by Unknown
I closed my car door and leaned back to throw my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. “And, why are we here again?”
I glanced over to find Preston watching me. “Am I sensing fear? Are you not allowed to visit a guy’s apartment alone or something?” He shot me a mischievous grin that made my cheeks burn.
“Funny. Very.”
His grin widened. “I lost a bet with Kara, and the Starbucks gift card I promised her is on my dresser. The girl is vicious when it comes to her Starbucks, so it’s either I get it now or she’ll force me to bring it by later tonight.”
“I see. What was the bet?” I asked, just as we rounded the corner of the building and Preston stopped cold. “What?”
I peered up at him and then followed his gaze to a girl sitting on the stairs that led to the floor above. She had long blond hair and the sort of skin that tanned within seconds of exposure to the sun. Saying she was pretty was like saying chocolate tasted good.
“Meg,” Preston said, his tone no longer the playful one I’d gotten used to over the last hour.
The girl—Meg—stood and walked toward him, her arms crossed, though she didn’t look especially pissed off. “I thought you had a late class.”
He looked over at me and then back to her. “Uh, it was cancelled. This is Olivia.”
I waved hi. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” she said, though her eyes remained on Preston. “Are we still on for dinner?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Yeah, of course. Olivia is Kara’s roommate. I just have to grab something for Kara, and then take her back to their dorm. It’ll just take twenty minutes or so. Text me where you want to eat, and I’ll meet you there.”
She walked closer, her stride confident and flirtatious. Personal. If ever I could have borrowed Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak . . . “Or I could wait here until you get back,” she said, her intention perfectly clear.
Preston had started toward his apartment, but stopped. “Nah, my place is a sty. Let’s do Chipotle. Thirty minutes should do it. See you there?” He flashed her a smile that must have had some sort of hypnotic ability, because she was nodding in agreement and walking away without him having to breathe another word.
He unlocked his door and pushed it open, waiting for me to go in front of him. I slipped inside to the most immaculately clean apartment imaginable. Only Martha Stewart herself could have produced a cleaner place. To the left of the small entranceway was a kitchen, and then straight ahead there was a large common area with a massive flat screen hung on the wall across from a long leather sofa that had two of those reclining chairs at each end. There wasn’t a speck of dust that could be seen or unwashed dishes or anything at all that hinted that someone lived there, let alone a guy. “I thought you said your place was a mess.”
He disappeared into a room off the common room that I guessed to be his bedroom and returned tapping a Starbucks gift card against his palm. “I don’t like to have girls in my place. Especially unattended. They get all curious, which tends to end badly for me.”
I laughed, even though inside I felt a little flutter at the fact that (a) I was a girl and (b) I was in said place. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Am I sensing yet another dose of judgment?”
“No, no. I’m just seeing why Kara was giving you grief. We’ve been friends all of three days, and I’ve already met two of your girls.”
He motioned toward the door. “First off, they aren’t my girls. And secondly, who said we were friends?” He winked at me, turning to lock the door behind me.
“Oh . . . I didn’t mean—”
“Kidding.” He grinned. “Of course we’re friends.”
I felt my stomach tighten at the words. Right . . . friends.
***
Preston dropped me at Liberty a few minutes later and asked me to pass the gift card on to Kara. I remained in his truck a second longer than I should have, wanting to hold on to his attention, prevent him from going to see Meg, because they would inevitably end up back at her place doing things that made my stomach queasy. I had known Preston all of a few days and already I wished that I knew him better.
I climbed out of the truck, waved goodbye, and disappeared inside Liberty, my chest heavy. It had been a good day. Fun, as Preston had promised. So why did I feel so sad? I unlocked my dorm room door and tossed my bag onto my bed, then went immediately to my computer, knowing there was only one thing that would make me feel better.
Oddly enough, it also made me feel worse, but in a different way. In a guilty way. I could handle that feeling of guilt, because the weight on my chest never seemed to lift. What I couldn’t handle was the overwhelming sadness. How it followed me around, eyeing my every move, whispering taunts in my ear. You shouldn’t be laughing, Olive. You shouldn’t even be alive.
I shook the thought from my mind and reached for my antidepressants. I hadn’t taken one in months, but my brief stint of happiness was enough to make me wish I could take the magic pill, close my eyes, and sleep without feeling for a while. Instead, I set the bottle back in my desk drawer and opened a new email to Trisha. It was the best shot I had at easing the pain.
Dear Trisha,
Today I did something I never thought I would do. I fished. Like on a boat. With a rod. It sounds crazy to me as I type it. There is this guy, this fisherman guy. And he’s the sort of guy you want to know, to associate yourself with. You want him to look at you instead of the others in a room. You want to be in his crowd, ya know? I bet wherever you are, you’re laughing at me as you read this. I wouldn’t blame you.
Where are you? Are you in pain? Are you happy? Do you watch the rest of us below? Because sometimes I feel you with me. I hear your voice in my mind. And it’s enough to make me turn around and stare through the masses of people, looking for you. But you’re never there. I wish you were. I wish I could take your place.
I hung my head as the words settled over me. The truth of them. I would take her place this second if I could. I ran a finger absentmindedly over the thin scar across my left wrist—the only scar on me that wasn’t from the fire. I remembered my second trip to the ER, the fear in Mom’s eyes. I shook my head to clear the thought and glanced back at the screen, my vision blurred from emotion.
I always thought that love was romantic. Between two people who shared a similar desire for one another. But I now know that love is simpler than that. It’s a connection, a binding that links two people. Family. Lovers. Friends.
I love you, dear friend. I will always love you.
Olive
I clicked send and sat back in my desk chair, wiping my eyes with the heel of my hand. I wondered if I would ever stop crying. If I would ever think of that night and feel at peace. No, I would never know peace, because peace would mean that I was okay with what had happened, and I would never let myself be okay.
I closed my eyes and smelled the new car scent of Matt’s M3, an early graduation present from his parents. He had no idea when he picked me up that night that it would be his first and last time driving the car. I imagined he would have tested it out some more, explored all its fancy controls, but instead I forced him to take us straight to the party.
My hands began to shake at the memory. I jerked the desk drawer open, reaching frantically for the pill bottle. I drew a breath to calm myself, then another, and rested my head on my desk, my body wrecked with sobs.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Sorry for what?”
I jerked up to see Kara a few feet away from me, her eyebrows drawn together in concern.
“Are you all right?” she asked. I opened my mouth to come up with a lie as to why I was a complete mess, but shut it back as she walked over to me and draped an arm around my shoulder. I instantly tensed. I wasn’t a huggy person, especially not when I was upset, but something about Kara, the way her voice
was always kind and her face was always lit with excitement, made me resist the urge to push her away. She was nothing like Trisha, which perhaps made me connect with her all the more. I didn’t want to replace Trisha. But I knew I needed someone. Maybe Kara could be that someone. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she said after a moment. I nodded against her shoulder as she hugged me. “But if you decide you want to, I’m here.”
I fought to keep my embarrassment from showing and reached for a tissue from my desk. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” She held my gaze for one second, and then started in about her day. I wanted to hug her again. Not everyone realized that distraction was the best medicine.
“Is the distance getting any easier?” I asked after a few minutes of watching Kara check her cell phone as she talked. She rarely talked about Ethan, as though mentioning him hurt her physically, but I could tell when he was on her mind. She would stare off while I was talking or fumble with her phone continuously, unable to sit still.
She shrugged, her face falling. “Some days. There are days that I go to class and I talk to some guy and I think, ‘What the hell are you doing, Kara? These are the best days of your life!’ But then I talk to him and it’s like . . .” She sighed heavily. “He gets me, you know? What if no one else gets me?”
I sat down beside her and leaned my shoulder against hers. “You’re easier to understand than you think.”
She laughed. “Says the easiest person on the planet to be around. I swear, you must have had a thousand friends back home. By the way, I meant to ask you if you knew anyone from that accident? I heard about it on the news. Several teens died, right?” She glanced at me, waiting for a reply, but at the mention of the accident and the death of my friends, I had stopped breathing, the air trapped in my lungs. A collage of faces surfed through my mind. Memories. Smiles. Laughter. I thought of Matt and Claire and then Trisha and suddenly my skin began to tingle and stars pierced the corners of my vision. I tried to breathe, just one breath, and felt myself plummeting to the ground, losing all control.
I jumped up and reached for my phone, mumbling to Kara that I had to make a call, and then ran out the door and to the stairwell as fast as my legs would carry me. I slumped against the cold wall, absorbing the silence of the abandoned stairwell, my pulse throbbing in my ears. Any second, someone would burst through the door. There was nowhere to go, no escape, no place to hide away to cry. Suddenly, I felt trapped, desperate for a moment to myself so I could breathe. So I could find myself again in this dark hole of existence that had taken over my world. How would I survive here when there was nowhere to go to be alone? How would I ever view this as home? My hands shook as I surfed through my contacts and dialed the only number that posed any hope for me. After a half ring, a smoky voice said, “Rose Campbell.”
“Dr. Campbell? It’s Olivia Warren.” I paused.
“Right, Olive. I remember. What can I do for you?”
I felt my bottom lip quiver as I wondered if there was anything she could do for me. But in that moment, I realized I had to try to let her help me. I couldn’t be this mess of a person any longer. “I just thought . . . I wondered, I guess . . . do you have any available appointments today?”
I heard her swivel chair squeak and then the sound of pages turning. I closed my eyes as I waited, feeling myself on the verge of another breakdown. “Dear, I am—”
“Please. Just . . . please.”
Rose released a slow breath, her voice soft. “How about now?”
I nodded though I knew she couldn’t see me, tears collecting in my eyes. “Now is perfect.”
Chapter Ten
Dr. Rose’s door stood ajar as I entered her office. The smell of cigarette smoke and a spicy scented candle greeted me, while some old New Orleans–type blues played in the background. I knocked gently on her door, and she glanced up. “Perfect timing. Please, have a seat. I was just talking about you.”
I walked over to the leather couch and she joined me in the chair beside it. “Talking about me?” I pictured her on the phone with my mother, describing my desperate request for this meeting, and felt my cheeks burn. “I was hoping my mom wouldn’t know about this.”
Rose’s face pinched in confusion and then she laughed. “Oh, dear. I forgot to mention to you my policy in our last meeting. I don’t usually discuss patients with parents, unless there is an emergency. It results in a muddled diagnosis steeped in an opinion that is rarely my own, and as the sole therapist of this practice, I cannot have that. So when I said I was talking about you, I meant that I was talking to Doris.”
I shook my head, trying to process what she was saying. “So . . . you haven’t ever talked to my parents about what happened?”
Rose’s gray eyes pierced through me. “I’ve talked with your mother twice. I know the basics, yes, but I don’t know what actually happened. Somehow I doubt even she knows what actually happened. Am I right?”
I cleared my throat and sat back into the couch, tucking one leg under me as I did whenever I was trying to process something. Rose was right. No one knew what had happened, because I was the only one there to survive. I shivered at the thought and peered back up at her with a new resolve. I didn’t want to be the only one to know, to carry this burden. “So, do you talk to Doris about all of your patients or am I special?”
Rose tilted her head. “Oh, I have no doubt that you’re special. But I usually talk to both of them as needed.”
I lowered my eyes to the woven area rug under the sofa. It was a thousand shades of green and didn’t match anything else in her office. I wondered if she bought it in the Market or if one of her patients made it. Maybe she made it. “So what did Doris say about me?”
Rose leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “That you’re ready.”
I hesitated. Was I ready? “I want to be.” Emotion swirled through my chest, and I fought to rein it in. I didn’t want to start the session by crying. That would come. For now, I just wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge me.
“Okay then,” she said, leaning back into her chair. “I know what happened must have been traumatic. Horrifying, even. I can see it in your eyes, the deep frown lines on your face when you come here. I know that it must be hard to relive that night, so why don’t we start with the day of the incident? Close your eyes, relax, and tell me about that day. Not the incident itself. Just the day.”
I glanced at Rose to find her nodding at me that it was okay. I closed my eyes, and as though I stepped through a time machine, there I was, feeling Parker’s damp grass seep through my sandals as Matt and I made our way to his house. Parker’s parents had been out of town for the weekend, and his house was already overflowing with people. Matt opened the door for me and instantly, I heard my name shouted from the back patio door. Trisha.
I clenched my teeth together, a cold sweat bursting across my forehead. I started to open my eyes and felt Rose’s hand close over mine. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here. Tell me what you remember.”
“I remember the grass being wet.”
“Good, go on.”
I cleared my throat, my legs shaking.
“Olive?”
“I remember Matt’s voice. How he had tried to make himself sound cooler than everyone else. It annoyed me. Embarrassed me.” My voice broke at the honesty of my words. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Rose scooted closer to me. “Okay. But you will never heal until you are able to talk about this. Remember, this is just the day.”
I dipped my head and ran my free hand over my eyes. I finally swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I closed my eyes again and began speaking, describing each detail as quickly as the memory hit me.
Matt had gripped my hips as we entered the house and kissed the back of my neck, but I was already distra
cted by Trisha’s calls from the patio. I separated from him and cleared the back double doors to find Trisha at a Ping-Pong table. Across from her were Alec Martin and River Hampton, both on the lacrosse team and both on Trisha’s short list of guys she wanted to get with.
She winked at me, her mascaraed lashes showing off the green in her eyes. Her curly black hair was pulled into a high ponytail because she hated the way the humidity made her hair spazz out.
I gripped the edge of the couch, on the verge of hyperventilating. Rose pressed an easy hand to my back, steadying me. “Remember, you’re safe here.”
I nodded. “I just . . . need a minute.”
We sat in silence as I tried to clear my mind of Trisha’s face, smiling and happy. Alive.
“Who is Trisha?” Rose asked.
I dipped my head again and clenched my eyes shut, needing another moment, then reopened them and stared out into Dr. Rose’s office. The grandfather clock hit the twelve and a tiny blue bird shot out from the center of the clock face. Cuckoo, cuckoo, it called. “She was my best friend,” I said.
“And she was with you that night?”
I nodded, wiping an orphan tear from my cheek. “We were playing Beer Pong with Alec and River. I’m really good. Anyway, Trisha knew that, so we played and of course won, and then she went off with River . . . and that was the last time I saw her.” I rocked back and forth, swallowing a sob. “I . . .” I shook my head, trailing off. What could I say? That I didn’t get to say goodbye? That I didn’t get to tell her she was the best friend in the world? That I loved her? None of that mattered. What mattered wasn’t that I didn’t get to say goodbye, but that I didn’t try. I didn’t go back. I let her die.
I released Rose’s hand and gripped my head, unable to maintain control any longer. I cried into my hands, the weight of the memories crushing every cell in my body until I felt as though I were nothing at all, only guilt and pain.