Frost

“I didn’t want you to find out,” I continued, “because I know you don’t like meds, and I thought you might think it’s a problem for me. But it’s really not. I’m not addicted or anything. Not at all. They just, they just make things easier. Like, emotional aspirin.” I bit the inside of my lip. “I know you might not think of me this way, but I can be really . . . unproductively emotional. Like, when my parents split. And other times . . . It scares me.”

Silence. Heart hammering, I forced myself to meet his eyes but couldn’t read their expression.

“Is this what that chart you made is about?” he said.

“You saw it?” I said, surprised.

“I found it on the floor of your room, when you were sick. With so much else going on, I haven’t asked you about it.”

 David had the paper this whole time? I couldn’t believe it. “I know you probably think it’s really irresponsible,” I said. “But I always do research. About dosages, drug interactions. That’s what the chart is for.”

His gaze moved to his coffee cup. “The thing that makes me sad,” he said, “is that you feel you need to do it.” He paused. “And, I guess, it makes me wonder if I know the real Leena.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “I only take really low doses. Just to even out. It’s not like I walk around in a haze. And I only use them when I need to, like I said.” My chest was beginning to hurt. “You do know me, David. You do.”

Sun brought out the reddish strands in his dark hair. He was quiet. I hated that I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Are you mad?” I finally said.

“Mad? Of course not. I think you should stop. I think maybe you have some stuff you need to work out. But I’m not mad.” He reached over and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. Then he smiled. “Let me be your antidepressant, baby. How’s that for a song lyric?”

“Incredibly cheesy.” I leaned forward to kiss him on his cheek, overwhelmed by how well he’d taken it. I’d underestimated him.

“Was there something else?” he said. “’Cause we’ve got class in about ten minutes.”

Something else. Right. I took a sip of coffee as a momentary delay. Then began.

“This is the much, much more serious thing,” I said. “It’s Celeste. She wasn’t upset about your father yesterday.”

“Did she give you a hard time about being there?” he said. “I thought she was being more mature about—”

“No. David, I . . .” It was difficult to talk past the brick in my throat. “I’m really worried about her. More than just worried.”

“Worried?”

“You know how she’s always acted weird about the dorm? And how she switched rooms. And now she won’t use the bathtub either.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me that tub is dangerous, with her cast.”

“That’s what she told me, too, at first. But that’s not it.” I reached over and took one of his bare hands between my mittened ones. “Okay. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. She thinks . . . she thinks the dorm is haunted.”

David’s mouth curled into a questioning smile. “What?”

“She thinks it’s haunted, and that there’s some sort of evil spirit trying to hurt—trying to kill her.”

“Wait.” David pulled back his hand into his lap, tilted his chin down, and looked up at me, eyebrows raised. “What? ”

I went on and told David the whole story—everything she blamed on the ghost, from the ripped skirt to the bruises.

“I did a little research, and it’s possible most of the things were caused by her,” I said. “I mean, not on purpose. Subconsciously. These poltergeist-type things tend to happen in houses with intense girls living there. So she really doesn’t realize that it’s in her head, because it’s actually happening. But it’s being caused by her in some way. I don’t know how this all would tie into delusions and hallucinations. I actually don’t think she has hallucinations, unless the feeling that she’s being physically hurt or whatever, unless that’s some sort of physical hallucination. But the bruises could definitely be self-inflicted. There’s a correlation between . . . between mental illness and self-harm.”

David’s left cheek twitched as I spoke. Maybe I should have printed out some of the articles I read. It’s what had affected me most—the idea that Celeste could have unknowingly done these things herself. It’s what had filled me with that strange combination of relief and terror.

“I know this is a lot to hear,” I said. “I felt sick all night, knowing I had to tell you. Well, that and worrying about her.” I reached for my coffee cup, but the heat had drained away.

“Why didn’t she tell me herself?” he said. “Why did she tell you?”

“I think . . . well, she knows how much you worry about her. That scares her. She assumed you’d think she was . . . you know. Sick. She thought I might believe her.”

David shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’d know if she was sick.” He rubbed his palms back and forth on his knees.

I took a minute to consider his choice of words. “What do you mean?”

“I’d know if she was sick,” he said. “I’d be able to tell.”