Cruel Trust

Twenty-Seven

The next week passed with no word from Julia. She didn't even post on Instagram or Facebook. I was getting worried, but I stood my ground. I would not contact her first.

Andrew was working overtime at the bank, so I was spending a lot of time alone at the condo. I also hadn't seen or heard from Liam or even Detective Sherman. Our wedding was creeping closer, and the thought of Julia not being there was depressing. But I had to keep my word this time; she had to see that I wasn't playing around. It was always me that apologized first. Even when we were teenagers, if we got into a fight, I always gave in first, even when it was her fault. She had to understand that she needed to take responsibility for her actions, and she had to take care of her health. I couldn't make her do that. I would help her, but she needed to make the first move.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. I jumped up and looked out the peephole. Well, I'll be damned. It's Julia. I pulled the chain, unlocked the padlock, and swung the door open.

"Julia."

"Hey, Char." She sounded sad. "Can I come in, please?"

I leaned against the doorframe and put my hand on my hip. "Are you going to get in my face and yell at me?"

She laughed, and her smile reached her eyes. She held her hands up in front of her, palms toward me. "No. I promise."

"All right, come in." I grabbed her wrist and pulled her in, and she hugged me.

"Charlotte, I'm sorry. You were right. You were right about everything."

I led her over to the couch and we sat down cross-legged, our knees touching, facing each other.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked gently. 

She shot a sharp look at me. "Why didn't I tell you? Come on, Charlotte. When would you have had me mention it? When I first walked into your Spanish class sophomore year? 'Hey, I'm a bipolar schizophrenic, wanna be my friend?'" She scoffed. "Yeah, that'd have gone over really well," she said.

"Well, no, but what about after that?"

"When? Prom? Graduation? Sleepovers at your perfect house with your perfect family? At your sorority house? When?" Julia was getting a little worked up.

"Perfect family? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh please, Charlotte. You had the perfect life. Why would I ever tell you something so shameful, so horrifying? And risk you deciding you didn't want to deal with a psycho best friend? No way. Charlotte, you were all I had. My parents were always working, no brothers and sisters; I needed you, but you didn't need me. You had your parents, you had Andrew." She chuckled, looking down at her lap. "Even then, you had your damn soulmate. And I had schizoaffective disorder." Tears filled her eyes, and she didn't look at me.

My heart broke in that instant. "Oh, Julia..." I put my palms on her cheeks and lifted her face. "You could've told me, maybe I could have helped you. Sweetheart, you're off your meds. I don't know how long the bottle had been under my sofa, but it was filled a while ago."

She looked at me and sighed. "I knew I had lost that bottle and I refilled it again, but you're right. I stopped taking them in July. And even months before then, back in February...I wasn't taking them consistently. And if you don't take them consistently, it can make things worse. I had even stopped my lithium," she confessed.

"Why did you stop taking them?"

"I don't know...I guess I thought I could control it on my own. I know it was stupid...and now I've ruined everything," she sobbed, tears falling freely now.

"Oh, honey, no," I said, grabbing her hand.

"I was such a bitch to you—I don't even remember saying those things, but I know you wouldn't lie to me. How can you even look at me?" she asked.

"You're sick, Julia. You need help. This isn't about anger or resentment. Andrew and I love you, no matter what. Let us help you."

She looked at me again and then down at her lap. "Okay," she agreed.

I sighed in relief and hugged her, our foreheads touching. But there was one thought bouncing around in my mind, one last question—why didn't she press charges?

When Andrew got home that night, he was glad to hear that Julia and I had made up, but the question he asked me was the same one that had echoed in my head all day—why didn't she press charges on Liam? We were lying in bed watching TV when he brought it up.

"I don't know, babe. Maybe she's scared—like I was after we found out he had overmedicated me. I mean, I could've called the police then, and I didn't...right?" I asked, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

Andrew shrugged. "I guess. Maybe you should ask her."

"Uh, no. I don't think that's a good idea. We just got back on solid ground; I don't want to piss her off again right away," I said, running my fingers absently over his stomach and chest. Damn, he just gets hotter every day, I thought, losing focus on Julia and becoming distracted by his smooth skin and hard abs.

He shifted under me. "Yeah...I know. But we have to ask her at some point."

"Yeah. I know. Just not right now. Let's get her back on her meds and then I'll ask her. Okay?" I promised.

Andrew nodded. "Fine. That's fair," he replied, and before I knew it, he had pulled me on top of him so both of my legs were on either side of his waist.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" I giggled, putting my hands on his pecs to hold myself up.

"You and that stroking thing you do. You know it drives me crazy," he growled, leaning upon his elbows to kiss me.

I smiled against his lips. "Yeah...I know. That's why I did it."

He grabbed me and turned me over so he was on top of me and ran his hand down my cheek. "I love you so much, Charlotte."

I turned my cheek into his hand. "I love you too."

He leaned in to kiss me again, and I melted into him.