I never should have said anything.”21

And this is the part where I feel like the biggest bitch in the universe.22

My hand shook as I held it out for the Xanax, breath coming out labored through my nose. Edgy. The pill dropped into my palm and I tossed it into my mouth, swallowing it dry.23

“You look tired.” Mom finally said, her voice held a slight tremor that I tried to ignore. “Why don’t you just hop in the shower and go to bed? You’ve had a long day.”24

My heart gave a small jump, but I nodded and stepped to the side so she could walk out. The door closed behind her and I immediately turned my back to the door, pulling my shirt off. The wristbands came off next. One by one, they all hit the floor and I examined the tan lines. Funny, as pale as I was, I still had tan lines. It didn’t matter. One marred arm reached out and turned the lock on the door. When I was fully undressed, I turned the shower on as hot as it would go, adding just enough cold to prevent blistering.25

The only place to truly escape your thoughts is to step into a steaming hot shower. There’s some kind of weird solace that you can only find when scorching hot water is beating down on your skin. Somehow, it makes everything go away for a while. It wipes your mind Holy Water clean and gives this… perfect ability to just… be. To avoid all thoughts and memory. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, I guess. But if it were up to me, I’d take about twelve showers a day.26

I don’t know how long it took for my Xanax to kick in, but when it did, I actually had to lean against the shower wall to keep from collapsing. My hand jerked out in front of me, turning the knobs until the water shut off completely. Every muscle in my body was lax with the effects of the Xanax. All of my emotions went straight out the door and I just really lose all energy.27

Wrapping a towel around my body, I stooped to pick up my wristbands and rolled them onto my arms. I stepped out of the bathroom, keeping my ears trained for any noises indicating that mom might sneak up on me. My legs were uneasy on the way upstairs and into my room, but I made it. Pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt were thrown on in the towel’s wake and I sat down on my bed. My mind was working over the events of the day in slow motion. I wanted sleep, but something inside me also just wanted to kind of… sit up and stay awake forever.28

It’s not that the Xanax made me sleepy or anything. Nah, it’s just kind of zombified me to keep me from going nuts and having a panic attack or something. My arm snaked forward and I turned my TV on, thinking that I should get up and go for a walk or something. But the slowly fading light outside brought back that old sense memory again and I closed my eyes, holding my breath until the heavy breathing in my ears subsided.29

That’s one of the worst parts about this whole thing. I’ve become terrified of something that I once took solace in. And my mother still won’t face the truth.30

The truth is, seven years ago; I was raped and almost killed by a man known as the “sidewalk slasher” in most areas. The “Hide and seek killer” is a big one too. The truth is that my dad couldn’t take the fact that this had happened to me and he skipped out on us before I’d even gotten out of the hospital. The truth is that since this whole thing started, I’ve been yanking at every seam possible in my head to keep from falling apart, but I can’t stop myself whenever that little line is crossed, and I wind up slicing myself into ribbons or trying to swallow a bottle full of valium.31

Everyone sees me as this amazing survival story, when the truth is that I’m just barely hanging on. I’m not a hero; I’m not a survivor. All I am is a victim, supposedly suffering from mild post traumatic stress disorder. I stand before you a pothead, a cutter and a failure.32

Knock, knock, knock.33

“Come in.”34

My mom walked in slowly. Her face was pale and she sat down on the end of my bed, toying with the hem of her shirt. “Sorry I brought that up before.” 35

I shrugged, holding a pillow in my lap and played with the corner of it. “It’s no problem.” I muttered, letting out a long sigh. “I’m just kind of high strung today is all. Interviews do that to me, you know that. I guess I just kind of… got caught up in the whole – I was still thinking about the rape.”36

She made a small gasping noise in her throat and her skin went even more pale. “Ross-“37

“Mom,” I began sternly. “If I can say it, then you should at least be able to hear it.” 38

She was quiet for a long time, her features struggling to figure out what expression to stick with. For a while, I thought that maybe she’d just sit like that for the whole night. And then-39

“Are you going to any graduation parties?”40

My head gave a small, limp jerk of a nod. “Yeah, a few.”41

“When do you want yours?”42

“I don’t want one.”43

She let out a quiet groan, “Roscoe, for god’s sake…”44

“I don’t want one.”45

“You should at least consider it.”46

Just to make her happy, I said: “I’ll think about it.”47