Impulse Control (ON HOLD)

Chapter 15

I pull Cleo tighter, rocking her gently, like a baby. Tears spill from beneath her closed eyelids, and a few collect behind my lashes. I try to touch her in that comforting way that she would've touched me in.

Cleo gulps, sucking in a strangled breath. I nod, squeezing her hand and urging her to continue.

"About three months after it happened, I started having frequent and recurring flashbacks of it. They'd come at random times, like we'd be at a book sale and I'd see the word 'cliffhanger' and a flashback would start. I had nightmares about it, too. I kept seeing Bree in my dreams, seeing her falling off that cliff, seeing her hit her head on those rocks. I'd wake up sweating and panting and two seconds away from hyperventilating, but I never told my parents."

"Ever since then, I retreated into myself. I felt numb and empty, and no matter what I did, I couldn't think positively about myself at all. I lost interest in all of my hobbies, and I turned away anyone who tried to make friends with me. I lost my closeness with my parents completely. I was overwhelmed by guilt and shame, and I never talked about what happened with anyone."

"I was always on guard for danger, and I thought that it was my sole duty to protect the ones I had left. I had angry outbursts at my parents when they went to parties, and I've never gone to a party since that night. I was easily frightened; Almost everything scared me. I couldn't concentrate in school and my grades dropped. I fell asleep at random times of the day because I had a lot of trouble sleeping and disturbing nightmares when I did."

"Eventually, after about two months of this, I started having urges to hurt myself and commit suicide."

I hear a sharp intake of breath, then realize it's my own.

"It was at this point that I told my parents what was going on with me. They took me to see a doctor and she diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder and clinical depression."

I shudder involuntarily, remembering the horrifying state PTSD survivors were in when I went to visit nursing homes as a teen. Some of them, including my own grandmother, couldn't remember anything of what had happened to them. Cleo looks normal, but I know that PTSD can be very damaging, and depression is even worse because it often leads to suicide.

Cleo looks over at my face and says, "I'm on a treatment regime now, but sometimes it just doesn't work, like today." "That's why you were crying," I say, putting the pieces together. "I understand."

Cleo sighs and slips her arm around me, drawing me in close. "Okay, I told you mine, now you tell me yours." I take a deep breath, readying myself. It's been close to two years since I talked about this with anyone. Nobody I know besides Cleo has ever shown even a hint of understanding towards me, my brother, or our situation. But, looking up into Cleo's face, I know that I'll see understanding written on her features. I can tell it. She has a kind heart, and this I know for a fact.

So, I begin. "My brother, David, was diagnosed a while ago as autistic." Cleo nods, and I realize that, being the knowledgeable person she is, she probably guessed about David being autistic from the moment she saw him.

"I used to have a dad," I say, tears pulling at the corners of my eyes. "He was a good dad, a great dad. He only married my mother for her money, but he loved me. He did. He'd sing songs to me and play Scrabble with me and we'd laugh and laugh and try cartwheels on our front lawn."

"And then, David was born. When David was three, my dad figured out what I'd figured out two years ago: That he was autistic. And Dad couldn't handle raising an autistic child, so he left. Packed his suitcases and waltzed right out the door. Didn't even so much as say goodbye."

Hot tears leak from the corners of my closed eyelids. My emotions when it comes to my dad are mixed. I miss him, very much, but I'm also slightly angry with him for up and leaving us with no support.

Cleo scoots closer, cautiously folding her arms around me. On impulse, I melt into her arms, surprising myself. I don't generally like to be hugged, but something about this embrace just feels right. Like it was truly meant to be.

"And he never contacted you afterwards?" Cleo asks, releasing me. "No," I admit. For a second she's speechless. Which unnerves me, since I've never seen Cleo without her words. Then, she says, quite angrily, "Your dad doesn't deserve that title. He may have contributed to your existence, but that's it. A real dad wouldn't leave because his child is stricken with autism. That was selfish of him, and I don't think someone who missed out on four years of your life because of his own stupid actions truly deserves to earn you calling him Dad."

I stare at Cleo for a few seconds. There was an underlying bitterness in her tone, like she was speaking from experience, and I itched to know more.

Finally, I decided to risk it and ask the question that had been weighing on my mind. "What's up with you and your family?" Cleo sighs, long and slow, like she's releasing a weight of some sort. "I'm different from my parents. They were raised very properly, and taught what religion and beliefs to follow. They were, quite literally, taught what to think. But my parents didn't bother to teach me these things because they assumed I already thought them. But they were wrong."

She takes a breath and continues. "I developed my own set of thoughts and beliefs, and they're ones that go against my parents'. I have a secret regarding who I date that I need to tell them, but I'm waiting until I'm independent, that way I won't be hurt physically and I won't need shelter if I'm kicked out of the house and/or disowned."

A gasp escapes me. What is Cleo talking about and why would her parents disown her for it?

"I want different things for myself than what they want for me. They want me to go to law school and become a lawyer like my grandma, but I want to be a counselor."

I smile at this. She's like me! "That's the way it is for me! My mom wants me to be a marine biologist and follow in my father's footsteps, but I want to be a gymnast. I took gymnastics since I was three up until I was fifteen. Then my mom made me stop taking them so I'd have more time to tend to David."

Cleo sighs sadly. Then, she looks straight into my face, and, with fierce determination, says, "You will be a gymnast, Sierra."