I Used To Be

Chapter 12: The End

I had to stay in the hospital for a week and then they transferred me to an in-patient psychiatric ward for another week. Apparently there was a wait at the next place they were shipping me to – something with "Ranch" in the title out West somewhere. It sounded cheesy and sketchy, but I guess when you're 17 and you have a heart attack you pretty much lose all say in these things. I wondered if anyone on PAM had been there. I planned to find out as soon as I could get back online.

When I was released from psych, they only gave me a few hours to pack, under the strict supervision of my mom, before I had to get on the plane. But Mom did let me say goodbye to Isabelle. Alone.

"I'm not good for you, Anna. You're dying. I'm not helping. I'm making it worse." Her eyes were shining. Tears were pooling underneath that soft brown that always, no matter how much I thought she disgusted me, no matter how much I wish I had never met her, had never discovered this . .. just finished me. "I'm leaving."

No. No. And no. But yes . . . then, this thing, it would be gone, it would be finished, she would be . . . she would be gone. No. No. Please don't leave me. No.

I couldn't help it. It was like that time I threw up on her in Mr Monroe's office; the tears came just like that. Fast and heavy and choking – all sensations I had grown quite used to, but not in this context. It had been so long since I had felt anything this intense, since I had allowed any type of feeling past my esophogas, that it just took me down. I stood there in front of her, sobbing and sobbing into my hands. After what felt like years, her hand was on my shoulder, but just my shoulder. I needed her to hold me. I needed to collapse into her like I did that time, involuntarily, that same day, when I had passed out, right before I threw up on her, I remember just surrendering into her arms, before I was even conscious, before that voice could kick in telling me she was sick and wrong . .. that I was sick and wrong.

"Anna," she said softly, "Why are you crying? I thought you hated me." Which just made me cry even harder.

When I finally managed to get a hold of myself, I asked, "Where are you going?" I dropped my hands from my face before I could look at her. I asked the question to the ground.

"New York. I know. It's such a cliché. Or I guess it would be if I was younger. My friend Marek from Ballet Austin is starting a contemporary ballet company there. He managed to get a grant, and some start-up money, and he can actually afford to pay a few dancers a salary to get things going. He's my best friend. It's a really great opportunity for me." So she wasn't leaving me. But she was still leaving me.

"So you're not leaving because of me?"

"Not entirely, no. But I do think it will be the best thing for both of us."

"I can't . . . "I started crying again. "I need you." Pause. Too long. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why can't I control what I am thinking or feeling or saying right now?

Isabelle laughed, but not a real laugh, kind of a shocked chuckle, and said, "Well that is certainly news to me." I couldn't speak anymore. I couldn't explain anything. I had no explanations. I loved her. I fucking hated her. I really fucking hated myself. So I let every last drop of my self control slide down my arms and I just launched myself into her arms. She caught me. Just like I knew she would.