Page 97 of Taking the Pitch
I lift my good shoulder. “She’ll be fine. I’ve scared her enough for one lifetime. I don’t need to add to it,” I mumble, my eyelids growing heavy. Thank God we’re almost back to our building.
“What do you mean?”
The concern in his voice pulls me from thoughts of my fluffy blankets and pillows I want nothing more than to cocoon myself in and sleep in for days. “What?”
“You said you’ve scared Charlie enough for one lifetime. How?”
I don’t know what makes me say it, the trauma of the day? The concussion? The pure exhaustion? Whatever it may be makes the words slip through my lips before my concussed brain realizes what I’m saying.
“She’s the one who found me the day I tried to end my life.”
The rest of the drive home, Judd didn’t utter a word. The ride up the elevator to his place? Silence. Now he’s sitting on the bed watching me pull on clothes that I left here. Once I’m able to get my leggings and Judd’s hoodie that basically is now mine on, I pad over to the bed and gently climb up, sitting beside him. I take his warm, calloused hand in mine and wrap my other around the back of it.
“Remember when I told Julie I won a contest with my writing?”
Judd turns his head to look at me, shock and sadness reflecting back at me. The same look I’ve seen on Charlie and her parents’ faces, Hazel’s too, when I told her. A look I happily never want to see on any of their faces again.
“What I didn’t tell her was, winning that contest sent me into a downward spiral. I picked up my phone to call my parents, and it hit me that I couldn't, because they were gone. I only won that contest because I wrote about the pain I felt losing them. It was too much. I felt too much and not enough at the same time. The intrusive thoughts in my head ran rampant. My depression told me I should just end it all, the pain, the suffering, that I was a waste of space.”
Judd’s hand tightens around mine, but he stays quiet, letting me get it all out in the open.
I focus on our hands clasped together and continue, “So, I went back to my dorm room and found a bottle of Charlie’s pain pills she had left over from a procedure she had our sophomore year. I wrote her and her parents a letter thanking them for everything they’ve done for me and apologized for not being strong enough to bear the pain. Then I sat on my bed and swallowed pill after pill until the bottle was empty.”
Judd squeezes his eyes shut, muttering “Jesus” under his breath.
I nod, still focused on our hands. “I know. I just wanted the pain to stop, my brain to be quiet for one minute,one second.” A tear slides down my face and Judd uses his free hand to wipe it away. Our eyes lock, and he gently rests his forehead against mine. We stay like that for a few heartbeats, just being. Until Judd pulls back.
“Tell me the rest, Mills.”
Nodding, I take a breath and continue. “Charlie came home from class early; she had a terrible headache. She found me on the floor, unconscious, barely breathing. She called 911, then her parents. While she was on the phone with her mom, she found the note and then the empty pill bottle. She told the paramedics as soon as they arrived what I had done, they gave me Narcan right away and I proceeded to violently throw up the whole trip to the ER. Everything was a blur for the next twenty-four hours after that, but I was placed into a facility for six months shortly after. I got the help I needed, learned coping mechanisms. They put me on medication for my anxiety and severe depression, which I still take and probably will for the rest of my life. I see a therapist regularly. I actually have an appointment with her on Tuesday because the holidays are always hard on me.” I look up at Judd again, trying to gauge his reaction to all of this. “Do you have any questions?”
“No,” he says, turning towards me and looking into my eyes. “But I am so damn glad Charlie left class early.”
I smile, thinking back to what Charlie told me. “She told me later when she was visiting me that her headache came out of nowhere. One minute she was sitting in class and the next her head was throbbing so bad it was making her nauseous. She hasn’t had a headache like that since.”
“Like someone was trying to tell her something,” Judd says the words I’ve always thought.
I nod.
Laying my head on Judd’s shoulder, we sit in silence. I feel lighter getting my past off my chest. I’ve only ever told one of my ex-boyfriends what happened and that was only after I thought things were going somewhere with him. At first, he was sympathetic but when I was having a hard time around the anniversary of my parents’ death, he became tired of me ‘moping around all the time’. I quit dating after that. Until a cockybaseball player came into my life and showed me what it’s like to truly care for someone.
Judd clears his throat, making me lift my head to look at him. “The night I was arrested for drunk driving was the night of Lucy and Kessler’s engagement party. I didn’t even realize I was drunk.” He looks at me sheepishly. “I had been partying and drinking more before moving home. The drinking became worse after I moved home and saw how happy and content Kessler was. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for Kessler and I can’t imagine our family without Lucy and Hudson, but I was lonely.”
I squeeze his hand this time, because I know that feeling all too well.
“All the women I met only wanted to be with me for my money or to say they slept with All-star pitcher Judd Davis, and I was tired of it. So, I just started drinking a little more to ease the burn in my chest.”
He absently rubs at a spot on his chest like he still feels the pain.
“After I was arrested, Kessler came to pick me up. When we got into the truck, he reamed my ass. I’ve only ever seen Kessler that mad a handful of times, so I knew I fucked up.”
I give him a smirk. “He definitely doesn’t seem like someone who gets mad easily.”
He shakes his head. “He’s not. He made a good point, though. I could have killed myself or someone. And it would have ruined everyone’s life who was involved.”
“It was devastating getting that phone call. I called both my parents’ phones after, thinking the police were wrong, theyhadto be wrong.”
“But they weren’t,” Judd finishes.
