by SM Koz
Before he could answer, we heard a helicopter overhead. I tried to follow everyone else, but Tammy gripped my shoulders, stopping me as soon as we were outside. “Stay here, Kelsie.” Mia’s mom had arrived and was keeping her close, too.
“What’s going on?”
The EMTs drove their ambulance next to the helicopter that had landed.
“What’s going on?!”
Sheila, always the nosy bitch, joined the crowd while I was being held back. The door opened and two men lowered something to the EMTs. I couldn’t see it because the ambulance was blocking my view.
“What’s going on?!”
Sheila returned and Tammy passed me to her. “Please call Dr. Sanchez as soon as you get home. She has recommendations for therapy.”
Sheila nodded and pulled me to my feet. “Everyone’s been located, now we need to leave.”
“What happened?” I whispered. “Was it JC?”
“Who’s JC?” Sheila asked, leading me towards a black town car complete with driver.
“Tyrell.”
“A black boy?”
I nodded.
Her fingers tightened on my shoulder. “They found his body in the river.”
“No …” I stopped walking.
“Let’s go, Kelsie.”
“I need to see him …”
“No, you don’t.”
I broke free from her grip and ran towards the ambulance, but it was already driving away silently. No sirens. No speeding. There was no hope for whoever was in there.
I ran back to the Lodge, as the tears started to flow. When I reached the door, everything in me collapsed. My mind. My body. My hope. I slid to the ground and wiped my face, but there were no more tears. I was beyond tears. My whole body was numb. It was like I had collapsed into a deep, dark abyss where nothing existed or mattered anymore.
“Kelsie Renee Sullivan, get up right now!” Sheila yelled stomping towards me.
I didn’t even hate her. I felt absolutely nothing.
“I killed Jenna and JC.”
“What are you talking about?”
If I had stayed with them or moved faster to get help, maybe JC would still be here. “What’s wrong with me, Sheila?” I asked, searching her face for an honest answer.
“Where do I begin?”
My shoulders hunched over and I dropped my arms to the ground. “You’re right. You’ve been right all along. I’m worthless.”
“You’re making a scene, Kelsie. We can talk about this in the car.”
She grabbed my hand and tried to pull me up, but I resisted. “Other people do amazing things with their lives. All I’ve done is kill two people I cared about.”
“Kelsie,” she hissed. “We’ve got to go!”
“And I don’t even care right now. Where’s the guilt? The sadness? The anger? I’ve grown accustomed to that, but it’s gone. There’s nothing. Why is there nothing now?”
“Because you’re crazy. Let’s go!”
“That makes me an even worse person. I should feel something.”
She tried pulling me up again, but I tugged my arm free.
There was a discarded window panel lying against the building. I curled up my fist and slammed it through before Sheila could do anything. My hand got sliced up on the way through and it hurt. I smiled. Pain was good. I needed to feel something.
I broke off a fragment of glass and hacked up my arm while Sheila stared at me with fear or maybe confusion. The first cut was like heaven—the rush I was used to and an intense pain that reminded me I could still feel something. The problem was each one after that hurt less and less. After only five gashes, my arm was numb.
“No!” I screamed, throwing down my piece of glass and grabbing a larger one. I made longer and deeper cuts, much deeper than I had ever done, trying to bring back the sensation, but it was gone.
“Kelsie, stop!” Tammy said, rushing outside. One of the onlookers must have told her what was happening. “Why did you let her do this?” she asked Sheila, pulling the glass from my hand. Someone else joined us with a first-aid kit, but the blood was too much for the small gauze pads it contained.
Sheila was completely still and silent. Her terror-stricken expression was the last thing I remember.
Chapter 26: August 25
“What happened next?” Marta asks, moving close to me on the couch.
I wipe the tears that spilled as I remembered that day. I can’t believe I never saw or talked to JC again. My chest tightens and I wonder whether I’d do the same thing now if I weren’t on all the drugs.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I must have passed out. The next thing I knew, I was in a padded room at the hospital. You know, the room for crazy people.”
“Do you think you’re crazy?” she asks, tilting her head as if she’s studying me.
I pause and consider her question carefully. No one, not even my shrink, has asked me that question. I suppose everyone around me thought I was crazy. Plus, you probably have to be kind of crazy to hurt yourself on purpose. The problem is I don’t feel crazy. But do crazy people know they’re crazy?
“I don’t know,” I finally answer.
“Were you trying to kill yourself?”
I pause again because no one has mentioned this topic either, although I know it’s the whole reason Marta is here. I try to place my feelings right before I broke the window, but it’s hard because I wasn’t feeling anything. That was the reason I did it. I know I wasn’t thinking straight, but the thought of dying never crossed my mind.
“I—I don’t think so. Not intentionally.”
“I don’t think so, either,” Marta agrees, giving my leg a pat. “What were you trying to do?”
I tug on a thread hanging from the seam of my jeans and try to come up with words that might make sense. It’s harder than I expect, but I eventually decide on “Break free …”
“Free from what?”
“The nothingness … My body … My mind … Who I was … The world … I don’t know.”
“Did it work?”
“No. When I woke up, I was still me with my same problems and still no feelings, although I think that was due to the drugs they started pumping into me.”
“What happened then?”
With a shrug, I say, “Not much. I was a little nervous being in that room, but it was like I was detached from my feelings. Like I am now. I know I should feel a certain way, but I can’t make my body obey unless a really strong emotion takes hold.”
“How long were you there?’
“A week. On suicide watch, I think.”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
“Shrinks.”
“Sheila?”
I shake my head.
“Your dad?”
“No. I don’t think he even knows I was there. Sheila likes to keep certain things from him. Like anything that makes her look bad. I think watching your stepdaughter go all Krueger on herself qualifies as bad mothering.”
Marta smiles. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
She stands and puts her knitting materials back in the bag. Then she collects her crossword puzzle from the kitchen island and faces me again. “I have to run a few errands. Would you like to come with me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, Kelsie. You decide who you want to be, what you want to do, what your future will look like. Nobody else.”
“I want Jenna and JC back.”
“That’s not about you. What do you want for yourself?”
I shrug.
“Would you like an idea?”
I shrug again.
“How about forgiving yourself?”
“That’ll never happen.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
Chapter 27: August 25
I follow Marta out of the house, but regret my decision within minutes of getting into the Subaru. She drives us down the street a couple of houses and parks outside Jenna’s home.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“You said you wanted to tell them what happened, but never had the chance.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?”
I stare at the front door, the door I’ve entered thousands of times without even knocking and try to come up with an answer.
“I bet they miss you.”
“We should go home.”
“At least say hi to them.”
“Are you coming?”
“No. I’ll wait here.”
I open the car door and stand on the sidewalk, but make no move towards the house. It’s only a hundred feet away, but it might as well be a hundred miles. I want to tell them what I did, but something is stopping me. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of anyone else hating me as much as I hate myself.
Just as I’m about to climb back into the car, the front door opens and Jenna’s mom, Elise, sticks her head out. “Kelsie?” she asks, squinting into the afternoon sun. “Is that you?”
Knowing I have no choice, I trudge up the walk.
“Oh, it is! Come on in. We’ve missed you so much.”
She meets me on the front steps and engulfs me in a hug. I awkwardly hug her back, questioning whether she’ll kick me out once I tell her what I did. “We’ve been wondering how you’re doing,” she says, leading me into their sitting room. It’s a room I’ve never sat in before.
I glance around at the baby grand piano and wainscoting along the walls. The furniture is a yellow striped pattern, which is pretty, but much more formal than the rest of their house. I sit up straight and try crossing my legs, but it doesn’t feel right, so I uncross them and fidget instead.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Can we sit somewhere else?”
“Sure,” she says, standing. “Would you like something to drink? Maybe a snack?”
“What do you have?” I slap my hand over my mouth at the automatic response. It’s what I always asked when Jenna offered me something after school.
She gives me a small smile. “The usual things. Help yourself while I make some coffee.”
I open their fridge and am surprised that the contents look the same as always. Jenna’s dead, but the fridge hasn’t changed a bit. I move over to the pantry and select a bag of Krispy Kreme powered mini-donuts. That was always one of our favorites.
I sit at the kitchen table while Elise puts a k-cup in the coffee pot. “Sumatra, right?”
I nod, surprised that she remembered.
“You’re in luck. I just stocked up on these yesterday.”
Jenna and her parents liked Pike Place coffee. They only bought Sumatra for me, so I’m shocked she even bothered buying it now. It’s not like I’m a regular visitor anymore.
I thank her when she places a steaming mug in front of me and then watch her make another cup. “What happened to your arm?” she asks, frowning at the scabs and stitches.
“I cut myself.” It’s amazing how honest I can be about it now. I have to think that’s some sort of personal growth, even if I’m still totally crazy. Or maybe it’s just another side effect of the drugs.
“On purpose?”
My mouth is full of donut so I nod.
“Why would you do that?”
I swallow and say, “It felt good.”
She grabs her cup of coffee and joins me at the table. Sitting across from me, she wraps and unwraps her fingers around the mug before saying, “Are you doing alright, Kelsie?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.”
She stands and comes to my side, tears glistening in her eyes. Pulling my head against her chest, she says, “Me neither, honey. I’m a mess. Some days I can’t even get out of bed. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
I nod as her heartbeat throbs against my cheek. It reminds me of all the times Jenna held me after Sheila threw hateful words in my direction. I close my eyes and feel Jenna’s arms around me, her chin on my head, her hands stroking my hair. I picture her face in my mind. Her wide blue eyes and blond hair. We could be sisters. Everyone told us that. We even pretended to be twins when we were little, wearing matching clothes and doing our hair the same. We couldn’t wait until we got married and had little girls of our own. We knew they’d be best friends like us.
“They’ll never be friends,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. “She didn’t even have the chance to get married.”
“No, she didn’t.” Elise’s hands tremble against my head and her heart skips a beat.
I sniff against the tickle in my nose. My body shakes as I try to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. “It’s not fair.”
“No, it isn’t.”
When I feel her tears land on my forehead, I realize I can’t help it anymore. In one uncontrolled motion, the air rushes out of my lungs and my body jerks spastically as the silent cries escape. My vision becomes blurry and I realize I’ve broken through the fog of my drugs. I’m feeling what I want to feel. Sorrow. Anger. Guilt.
We sit like that for a long while, each of us sobbing for the Jenna we knew and loved. The daughter. The best friend. The girl we’ll never see again in person, only in our dreams. Dreams that will grow fainter and fainter over time until she’s just a vague memory and I’ll have to look at pictures to remember her crooked smile. The spark in her eyes. The nerdy glasses she loved.
“I miss her,” I cry, salty tears falling into my mouth. I use the back of my hand to wipe my nose.
Elise pulls a tissue from her pocket and hands it to me. “Me, too.” She takes one for herself and blows her nose.
I hold mine in front of my face. “I—I have to tell you something.”
She pulls away from me and wipes her cheeks with her fingertips. “Uh huh?”
I take a deep breath and when I try to talk, it comes out as a whimper.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
The flood gates open again. My eyes are raw. My nose is leaky. I hate what I’ve done to Jenna. The pain it’s caused her parents.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” she says, wrapping me in her arms again.
“No. It’s not. I killed her. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry … “
“Shh … shh … Kelsie, honey, it’s not your fault,” she says, patting my back. “It was an accident.”
“No. She didn’t want to go. I made her.”
“Kels, it was an accident. There were lots of things that went wrong. We shouldn’t have left the liquor cabinet open. Plus, there was the other driver coming at you in your lane. If it weren’t for him, this never would’ve happened. And she wasn’t wearing her seat belt …”
I’m still sobbing, so she pats my back again. “Shh … it’s not your fault. Please don’t ever think that again. We don’t hold you responsible and Jenna would never hold you responsible.” She grips my head between her palms and kneels down to my level. I’m sure her red eyes match mine. “Do you believe me?”
I wipe some tears away, but can’t give her an answer. She holds me again until my sobbing eventually turns to hiccups.
“Come with me,” she says, offering me her hand.
I take it and allow her to lead me to the staircase. When she tries to go up it, I balk. There’s only one place she could be taking me and I don’t want to go there.
“Please,” she says. “I haven’t been in there since the night it happened, but I have to clean it out. My therapist says I need to remodel it, get rid of most of her stuff, only keeping the most sentimental items.”
When she tugs on my hand, I slowly follow her up the stairs and into Jenna’s bedroom. It looks exactly like I remembered. The vanity where we first applied makeup. The cork board where we threw darts at Sheila’s picture. The framed photo of us five years ago on the beach.
Even the fluorescent purple nail polish is sitting on her desk where we left it the last night. I pick up the bottle and turn it over in my hands, remembering the hard time I gave her about the color.
“Do yo
u want that?” Elise asks, sitting on the bed.
I nod and slide it into my pocket.
She scan the room and I see more tears collecting at the corners of her eyes. “What else would you like?” she asks and then bites her lip. She’s on the verge of breaking down again, too.
I open up the walk-in closet and step inside. Leaning against the door, I take a deep breath and try to collect myself. My eyes burn and my nose tickles, but with two more breaths, I’m able to control it. I glance around the small space.
Her jewelry box is sitting on a shelf to my right. I lift the lid and run my hands over the rings, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. The entire box is packed, but I’m looking for something in particular. It’s probably the least valuable item in there, but it means the most to me.
Elise steps behind me. “Would you like her sapphire earrings?”
I shake my head.
“Her pearl necklace?”
“No, I’m looking for her half of the charm we got in fourth grade.”
“The plastic best-friend one?”
I nod.
“Let’s see if we can find that.” She opens a hidden drawer and pulls out expensive piece after expensive piece. There are two tiny diamond earrings and Elise stares at them for a long time. “These were her first earrings. We got her ears pierced when she was only four months old.” She pockets the earrings and wipes her nose with a tissue. “I know it’s in here. She kept all her favorite pieces in this drawer…”
“Is that it?” I ask, pointing to a gold-colored disc lying on the bottom.
Elise picks it up and I know immediately that it is. She had the “Best” part and I had the “Friends” part. We won them at the Santa Monica pier and wore them until eighth grade when we finally realized they were beyond tacky. I undo my necklace and slide it on. It’s cheap and plastic and just as tacky as it always was, but I don’t care.
“Would you like any of her clothes?”
Jenna had even more clothes than me so her closet is packed. I pull out hanger after hanger like you do in a store, but then feel disgusted by myself. “I can’t take any of this,” I say.