Only Between Us Read Online Free

doing an overhaul. It chugs for a while before letting me open a browser to check my email. And as soon as I see the message waiting for me, it’s like hitting the accelerator on my pulse.
    It’s from my mom. I hold my breath and open it.
    Phil got furloughed from his job and money’s tight. Sorry I can’t help right now. Give Katie my love.
    That’s all it says. But it’s more than enough. I read every word a few times and then read what she’s not saying. I blame you , she tells me. Katie’s your responsibility now. Deal with it.
    “I am dealing with it,” I mutter. I’m just doing a shitty job. I push the heels of my palms into my eyes, watching the colors swirl. It’s better than punching my fist through the screen. Mom isn’t going to send a check this month, which means that I’m on my own. And I could do that … if I only had to worry about myself. I’m twenty-four, for fuck’s sake. I can stand on my own two feet.
    But Katie can’t. She might be twenty-two, but she needs someone to take care of her. And that someone is me now. But Mom promised to help.
    So much for that.
    I pull out my phone and click to Claudia’s text. Can we meet tomorrow night to discuss your work?
    I text back. Meet you at the studio at 9?
    My thumb hovers over the SEND button. Do I want to do this? No. But teaching classes at the co-op isn’t enough, especially not if I’m doing this alone. I send the text, my stomach roiling. And then I toss the phone onto a pile of dirty clothes and collapse onto my bed, emptied out. I punch the pillow and then pull it over my head, praying for simple, black sleep to drown me, bury me deep. “You’ll figure it out,” I tell myself. “You’ll make it right.”
    Whether it’s true or not, I have to keep trying.

Chapter Three: Romy
    I dream about Caleb’s painting and wake up thinking about it. The luster and the depth sucked me right in, and I slid down walls of black and into the soft crimson pain of it. And it felt okay, because it wasn’t my own hurt. It wasn’t the explosion of red that comes with the memory of Alex’s fist colliding with my face.
    No, it was Caleb’s pain, and part of me wants to know what that’s all about.
    I sit up in my bed, in my new apartment furnished with the nearly pristine furniture my mom was going to throw out when she redecorated the guest wing. I need to shove Caleb and his artwork out of my mind. He’s not my therapy client. He’s my cocky art teacher for a class I might never return to. I have a lot to do this semester anyway. I might not have time for anything extra. In a year, I’ll have my degree, and I’ll be on my way to having a career. It’ll be a good life, helping people. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do. And now I know how easy it is to stumble into that place where you need help. You don’t have to be a reject or a loser. You don’t even have to be mentally ill. All it takes is bad luck and a moment of wishing or wanting or closing your eyes to what’s really going on in front of you. And just like that, you could be one of the damaged ones.
    Like me.
    I look down at my forearm, at the small tattoo I got over the summer, part of my determination to reclaim myself after losing my way so completely.
    Out of difficulties grow miracles, it says. I believe that. I have to.
    This afternoon, I start my internship. All the second year counseling students have their placements, twenty hours per week of practical experience, on top of our coursework. Jude is at the community clinic near campus, and I’m at the domestic violence shelter on the south side. We’ll all meet once a week on Thursdays for group supervision, and I’m dreading it because I know that Jude will be watching, seeing how I’m handling things. He was upset when I told him I wanted the internship at Sojourner House. Too close to what you went through, he said. You don’t need that. Go work at the kids’ psychiatric center or something.
    I told him to