I turn the shower on, adjusting the temperature so that it’s steaming hot. Valor liked to burn my skin off in the mornings we would shower together. I can’t help but think how different this shower is compared to the last one we took together.
The last time we were laughing, covered in soap, and our wandering hands searched for areas to please each other. It was sensual, light, fun; it was us.
Now it’s quiet, and it smells of medical equipment. I watch as she slides the straps off her shoulders, letting the dress pool at her feet exposing her body to me. It’s not sexual. It’s bitter, cold, painful, and it is also us.
I guide her under the stream of water, the instant it hits her body the water below us shades to a dark red. All of the blood that once was inside of Riggs’ body is now floating down a drain. It’s sickening, isn’t it?
I keep my clothes on because I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. I have extras in my car anyway. So there I stand in front of her in all my clothes minus my shoes, and I just watch her. I run my hands down her hair, leaning her head back to rinse the blood away from her curls.
Her eyes just stay on me. They never move. I think she is afraid if she blinks I’ll disappear and she’ll be all alone.
The droplets of water that hang around her eyes and lips, I wipe away. Her tears slowly start to mix with the shower, and it’s hard to tell which ones are falling from her eyes. I pour shampoo in my palm and begin to work it through her hair.
The foam quickly turns a pink color the more I massage it through her scalp. I let the water wash away all of it, repeating the process with the conditioner. When I start to wash the blood from her face and body, that’s when she finally talks to me.
“B…” she whispers softly. I move the washcloth across her arms, looking in her eyes.
“Yeah, Vallie?”
“I’m scared.”
My heart breaks even more for her. Her bottom lip quivers as more tears fall from her eyes. I pull her into my body, letting the hot water cascade down around us. I hold her there as she sobs into me.
“I’ve got you, Vallie. I’m right here,” I speak into her ear, just holding her tighter to me.
“She lost so much blood; they didn’t think she was going to make it.” She cries into my shirt. “She wanted to die, B. How did I not know that my best friend wanted to die? How did I not see that!” Her cries turn into wails, deep and broken.
They echo off the walls. They’ll haunt me forever. I just hold her there hoping I’m helping her in some way. There are no words I can say to heal her pain. I can’t say anything that will make this better. All I can do is hold her.
This was the ugly side of loving someone. This is what they don’t show you in movies, in books. Sometimes the people you care for go through shit and you have to watch them. You have to hold their hand and hope…
They make it out alive.
“So does that mean we like this therapist? Or do I need to start calling other offices?”
I sling my bag over my shoulder walking towards my car, as I wait for Riggs to give me the verdict on this new therapist she saw today. This was her third therapist since her incident a month ago, and the two before this one had ended terribly.
The first one didn’t even get her to talk. Apparently, Riggs just sat on the couch and took naps. That’s it. She never even looked at the lady. The next one was a man, and from what Riggs described, he was a creep that kept staring at her boobs so she left halfway through the session.
“I think I’m going to give this one a chance. She called me a bitch within the first ten minutes. She does not beat around the bush, plus I like her hair, it’s fucking purple.” I can hear her keys rattle from the background, and I know she is walking into the apartment.
I’d asked her multiple times if she wanted to move, we both had the money, but she kept telling me no. She just said that seeing that bathroom reminded her that she never wanted to feel like that again. She wasn’t going to let her disorder ruin a place she felt safe.
“She called you a bitch? Jesus, Riggs, talk about tough love.”
“I think that’s what I need. She said something about it being my defense mechanism. I automatically go to bitch mode when I feel threatened or vulnerable. It makes sense, so I think I like this one,” she replies.
Riggs had been diagnosed with bipolar I disorder.
It's a mood disorder. You suffer from severe periods of depression and mania. It didn’t mean that she was like the hulk and flew off the handle. It just meant that when she experienced mania she was in a state of euphoria. It was a party girl. The impulsive, on top of the world, go-go-go attitude she couldn’t control. That was the Riggs we all knew. The hyper-sexuality and invisible vibe she carried.
But when she bottomed out, that’s when the depression settled in. She could go on mania episodes for weeks, and then one day wake up at rock bottom. That’s what she never let me see. All I got were the glimpses. The sleeping in and sluggish mood.
After a psychotherapy exam and the doctor gave her the diagnosis it was like she was relieved to know she wasn’t crazy. There was a legitimate imbalance. There was a reason she felt like this. That might have been the best thing to come out of her incident. She got answers.
The amount of research I had done over the month was crazy. I’d read articles published by doctors, blogs by people with bipolar disorder. I’d even contacted a specialist to see what I needed to know about supporting her through this.
The biggest struggle Riggs was worried about was not being labeled by her disorder. She didn’t want to be the girl who was bipolar. Or the girl who tried to kill herself.
She just wanted to be Aurelia.
It had been one week since we got back from the hospital. My dad was sleeping on our couch in the living room, and I was currently facing Aurelia in my bed. We were both wide awake, just staring at each other.
The bandages on her wrists were sticking out of the jacket she was wearing, and my face was slightly damp from the tears. I’d already told her that she didn’t have to tell me why. I just wanted to be there for her.
The first thing she said to me when she woke up in the hospital was that she was sorry. She said sorry to me. Riggs wanted to die and she apologized to me. If it wasn’t frowned upon, I would have smacked her. If anyone was sorry it was me. I was sorry for not noticing she needed help.
“Stop. I know what you are thinking. It wasn’t your fault, Sully.”
I try to smile, but it probably doesn’t look that way.
“I just wish I could have done more for you. I wish I could have understood better what was going on.”
She sighs, rolling onto her back and looking at the ceiling. A few tears escape the corners of her eyes.
“You couldn’t have known. I hid the bad days from you. The days when everything was too much. I told you I was going out with a guy, but really I was just walking around the city. There wasn’t any way you could have stopped me. I didn’t want you to know.”
I wipe the tears on my cheeks, sniffling, trying to gather my emotions.
“Why’d you do it? What happened that day that made you do it?”
“I did it because my whole life I was numb to feeling and I wanted to feel something.”