Page 51 of Sad Girl Hours

Chapter Fifty-one

Saffron

Surely this can’t be real? Casper can’t be at my house. Maybe I’m hallucinating. I’ve never heard that people with seasonal affective disorder can experience psychosis, but maybe it’s possible. Or maybe it’s gone beyond that now, and it’s an entirely new thing.

My mother’s voice comes in spiky lilts up the stairs, her voice still raised in fury. “I don’t care why you’re here. You need to get out of my house before I call the fucking police.”

“We’ll leave as soon as we’ve seen her and we know you’re not Mother Gothel-ing her or anything.”

In a daze, I drift up and out of bed towards the door, pulling it open further. That wasn’t Casper’s voice, that was…

There are a great many thundering footsteps coming up the stairs. When they get to the landing, I step back in shock. I really must be breaking down.

“Saffron! There you are, thank God,” Jenna’s saying, rushing to my side.

I allow her to hug me, mostly so I can lean on her body to stay standing.

“We were so worried,” Casper says, piling in on the hug, Kenneth leaping up at them all. “We thought they might have locked you up in a tower or something.”

“Some of us thought that,” Vivvie says, coming over to squeeze my arm. “Others were a little more rational and weren’t equating your parents with animated villains.” Her voice drops. “But we were still really concerned. What’s been going on, Saffs?”

I ignore the question, forgoing responding to it by offering one of my own. “What are you— How are you— You’re in my house,” I finish stupidly.

“Correct,” Vivvie says.

“Why?” I say, also stupidly.

“Well, we hadn’t heard from you for ages, and we knew you were probably struggling, and then you said you weren’t coming back and, well…”

Casper takes over from Jenna. “I was getting stressed and imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios. Vivvie got a bit sick of me and said that I should just drive down and see you if I was so anxious, and I decided that wasn’t such a bad idea.”

“He was being very annoying and talking about how this could ‘ruin the tour’,” Vivvie says, rolling her eyes. “The world tour. But I was worried too. So when Casper announced that he was leaving and we could come if we wanted—”

“I’d already packed a snack bag,” Jenna contributes.

“—I didn’t really have a choice. I had to come.”

I’m really struggling to process all of this.

Vivvie, Casper and Jenna are in my house.

Jenna and Casper are now holding hands. They packed snacks.

They drove down to see me because they were worried about me.

Something else occurs to me that makes me speak for the first time in a while.

“Vivvie, your showcase is tomorrow. How can you be here?”

“That’s why we need to get down to business. Are you coming back with us or what?”

“Viv,” Jenna warns, before turning to address me with much more softness. “We were hoping you’d think about coming back with us. We’ve missed you, and term’s starting again next week so you’d have to come back again for that anyway and—”

“No.” I feel my whole body go warm as they all stare at me. “I’m not coming back for school.”

“Why not?” Casper looks so earnestly confused (while he scratches Kenneth’s ears).

“I can’t,” I say, my voice packed with the desperation I’m feeling to try to make them understand. “I can’t do it. They were probably going to kick me out anyway, and I can’t face the drive back with my parents for them to just tell me that.”

“What do you mean, they were probably going to kick you out?” Vivvie asks.

There’s no point not telling them things any more. They’re here; they know how bad things are.

“Well, I was really struggling last term, and I missed too many seminars and stuff, and then I also didn’t manage to go to a meeting with my tutor to discuss my attendance.

They sent a threatening letter telling me that I had to attend a meeting – which is in two days’ time – to talk about things, and I just know they’re going to kick me out.

I know it. So, what’s the point of travelling there just for them to tell me that and make me come home? ”

They’re all quiet for a few beats, before Jenna tentatively speaks up. “Do uni know about your depression?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I didn’t want them to know anything. They’ll think I’m a liability.”

“Oh, Saffron,” Jenna says softly. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah,” Vivvie says, looking at me with love but also like I’m being stupid as fuck.

“You’ve got to unlearn all these shitty ideas about mental-health difficulties being so taboo and shameful.

Literally one in four people has a mental-health condition at any one time, so not to be harsh but you’re not special.

You think I’ve never struggled with anything?

I’m a Latina trans woman from Yorkshire, hun.

I’ve known shit mental health. But I got help, I learnt how to deal, and even when I do still struggle with things now I’ve found ways to live alongside them and keep going. ”

“You are very special in lots of ways,” Casper objects, “but I will admit that I think Vivvie’s right.

You’re not the first person that’s ever struggled with their mental health at university.

God, it would almost be weird if someone did all three years without having a single breakdown. I have little ones all the time.”

“And if they knew, maybe they could help,” Jenna says. “Or at least be more understanding when you’re struggling to do things.”

“How could they help?” I say despairingly. “They can’t help.”

“They could put in accommodations for you. Like, yes, it’s usually unnecessarily difficult for disabled people or people with mental-health needs to get the help they need, but you’re definitely not going to get any if they don’t know you need it,” Jenna says.

“Maybe they could record your lectures if you’re struggling to get out of bed, give you extensions so you can take your time with your work and not feel too pressured, things like that. ”

I’d never thought about that before. “I didn’t know they did things like that.”

“Well, they do,” Jenna says definitively.

“My tutor knows about my anxiety, so if I get overwhelmed in busy sessions, whoever’s leading the session knows that if I give them a nod and quietly leave then I’m just taking a few minutes to be by myself somewhere quiet.

And Nell’s tutors all know she’s autistic—”

Hearing Nell’s name startles me. I look away from Jenna for a second, staring down at the stark cream carpet.

“And they all let her know what things are coming up so she’s not surprised by any changes and don’t bat an eye if she doesn’t look like she’s concentrating, because they know she is; that’s just her way of processing things.”

“How is Nell?” I ask quietly.

“She’s sad,” Jenna says. “But she’s all right. Her poetry collection got shortlisted for the award.”

“It did?” I say eagerly. “That’s so great!” I feel my face fall, though, as I remember the first half of what she just said. Nell is sad because of me. I messed things up so badly with her.

“You look just like Nell has these last couple of days,” Vivvie observes. “I don’t know what happened between you two but, good Lord, you’re both being mopey bitches about it.”

Casper nods at that. Jenna looks as though she’s biting her tongue. I’m guessing, unlike the others, she knows the full story.

“I don’t want to talk about what happened, but I don’t blame her for hating me.”

“Nell doesn’t hate you, you idiot. She loves you,” Vivvie says fiercely. “You want to believe she hates you because it serves your self-hating narrative, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

I think she sees the shock in my expression.

“Look, I’m sorry to be so frank, but also I’m not sorry at all. It’s tough-love time, baby. Nell loves you. You love her. Stop messing her around and just be together .”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“It can be,” Jenna says. “Sometimes we get scared, sure. Letting yourself be loved is really scary, especially if you don’t feel as though you deserve it. But Nell thinks you deserve it, and you can decide that that’s good enough until you realise it too.”

I want to say again that it’s not as simple as that but I don’t like to be redundant, and also my mum is coming up the stairs.

“Right,” she announces, “I’ve given you five minutes. Now get the hell out.”

“Gladly.” Vivvie scowls at her before turning to me. “Coming, Saffron?”

Mum’s eyes snap to me but she doesn’t say anything. The silence is almost scarier in a way.

Jenna and Casp are looking at me too, waiting hopefully for my response.

The weight of having all their eyes on me is making me want to scream.

“No.” The word comes out quiet, like I’m ashamed of it. I am a bit. “I can’t come.”

All of my friends appear to deflate.

“Fine,” Vivvie says with a sense of finality that makes something inside me curl up and die. “I assume we’ll see you soon when you come for the rest of your things.”

They turn away. Casper looks to my mother. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for the use of your facilities? It was a long drive down here and—” He cuts himself off, seeing the annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Never mind.”

“If you change your mind,” Jenna directs to me, “just let us know.”

I manage a nod before they all turn to go downstairs. My eyes follow them leaving like I’m watching a funeral procession.

My mother goes down with them, presumably to make sure they do, in fact, leave and that they don’t make off with any of the silverware.

I close the door to try to deter my mum from coming back up to speak to me, to tell me how rude my friends were and berate me for keeping such company or anything like that.

I don’t want to hear any of that. Not when they drove all this way just to check on me. Not when they’re driving all the way back up, having failed in their mission to bring me with them.

Guilt flares at my sternum. They’ve driven so far for nothing.

Vivvie would say that I’m feeling guilty because that serves the narrative of hating myself. And I’m not sure she’s wrong. I do tell myself certain things – or the depression does anyway – and I let those things guide my actions.

I don’t know if I’ve ever done anything when I’ve been feeling like this because I thought it was good for me or even just because I wanted to.

No , I think. That’s not true. I kissed Nell. I did that because I wanted to, not for any other reason. I wanted to so badly.

I raise my hand to my mouth and touch my lips with my index finger, remembering how incredible that night was, and how safe I felt with her.

I’m in love with her.

I know that.

What else do I know?

Not think , not choose to believe because it fits the story that my depression has created to try and keep me in its grasp. What do I know ?

I know that when I think about space I feel completely calm. I know that learning more about it fills me with a sense of awe and wonder unlike almost anything else.

I know that my parents don’t love me in the way parents are meant to. Or, I think, in the way that I deserve to be loved.

My breathing quickens. At last .

I deserve to be loved more than I am by them. It’s not a nice thing to know, but realising it does feel strangely hopeful. If I know I deserve to be loved more, that means that there’s more out there. Like Nell. Nell really loves me – or I hope she still does anyway.

No, I’m sure she still does – a feeling as strong as this doesn’t just fade in a few days. But whether she’ll want to do anything with that or not, I don’t know. I would understand if she’s scared in case I run away again.

Love isn’t just an aimless feeling: it’s something you do too. I want her to not just think of it as an abstract noun – I want her to use it as a verb. I want her to keep doing it, keep loving me.

And I have my friends. They drove all this way. This time, the thought doesn’t make me feel guilty: it makes me feel warm.

What a joy it is to be loved by them. All of them.

They don’t have to love me either. They choose to.

God, what am I doing ?

I’ve been feeling so disassociated from reality recently, living in a kind of foggy grey haze, but now I feel awake. Alive .

Why have I been telling myself such horrible stories when there are so many lovely ones I could have been telling myself instead?

I stand up and walk over to my dresser where I left a crumpled-up piece of paper. Nell, sweet, perfect Nell.

I move round my room, doing what I have to do, and then I run downstairs, Kenneth following me. I grab his lead, clip it to his collar – he wags in excitement at the prospect of a walk.

“I’m taking Kenneth out,” I call to my mum, surprised at how calm my voice comes out.

I jog us to the end of the drive and start walking. When we’re at the end of the street, I lean back against the wall, pulling out my phone.

When I unlock it, I notice a notification there that feels like fate telling me I’m doing the right thing.

I hit a few buttons and listen to it ring before I hear them answer.

“Hi,” I say. “Is it too late for you to turn around?”