Manipulative Manic

I was lost six feet deep in depression before you came along to make me a better woman, to save me from my bloody wrists, Sammy said.
I couldn’t tell whether she meant it or not this time, but I knew I couldn’t keep up with her bipolar shit for much longer. I hope you’re right this time, I said.
You’ve made me a better woman. A respectable woman. Wife material, Sammy said.
But you just tried to take your life last week, I said.
Sammy reached for my hands. And you saved me.
I can’t even save myself, I said. I blinked back tears, making them fall faster. What do you want from me?
Sammy moved closer and wrapped her arms around me like a daughter embracing her father’s protection.
I’m done cutting, she said. I’m done cutting through the tension.
I raked my fingers through my hair. You, we need help.
I’ve been going to counseling, and…
It’s not you; it’s me, I said, rubbing my temples as I put space between us.
Don’t love me anymore?
What? I said. You know it’s not that. I just don’t know how to help you.
But I’m still here. I haven’t died-by-suicide, but only because of you.
I need you, I said. I need you back.
Sammy fit her slim frame in mine. And I need you to be you for a while, just for a bit longer.
You think it’s just a manic episode?
Could be.
Also, could not be, I said.
Well, let’s fuck, she said, knowing full well that was my weakness. Sammy hung her body over my head like a hamster on a wheel burning its calories to chase a carrot, that kind of thing.
Well, what are you waiting for?
I grabbed Sammy’s shoulders. What do you say we go talk to someone right now.
Like, have a threesome? Sammy said. You sexy devil you.
I laughed hard. No, but seriously.
Sammy tickled my sides, and as her eyes danced with a gleam, I realized the episode was over.


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