Make Me Burn

by Marie Harte

  “I… I’ll text you later.”

  “Okay.” He disconnected and drove to his mother’s home. But when he got there, he found Oscar in the garage, staring at a bunch of open letters, two boxes scattered before him.

  “Yo. Is Mom here? Rochelle?”

  “Sorry, man. They’re gone. I’m going through this to…” Oscar paused. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “Had a long shift is all. I’m tired.”

  “How about something to eat?” Oscar watched him, pocketed some papers, then put the rest back in boxes. “I was helping Mom clean up in here and one of the boxes fell. That shelf is for shit.”

  Brad saw the warped wood. “I’ll fix it later.”

  “I can do it. Before I move out.” Oscar smiled. “I’ll tell you about it over lunch. But you have to make it.”

  Brad found he could laugh after all. “You never change.”

  “Neither do you.” Oscar followed him back into the kitchen. “Something bad happened because you have that look.”

  “What look?” Brad dragged out fixings for sandwiches. “Make your own.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  He’d make sure to leave his mom some money for the food, always feeling guilty for eating so much. He had as a teenager and still ate like a monster.

  As a teenager. Chris.

  He blinked away stupid tears, balling up his grief for a life gone in the blink of an eye.

  “You want my good news?” Oscar asked.

  “Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Well?”

  “I’m moving out.”

  Brad hadn’t expected that. “Seriously?”

  Oscar flushed. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “Where are you moving to?” He paused. “Not in with Avery and Gerty?”

  “No. We just started dating. Moving in together that soon is the kiss of death.”

  Brad knew that. He also felt foolish for secretly wishing Avery would then need to move out…and in with him. That they might one day live together, be together, as something more than they were now. Which was what, exactly? A wannabe hero in love with the popular girl?

  “You let our daughter die.” Dana’s mother’s harsh words sounded clear as day. He could almost hear her father crying.

  Oscar kept talking, and Brad homed in on his words. “…lameass living at home with Mom. I need my space, and it’s time I was out of here anyway. Maybe Mom and Rochelle can finally come out and be together. You know, share one place?”

  “So you’re moving where?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Maybe, ah, near Fremont. I know a guy.”

  “If something comes up in my place, you want me to let you know?”

  Oscar snorted. “Too rich for my blood. I’d rather not live too close to you either. No offense.”

  “Whatever.”

  They made small talk, Oscar mostly about Klingon and Gerty and how the job was really taking off. Brad started to relax.

  Then Oscar hit him with a verbal punch to the gut. “You know, I think Dana would like Avery a lot.”

  Brad choked on his drink. “What?”

  Oscar flushed. “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s close to the anniversary of Dana’s passing, and you’re not the only one who thinks about her. I liked her too.”

  “She was my best friend.” Brad didn’t like sounding like a shit, but he owned her grief.

  “I know that. I used to be jealous of you guys.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah.” Oscar sighed. “She was so cute, and you guys went everywhere together. Even in middle school, when it’s not cool to like girls, she was your best friend.”

  “I loved her.” Loved. Love. Was there a difference? Did it matter when you failed the one who counted on you the most?

  “And she loved you. More than you know.”

  Brad refused to cry again. “I should have saved her. I should have seen how bad it was, but her parents were always on her ass, you know? And she never hinted she’d do anything.”

  “I know, man.” Oscar pulled Brad in for a hug he didn’t want.

  He pushed his brother away. “I’m good.”

  “No, you’re not. You never are around this time of year. I was so happy when you and Avery clicked. She’s good for you.”

  “She’s too good for me.” Brad had seen fellow Marines die, friends in combat gunned down doing their jobs. He’d seen the people he couldn’t save pass so quickly. But Dana, his best friend, had hurt the most. Gone, but none of them were ever forgotten.

  “Look, you need to read this.” Oscar handed him an envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  Oscar shook his head. “Just read it.” He stood, took his plate to the sink, and left the kitchen.

  Brad frowned, the handwriting hard to read. He looked closer and froze, recognizing his name in Dana’s flowy script.

  Dear Brad…

  His mother and Rochelle walked in the door. “Hey, sweetie.” Rochelle’s broad grin faded. “What’s wrong?”

  He looked from her to his mother, confused. “Mom, what is this?” He held the envelope to her.

  She read it and paled. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.” Before she could take it away, he dragged it back.

  “Vivienne, what is it?” Rochelle seemed confused.

  “It’s a letter from Dana.”

  Rochelle gaped. “Dana? Dana Crawford, that Dana?”

  He nodded.

  Rochelle gripped Vivienne’s hand. “Viv, where did that come from? Did you know about it?”

  “I…yes. It arrived after the poor girl died. About gave me a heart attack.” She wouldn’t look at Brad, her attention on Rochelle.

  Oscar walked back in, saw his mother, and blew out a breath. “Oh boy.”

  “Wait.” Rochelle frowned. “Viv, how long have you had this?”

  “Yeah, Mom. How long?” Brad stood, confused and angry. And growing angrier. “Did you know about this the whole time?”

  “You were hurting. You needed to heal, and Dana makes you sad. I wanted you to recover, Brad. The way I never did with your father.”

  “Oh, please. Not this shit again.”

  “Brad,” Rochelle said. “Not helping.”

  He ignored everyone and read the letter.

  Dear Brad,

  I know by now you’re reading this because I’m gone. I don’t know when I’ll go, but right now the snow is out and it’s cold. Everything’s hibernating, waiting to wake up again. But I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. Forever. I think about it all the time now, and some days I think it’ll be my last. But I’m a coward, and I go on living.

  I missed you so much when you went away, and now you’re back and you’re not the same. You’re sad, and it kills me because I can see your pain. But you’re still always here for me, and I hate it. I hate that I’m a leech, like my mother. Because I refuse to take you down with me. You’re the best of us, Brad, and I want so much more for you than bad memories and guilt.

  But this letter is about blame. And I blame them. I can’t take Mom and Dad anymore. I’m twenty-four years old and I feel like a child, unable to talk back or fight for my rights. I just can’t keep living inside, away from everything and everyone, while Mom clings and Dad barks at me for not being perfect. I want to please them. I love them.

  I hate them. So much.

  Why can’t they just love me for who I am? The way you do.

  You’re going to be mad at me for a long time. I know you. But Brad, it’s not about you. It’s about me, what I want, for once. I did bad things, and I liked it. I hurt myself, but it was my choice, and that opened a door for me, showed me that drugs aren’t always bad. I flew into the sky and floated for hours, for days, and I was blessedly alone. It was like heaven, if ther
e is such a place. But then the drugs wear off and fear returns, and I come home. And I hate myself a little more.

  But I’ve made my peace, and it’s my choice. A choice you’d try to talk me out of, but I don’t want that. I want you to live your life. To go be big, brave Brad. Be happy. Do it for me. Find a girl you love with your whole heart. Not like we were, but with a deeper love. The kissing kind that lasts. (Ha. You were good at kissing.) I wish we could have had that, but we both know our love was different. It was pure, and the most important thing in my world.

  In my next life, I’ll look you up. And if there is an afterlife after all—I still say there isn’t—I’ll watch over you. I swear. I love you so much. Please don’t be mad at me for too long. Know I’m at peace, and that this was my choice. Find your peace, Brad, and when you do, never let it go.

  Love, Dana

  PS. For fuck’s sake, do NOT let my parents guilt you about this the way they’ve guilted me my whole life. If anyone should get the blame for me leaving, it’s them.

  Brad read the note again, disbelief making him blind to the tears running down his face. “You knew, all this time, and you never told me?”

  Vivienne crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him, finally. “How many times have you told me to put the past in the past? This is sad and ugly. Dana was beautiful. Remember her that way.”

  “She’s fucking dead! How do you think I remember her? As my best friend who intentionally overdosed and died.”

  “Brad?” Rochelle stepped closer. “What did the note say?”

  “Read it.” He pushed it to her.

  She read it while he paced, clenching his hair, so mad at his mother he could punch holes in the wall.

  “I felt guilty for years, thinking I could have done something to help her. She planned to kill herself long before she did it.”

  “Oh, Viv. You should have given him this,” Rochelle said sadly. She looked at his mother, her disappointment clear. “Why would you hide this?”

  Viv snapped, “He had breakdowns when he came back. She pushed him over the line. We all saw it.” She looked to Oscar, but he didn’t react. So she looked back at Brad. “I never wanted you to feel guilty, Brad. I wanted you to get over the grief. The way I never could. You were always so strong that when you shattered, it killed something inside me.”

  “Oh sure. Let’s let it be all about you again.” He sneered. “What the fuck, Mom? Dana was my best friend. Since the second grade we’d been best friends. She meant everything to me. Don’t you think knowing she was at peace with her decision, not scared or frightened or in pain, would have helped?”

  “She’d still be dead.” His mother paused. “I know what that’s like, wishing for that. I was a lot like Dana growing up. Death sometimes seems like the answer. I understand her, and I pity her.”

  He’d spent so many days and nights envisioning a terrified Dana, unsure what to do or say, alone, without him for support, making the only decision left to her. While he still didn’t agree with what she’d done, he was glad that for once in her life, she’d made her own choice. Even if it was the wrong one. “Her parents bullied her for years. Made her do what they said when they said it. She lived a nightmare. All their warnings about what might happen if their good girl stepped out of line came true.”

  Oscar shook his head. “Poor Dana.”

  “Yeah.” Brad wanted to blame someone. But her parents? His mother? God? Nothing made sense, especially not the relief he felt for not having failed her.

  “You see? Knowing it makes no difference. She’s gone, Brad.” His mother tried to reach out to him, but he pulled away.

  “It makes all the difference.” And the anger came, the realization that Dana had planned it. It hadn’t been a mistake she couldn’t take back; he couldn’t talk her out of it. Not now. Dana had lied, just like his mother. “No. I’ve dealt with a lifetime of your so-called truth. You bury your head, hiding from what makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Brad,” Rochelle cautioned.

  He’d had enough. His mother wanted to meddle with his life? He’d meddle with hers. “Since Dad died, you’ve lived with that grief. And when that wasn’t enough, you forced us to live with it. Hell, Oscar never even knew him.”

  “He was your father. You will respect him,” Viv said in a burst of strength.

  “Oh, I do. It’s you I don’t respect.” He sneered. “You say you loved him, but how did you show him? By letting your seven-year-old raise your son until your friend came in to take over? Life has always revolved around you and what you need. You know who helped Oscar when he was little? Me. Who cleaned up our messes when you were locked in your room, crying about the old man? Me. And then Rochelle came into our lives, and I finally had a break.

  “Because she helped us. Rochelle saved me when I nearly lost it. She held me when Dana died and I could barely function. Not you. You were too busy worrying about your damn self.”

  “Oh, Brad. No, honey.” Rochelle tried to stop him, but he would no longer be silent.

  “And after sixteen fucking years of loving you and putting up with your shit, she’s still living in the shadows because you’re too weak to stand up and admit you love her. I am so done with you, I just can’t…” He grabbed the note from Rochelle and stormed out of the house.

  He was so angry. Betrayal stung, and he felt helpless because he’d just yelled at a woman who could barely handle a stiff breeze without blowing over. And his dead friend had sincerely thrown him for a loop.

  “And fuck you too, Dana.” He got into his car and drove.

  And found himself at Avery’s apartment.

  * * *

  Gerty answered the door because Avery was in the middle of getting changed. The day had been beyond productive, and Avery actually looked forward to hosting the Friday Feature next week. Twenty minutes! She couldn’t wait. No, she could. What if she made an utter fool of herself though?

  According to Alan, she’d drum up more media gold.

  The jerk.

  She smiled.

  “Avery, someone here for you. I’m leaving. Bye.”

  “Gerty?”

  She pulled her sweatshirt down over her pajama pants, set to relax for the weekend since Brad needed some space. The poor guy. He’d obviously had a bad day, and as much as she wanted to race over and offer comfort, she worried she’d be too much in his face if she did. She’d never dealt with this before, helping a boyfriend through a bad day. Not a bad, these-edits-are-impossible day, but more like a someone-died-on-my-watch day, because she had a feeling it had been more like that.

  She walked out into the living room and stopped when she saw a towering, smoldering Brad Battle. He looked so mad. Not sexy mad, scary angry.

  “Brad?”

  Then she saw the expression in his eyes, wounded, confused, so incredibly hurt.

  She hurried to him and offered the best hug she knew how to give. “Oh, Brad. I’m here.”

  He hugged her back, then scared her when he started crying. Silent tears wet her shoulder, and she just kept hugging him, wishing she knew how to help.

  She finally managed to get him to sit on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.” He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling.

  He said nothing else.

  “You can tell me.” I won’t judge you.

  “I… Can I just sit here with you?”

  He sounded so damn sad. Her heart broke for him. “Sure.” She had no idea what the hell had gone down today. Would it be wrong to call one of the guys? Would that be intrusive though?

  She sat stroking his hair, and he closed his eyes.

  She thought he’d fallen asleep when he started talking. “A boy died in my truck today. His birthday. He’d just turned sixteen, thought trying a new drug would be a good way to celebrate with his buddies,
and died. We fished him out of a five-car wreck.”

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Then I found out my mother hid a note from my best friend who died. Dana killed herself, something she’d been planning for months. I thought it was my fault, that I should have been there. But it turns out she did it because she was tired of living, tired of her fucking abusive family.”

  Avery froze.

  “That’s why I was so freaked out when you did that article five years ago. I’d just come back from hell on earth. Had buddies die, but I was holding on. We all served our country with pride, and I wouldn’t demean them by not respecting them in life and in death.”

  She blinked back tears, listening.

  “But I had Dana. My best friend forever.” He wiped a stray tear. “Even when I came back kind of messed up, we connected. Were friends. But fuck that. She killed herself. Her parents blamed me for driving her to it. They said when I was gone she missed me, and if I would have been here it would have been different.” He swore some more. “I wasn’t anyone’s hero. I didn’t want you to praise me because I felt like shit. But I got over it. Mostly.”

  “That’s good.”

  He turned to look at her, finally, his eyes watery, bloodshot. “You’d think, right? Except today I learned Dana meant to die. She was thinking about it for months and never told me. I should have seen it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. She was my best friend. I should have helped her. Should have done more for that kid yesterday too,” he muttered.

  Oh boy. Brad had a bad case of hero complex, and she felt for him. But she had no idea what to say, and the guilt was eating him.

  She tried the one truth that might get through to him. “You can say all you want. Feel all you want. That’s your right. But Brad, you have people who care about you. Who love you.”

  He stared at her, unblinking. There yet not there.

  “I love you,” she said softly, not sure he’d heard her.

  He drew her close for a kiss, and she felt him tremble under her lips. Then he gently pushed her aside and stood.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “It’s okay. Do you want to stay? Or take a nap? You can use my bed.”