Not Like Last Time

Chapter 17

I wasn't sure where I was going exactly, but I did know I didn't want to go home yet. Hot, angry tears burnt my eyes as I kept walking, I crossed the road, not even looking at cars. A horn sounded and I just kept walking.

I heard a door open and a familiar jingle. Shit. I'd ended up right outside the restaurant.

Glancing up I saw Jake walking out, his usual easy-going look on his face. He looked up from closing up the restaurant and saw me. His face dropped instantly.

"What the hell happened?" He quickly walked over, grabbing my arms and guiding me away from the road.

I shrugged, bringing an arm up to wipe away the tears that refused to stop flowing.

"Don't do that." He said, his voice more firm now. "Don't just have a meltdown again and not tell me anything, Dealia." He started walking me towards his truck and I let him.

A small part of me was screaming to stop, to not let him get me in his truck, to run run run run run run run.

I pushed that small part away and focused on his voice instead. "Get in. We're gonna drive for a bit okay? Tell me what happened."

I nodded and got in his truck for the second time that week. So much for not getting too close.

He got in and started the truck, turning down the radio as he backed out of the parking lot. I stayed quiet for a bit, wiping my wet cheeks dry, the tears slowed to a stop.

"I was at a coffee shop and we-we were just talking. Laughing, you know? And then he just got so serious telling me I still needed help and I kind of just flipped out. And he brought up Cassie as a leverage. That's all." I mumbled, and watched as Jake's grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

"Who were you with?" He asked tersely, his jaw tight.

"Sam. He was one of my friends from before." I stammered, shrinking in my seat.

"Before? One of the 'friends' who treated you like shit?" He scoffed, turning sharply onto a road.

I lurched sideways catching myself on the door before I banged my head on the window.

"He got better! He's clean now, just–he's not like how he used to be, he's sweet and kind, he just doesn't get that I'm okay now." No you're not. The tiny voice in my head tittered. I was in denial. I knew I was. I should be getting a therapist, getting help. I just didn't want my mom to think that I was still messed up. I didn't want her to be disappointed.

I was supposed to be better now.

Jake went silent, his knuckles on the steering wheel. He pulled over and looked at me.

"You clearly aren't okay now. You aren't today, you weren't okay when you freaked out about me grabbing your arms, you weren't okay when you broke down in the restaurant. I probably wouldn't like this guy, but I do agree with him on one thing. You still need help."

"But I don't need it–"

"Yes you do!" He said exasperatedly. "You might not want it, but you still need it. Unless you want to end up back in a mental hospital for a third time and probably wind up staying there, so get your shit together."

"Easy for you to say," I looked down at my lap, clasping and unclasping my hands.

Jake sighed. "I know. But please, just promise me you'll book a therapist soon, okay? At least for me, Dealia."

I thought it over. A therapist, I would only have to see once or twice a week and I haven't relapsed or done anything bad, so they can't send me back to Rivers. It would be just talking about Cassie and other things. I'll probably book a female therapist, because most of them are extremely understanding and helpful.

"Fine." I relented, shifting in my seat to sit up straighter, wiping the remaining tears off of my face. "Now can you please drive me home?"

He nodded. "Yeah,"

The rest of the way home was silent, I was tempted to turn up the radio but was too chicken. It wasn't exactly an awkward silence, just very quiet.

He dropped me off at the end of the driveway and said, "Listen, just be careful around that Sam guy. Please."

I opened my mouth to say that it wasn't Sam's fault, not really, but I just nodded and waved.

Jake waited until I was in the house before he pulled away. Mom was home from work. I frowned looking at the time. 7 o'clock.

She doesn't normally get home until 7:30 or 8.

"Why are you home so early?"

She shrugged. "Just wanted to come home. The people at work were crazy today. I picked up some wine on the way home." She gestured vaguely to the bottle on the counter. "But I don't really feel like drinking. I think I'm heading to bed." I watched as she walked to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Frowning still, I realized that she was having an 'episode' as she liked to call them.

My mother has Bipolar Disorder, and often gets depressive episodes. When she does, oftentimes she calls in sick from work and stays in her room all day, only coming out to grab food.

I sighed. Most of her episodes last 2-3 days, but sometimes they last longer and I have to pick up the slack. I wonder how she managed when I wasn't here, and then felt a wave of guilt wash over me. What if something bad would've happened while I was gone because she didn't have anyone to take care of her?

I brushed the thought off hurriedly and went up to my room with a bowl of ramen and scrawled in my notebook for a bit. Just random words. The poetry wasn't flowing as well as I would've liked to, so I closed the notebook and stared at the ceiling.

I felt bad for yelling at Sam when he was just trying to do the exact same thing Jake did. I don't know why I accepted the advice from Jake and not Sam.

Maybe I'd call or text Sam to tell him I'm sorry later. But right now, I didn't really feel like doing anything.