Lightheaded

November 2013

There wasn't much you could do at three in the morning besides create. Or eat junk food. So both of those were what Jillian had found herself doing most nights for hours on end. Her room was littered with half-finished projects and empty soda cans.

She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped sleeping, whether it had been gradual or not. She wasn’t sure when the tiredness she felt deep in her bones had become a constant, permanent resident. She wasn’t sure when she started falling asleep on the subway or in class because she’d only slept an hour or two in her bed the night before.

There were a few things she remembered vividly in those weeks though, like when her and Harry had found the middle ground of walking on eggshells and pretending they were fine. She remembered when Harry had started being at work more than he was at home. She remembered when she began to see him as other people saw him, not just her Harry. She remembered the ache it put in her chest.

It was just after four in the morning on a Tuesday night when she finally gave up. The tossing and turning only made her head spin more. No matter how many blankets she rolled herself up in, she was still cold. The outside noise had become white noise to her in recent weeks and mixed with the quietness of the apartment, she thought her head might explode.

She stood slowly, floorboards creaking and body swaying, before she found her balance. She rubbed the colors out of her eyes and wrapped a fleece blanket around her a bit tighter. Lack of sleep wasn’t helping the swimming colors or the feeling of having a head stuffed with cotton that she’d slowly grown accustomed to.

Her room had become a mess lately, clothes in undecipherable piles and schoolwork stacked messily, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. It was unlike her and it felt strange, but she couldn’t find the energy. She ignored them, stepped over them carefully and slipped out.

Her stomach swirled with nerves as she padded down the hall to Harry’s room. She hadn’t done that in weeks. She wasn’t sure what to expect or how he’d react, but she was too drained to care. She needed her best friend.

She didn’t knock, the room was dead silent, she just turned the creaky doorknob and slipped in.

His room was more of an organized mess than hers. There were journals turned over and marked to certain pages, stacked empty coffee cups, a hamper overflowing with dirty collared shirts. He’d forgotten to shut his blinds, city light illuminating the small room.

He was sprawled out on his face in only a pair of boxers, despite the November chill. The covers had been twisted to the foot of the mattress and one of his pillows was on the floor. He’d always been a restless sleeper when he slept alone.

She didn’t expect him to notice, just slipped into the other side of bed with her little fleece blanket and shaky limbs. She didn’t expect to sleep either, she just wanted someone near, a steady, breathing, present body next to her own to remind her she was alive.

“Jilly?”

Her weight had just settled down into the mattress when his head turned toward her.

“Y-yeah,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and pretending it was months ago when everything was fine, “‘S me.”

When he shifted, she held her breath, still pretending. She felt just on the edge of something, undecipherable words on the tip of her tongue, her mind on the cusp of an idea she’d never had. When he rolled over, his arm thrown lazily across her waist, it disappeared.

“Why do you put up with me?” he grumbled, hardly awake.

She was quiet for a few seconds, wondering if he’d even hear her, “Because you’re my best friend. And everyone else kinda sucks.”

His face buried into her shoulder and the kiss left on top of the material of her shirt felt like an apology.

*

He tried to make it up to her for Thanksgiving. It was their first real holiday away from home, they wouldn’t be going back until right after finals, just before Christmas.

Jillian painted little watercolor placemarks and thrifted a tablecloth and cleaned the apartment while Harry bought discount groceries and cooked. Kelsie brought the wine, Niall brought Ellie, Zayn brought Nina. Jillian had invited them both.

After the Harry blowout, Jillian had spoken to them both. Her and Zayn were in agreement that it wasn’t a big deal, friends got drunk and fucked sometimes. He’d assured her that Nina was fine with it, when they were off-again they had a far more open relationship. Jillian had still been terrified and messaged her on Facebook, inviting them both in attempt to dissipate the lingering tension that they had both assured her was one sided.

Despite her nerves, Jillian was having a better day than usual, though that might’ve been the thought of a long, restful weekend. She felt far more awake and aware than she had in weeks, her head wasn’t pounding or swimming or fuzzy. And best of all, for the first time in a while, things with Harry felt tentatively okay. She wasn’t going to push it and she hoped Zayn and Nina’s presence wouldn’t either.

They woke up early and drank hot chocolate and watched the parade just like they were little kids again. Curled up on the sofa under fleece throws with bowls of cereal and mugs of cocoa transported her back to a simpler time. When they were just kids, no concept of money or time or heartbreak.

She spent the rest of the morning cleaning the apartment, particularly the bathroom and the living room. She’d thought she was doing Harry a favor, getting into the holiday giving spirit or something, when she decided to pick up his room a little too. He’d been so busy with school and the office and his actual, paid job that his room was far messier than she’d ever seen it, even back home. She knew the disorganization drove him up a wall, never being able to find anything, and she’d just wanted to help.

She started with the bed, she fluffed his pillows and made up the sheets and blankets. She sorted his laundry and hung up the clean collared shirts that had been forgotten on the back of his desk chair. She restacked his business books and shuffled papers into neat piles and she swore she wasn’t being nosy when something quite literally jumped out at her.

Another flurry of loose papers torn out of a journal landed at her feet. Each page peeking up at her had his messy, loopy, handwriting all over them. They weren’t his neatly printed business notes or the post its he often scribbled out at work reminding him not to get too busy for the basic tasks (‘pick up milk’, ‘mail the electric bill’, ‘meet jilly for lunch or she’ll murder you’), and she would’ve much preferred if they were.

Far different words jumped out at her (aching, missing, fear, love) and she tried her hardest not to properly read them, tried not to invade his privacy. Her head didn’t have time to react, to run over possibilities and theories, not when there were footsteps down the hall.

She didn’t know why she did it or why it felt instinctive, but she dropped the pile back where she’d found them, one piece of paper staying in her hands. She folded it behind her back and stuck it in the waistband of her skirt, sweater falling over it. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

“Hey,” Harry’s head peaked in, eyes bright and oblivious, “Have you seen the can opener?”

*

She didn’t say a word. Not while she set the small table or while Harry sheepishly admitted the turkey was too dry as he carved it himself. Not while Nina giggled every time Jillian and Zayn shared an awkward exchange. Not even when her and Harry were finally alone again, rinsing dishes while everyone giggled in the living room.

Overall, it hadn’t been disastrous. The apartment hadn’t burnt down, not from the charred stuffing or the scorching tension between her and Zayn and Harry. No one had gotten too drunk, no one had gotten into a fight. Her and Harry had been tentatively okay, which meant everything else was tentatively okay. And she certainly wasn’t about to ruin that with her nosiness.

The second or third bottle of wine between them all had just been uncorked when Jillian found her escape. Kelsie had slipped out onto the small balcony for a post dinner cigarette and Jillian counted to 90 before following with an old quilt from her grandmother and a folded up love letter tucked in her bra.

“Ugh,” Kelsie groaned when she saw her, legs pulled to her chest and chin resting on her knees, “I feel sick.”

“Too much turkey?” Jillian uncurled the blanket to plop down and wrap it around both of them.

She nodded and held her lit cigarette out between two fingers. Jillian hesitated for half a second before taking it, the secret on her chest was weighing heavily and she needed something to do with her hands.

She took a single drag before passing it back and confessing, “I found something in Harry’s room.”

“Cocaine?” she questioned, eyes twinkling, “Racist porn?!”

“No!” Jillian squealed, cheeks burning, “Jesus, no!”

“Oh thank god,” Kelsie tilted her head back, “I never took him for a racist.”

She rolled her eyes and stuck a hand down her sweater, fishing in her bra. She hadn’t said much to Kelsie prior, not more than a drunken, teary ramble about her best friend probably hiding the love of his life from her for no apparent reason. Neither had brought it up again, save for a few teasing words or an exchanged look and fit of giggles.

“Oh jesus,” Kelsie took the folded piece of paper between her fingers, “Do I even want to know?”

Jillian groaned something unintelligible and leaned back against the cold wall. Her face burned with embarrassment and shame and something else that she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Something that knotted her stomach every time she thought about the possibility of what those pages of writing meant.

Something was going on and she was completely oblivious.

“Where did you get this?” Kelsie questioned when she’d folded it up again and passed it back. Her voice was far too calm for how Jillian felt on the inside, for what the inside of her head looked like.

“It was an accident,” she grumbled, “I was cleaning his room.”

“Right,” she snorted and took another drag of her cigarette, “You were cleaning his room and it just folded itself up and jumped into your bra!”

“He came down the hall!” she cried in her defense, face still burning, “I hid it in my skirt.”

It wasn’t something she was proud of, but she needed tangible evidence. She needed someone to validate the situation, to tell her it wasn’t all in her head.

“You’re unbelievable. Talk to him.”

*

She kept her secret to herself and trusted Kelsie to do the same. She wasn’t necessarily ignoring Harry as time went on, but she wasn’t going out of her way to spend as much time with him as she usually did. She told herself for the time being, until she got to the bottom of things, it was easier that way.

Most of her time was spent at Zayn’s with Nina and a few drinks. She still wasn’t sure where she stood with them or their on again/off again, open relationship but she was certain being with them was better than tiptoeing around Harry or hiding in bed. It was easier, not as natural maybe, but that was solved quickly.

It was easy with them, even though it shouldn’t have been, all things considered. It had always been clear that Zayn and Nina were no good for each other. They got too drunk and got into mean spats, they slept with other people when they were on again and trying to be monogamous, they introduced each other to things that Jillian had never even heard of before she’d moved to New York. Jillian felt sort of like a mediator when she was with them, especially since the tension between her and Zayn had faded. They’d laughed it off with a couple of beers as a one time thing and gone back to bickering and teasing.

They’d never done anything hard around her, they drank a little or smoked a little while they cooked dinner or watched a movie, but sometimes she could tell. Sometimes their pupils were a little too blown or their words a little too fast. But she didn’t mind. It was something to focus on other than her own issues at hand.

She never thought that they’d involve her though.

She wasn’t sure they meant to, she didn’t think they’d intentionally pressure her into something she didn’t want to do. They cared about her, she knew that, she could tell. They just wanted to help. That was what friends did.

She hadn’t slept in two days. Finals were quickly approaching and everything else seemed to be declining just as rapidly. She’d nearly overslept for class and her and Harry had gotten into some stupid pissing match that morning and she just didn’t want to go home. She wanted to escape. That was usually why she ended up with Zayn and Nina.

She showed up sort of uninvited on a Wednesday night. She could see the lights on above the shop and took that as a good sign. Her head was heavy and fuzzy, her eyes burned, everything felt hyperreal from lack of sleep. She knew if she was in any better of a state, she would’ve lost her nerve and just gone home to her cold bed and the heavy tension waiting for her.

No one answered when she knocked the first time, so she tried again a little harder and contemplated texting Zayn despite her spinning head. She didn’t have to worry though, soon there were heavy footsteps and the sound of the door being unlocked.

“Jillian?” Nina stood with knit brows and blown pupils, in nothing but one of Zayn’s old t shirts with her dark hair tied up messily, “Are you okay?”

She blinked heavily, processing the words more slowly than usual before nodding, “Y-yeah, I just. Sorry. My phone’s dead,” she lied, “Or I would’ve texted.”

She shook her head quickly, sniffling sharply and wiping her nose with the back of her wrist, “It’s fine! Come in!”

Jillian knew she shouldn’t. She knew what they’d been doing. But she wasn’t thinking clearly and she just didn’t want to think at all anymore, so she let Nina lead her into the messy apartment.

Zayn was on the couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table lazily, “Jillian,” his head turned and a soft, surprised smile appeared on his lips, “Hey.”

“Hi,” she mumbled sheepishly, feeling stupid and a bit childlike. She was clearly intruding.

“Come sit,” he paused the movie they’d been watching and patted the space next to him.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Nina smiled knowingly, eyes glistening.

“Th-thanks,” Jillian mumbled softly, picking her way over shoes and textbooks to plop down next to him, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he grinned crookedly, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t always come here because something’s wrong,” Jillian made a face even though it was a half lie.

“Sure,” he hummed and reached for his half empty beer that was quickly leaving a ring on the coffee table, “But you’ve got that look like something’s wrong.”

She chewed her bottom lip nervously as she watched him take a swig. She wasn’t sure what that meant, if it was that obvious that she felt like everything was just wrong. She’d always prided herself on being good at hiding her emotions.

“I haven’t slept in two days,” she blurted out so suddenly that the words didn’t even feel like her own, they felt foreign on her tongue.

“Jesus,” his eyes widened as he set his beer back down. He looked on the cusp of something more, lips parted, until Nina appeared in the doorway.

“All we have is beer,” she smiled apologetically and held up another bottle, “Is this okay?”

Jillian nodded, she’d take anything, “Perfect. Thanks.”

Nothing more was said of it for the rest of the night, until she was ready to leave. They watched another shitty indie movie, Nina painted Jillian’s nails a cheap shade of red, Zayn made burnt popcorn, Jillian didn’t say anything when they simultaneously disappeared to the bathroom every half an hour and returned with blown pupils.

She stayed until a little after ten. Harry had texted her, questioning her whereabouts and she wasn’t about to pour gasoline on the fire. Zayn led her to the door after Nina had disappeared to bed with a hug for Jillian and a kiss for Zayn.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she slid her oversized denim jacket on, “For tonight. I needed it.”

“Course,” he smiled softly, rubbing the back of his neck almost nervously, “I’ve got something for you.”

“M-me?” her brows knit, her head was less cotton stuffed and more swimmy from the beer. But she felt a little more alive, a little more like herself.

He dug into his pocket, eyes half lidded and twinkling. Gently, he took her wrist and pressed something small and cold into her palm and closed her fingers around it. Her eyes widened, mouth going dry because absolutely not.

He shook his head, smiling knowingly, “Not what you think it is. Take one an hour before bed and eat something with it. You can thank me later.”

Jillian’s head spun the entire walk home. The little baggie of pills she’d shoved into the front pocket of her tight jeans felt like it was burning a hole in her leg despite the sharp November air. The little bit of herself she’d gained back from the beer and the popcorn and the laughter had disappeared. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she quickened her footsteps, head ducked. She felt like a child skipping school or a teenager stealing from a gas station. Her head had convinced her she was constantly seconds away from being caught. The irrationality of it didn’t matter, it was clouding her head and constricting her throat.

Harry was passed out on the couch when she returned, out of breath and heart pounding even more than usual. There were remnants of a TV dinner on the coffee table and he was still in his work clothes, his collared shirt unbuttoned a bit. Her stomach twisted.

She shut the TV off with shaky hands, covered him with a throw blanket, and threw away the empty dinner tray before slipping away to her room and locking the door. She tore off her clothes as if they were the only thing constricting her breathing and pulled on an old shirt. She retrieved the little baggy out of her pocket only because she had no idea what to do with it. She’d never kept anything from Harry, especially not something physical. She didn’t have any hiding places.

She cocooned under her comforter, examining the the baggie in the dull bedside lamp light. She had no idea what they were and no one in their right mind would’ve done anything but flush them down the toilet. But Jillian could feel her sanity slipping a little more every day, everytime her vision went dark around the edges or her heart pounded just from standing up from the kitchen table. She was desperate. If she had to stand another day of classes and work and stress without another night of sleep, she’d lose it completely. So she compromised.

She split one pill in half with an X-Acto knife from her desk and swallowed it with a stale Coke from her dresser before she could fully regret it. She lifted her paintbrushes out of the coffee mug she kept them in and shoved the baggy beneath them. She told herself she’d dump them in the morning.

She fell asleep within twenty minutes, head spinning with regret. When she dreamt, it was of vivid colors and make-believe monsters and Harry’s loopy handwriting.

*

Weeks passed without the pills being touched or the letter being brought up. The days grew shorter and the nights became impossibly longer for Jillian. Christmas break was slowly creeping closer but before that, there were impending finals and deadlines and stress.

Her days were up and down just like herself.

They were trying though, her and Harry, but nothing felt the same. When she wasn’t passed out in bed or he wasn’t in the office for fifteen hours straight, they tried. They tried to make dinner and usually resorted to takeout in mostly comfortable silence. They tried to study together but mostly ended up watching something stupid on Netflix. Things weren’t bad, they were just different since the fight.

Jillian had picked up a pizza on her way home from her shift with the honest intent of studying. She even cracked open her textbook in her lap before she set a greasy paper plate on top of it. Her brain felt fried. The store had been swamped with Christmas shopping parents and crying babies, she’d been running around in circles all day. She was hungry for the first time in what felt like ages and all she wanted was to devour a slice or two of pepperoni pizza and pass out on the couch.

She was halfway through her second slice when she heard the key in the lock, her muscles tightening instinctively. It never used to be like that.

“Jilly?” Harry’s voice rang through the quiet apartment, “You home?”

“Living room,” she mumbled through a mouthful of pizza and wiped her face with a crumpled napkin.

He appeared in the doorway looking as tired as she felt. He was still in his ‘work’ clothes. He’d unbuttoned his white collared shirt a bit and rolled up the sleeves, his jacket over his arm, but his pants looked professional and uncomfortable, along with his shoes. There were hints of purple under his eyes and his long hair was no longer pushed back neatly.

“Pizza?” she motioned at the open box on the coffee table.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he nodded, “Just gonna change. Pepperoni?”

“Always.”

She’d finished her pizza and was scrolling through Facebook by the time he returned. This time he was dressed in a pair of old high school sweatpants and a Rolling Stones tee that Jillian had thrifted for him years ago.

“How was work?” she glanced over at him as he sat down, paper plate in hand, and tried to gauge his mood.

He snorted at the word ‘work’ as if he was being paid to be treated the way he was, “Shit. You?”

“Shit,” she glanced back at her computer, “If finals don’t kill me, Christmas shoppers will.”

He nodded, piling his plate with three slices of pizza, “Great method of studying you’ve got there,” he pointed at her computer stacked on top of her open textbook, Facebook fully on display.

“Fuck off,” she rolled her eyes with a smile.

They sat in a somewhat comfortable silence for the first time in a while. Harry flipped through Netflix while Jillian scrolled through posts of old friends and distant cousins. It felt like it was supposed to, safe and familiar.

Eventually, her eyes landed on a post that she thought she’d imagined.

Lydia Johnson is now in a relationship.

She wasn’t sure how long she stared, jaw slack and eyes wide, but it was long enough for memories to flood her head (stolen kisses, junior prom, soft skin, the taste of stolen beer, being left behind) and for Harry to notice.

“Jilly?” he’d paused whatever weird drama he’d put on and glanced over at her.

“Hm?” she blinked quickly, unable to scroll away.

“You alright?” he was eyeing her suspiciously.

She couldn’t form words, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but turn the screen toward him.

“Oh,” he breathed, studying the post and the picture accompanying it, “Shit.”

Jillian nodded once and turned it back to herself, still unable to scroll. She wasn’t sure why it still hurt, she hadn’t thought about Lydia in weeks, she just knew it did. It made her skin prickle and her chest ache.

“You alright?” Harry’s voice softened. It only made her chest hurt more, that he could still read her so well. He still knew she was hurting, that she wasn’t right.

“I-it was bound to happen, right?” she managed softly. She needed confirmation, she needed someone to tell her it was normal. It was perfectly normal to have thought you were finally over your first girlfriend, only to feel like you’d been punched in the stomach when you saw the beginning of her next relationship on Facebook.

It wasn’t supposed to still hurt. Jillian had graduated and gotten into her dream school and moved across the country. It had been over a year since Lydia had gotten accepted to UCLA and left naive, seventeen year old Jillian in the dust.

He set his paper plate back on the coffee table and scooted a little closer on the couch, “Course. First breakups are always the hardest though.”

She knew that, she repeated it in her head. It was normal. She was normal. It was okay that she still felt a sting in her heart even though it was over and had been for ages. Lydia held a lot of firsts for her. Her first relationship, the first time she’d been with a girl, her first love. She would always have a part of Jillian, a part of her life she’d never get back. She had to learn to be okay with that. Or at least pretend she was.

She feigned a half laugh, “Like you and Sarah Davis in fifth grade?”

“Heeey,” he whined, “That was a rough breakup! Half of the class declined my RSVP to my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles birthday party!”

She giggled, honestly and openly that time, “I didn’t!”

“You don’t count!” he scoffed, dramatically offended, “You had to be there whether you wanted to or not! Your mum baked my cake!”

She shook her head, “I took your side anyway.”

She felt like she could breathe a little bit easier. Her mind floated from Lydia to years prior. To her and Harry on the playground, laughing and running and being free. Those years were so much simpler, so much easier. They never thought about money or sexuality or love. They had each other. That was all they needed.

Harry’s head rested on her shoulder as she found herself clicking on Lydia’s profile. There was nothing of interest, she rarely posted since she’d gone to college. Just a few pictures from school, of her dog back home, her older sister. She found herself clicking ‘unfriend’ with more ease than she could have ever imagined.

“Harry,” she sighed softly, closing out of the page despite the aching she still felt in her heart.

“Hm?”

“Let’s make a pact. If we’re still single by the time we’re thirty,” she glanced over at him, his eyes were wide and he was chewing on his bottom lip, “We’ll just kill each other.”

He swallowed harshly and turned away, reaching for his pizza, “Y-yeah. Definitely. Good plan.”

His reaction made her nervous, his writings still in the back of her mind, but he didn’t say anything else and she didn’t push it. She wasn’t in the mood to bring back the tension or the bickering. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about Lydia anymore either. She was tired of love and feelings and hurt.

“I need a Dr Pepper,” she sighed overdramatically before pushing her computer and textbook to the side, “You?”

He shook his head, looking down at his pizza, “Thanks, though.”

She stood up and all of a sudden the world felt funny. It was much too hot and constricted, there was a rushing sound in her ears and dark spots in her eyes. Everything felt wrong but she couldn’t form words, couldn’t even move her lips, to alert Harry before the world went completely dark, like stage curtains closing in from the edges of her vision.