How It Ends (14 page)

“I'll think about it,” I said, to buy myself some time. I don't know why I bothered putting her off, though. I already know that I'll follow Annie in her misguided attempts at fixing my social life, just like I'll follow my mother to the doctor's while she tries to fix what's wrong in my head.

I'll bounce along between them, even though I know it's pointless. There are some things that can't be fixed.

I write “x=–1” and then flip to the back of my textbook to check the answer key.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter.

Scott looks up from across the table and gives me a crooked smile. “Problem?”

“There's something wrong with this answer key,” I say, erasing my work so viciously that the paper tears. “I'm usually great at math.”

“You're sexy when you're mad,” he says, pressing his leg against mine under the table. “Your eyes get brighter.”

“You're an idiot,” I joke, heat rising in my cheeks. “And this is all your fault. I can't concentrate on math with you sitting across from me.”

He props a textbook up between us, slouching behind it so I can't see him. “Pretend I'm not here, then.”

I roll my eyes and start in on the problem again. I refuse to be bested by this stupid equation.

Two lines into my solution, I can feel his eyes on me again. “Let's get out of here,” he practically growls, and I snap my textbook shut.

We scurry out of the public library and into the street, where Scott pulls me in for a kiss that makes my knees buckle.

I drop my bag on the sidewalk and wind my arms around his neck as his tongue darts into my mouth. I can't get enough of him, and it scares the shit out of me. Courtney's words dance through my brain.
Scott's great, but he's a bit of a player.

I didn't mean to get this serious, but I can't help feeling like this.

Scott thinks everything I do is amazing. He likes to just sit and watch me sometimes. I'll look up to find him staring at me, and when I ask him what he's looking at, he says stuff like “Your hair looks like it's on fire when the sun hits it” or “I'm counting your freckles.” Stuff that makes my heart beat fast and my skin flame.

Scott looks at me and sees
me.
I feel special and important and beautiful. I feel like I
matter.

He rests his forehead against mine, and I smile at the look in his eyes. I want to capture it on paper so I can see it whenever I want. So I can keep this feeling with me even when he's not around.

“I have an idea,” I say excitedly, and he raises his eyebrows in expectation. “Let me draw you.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “You want me to be your nude model.”

I laugh. “No! I want to draw your portrait. Will you pose for me?”

“Sounds hot,” he says, looping an arm around my waist. “Your place or mine?”

Down in his basement, I sit cross-legged on the couch and wonder how someone with so much personality can be such a lifeless model. Scott's sitting across from me like a mannequin, his face completely expressionless.

“Relax,” I tell him, earning a tight smile.

I uncross my legs and nudge him with my foot. I want that heated look in his eyes. I want to capture his wanting.

“Imagine I'm naked,” I whisper, praying that his mother isn't eavesdropping.

His eyes snap onto mine and it's perfect. My pencil flies across the page.

“Don't move!” I laugh as he lunges for me. “I need to get this right.”

He groans and sits back, looking at me as if he wants to devour me. I've almost got the eyes exactly right when he runs his hands up my legs and makes me forget to breathe. “Just one second more,” I manage, just as the eyes on the page match up perfectly with the eyes staring me down.

I toss the sketchbook aside and feel myself spiral into him.

We've made out down here a million times, but this is different. Things get heated so fast. I feel like I can't possibly get close enough to him. His clothes make me angry.

I can see from his eyes that he feels the same way. There's this crazy moment where he pulls back and looks at me, and it's so intense I can't even breathe.

When we start kissing again, he puts his hand up my shirt and unhooks my bra. He's done that before, and I've always scooted away to do it back up, shaking a finger playfully at him. But this time it feels right. He pauses for a minute to see if I'll protest. When I don't, he lifts my shirt so slowly and carefully that I think I might explode. My breath catches in my throat and he breaks my gaze to look down at me. He lets out a low moan, and a blush creeps up all the way from my toes.

He kisses my belly button and then trails little kisses up to my chest. I stop breathing. In my head I'm begging him to touch me and terrified that he will all at once. His lips close around my nipple and his tongue darts against it and I moan. Loudly.

That breaks the spell in a hurry. Our eyes meet in a panic. Scott's mother is the fun police. She's on constant patrol when I'm over, on high alert lest I corrupt her angelic son.

“Yes, honey?” she calls from the top of the stairs.

We scramble in slow motion, frantically rearranging ourselves while trying not to sound frantic.

“Yeah, Mom?” He tosses me a blanket and moves over to the chair.

“I thought I heard you call me.” She comes down the stairs so fast that she must be taking them two at a time. Her eyes take in the scene in front of her, and she zeroes in on me sprawled on the couch. “Are you cold, Annie?”

I pull the blanket up a little higher. I didn't have time to fix my bra. “A little, Mrs. Hutchins. But Scott found me a blanket, so I'm good now.”

“I can make you kids some hot chocolate,” she suggests, her eyes never leaving me.

“That'd be great, Mom. We're about to put in a movie.”

Her eyes flick over to the television, where MTV is on low volume. “You haven't started the movie yet? What have you two been doing down here all this time?” There's a hard edge to her voice, and I look at Scott in a panic.

He's so smooth, though. “We were
talking,
Mom.”

She smiles hard, overcompensating. “Of course! Of course! I didn't mean anything by that. I'll get you hot chocolate and a snack, and you can settle in for the movie.” She rushes up the stairs, probably eager to get back as soon as possible and reevaluate the situation.

We stifle our laughter behind our hands as she clears the top step. “That was close!” I reach behind me to do up my bra, embarrassed that Scott's watching me.

“Annie . . .”

“Mmmhmm?”

He goes quiet and I start to get nervous. I meet his eyes, and he looks more serious than I've ever seen him. “I love you.”

My mouth drops open, and there are no words in me. I feel tears tracking down my face. I haven't heard those words from anyone in such a very long time. Scott's suddenly beside me on the couch, drying my tears with his shirtsleeve. “What's wrong?”

“I . . . I just . . .”

He looks down. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“No! I mean . . . I love you too.” I'd hesitated to say the words, not sure if I meant them. But as they pass my lips, I feel the truth of them. “I do,” I repeat, more confident now. “I love you.”

He puts his arms around me, and we sit back on the couch, nestled together. I close my eyes and see the pieces of my life falling together. All the loneliness. All the sadness. It doesn't matter anymore because I have someone who loves me.

I jump when I hear his mother come back down the stairs, but Scott just holds me tighter and ignores her startled look.

She clears her throat loudly. “Here are your snacks.” She holds out the tray, waiting for Scott to get up and take it from her.

“Thanks, Mom. Can you put it on the coffee table?”

She sniffs and sets the tray down. “Are you planning on watching the movie?”

“I think so.”

“Well, why don't you come on over to the chair, Scott?” she suggests. “That way Annie can stretch out on the sofa.”

“No, thanks, Mom. I'm comfortable here.”

“Well, then. What movie are you watching?”

“We haven't decided yet.”

“Why don't I join you? I haven't watched a movie in so long!”

“Maybe another time, Mom. I was hoping for some time with Annie.”

It's almost painful, holding my smile back. I want to shout from the rooftops that I love him. I want to break into song and dance around the basement. Instead, I fix my gaze on MTV and try hard to ignore the waves of suspicion rolling off of his mother.

“I'll be down to check on you soon,” she warns.

“I'm sure you will,” Scott says with a laugh. He tightens his arm around me, and I feel my whole life beginning.

I could kiss Dr. Morgan. I have a bottle of Ativan in my bag, a refill of my antidepressants, and a mother who's been put in her place.

To be honest, I've never really had much faith in Dr. Morgan's ability to relate to a girl my age. He has messy black hair shot through with gray, a pair of half-glasses that rest on the tip of his nose, and a white jacket that's usually buttoned wrong. After today, though, I'm quite sure he's a genius.

He looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, “You've looked better, Jess. What seems to be the trouble today?”

My mom jumped in. “Jess has been having panic attacks, and I caught her sneaking Ativan on Saturday night.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and prepared for a lecture, but Dr. Morgan surprised me by ignoring my mom entirely. “Why don't you tell me what brings you here today, Jess?”

“Ummm. Well, my mom brought me in because of the other night.”

“And what happened?”

I took a deep breath and angled my body away from my mother. “I had a panic attack in English class the other day, and I had to take an Ativan to stop it. My mom only gives me one pill at a time, so I snuck in to get more pills in case I had another attack at school.”

“How often have you been having anxiety attacks?”

“I haven't. At least, not full-blown ones. This was my first real attack since last school year.”

“That's excellent news. It sounds like the medication we prescribed is helping you manage your anxiety well—”

“Dr. Morgan,” my mother interrupted, “I'm concerned about the—”

Dr. Morgan put up a finger to silence my mom, never looking away from me. “I'll speak to your concerns shortly, Mrs. Avery. For right now, I'd like to get more information directly from Jessica.”

I bit back a smile and continued. “It was a bad one, the attack in English class. It really scared me.” It felt good to admit that.

Dr. Morgan tapped his pen against his chin. “Sometimes when people experience a panic attack in a setting like school or work, it's exacerbated by worries about other people seeing. It could be that the severity would have been quite different if it had happened at home.”

I thought back to how easily I'd managed the panic in my parents' bathroom. “I think that's a big part of it,” I admitted. “I don't want people at school finding out about my anxiety.”

“Have you talked to any of your friends about it?”

“No. I don't want anyone to know.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand how you feel, but you might want to think about confiding in a trusted friend. It might help you manage your anxiety if you know there's someone you can turn to at school. Knowing you have a safety net can actually decrease your anxiety levels.”

“I'll think about it—” I said.

My mom jumped in. “What about Annie? I know she'd support you.”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“But I really think—”

“This is a decision Jessie needs to feel comfortable with,” Dr. Morgan said. “It's very important that she has control over this information. It's not a choice that should be taken away from her.”

I could have kissed him.

“Now, let's talk about the Ativan.”

I blushed and looked down at the floor.

“I'm not upset with you that you're using the Ativan, Jessica. I prescribed it to you for a reason. I'm more upset that you don't have access to it, to be honest,” he said, giving my mother a stern look.

“But you said she shouldn't have free access to it.”

“No, Mrs. Avery. I said it should be monitored. I don't want Jessica becoming reliant on Ativan as an escape from anxiety attacks, but it shouldn't be withheld from her. That just increases her anxiety and causes feelings of guilt and insecurity.”

My mother bristled. “I wasn't
withholding
it. Jessie had a pill on her at all times. She never told me she needed more, so I assumed she wasn't taking any.”

Dr. Morgan turned to me. “Why didn't you just ask for the medication?”