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FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

Lizzie

APRIL 19, 2004

T HREE MONTHS, TWO WEEKS, AND ONE DAY .

That’s how long it took the doctors to piece me back together.

Stabilizing my mood, after spending so many months spiraling, took a herculean effort, but I did it.

I complied.

I didn’t fight the doctors this time.

Instead, I worked with them to crawl my way back to life.

The first several weeks of my admission remained a distorted blur, and I was relieved, because remembering everything hurt. Many of the blackout periods I experienced during mania were still a mystery, and I could only pray they remained that way.

During my stay on the ward, I had ten sessions of electroconvulsive therapy to alter my brain chemistry in the hope of stabilizing my mind and improving my quality of life. I could only hope that it worked because the experience of being repeatedly and intentionally electrocuted wasn’t something I would ever agree to again.

Daily therapy, along with a carefully selected combination of mood stabilizers and antipsychotics, had brought me to the point of my long-awaited return to society.

Finally .

When I returned to Old Hall House last Friday evening, I felt like a stranger.

Like this wasn’t the house I was supposed to come home to.

Like my parents weren’t my parents, the bike lying on the front lawn wasn’t my bike, and the room I’d spent most of my childhood in wasn’t my room.

It was strange, but I handled it.

I worked through my feelings instead of running from them.

Mam was thrilled to finally have me home, while Dad was cagey.

I didn’t blame him.

I felt exactly the same way.

When I returned to Tommen, it was the first day back after Easter break, and because my mam wanted to ease me back in slowly, I didn’t go in until after big lunch.

After suffering a pained one-way conversation with Mr. Twomey in the office, I was ushered off to class with a pat on the head and an invitation to come see him if I needed anything at all. I wouldn’t, but at least he didn’t get snotty over my absenteeism. The principal seemed to be more concerned with my mental health than my attendance.

Academically, we both knew he didn’t have to worry. Before I left, I’d been coasting through my classes, finding the whole junior-cycle curriculum boring. During my hospitalization, once I stabilized, I had completed my schoolwork from my bed. Honestly, I could have missed another three months, and it wouldn’t have lowered my grades from higher-level A’s.

When I stepped out of the office, a squeal of excitement filled the air.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod!” Barreling toward me, Claire threw her arms around me before I had a chance to say hi. “It’s about damn time you came home!” Wrapping me up in her arms, she hugged me with a death grip. “I’ve missed you like crazy, Lizzie Young.”

Shivering, I allowed myself to sink into her hug, allowed myself to consume the warmth she was enveloping me with. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“How’s your mam?”

“She’s on the mend.”

“And you?” Pulling back, she ran her hands all over my hair, searching my face with her eyes. “How are you?”

“You know me, Claire.” Swallowing down my emotions, I smiled brightly. “I’m always okay.”

Concern filled her brown eyes, but she didn’t push.

Instead, she smiled, pulled me to her side, and walked us down the corridor.

“Let me catch you up on all the drama you’ve missed out on at school—fair warning, there’s a lot .”

“Can’t wait,” I replied dryly, relieved to fall back into our usual pattern.

“So, I heard the fifth-year girls plotting a scheme called ‘operation binding thirteen,’” she announced, before reeling off a detailed account of the conversation she’d overheard in the bathroom at school.

Apparently, the senior girls were participating in a perverted race to get naked with Johnny Kavanagh.

“But the girl can’t win by just having, uh, well, you know, with him,” Claire continued to explain. “Apparently, she has to make him fall in love with her.”

“Ugh.” I blanched. “That sounds disturbing.”

“And she has to be official with him,” she added, scrunching her nose up. “As in boyfriend and girlfriend .”

“Well then, it’s a doomed mission,” I replied dryly. “Because the only thing that boy will ever commit to is a rugby ball.”

“True,” Claire chuckled, nudging her shoulder against mine. “I mean, I get that he’s beautiful and popular, but I don’t see the fascination.”

“Neither do I.”

“Like, I know he’s polite and all, but he’s sort of standoffish.” Her eyes widened as she spoke. “And he’s big, Liz. Like super big .”

“He’s more than standoffish,” I chimed in, rummaging through what was left of my memories. “He’s a snob.”

“Liz!”

“He prances around the school like he’s Tommen’s answer to Brian O’Driscoll.”

“That’s because he is ,” she laughed. “He’s the top-ranking outside center in his age group in the country, Liz.”

“So that means he gets preferential treatment at school?”

She laughed again. “Yes!”

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “I still say he’s a snob.”

“Gerard says he’s just mad that he’s still here.” She shrugged. “He wants to go home to Dublin.”

And that’s how I spent the rest of the afternoon, going through the motions with my childhood friend.

It was nice .

When Hugh rounded the corner after last class of the day, I knew I was the last person he expected to run into, which was exactly why I had waited here for him.

Hugh was like clockwork. He did what he said he would. Training was something he had committed to and would undoubtedly fulfill because that’s who he was.

“Oh shit,” he muttered when his body collided with mine and the stack of books I was holding went flying. “Sorry about that,” he was quick to reel off, as he gathered up my books that were scattered on the ground. “I didn’t see you there.”

It wasn’t until he stood back up, books in hand, that he looked at me. The moment he did, his sheepish expression quickly morphed into one of surprise, and my books fell to the ground once more. “Liz.”

“Hi,” I breathed, barely able to stand the pressure in my chest as I watched him watch me, his whiskey-colored irises looking directly into my soul.

An involuntary shiver rippled through my body, and I was almost certain it moved through Hugh because his body seemed to have an almost mirror reaction to mine.

We continued to stare at each other for a long beat before he broke the tension with a shake of his head. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” I squeezed out, watching as he gathered my books once more. “Can we talk?”

“I have training,” he replied, standing up and handing over my books. “Cap will cut my bollocks off if I’m late.”

I should have respected his answer.

After all, I had no right to push for more, but I couldn’t stop myself from whispering the word please .

His feet faltered and I watched the storm in his brown eyes as an internal battle raged inside of him.

Finally, when I had almost given up hope, he relented with a weary nod. “Okay.”

He inclined his head in the direction of the picnic tables and relief washed through me.

“So, when did you get back?” he asked, falling into step beside me.

“Friday,” I heard myself explain in a much steadier voice than I was feeling. The sensation of his big arm brushing against my shoulder as we walked sent my frazzled nerves on a downward spiral.

Rippling jolts of excitement rocketed through my core, causing my skin to come alive like an electrical current.

Oh God, not here , I mentally prayed, fighting down the familiar disgusting urges and compulsions. Not now. Be good. Stay fucking stable, dammit .

“Did it help?” Hugh asked, setting my books down on an empty picnic bench.

“Yes,” I lied, taking a seat at the table. “I feel a lot better now.”

“Good.” He dropped his gear bag on the ground and took the seat opposite mine. Resting his elbows on the table, he plucked at a piece of chipped wood. “I want you to feel better, Liz.”

My breath was coming in short, audible puffs when I asked, “You do?”

Hugh stared hard at me for a long beat before blowing out a pained breath. “Of course I do.”

“You didn’t…” My words trailed off, and I had to look away for a moment to catch my breath before retraining my attention on his face.

It hurt too much.

It didn’t hurt enough .

I swallowed deeply, trying to broach the question. “Claire. You didn’t…”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Hugh interjected in that familiar, assuring tone. “All anyone knows is that you’ve been in Spain with your parents.”

“I’m sorry you had to cover for me,” I said, feeling a great deal of shame for dragging him into battles that raged between my mind and me. “I’m sorry for pulling you into my mess at the hospital that day.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His words threw me. “You would?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Liz. I would.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sitting here,” he replied simply. “Because you’re you again.” A faint smile ghosted his lips. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Liz.” Pain flickered in his brown eyes. “I want you to be okay.” He spoke slowly, enunciating every word with care. “I want you to have a good life.”

“Yeah.” Just not with you .