Nobody will fully understand the reason. Nobody will fully understand the journey. Not even I do, which is why every day is a new struggle. My mind warps with questions surrounding the process of admission, like if I say it out loud, I’ll heal. Like if I just go back to therapy, I’ll be better.
But nobody can tell you how to heal. You have to do it on your own, find your own way to figure it out.
You have to figure out what kind of support you need, and what kind you don’t.
Will … he’s my main support, even if he doesn’t know it. Our friendship has been rocky at times, especially since he found me in my dorm that night. I pushed him, and everyone, away. I didn’t want to be near anybody, be touched. Be told I was okay. I knew I wasn’t. Not even Will could pull me from that at first.
I went through the stages—denial, anger, bargaining, depression. But acceptance? Still working on that one. At first, I told myself it didn’t happen. That I didn’t leave my door unlocked. That the creep didn’t come in unwelcomed. That he didn’t put his hands on my sleeping body.
But he did.
He did that and then some.
Which led to anger. Anger because I couldn’t stop him. Anger because I took cold medicine that night and it knocked me out. Anger that he went there because my roommate told him I would open my legs for anyone.
It’s probably from all the dick in her mouth. I can still hear her words ring in my ears, just as clearly as they did when she announced to the whole dining hall that I was only sick because of some STD I contracted from whoring around.
After days of being holed up in my room—not answering the door for anyone, not going to class, not answering any of Will’s calls or texts—I started bargaining. Bargaining for a redo, for a rewind. For anything that would make me forget what happened. I prayed to God despite not going to church a day in my life, despite considering myself an atheist.
I wanted him to take it all back. What if I promised not to move out and just live with my roommate and her drama? What if I promised to go out more and appease her irritated criticism on my introverted tendencies? Would it be enough to erase that night?
Depression. The stage that left me sitting on the tile floor of the shower stall crying for an hour while cool water pounded on my frozen skin. The stage that left me feeling like the world was hollowing me out like a pumpkin on Halloween. I carved an expression on my face to show everybody I was okay when I did leave my dorm room, but the truth was inside the shell I was hiding in.
There was no candle to dim the swirling what-ifs that worked to create the insomnia that wouldn’t let me get even an hour of sleep.
It was the depression that made me want to drop out of college altogether. After missing so many classes, it seemed like the logical step. To get away from the people who caused it. To get away from the toxins following me. It was this stage that made me fill out the paperwork to withdraw from school and click submit without blinking an eye.
But then something else seeped into my bones.
Guilt.
Guilt for giving up what I always wanted. To go to school. To live in an apartment. To get my degree, no matter what the major. Guilt for letting down my parents who wanted me to graduate, for letting down Will who wanted to do college together, for letting down myself who wanted to be stronger than the people who lived off of tormenting others.
For almost two months following the assault, I let myself sulk in pity. Pity that I deserved to live in. Anger that I deserved to feel. Hopelessness that I needed to drown in just enough to want to breathe again—to fight again.
It wasn’t until after the weekend I submitted my withdrawal papers that I got them reversed and went back to classes. My attendance record was spotty at best, but I always got my homework done. My professors worked with me, my advisors worked with me. Will … he was there every day, even when I didn’t want him to be.
When I shut him out, he would come by my room every day. He would send me good morning text, endearing texts, good night texts. He would leave voicemails of him telling me about his day, events he thought I’d be interested in.
Every day at five o’clock, he would sit outside my dorm door and eat his supper. He would leave me a take-out container of food from the dining hall with a note.
Every. Single. Day.
Even when I didn’t let him in. When I didn’t answer the door. When I wouldn’t return his calls or texts. He never gave up on me like I wanted him to.
My rock. That’s what Will is.
My anchor when I insisted on not needing one. Even when I wanted to tell him to go away when he’d show up every night, I never did. Instead, I would sit on the other side of the door, wanting to tell him everything. Wanting to voice every feeling, release every tear, until there was nothing left.
It was the same morning I decided to go back to classes that I texted Will back and told him I would be at the dining hall at noon. Nothing more, nothing less.
Still, he showed.
He showed with scruff on his face that he never grew before, looking like he went through hell and back just like me. Maybe he did, after pulling the creep off me. I owe Will everything for stopping him, for saving me. If it weren’t for him, the nightmares would be worse.
The memories would be, too.
All it took that day in the tiny café we met in was one little smile—the slightest tip of the corner of his lips—to make me realize he was what I needed.
My support.
My Will.
I wanted to hug him. To hold him. To cry.
But I wasn’t ready, and he understood. So we ate lunch, mostly in silence, and we studied each other like we hadn’t seen each other in years.
It felt like we hadn’t. Like I was a completely different person than I was only months ago. In his eyes, the green pools of emerald, he saw that, too. I saw worry, caution, pity.
I didn’t want him to see me that way, like I was a cracked piece of glass that could shatter any second. I told myself that day that I had to try. So I put myself out there, finished with classes, went out to eat with Will every day, hung out in his dorm room and watched movies.
Slowly, freshman year ended. The chatter around campus became less and less as Will busied me with random outings. The campus police worked with the town police to handle my case, and Will was there helping me through every question they had.
I didn’t ask for the guy’s name. I didn’t need it.
I just needed to know he wouldn’t hurt anybody again, and Will made sure of it. He got in trouble, put on academic probation, until he was cleared by police. They deemed what he did an act of defense. He could have lost everything because of me.
More guilt.
I was always told that after depression comes acceptance, like a magic switch just turns on and suddenly everything is peachy perfect. Well, that’s bullshit. There’s a stage in-between the two, like a limbo of waiting where you figure out the next step to take.
That’s where I am, even two years later.
I believe there’s different forms of acceptance, I just haven’t found the right one for me. Someday, hopefully soon, I will.
I sit on the top of the hill, among the blooming purple carpet phlox and ragweed spread over the grass. Drawing my knees to my chest, my black leggings covered in dirt and dust from the ground, I take everything in. I raise my camera to the skyline.
Click.
I move the camera to the patch of trees.
Click.
Amidst the grass is a yellow butterfly fluttering its wings on a flower.
Click.
There’s something about the solidarity of being in nature, far away from people, that relaxes me. Breathing in the fresh air, the soft scent of flowers, it eases the tension building in my shoulders.
I lay down, my camera angled to the sky. It’s blue today, barely any clouds. A line of birds flap their wings overhead, chirping to each other as they make their way to their destination.
Click.
I can take pictures of every little thing I see, capturing the moments I find beautiful. Photography is my outlet to creation—becoming part of something that is beyond the realm of understanding. What I find beautiful is immortalized into reality, becoming a memory that overrides the ones I don’t want.
Every picture, every angle, every edit has a purpose.
A purpose that only I can give it to emphasize the beauty it holds.
That kind of control is my own therapy. My own freedom.
Resting the camera on my stomach, I stare at the sky. When Will and I were little, I would make him watch the clouds with me like I saw people do on TV. I could never pinpoint a shape, so I would make something up. Will? He was never that creative.
“It just looks like a cloud,” he complains, squinting like it’ll help him see something.
“It can be anything you want,” I chirp, pointing at one directly above us. “That one looks like a heart.”
He looks at it. “It’s a deformed blob of white.”
I frown. “Will, you’re no good at this.”
“How can anybody be good at staring at clouds?” he doubts, sitting up.
I sit up, too. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Well it’s not.”
I cross my arms on my chest, bottom lip sticking out. “William, you’re lucky I like you, or else I would walk away.”
He mimics me. “Who else would you play with? Damian across the street?”
I scrunch my face up. “No way! He’s mean!”
“You don’t have any other friends,” he points out, almost making fun of me.
“I can play with Ian.”
He makes a face. “Ian doesn’t like hanging out with girls. Plus, he’s my friend.”
Will and Ian always hang out. Sometimes, I wish they would invite me over, even if I just watch them play video games. But they told me it was boys only, no girls allowed.
“Fine,” I grumble, standing up. “But you should be nice to me.”
He stands up, too. “Why?”
“Because we’re destined to be friends,” I inform him, nodding confidently. “Best friends, in fact. My family didn’t just move in next door to anybody. They moved in next door to you.”
“What’s your point?”
“My last name is the same as your first, William,” I point out, smiling. I rock on my feet, watching confusion weave into his eyes. “And that is why we’re going to be best friends.”
A twig snaps from behind me, causing me to whip my head around. The hiking trail isn’t always busy, especially not in the summer. Usually, it’s at its hype when college is in session. It’s why I love coming here now, when there’s little chance of being bothered.
The sunlight hits my eyes so I can’t see who’s coming, so I squint past the brightness.
Slowly, two figures come into view.
I straighten up, camera rolling off my stomach. The strap keeps it from falling onto the ground as I stand up.
“Ian? Ryder?” My face screws with confusion as I brush dirt off myself. “What are you guys doing here?”
Ryder answers first, coming up to me and draping his arm over my shoulder. It’s irritating how he’s taller than me, yet four years younger. I swear, as soon as he hit sixteen last year, he shot up. Now he’s almost as tall as Will, which is nearly a foot taller than me.
I blame my mother for my shortness.
“Ian wanted to know where you were, so I figured here would be a good place to start,” he explains, grinning down at me. He’s got the same eyes at Will, just a slightly darker shade. Everything else is eerily similar. There’s no mistaking them for anything other than siblings.
“You know I come here?” I shouldn’t be surprised, because a lot of people know this is my favorite spot in Bennington. But Ryder usually doesn’t pay attention whenever I talk. Half the time, the punk is staring at my chest, or texting some sap on his phone.
His lopsided grin stretches on his face. “Will might have mentioned it a time or two.”
Now that makes sense.
Rolling his eyes, Ian shoves Ryder’s arm. “Plus, we stopped at your apartment first and there was no answer. This is actually our third attempt to find you.”
Third? “Where’d you go after you tried my apartment?”
Ian chuckles. “The food court.”
I elbow Ryder in the side. “Really? The food court?”
He puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, you like to eat. That’s not a bad thing. You always talk about the froyo place, so I figured it’d be a good bet.”
“Well you would have lost,” Ian muses.
Ryder grumbles.
I pull away from Ryder. “So you found me … what do you want?”
Ian puts his hand to his heart, and tsks. “You know, it’s a good thing I don’t have feelings, Freckles. Or you might just hurt them. Maybe even damage my ego.”
Yeah, that would be the day.
“Your ego is fine,” I deadpan.
“If you must know,” he says, sighing dramatically, “I showed the guys the pics you sent to me. They like them.”
A sense of pride swells in my chest. “I’m glad.”
“We talked it over, and we were wondering if you would do some more.”
I stare at him. “Some more? What other concerts do you have?”
He shakes his head. “Not just concerts. Our band manager wants us to do some photo shoots for a few different magazines, maybe some promo stuff. But we’ve already gone through three crappy photographers who can’t get our image right. They’re trying to morph us into cookie-cutter popstars. It’s awful.”
I nod along slowly, trying to grasp what he’s saying.
He eyes me. “You’re not getting it, are you?”
“Nope.”
He sighs. “We want to hire you to be our photographer. The photos you sent were awesome, Tessa. They captured what we were, not what people want us to be. If you can do that during concerts, you can do promotional shoots. Right?”
“Uh …” I blink a few times, soaking it in. “Wait a minute. Your band wants to hire me to take photos of you? Like for magazines? I’m pretty sure magazines have professional photographers who work for them on stuff like that. Hiring a nobody isn’t going to fly with them.”
Ryder nudges my arm. “You’ve won competitions with your photos, Tess.”
I blush, surprised he remembers. “Those were just landscapes and stuff. Plus, the contests never amounted to much. They were for school and small cash prizes.”
“We’ll pay you,” Ian tells me. “Our manager told me I could handle the schedule for it, and he would negotiate money. We’re not going to any shoot at the magazine itself. We have a deal to send in photos we see fit for spreads in People and Seventeen.”
Wow. “That’s great coverage for you. Especially with your teen following.”
He nods once. “So is that a yes?”
I nibble on my bottom lip.
Capturing them could be fun, especially if I have free reign to do it as I want. “It doesn’t have to be a nude shoot, does it? Because I’m not so sure I want to see that much of Relentless.”
Ryder bursts out laughing.
Ian’s eyes twinkle with humor. “It can be whatever you want, Freckles. If you want us to take our pants off, I’m game.”
The blush on my cheek deepens. “Um, no.”
Humor still in his features, he sobers up a little. “So what do you say, Tessa? Relentless loves what you did, and we think you could really help us boost our promotion with more photos. It can be whatever you want, we’ll listen to you. Trust you.”
“Why me though?”
“We know you.” He shrugs loosely. “Those other photographers just wanted the money and the chance to say they worked with us. We’re not that famous yet, but we’re starting to be. Them getting the chance to say their pictures made us that way is a lot of credit to their careers, but not if we don’t like them.
”
“And you like me?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” he states.
I contemplate it, weighing my options. Getting paid to take pictures of one of my favorite bands? It isn’t a bad opportunity, and I could always build a portfolio off of it. Maybe expand it to a business someday. It has its perks, like Ian says.
“When and where?”
“That’s all up to you,” he tells me, a smile spreading on his face. It’s full of relief, like he was banking on me telling him no.
Clearly, Ian doesn’t know me that well.
I nod along. “Can I let you know? I want to do it, but I’ll need to come up with some ideas.”
“No problem.” He glances at Ryder, then back at me. “You guys want to grab something to eat? You’ve got me thinking about froyo since you mentioned it.”
I laugh. “I’m always up for froyo.”
Ryder rolls his eyes. “I told you.”
I playfully hit him. “Is Will back yet?”
It’s been a couple days since I’ve hung out with him, because he’s been out of town with his dad at some tractor auction in Pennsylvania. Ryder and his mom, along with some temporary hired help, have been keeping up with chores at their farm while they were away.
“I think they’re coming back later today,” he announces, stuffing his hands in his pockets as we walk down the trail.
I frown, because I didn’t know that. Will usually tells me when he’s planning to come home.
“He says he texted you,” he adds.
His words perk me up. I reach into my pocket, and take notice to the fact I have my phone on silent. Whenever I’m alone, I like total quiet. Sure enough, there’s a string of texts from Will waiting for me in my inbox.
Will: Movie night. My house. Eight.
Will: Are you not interested? We’ve got popcorn.
Will: I’ll even add soda.
Will: Hello? Do I need to bring cheesecake, too?
I can’t help but laugh at his bribery.
Tess: Miss me that much you have to see me?
His response is almost instant.
Will: Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me, too.
The Summer We Changed (Relentless Book 1) Page 10