Vivienne's Guilt (9 page)

Nodding, Dr. Benson replies, “That’s perfectly normal, my dear. Tillie is so young. She can’t possibly understand. She just wants her life to go back to normal. Children that young don’t fully grasp the permanence of death. They don’t grieve the way adults do. She’s not trying to replace Abbott. She’s trying to fill that gap...but no one will ever take the place of her father.”

“So, I should just encourage this?” I ask incredulously.

“No. I wouldn’t say encourage as much as allow it. Allow Tillie to grieve and to deal with her pain in whatever way works for her. If hanging out with Reid is bringing her happiness, then you shouldn’t try to take that from her. And if it’s the thought of her forgetting about Abbott that’s the problem, then you should talk with her about him. Spend a little time each night remembering her father. And if you cry, that’s okay, too. It’s not the end of the world for Tillie to see you cry. It’s a normal part of grieving. A normal part of life,” Dr. Benson explains.

“Okay. All right, I can do that.” I’ve avoided even saying Abbott’s name around Tillie unless she brings him up for fear of upsetting her or myself. I realize now that by doing so, I’m helping her forget. I have to find ways to keep her father alive.

“You mentioned the panic attacks. How are you handling those? Do you still have medication?”

“No, I was using the pills, but I’m out.”
Liar.
The truth is, I do still have half of a bottle, but I have been taking them more frequently and don’t want to run out. The thought of doing this without them is terrifying.

“All right. What about the dose? Is the .25 mg tablet still working for you?”

“Yes. It is. Well, it was,” I answer, and I feel bad for lying. But, the anxiety of running out of medication overrules any guilt that I feel at this moment.

Dr. Benson hums while flipping through my chart. “I want to put you back on the Zoloft for a while. I think you need something for every day. It’s been three months since the last time that you refilled the Xanax. I’m going to keep you on that as well. It’ll help you to shut off your mind and get to sleep at night. But I want you to remember how addicting these medications can become. They are really just a Band-aid to reduce your symptoms and allow you to function more normally until you’ve dealt with your grief. That will come with time. You can use the medication to counteract those attacks.”

I nod. “That sounds good.”

“I’m going to keep you on the .25 mg Xanax, and you can take it at night to sleep or during the day if you get a really bad attack. I don’t want you taking them more than you absolutely need to. No more than three times a day, and you need to wait at least six to eight hours between pills. If it’s not working, then I want you to come back and see me, okay?”

“Of course.”

“I know that you’ve taken it before, but remember to be careful driving. Benzodiazepines can cause extreme fatigue,” he warns. “Do not consume any alcohol while on the medication. Alcohol greatly increases the side effects because they are both downers. The side effects can be so severe that they have even been used as a date rape drug. Coupled with high amounts of alcohol, they can cause memory loss and in some cases even death.”

“I remember the side effects, Doctor. I’m not really a big drinker, anyway. That won’t be a problem for me. I just want to be able to get through the day, you know?”

“All right. Well, I wish you the best, Vivienne. With time, it will get easier. You hang in there and enjoy that sweet girl of yours,” he says as he writes out the prescription on his little pad. “I’d like to see you back here in two or three months to touch base. Of course, you can come sooner if you feel like you need it.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor,” I respond, taking the prescription from his hand. “And thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

I pull up to the house, admiring the scenery. We have a long winding drive lined with oak trees that form a canopy overhead. The front and side yards have a few large oaks as well. The largest is to the left of the house and my personal favorite. Abbott recently hung a tire swing for Tillie from one of its thick, mossy branches.

I chuckle to myself at the memory of him trying to get the cable up and over that branch. He’d tied a small brick to one end, and it took forever for him to get enough oomph to make it. I remember heckling him about his throwing arm, and when he finally got it over he did his stupid little victory dance. Anyone who knows Abbott has witnessed it. It was just this silly little cross between the Carlton and the running man. It used to embarrass the hell out of me, but now...now I would give anything to see him do that godawful dance just one more time.

My mind drifts to the first time I ever saw Abbott’s moves...It was only a few weeks after the Halloween frat party. Abbott and I were sort of an unofficial couple. We did everything together. I’d even started attending his football games on Friday nights. They’d just won against their biggest rival, and Abbott made the game-winning touchdown.

“Come on, Cass. I want to get to the house before the guys make it back,” I urge.

“I’m coming, Vivienne. I need to be ‘fuck me’ hot. The place will be swarming with all sorts of football player yumminess!” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “What’s the deal with you and Abbott, anyway? Are the two of you together...officially, yet?” she asks while applying another layer of mascara to her lashes.

“He hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend or anything. Do guys still do that? I don’t know what we are. I just know whatever’s going on...it’s really good, Cass. It’s so much more than anything I’ve ever had with a guy.”

“Well...let’s go. What are you waiting for? We need to get to this party before one of those skanky cheerleader bitches gets her claws into your man!”

I shake my head at my best friend and grab my purse and keys as we head out of the door.

It takes a few trips around the block before we find an empty spot to park. Cassie and I have to do some serious walking to get to the house. We somehow arrive just before the guys all show up, and thankfully only have to hang out with the frat bitches for a few minutes.

When the players walk in, their fight song is blaring through the speakers and everyone cheers and rushes to greet them.

Everyone but me. I just hang back and observe.

The smell of beer permeates my senses as the cheerleaders pass out overflowing Solo cups to the team. I look on as they hang all over the guys. Sluts.

Finally, I spot Abbott in the center of a crowd of people chanting his name and push my way through the gaggle of girls to find my man. At least, I think he’s my man. I hope he is...

What is he doing?

Oh my God...he is quite possibly the worst dancer I have ever seen. He’s got the attention of the whole room, and where I would, no doubt, die from embarrassment, he just eats it up. He’s shaking his hips and doing some running man thing with his legs. I can’t even...

And then he spots me and crooks his finger toward me.

I shake my head, laughing.

He continues motioning for me to join him and then mouths the word “please” while poking his bottom lip out. I can’t leave him hanging, so against my better judgment, I make my way through the crowd.

Oh God. Am I really going to embarrass myself in front of all of these people?

I’m a pretty good dancer, actually, but Abbott is hopeless. He’s terrible and adorable, and damn does he smell like heaven. “Hey,” I say as I approach him, and the sight of his still damp hair and those dimples is doing crazy things to my girlie parts.

Abbott flashes me a sexy smile and then pulls my body against his. He kisses my temple and works his way down to my ear and whispers, “Hey,” as he continues down my neck to my collar bone.

The next song comes on—“Back That Ass Up”—and the house goes wild. Booties are popping everywhere, and I’m relieved that we are not the sole focus of every pair of eyes in the room any longer.

Abbott and I are barely moving. I grind my ass into his crotch as he continues making out with my neck and whispers, “Babe?”

I turn my face to meet his and answer, “Yeah?”

“They clowned when you passed, yeah,” he sings, eying the group of girls in the corner.

I bust out laughing and look over to the flock of girls gawking at us and give them the stink eye.

“Let’s give ’em something to stare at,” he says. Then he places his hands on my hips and begins to really move against me. And the boy can move. He slides one of his hands up under the hem of my shirt to caress my flat stomach, and I lift my arm over my head and around his neck, pulling his face against my own. Being this close to him has me tingling in all the right places.

I look back at him and ask, “What the hell was that...thing,” I say, waving my free hand in the air, “you were doing when you walked in? I can’t even call that dancing. I was scared.”

Abbott cracks up. “That, babe, is called a victory dance. It’s supposed to be silly. You thought I was serious?” He laughs even harder.

“Well, I was a little embarrassed for you, truthfully, and really embarrassed for me, too. I’m glad you can actually dance.”

“Are you, now?” Abbott asks as he pulls my waist into his, pressing his bulge into my ass. “Speaking of slangin’ wood,” he whispers as he reaches the hand that’s still under my shirt up to grab my breast.

“What wood?” I tease. And boy am I ever joking. He is huge and hard and my body is on fire.

“Whoa, Vivie’s got jokes!” Abbott laughs.

I turn in his arms to face him. “Who says I’m joking?” I ask, running my hands up his chest, around his neck, and into his short blond hair.

“That sounds like a challenge?” he questions, raising his right brow.

Yes, please! We’ve been doing this dance for weeks, and I’m so ready to be with him. Every time things get a little heavy, Abbott backs off. I don’t want to be a slut and rape the boy, but I am not far from begging.

I reach down and palm him in my right hand, eliciting a hiss from his lips.

“Fuck me,” Abbott growls, releasing a long breath.

“I’m trying...” I say, biting my bottom lip. God, could I be any more desperate?

“Not here, Viv. Not yet,” he says, brushing my hair out of my eyes with the back of his hand. “Not at the frat house. Not when we’ve been drinking. I want our first time to mean something. You mean more to me than this, Viv.”

“Do I?” I ask seriously. “What is this Abbott?” I motion between the two of us. “I think you like me and I really, really like you. I want you so bad, and you just keep pushing me away. You’ve probably slept with half of the girls in this room, so I know you have no aversion to sex. Is it me?” I ask with tears in my eyes.

I am so pathetic.

“Come here, baby,” he says as he grabs the sides of my face in his hands and pulls until our noses are practically touching. “Yes, it’s you,” he says, massaging my scalp with his fingers. “But, not the way you’re thinking so stop it.” He looks right into my eyes. “I have never wanted anyone the way that I want you and it scares me and excites me all at once. I don’t want to fuck this up,” he says, wiping my tears away. “Don’t let me mess this up, Viv.”