Maria let out a shuddery sigh. “I was a mess, Clay. I completely f**ked up. I am so f**king f**ked!” she said shrilly and I hatefully wished I had gone with my earlier instinct to hang up the phone. I had enough of my own stuff going on, dealing with Maria’s was not on the agenda for this lifetime.
“Look, Maria, I’m sorry you’ve had a crap time of it, but there’s nothing I can really do for you. I tried to be your friend. Obviously that wasn’t enough,” I reminded her harshly.
“I didn’t call to hash through all of this,” she said defensively, which in turn made me defensive.
“Well, what the hell did you call me for then? Besides to tell me that I was right in calling you a mess that needed to get her shit together,” I barked out.
I heard Maria’s sad little sobs on the other end and instantly felt like a dick. I needed to dial back the jackass a bit.
“Look Maria, that was hateful of me. I’m sorry,” I said, trying to backpedal. I needed to end this conversation about five minutes ago.
“No, you’re right, Clay! I’m the stupid mess that shacked up with a guy old enough to be my father and who turned out to be an abusive ass**le. Then the ass**le decided to pimp me out to all of his friends and I agreed because I have no f**king pride! No self-respect! What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I make a decision that isn’t shit?” she cried and I didn’t know what to say.
Part of me wanted to make her feel better. This was the girl who had been my friend during a really messed up time in my life.
But the other part of me wanted to tell her to wake the f**k up. We all needed to take responsibility for the choices we make and until she did that, she’d be stuck in the same pattern. I was learning that slowly.
“I’m going back to the Grayson Center. I spoke to Dr. Todd yesterday. He’s set up an intake for me after Thanksgiving,” Maria said before I could say anything.
I hadn’t been expecting Maria to be that proactive. To say I was surprised would be an understatement.
“Wow, Maria. That’s great!” I told her sincerely.
“Thanks. I’m feeling like it might stick this time,” she said genuinely and I truly hoped that for her.
“I’d like to see you before I’m readmitted. You know, for coffee, or whatever. I’ve messed up a lot of things in my life and I’m trying to make stuff right. I screwed up our friendship. I know I was a jerk when I saw you last. I was a bitch to your girlfriend. I just want to see you and try to make amends,” Maria let out in a rush.
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. I was worried what this would mean for Maggie. I could reassure my girl until I was blue in the face but I knew that she felt insecurity and jealousy just as I did. If the tables were turned and it was that stupid ass Jake calling her up wanting coffee, I’d be on the next flight to Virginia ready to kick some ass.
“I understand,” Maria said sadly. Shit, that made me feel worse. Call me a sucker, but I didn’t want Maria feeling bad before heading back to Grayson’s. I couldn’t forget that she was just a f**ked up girl trying to get it together. She and I were the same in that respect. We just acted out in different ways. Maria spread her legs and I cut my skin. Who was I to judge the choices she had made?
“Actually, yeah. Let’s get coffee. I have classes on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and I work on Wednesday mornings but just let me know a day and I’ll make it work,” I told her.
“Really? That sounds awesome, Clay! Thank you! How about I text you later and we can figure out a time and place,” Maria said excitedly and I felt guilty for being less than thrilled at the idea.
We got off the phone after that and I went back to my room to grab my backpack. I had a meeting with my therapist and then class this afternoon. I hadn’t been lying when I told Maria I had a ton of crap to do in a week.
Between classes, support group meetings, therapist appointments, medication management, case management, my part time job, I barely had time to freaking breathe. But it was probably for the best. The busier I was, the less time I had to sit on my ass and think about shit. And that wasn’t a good thing for me to be doing. Maybe one day I could sit back and reflect on my life and be all Zen about the mistakes I had made.
But that day hadn’t arrived yet. So for now, I appreciated the chaos.
Ten minutes later I had pulled up in front of a non-descript building with off white siding. I went inside and signed my name on the clipboard at the receptionist window and had a seat.
This place was nothing like my last therapists’ office. Shaemus had decked out his place with fish tanks and houseplants. He had said it was important that patients feel comfortable, like they were walking into someone’s home.
This place was clinical and bland. A place with no personality at all. Though I guess the people that sat on the generic furniture weren’t there because they gave a crap about the décor.
The woman who sat beside me picked obsessively at her thumbnail. Her fingers were red and raw, her arms covered in healing scabs. She was obviously a nervous picker. After a few minutes, she moved from her thumb to her lips, where she pulled at a piece of loose skin until it bled.
“Hi,” I said, hoping to distract the lady from her masochistic lip torture. She didn’t acknowledge me at all. Just kept picking away. It was gross.
I turned my attention to the older guy sat across from me. He looked like he was asleep, his head drooping down onto his chest. He let out a snore every few minutes and twitched involuntarily.
There was another guy about my age sitting in the corner but he seemed preoccupied with getting his finger up his nose.
Jeesh, this place was depressing. Government run mental health care at its finest.
I picked up a magazine from the coffee table. It was dated, November 2009. I tossed it back on the pile and leaned back in my chair to stare at the ceiling.
“Clayton Reed,” a nasally voice called out and I jumped to my feet. The lady sat beside me continued to pick at her lip, sleeping guy stayed a sleep and the nose bandit seemed to have struck gold.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I followed the small woman with the sour expression through a locked door. Her nametag read Chloe. Her name didn’t suit her at all. Chloe made you think of ponytails and big tits. This woman wore a turtleneck, even though it was eighty degrees out. She had a run in her tights and lipstick on her teeth. She made me feel like I was being taken to a time out. Maybe she and Roberta had studied at the same scary bitches school.