Catharsis

ELEVEN

Sammy is microwaving a frozen burrito. Home cooked meals have become a rarity around here. Neither of us has the energy to deal with life right now.

"How was your day?" She asks as I plop my backpack on the dining room table.

"Fine."

Her expression twists as if she just tasted something sour. Ignoring her, I pull open the door to the fridge and grab a beer. As soon as I close the door, Sammy grabs the bottle out of my hand.

"No," she says. "Not tonight."

"Sammy, it's just one beer."

Holding it an arm's distance away, she turns to me with sadness across her face. "It's just one beer until it's three and five every night of the week. It worries me."

"Stop worrying," I say and reach for the bottle, but she pulls it farther from me. I drop my arm to my side.

"Not tonight." Her lips are taught. Only now am I realizing that her face is paler than usual; thinner than usual. Summer is her favorite season, but she's looking like she has a vitamin D deficiency.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Blue eyes gloss over with tears that don't fall. "I'm just worried. I don't want something to happen to you and I really don't want you to live your life in whatever dream you seem to be in."

Grasping her by the shoulders, I pull her to my chest and hold her there.

"It kills me to think that I'm hurting you."

"Please, just get to the counselor like Dr. Nally told you. He's a doctor. He knows what he's talking about. You don't want to go through another seizure, right?" She mutters into my sweaty tank top. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Even though I say the words. I don't feel them as much as I want. Lately, I don't feel anything as much as I want. "I'll set something up." I kiss her hair, running my fingers through the curls. Sweet lavender scents waft around her.

She releases herself from me and puts the beer back in the fridge. Then she takes the burrito out of the microwave and bites into it, oozing some kind of grainy beef that looks like dog food.

"Yum," she says. "Do you want one? Let me guess: no?"

"Good guess," I say and head for the living room.

"You're getting too skinny."

Just as I'm about to settle down on the couch for a night consisting of How I Met Your Mother reruns with a dash of self-loathing, my phone rings out with a notification. It's a text from Jonah.

"Meet me at Murtagh's."

"Why?" I text back.

"We have to talk," he responds.

"I don't want to go out tonight."

"Don't give me an excuse or I'll chop your balls off."

I roll my eyes and text back: "I'd like to see you try."

"Come on. This is important."

"Sammy will kill me."

"Tell her it's important and she'll get over it."

Sammy was more okay with me leaving than I expected her to be. But I'm walking downtown to the pub on the condition that I would be back in time to watch a movie with her.

It's cold enough that I have to break out my hooded leather jacket for the season. Our first snow shower could come in September. I always have to watch my back when that happens because Sammy is known for dumping handfuls of slush down my jacket when I'm not looking.