Light in the Shadows

whine, but I was starting to shiver.
                    Clay wrapped me in his arms and pulled the blanket up around us.  He nuzzled his cold nose into the side of my neck.  “Is that better?” he whispered and I nodded.  I wasn’t feeling the cold anymore.  As long as he held me like this, there would be no complaining out of me.
                    “Thank you for a wonderful night,” Clay said into my hair, kissing the corner of my eye.  I relaxed into him, leaning my head back to look up at the clear night sky. 
                    “I never thought we’d get here,” I remarked quietly.  Clay’s grip tightened. 
                    “Me either.  But we are.  And it makes me feel like just maybe everything else was worth it. If it brought us to this point.” I felt his fingers in my hair and when I shivered this time it had more to do with my whacked out hormones than the cold air.
                    “I’ve really missed you. It killed me not being able to talk to you.  To not know how you were doing.” I turned to look at Clay.  “I want to be able to ask how things are with you.  If you’re still taking your medication. If therapy is working.  I want to know about your time in treatment.  I want to ask you a million and one questions, but I’ll be honest with you, I’m scared to.  I suppose it’s because I worry that I won’t necessarily like the answers.  That probably sounds horribly unsupportive but I just wanted you to know how I felt.”
                  I couldn’t believe I had just said all that.  But there was something about being here with him like this that hit my honesty button and I couldn’t sit quietly and pretend that these thoughts weren’t swirling around in my head.
                    Clay ran his hand through his hair, a total giveaway that he was nervous and unsure.  “I want to answer your questions. I really do.  I want to put these fears of yours to rest.  But at the same time, I’m worried I’ll bring us back to that place we were before.  When everything was about me and my stuff.  I don’t want that for us this time.  It wasn’t fair to you.” 
                    Gripping the blanket around me, I slithered onto his lap, my legs straddling him and I put my arms around his chest.  Resting my cheek over his heart I could hear how fast it was beating.  Past experience told me that talking about this could bring about a potential meltdown.  Clay didn’t have a history of being very receptive to discussing his mental illness.  But if we were both serious about being totally open, then I couldn’t tip toe around the bigger issues. 
                    “But, Clay, if we don’t talk about it, things won’t change.  You and I spent way too much time ignoring what was going on.  We can’t do that again,” I pleaded.
                    I felt Clay take a deep breath, my body rising and falling with his.  His fingers curled into tight fists as he held me.  This was an important moment.  For both of us.  Denial and mistrust had characterized our relationship for so long.  Nothing but total honesty would be welcome from here on out.
                    “It’s hard.  Every day, every minute, is a struggle,” he began. I sat up so that I could look at him.  He stared off to the side, his jaw tense.
                    “When I was admitted to the Grayson Center, I was a mess.  After everything that happened in North Carolina, I wasn’t thinking clearly.  I was so screwed up in the head that on my first night there, I tried to climb out of my window.”  I wish I could have been surprised by his revelation but I wasn’t.  I remembered all too well the state he was in when I had left him that hospital room in the hands of the two people who loved him the least, even when it was their job to support him.
                    “I was caught of course.  And I spent five days on some heavy duty tranquilizers.  I was kept numb and emotionless until I was able to start dealing with things. You know you’re in a bad place when drool starts to crust over on your face because it’s been there for so long,” Clay grimaced and I blanched.
                    “Well, that’s a really gross image,” I muttered.  All I could think about was the movie Shutter Island