Ritual - Palm South University

Don’t push me away.

I love you.

What’s wrong?

I swallow, ripping my hand free from her grasp and shaking off the bad mood as I make my way back to the stage. Then, I finish the show, announce a final donation to our philanthropy that blows everyone out of the water, and high-five my brothers after an event well-done.

And I text Cassie, telling her I need to stay back to clean up and to head out without me.

I feel like shit, like an absolute fucking asshole.

But I also feel validated.

I don’t want to hurt her. It’s the last thing I want. But the truth is, she’s hurting me. She’s had her chance to tell me about Grayson — multiple times — and she hasn’t. And maybe I should just ask her about it, but if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I should have to.

If we’re together, if she’s my person and I’m hers… shouldn’t we be honest with each other, always? No matter what?

That’s what’s on repeat in my mind as I help my brothers wrap up the event, as we celebrate well into the next morning, as I lie in bed hungover the next afternoon, with my eyes on the ceiling and the girl who’s driven me crazy for years the only thing on my mind.

And the truth of what I’m feeling kills me.

Cassie can say she loves me all she wants to.

But until her actions line up with those words, I’m not sure I can believe them anymore.Bear,

I’ve started this letter and torn it up a thousand times, it seems. I don’t think there are words to say what I need to say to you. I’ve tried and tried to find the right ones, but I always come up empty-handed.

I guess I should just start by saying that I am sorry.

But, God, that sounds so trite.

I want to roll my eyes at those words. They aren’t enough. They don’t do justice to how I really feel, to how much I care for you, to how badly it kills me to know that I hurt you.

They do nothing to explain what the choice I made did to me — long before you knew.

So, I’m going to try to explain. I know most of this won’t make sense. Most of this won’tTHE ALARM GOES OFF on my phone, a bright, cheerful jingle that signals it’s time for me to leave to head to group therapy. I silence it, and then stare at yet another unfinished letter to Clinton. There’s a pile of them in the waste bin next to my desk, and I crumple this one up into a ball and toss it in with the others.

The letter is still in my mind as I drive to therapy. The little church it’s held in is off campus, just a short, ten-minute drive, but it’s long enough to let me mull over the fact that I’m never going to be able to write out what I want to say to Clinton.

“You don’t need to send the letters,” my therapist had told me at our last session. “Just write them to the people you’ve hurt, and say what you’re too scared to say to them in person.”

I’d thought the exercise was annoying and cliché at first, but then… it had worked.

At least, sort of.

I’d written a letter to Skyler, and while I didn’t give the letter to her, writing it helped me find the courage to talk to her. And now, we had finally taken a real, genuine step to putting everything that happened last semester behind us. I know we have a long way to go yet, but just having the conversation healed me in a way I couldn’t fully understand.

Since then, I’ve written letters to my parents, to my unborn child, to my rapists, and to all of my closest friends — Jess, Lei, Cassie.

But I can’t seem to write one for Bear.

If I could have anything in the world, it would be to have my friendship with Bear again. The way we used to be. Before he knew.

I’m still in a fog of thoughts when I make my way into therapy, and just like always, I bypass the donuts and the coffee and take my usual seat, pulling out a notebook and setting my purse in my lap.

And when I look up, Gavin Lindberg is staring at me.

The jolt of those electric blue eyes is enough to stop my next breath, and I stare back at him, unflinchingly, until Jackie asks everyone to find their seats and that we’re about to begin. It’s only at the sound of her voice that I finally blink, and with that blink, the rest of the room seems to come back to me in a whoosh.

I clear my throat, looking from him to Jackie, instead, and I keep my focus on her or whoever is speaking for the rest of group session. I’m not in the mood to talk today, so I just sit quietly and listen, and smile, and nod, and think.