Night shifts black

I wipe my face now, the tears dripping down my cheeks. I had almost forgotten about Luke. I’d stopped talking to him somewhere along the way, lost again in the caverns of my own backstage nightmare. But when I remember, I don’t give him a choice. Too many people had let me choose.

I lie down on the bed beside him and take his hand. I can tell the action has startled him, but he doesn’t pull away. I squeeze, holding tight, warning him that he’s crazy if he thinks I’m letting him do this alone. I don’t expect him to respond. In fact, I hope he doesn’t. I hear the soft sound of his breathing as he stares at the ceiling, my words disrupting the void around us.

“It’s Depression, Luke,” I whisper into the darkness. “And it’s lying to you.”

∞∞∞

“Did you ever try to kill yourself?” Luke asks finally, after a long silence. I had begun to wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

I consider his question for a moment. It’s a simple question with a very complex answer.

“Consciously?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“Yes. Did you knowingly try to kill yourself?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “No, not on purpose.”

My answer has an effect. “By accident then,” he concludes, and I squeeze his hand again. I hadn’t let go and I don’t plan to.

“No, it wasn’t an accident either. Somewhere in between.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I made destructive choices to escape without caring where I was escaping to.”

“You didn’t try to kill yourself, but you didn’t care if you did.”

“Something like that.”

“Drugs?”

“I picked fights.”

“Picked fights?”

“With my dad, my boyfriend, strangers, whoever got near me. I wanted them to hurt me. I wanted them to hate me as much as I hated myself. I wanted them to punish me for existing.”

“And did they.”

“Sometimes.”

“Your boss at the grocery store?”

I quiet. “No. That was something else.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I know. I will one day, but not now.”

It’s his hand applying the pressure this time, and I’m relieved for a variety of reasons. I turn toward him and wrap my arm around his chest, pulling him close to me. “I know Depression, Luke, and I know you want to be alone, but I’m not going to let you. I can’t make you let me in, but you’re going to have to get used to the fact that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

He still hasn’t moved, and I can see his eyebrows knit together in the dim light as he continues staring at the ceiling.

“I’m not who you think I am, Callie,” he says after another pause. “If I let you in, you’d know I deserve my prison.”