Page 42 of The Unbecoming

“Didn’t Owen get you a job?” Ricky asks.

“An interview,” I say. “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Well, see how that goes before you spend time applying to places,” Ricky says. “Owen wouldn’t set you up for an interview if there wasn’t a good chance you had the job.”

“So as long as I don’t have another mental break?” I ask.

“It’s the coach’s assistant,” Sadie laughs. “Just have your mental break in the locker room or something.”

“I don’t feel like I’ve earned that,” I say.

“You earned it by getting that degree,” Ricky says. “Humor us and just relax until after you go there.”

“Alright,” I sigh.

“Go take a bath. We can clean up,” Sadie says. “Your tub is incredible, by the way.”

“Did you bathe yourself in my tub?” I ask, and she grins. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Ricky says, standing to motion for me to do the same. When I do, he hugs me. I let him hold me for a while longer before I step back. He frowns at me a little, and I think he knows something is wrong. “One call and we can be right back here, okay?”

“I know,” I say. “I’m okay. It’s just a lot for one day.”

“Okay. Go on,” he says. I hug Sadie before going to my room.

I fill the tub and slowly lower myself into the hot water, sighing when it stings my skin. Surrounded by bubbles, I feel safe here. But I’m still alone. When I hear my front door shut, the weight of it all settles in on me.

I slowly let myself sink below the surface. At first, my lungs start to burn, but it doesn’t scare me. In fact, it feels so normal that I find myself entirely too willing to stay here. To never come up again.

“Keep asking.”

One memory is all it takes to bring myself back to the surface, coughing and gasping for air. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of it, I find myself looking around for it. For anything, really. I let the water out and get up to wrap myself in a towel. Digging through the drawers, I feel crazed.

I am sobbing by the time I finally have it in my hands. I don’t want this, but the noise is so fucking loud. It’s reminding me over and over again that I’m alone. I did this to myself. No matter what anyone tells me, I think I’ll always blame myself.

I think to grab my phone before getting back into the tub. I know I should call Owen, but I don’t. I give in to the urge and let the blade dig into the top of my thigh. As blood starts to pour out of me, reality starts to peek through the surface again. This time, I just feel fucking stupid.

I press the towel onto the cut with one hand as I call Owen with the other. I am almost hysterical by the time I hear his voice. “Hey, N…” he starts.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why… I didn’t want to, but… and then… It’s bleeding, and I can’t make it stop. I need help. I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming. Just breathe,” he says gently. “Where did you cut?”

“My thigh,” I sniffle.

“How deep?” he asks. “Nora? How deep did you cut?”

“Not bad… I don’t think… I didn’t go that deep,” I say, realizing he’s worried I hit an artery. “I wasn’t trying to die. It just snuck up on me. I was fine. And then I wasn’t… I’m sorry. Please, I don’t want to go back. I don’t…”

“Shhh. Nora. It’s okay,” he says. “You aren’t going back. You called for help. You weren’t trying to die. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Talk to me, Nora,” he says when I go silent. I still don’t speak, and I can hear the panic in his voice. “Nora, I need you to talk to me, honey. Let me know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I force out. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Nora. I promise,” he says. “I’m here. Is your door unlocked?”