Frost - Marianna Baer

said it was time for me to stop. So, I got in the habit of finding

other ways to get pills. From my parents, other people. I don’t use

them every day. Just when I’m stressed, or anxious. I know it’s not

ideal, but I’m really careful. And . . . I know it’s wrong, how I get

them. I do feel bad about that.”

I rolled the warmth of my cup between my hands.

“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.

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“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.

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“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?”

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“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.

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“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.”

“Oh-kaay,” I said. “But you haven’t talked to her about this

stuff. You haven’t heard the way she talks about it.”

“No. But still.”

“So, then . . . what’s the alternative?” I said. “If she’s not

imagining stuff?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there really is something . . . weird in

there.”

“Like, something evil?” I said. “Something trying to hurt

Celeste? Is that what you mean?” He couldn’t.

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“I don’t know. Do you really think we can understand

everything about this stuff?”

“No, I guess not. But—”

“There are plenty of documented stories of hauntings.”

“David. Are you serious?” I studied his face. His stubble-

covered jaw was set.

“Well, there are,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said to avoid arguing over that side issue. “But

you have a history of psychosis in the family. And Celeste has the

paranoid impression that someone—something—is trying to kill

her. I mean, statistically—”

“I’d know if she was sick, Leena.”

I pushed my glasses up my nose. He was a mathematician;

how could he be so illogical?

“Are you really saying it’s more likely that the dorm is

haunted than that she’s had a psychotic break, something she’s

genetically predisposed to have?” Now I couldn’t take my eyes off

his profile, waiting for some sign that I wasn’t hearing what I

thought I was.

“You make it sound as if having a father like ours means it

will happen,” he said. “It’s a pretty low percentage, you know.”

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“But, David. Are you seriously listening to yourself? Haunted.

You believe the dorm is haunted.”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going to assume that she’s lost it.

She would tell me if she felt not right, mentally. We have a pact.”

“People don’t know!” I was having trouble keeping the

frustration out of my voice. I needed to remember how hard all of

this would be for him to hear. It shouldn’t have surprised me that

his first response would be denial. “Don’t you see? It all seems

real to her because her brain is perceiving it as being real. People

don’t know when they’re delusional. I live there, David. That

house is not . . . haunted. If such a thing even existed.”

“Since you don’t believe it can be, maybe you’re just not

open to seeing it.”

“David!” I said too loudly. “I’d know if there was something

wrong in the house. I’d certainly know if something was trying to

kill me. And nothing bad has happened to any of my stuff, you

know. Nothing.” I paused. “We have to tell the dean about this.

Or maybe not the dean first. Maybe your mom. Would that be

better? It should be your decision.”

He finally turned to face me. The blue of his eyes glowed

radioactive in the strong sun. “And then what? They send her to

some horrible place and shove her full of meds?”

So now he was throwing that back at me?

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“Well, somewhere she can get help,” I said. “Of course. And

yes, meds can help.”

“God! You’re not a doctor yet, Leena. Even if you treat

yourself. How many psychotics have you even met? My father

was probably the first, right? And he wasn’t even having an

episode.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what? I know psychosis. I’ve lived with it. Celeste is not

acting at all like my father ever acted. I’d be able to tell.”

This conversation had strayed so far from what I had

anticipated. I had no idea what to say anymore. “But, David. If

you listen to what Celeste is saying—”

“Celeste is rational. She doesn’t have any other symptoms.”

He held out his hand and counted off on his fingers. “She’s doing

her schoolwork. She’s already got all of her college apps in—did

you know that? She has good personal hygiene. She hasn’t

withdrawn—”

“Of course she has,” I said. “We barely ever see her

anymore.”

David shook his head. “That’s because of us, because she

doesn’t know how to deal with our relationship. And I see her on

my own, when you’re not around.”

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“I can’t believe we’re arguing over this,” I said. “If she’s not

sick, then it won’t hurt to tell someone, right?”

“Leena. I’m going to talk to Celeste. Until then, don’t do

anything. Anyway, waiting won’t make a difference. If you are

right, if she’s sick, what’ll it matter? A few days won’t change

anything. Right?”

“It’s just, if she’s sick—”

“If you are right,” he interrupted, “if she’s sick, then I

promise, a day or two won’t make any difference. Nothing will

change the fact that Celeste, the Celeste I know, is gone.”

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Chapter 37

GOING TO MY CLASSES WAS NOT AN OPTION. David’s

completely irrational view of the facts had thrown me for almost

as big a loop as Celeste’s revelation. There was only one place I

could safely process the information.

I fumbled a round yellow pill into my mouth. I needed clarity.

Too much emotion and confusion battled in my brain. I breathed

in the closet’s comforting smell, traced my finger over Cubby’s

feathers, and tried to think.

Was the power of denial so strong that it could completely

prevent David from seeing the truth? Maybe the drive for self-