Remember to Forget, Revised and Expanded (6 page)

“I just want him to tell me something. Anything. Write a note even . . . Why would
Delia's death cause all this? I don't get it.”

Don't get it? You don't
get it
?

I walk back into my room, not caring if I make any noise. I don't even care if he
heard me. His words replay in my mind over and over.

Why would Delia's death cause all this? I don't get it.

You know what I don't get? How someone thinks they can automatically understand every
single one of your problems. He hasn't lived in my shoes. He doesn't know what it's
like to lose the most important person in your life.

My dad doesn't know how close I was to her. He doesn't know how important she was,
and still is, to me. He doesn't know what I've gone through the past six months.
He has no idea. And the fact that he doesn't understand why I'm like this because
of her death proves that he doesn't care.

He doesn't care, and he never will.

I'm overcome with a sudden feeling of anger toward him. I toss the closest thing
to me, which happens to be a chair, to the ground. It causes a loud noise, but quietness
doesn't matter right now. I kick
my foot against the wall, scuffing it a little.
I wish I never came here. I wish none of this had ever happened.

“Levi!” I hear my dad scream. He runs into my room and stops in the doorway. “What's
going on in here?”

I continuously punch the wall in front of me. My hands feel numb, not that it matters.
My dad runs between the wall and me, but I continue punching blindly. I can feel
my fists hitting his stomach, yet he doesn't move.

I can't stand when I do this. It just happens out of nowhere. My mood flips in a
matter of seconds, and I hate it. I hate everything about myself. I'm not normal.
Normal people don't do this. I hate my whole life and everything involved in it.

My heart starts pounding a mile a minute, and my breathing picks up. My whole body
is shaking furiously, and I'm becoming light-headed.

“Levi, calm down. What's wrong?” my dad asks over and over. After punching him for
what feels like a long time—but is actually only a few seconds—I collapse to the
ground. My legs are too weak and shaky to hold me up. I hug in my knees to my chest
and rock back and forth. I take slow, deep breaths to try to calm down.

My dad sits beside me, even though I don't want him here. I push him away, but he
stays. He grabs my wrists, and I try to wriggle out of his grip, but he's too strong.
I kick my legs to get him to let go, but he doesn't.

“Levi! Listen to me! Relax!” he screams.

My head is pounding, and I can hear my heart beating like a drum. It's like my heart
has moved to my brain. I want to scream and yell, but I don't.

“Levi, please!”

And for some reason, I obey. I look up at him, while trying to get out of his grip.
He's still holding tightly to me.

“I don't know what just happened to you. I'm not like your mum, I don't know how
to handle this stuff,” he says nervously. “I
know this is hard for both of us. I
get that you don't want to be here. I understand. But I'm trying. I'm trying so hard.”

A tear falls from his eye and rolls down his cheek. I can't believe that he's crying.

“I know I haven't been the best dad. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry if you hate me, I'm
sorry if you don't want to be here. But this is the situation we're in. And if you
want it to get better, you have to at least try. We can figure this all out together.
Because this is all new to me too. And I just want you to know that you're not alone
in this. Please, Levi. Just try. Please.”

I breathe heavily, my chest rising and falling. My heart is finally going back to
a regular beat. I'm a little more relaxed and not as angry as I was. Though I'm still
shaking all over, and my teeth are clenched tightly.

A few minutes ago, my dad thought this was all a game. He seemed like he didn't care.
And now, he says this. I don't know what to believe. My head is pounding, and I can
barely focus.

For some reason, I reach for my phone and begin a reply to my dad. My fingers shake
over the keyboard as I type. I pass the phone over to him, and he reads it.

I'll try.

He looks up and smiles at me. A genuine smile. Not the cheesy “I'm proud you got
that goal, son” or the “I'm really not happy with your choice, but it's your life”
smile. It's a real smile.

I get up from the ground and feel a little bit dizzy from the sudden motion. I blink
a few times to get rid of the pain behind my eyes.

“Are you all right now?” my dad asks.

I nod, and he pats my arm awkwardly.

“Okay, well, if you need anything, I'll be in my room. We can go out another time,”
he says.

I don't know why I told him I'd try.

I don't know what I've gotten myself into.

All I know is that I'm stuck here for who knows how long, so I might as well try
to make it work with my dad.

Chapter Seven

DELILAH

I
haven't seen Levi since what happened at the park. Considering I live only a few
houses down, I thought I'd see him daily. It's perfectly fine that I haven't run
across him, though. He was extremely unpleasant, and I'm not sure I want to deal
with his harsh attitude again.

But I haven't stopped thinking about him.

I want to know why he doesn't speak and why he seems so angry at the whole world.
Something must have happened to make him this way.

So when I'm at work and see his folder lying open on the front desk, I debate whether
or not to take a quick look inside. I glance at the paper on top, but look away after
a second. I know I shouldn't do this. I could lose my job. I can't peek into Levi's
personal information. But I want to so badly.

I look again, a little longer this time. I quickly read the heading.

Levi Elliot Harrison. 17 years old. Date of birth: July 25.

He's my age? He seemed to be at least nineteen years old. He definitely doesn't look,
or act, seventeen years old.

I quickly look again, this time at the diagnosis section.

Severe depression. Violent mood swings. Anx—

“Levi, you can come in now,” someone says, which causes me to jerk my eyes up quickly.

Is Levi here?

I see him walk across the waiting room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and
his head down. He's dressed in all black like the last time I saw him, except this
time he's not covered in sand.

How did I not notice he was here?

My heart rate speeds up as I realize that Levi may have seen me reading his information.
I could get into so much trouble. I didn't read much, though. It's not a big deal;
I'll be fine.

But I still want to learn more. I didn't get to finish reading his diagnosis. What
if there are reasons for his mental health in his files? There has to be. He can't
be a giant secret to everyone.

“Delilah?” I hear Candace ask.

Oh no. I'm caught. If she knows I was reading Levi's files, I'm going to be fired.
What if I end up going to jail?
Did
I violate the law? All I did was look at his
birthday and some of his diagnosis. I'm not a criminal.

“Can you come here please?” she says with the same cheery smile she always has.

Here it comes.

My stomach gets queasy as I walk over to Candace, and I rub my sweaty palms on my
jeans. I never should have looked in that file.

“Y-Yes? What do you need?” I say, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel.

“Levi's folder,” she says.

This is it. She knows. She saw.

I am going to die.

Tell my parents I love them.

“I seem to have misplaced it,” she says. “Would you happen to know where it is?”

I feel my heart rate slow down, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“It's on—” I start to say. But this is my chance to find out about Levi firsthand.
“No, I haven't seen it. Do you want me to look in your office?”

“That'd be great! Thank you! Come on in!”

I smile at Levi when I walk past him, but he doesn't even look my way. He stares
up at a painting on the wall, his gaze frozen on it.

He's the same as he was the first time I saw him. I guess I should have expected
that. I'd just thought maybe he'd be different now that we've talked.

I go over to the desk in the corner and start slowly rummaging through the drawers.
I listen to what Candace is saying and look up every minute or two to see Levi's
responses. I don't want to make it too obvious that I'm eavesdropping. I really shouldn't
be here.

“So, Levi, how have you been?” Candace asks him.

He shrugs.

“Your father told me about last night. Has that happened before?”

He nods.

What happened last night, and was it something bad? There are so many possibilities.

“Want to tell me how you feel when it occurs?” she asks. Her tone is like the typical
therapist. It's overly perky.

He shakes his head no.

“Have you ever told anyone when it happens?”

He shakes his head no again.

“Well, I can't help you unless you tell me.”

He cracks his knuckles nervously and chews on his bottom lip.

“You've got to try if you want to get better, Levi.”

Levi glances over at me, and I quickly look into the desk drawer. I hope he didn't
catch me watching him.

I look back up to see him writing on the whiteboard. Candace smiles and seems surprised
that Levi is actually writing.

He lifts it up to show what he's written.

When it happens, I hate everything and everyone, and I just want to ruin everything.

“Why do you want to ruin everything?” Candace asks.

He thinks for a second and rubs the back of his neck. He hesitantly writes something
on the board.

Because everything has ruined me.

Candace leans back in her chair, probably thinking about Levi's answer. I know I'm
thinking about it.

My hatred and curiosity for Levi has suddenly changed. I now feel extremely sorry
for him. He feels ruined, and here I am trying to figure out why. What a horrible
thing to do. It's Levi's personal business, and I shouldn't interfere with it. I
wish I'd never looked into his folder or come into this room. I'm about to get up
and leave when Candace starts talking.

“Well, Levi,” she says. “What you experienced was an anger attack. Do you know what
that is?”

He shakes his head.

Since working here, I've found out a few things about mental health. And I know exactly
what Levi is experiencing. There have been many patients who have anger attacks,
but they're usually older. I feel bad that Levi has to go through all this, and he's
my age. I can't even imagine what it's like.

“It probably felt like a panic attack, and I know you have those too. It happens
when you get overly upset about something. It's like the anger just explodes out
of you. It has nowhere to go but out. And you probably feel like you have no control
over yourself when it happens, which is normal. I'm going to put you on another pill
once a day to see if that helps. You can try that for two weeks, and you should feel
a difference.”

Another pill? How many does he take?

I wish I wasn't finding out these things. I feel so selfish for wanting to snoop
into Levi's personal business. It's his life, not mine. I should just let him be.

I walk out of the room and return with Candace's folder, telling her I forgot I had
seen it on the front desk. Levi watches me intently as I exit the room, and I can
feel his eyes piercing through me.

Once I leave, I sit down in one of the plush waiting room chairs. I relax for a few
minutes and think about what just happened.

Levi experiences panic and anger attacks. I thought he just had anger problems, but
he has so much more. Something caused him to be how he is. And all I can think about
is what he wrote on the whiteboard.

Everything has ruined him, so he's trying to ruin everything.

It suddenly makes sense why he's so cruel. I bet he feels like everyone is out to
get him, or maybe he thinks everyone will hurt him.

And just thinking about what Levi may be going through hurts my heart. He is suffering.

Levi definitely is not a simple person. He has many things going on in his mind,
and I sense he's fighting a war with himself.

I hope he wins.

Chapter Eight

LEVI

I
'm being dragged to a football game today, and as much as I don't want to go, I
have to. After what happened the other night, my dad doesn't trust me to be home
alone. He doesn't want me to hurt myself or anyone else. So basically I have no choice
in anything from now on. Not that I'd choose much anyway.

“You can sit with the team or sit in the bleachers, whatever you'd like,” my dad
tells me as we walk to the field. I'd like to go home, that's what I'd like.

I can see the annoying twelve-year-olds already. They're running around the field,
probably telling mom jokes to each other or picking boogers. I don't really remember
what I did as a twelve-year-old, mostly because it was my awkward phase. I don't
like to look back on my long hair that flowed in the wind, thank you very much.

I walk toward the bleachers since I don't want to sit with a bunch of the booger
pickers. I head close to the top, away from the few people that are watching the
game. I watch the boys practice, and one of them falls flat on his face while running
to give his friend a high five. That pretty much sums up my childhood football career,
I did it all the time.