Death had trumped me.
He was the ultimate bastard, stealing from me without a backward glance.
Chapter twenty one
I walked home completely numb, not thinking, not feeling. I reached my house and pulled out my key, realizing that I had left my backpack in Ms. Jones's class. Closing the door behind me, I walked up to my room and pulled out my bottle of Jack.
With each sip I took, I reminded myself that this was my fault. I had abandoned James when he needed me the most. I had left him alone with our pact. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I was too numb. I just wanted Jack to make me forget, to rewind time.
Fogginess filled my head as I drained the last of the bottle. I vaguely heard pounding on our front door, but ignored it as I dropped the empty bottle on the floor and curled up in a ball on my bed. I fell into an alcohol-induced sleep and the pain momentarily slipped away.
My sleep was interrupted by the insistent ringing of the phone. I dragged the pillows over my head, blocking it out. The day passed in a sleepy haze as I drifted in and out. Each time I woke, I was acutely aware that I was to blame.
Darkness fell and I never moved from my bed. Having slept the day away, I was now unable to rest. Even after I heard Donna come in for the night, I remained awake. I wished I had another bottle of Jack so I could escape my demons, but instead, I lay there, playing every conversation James and I had ever had through my head over and over again. It was an endless loop that I couldn’t turn off. By the time morning rolled around, I felt like the walking dead.
At least Christmas break had started and I wouldn’t have to face anyone. I spent the day moving my room completely around. Once all my furniture was situated in new spots, I decided I didn’t like it and moved it all back to where it originally sat.
Dean tried to get a hold of me throughout the day, but I stayed closed up in my room, ignoring his countless calls and knocks on my front door. The passing hours felt meaningless from moving furniture and my unsuccessful attempt at sleep the night before. I forced myself to stay awake long enough to shower and Google the time for James's memorial service the following day.
The bright shining sun woke me the next morning, which somehow seemed fitting. James had lived in darkness for so long, he deserved the light. I was dressed hours before the service, anxious that I would be seeing Dean soon. I wasn't prepared with what I would say. What could I say, that I was a murderer? I may not have actually done the deed, but I sure as hell didn’t do anything to stop it. I was the one who had come up with the pact in the first place. I was the one who had discussed it for hours and then abandoned it in the blink of an eye. This was all on me.
I waited until Donna had left for work before I made my way down the hall and opened the front door. The air was brisk as I stepped outside and saw the vehicle in my driveway. I wasn’t surprised. I knew he would be here, just like he knew I would leave the house today. >By the time fourth period ended, I was in agony. My legs and back ached from my stationary posture while all feeling had left my ass hours ago.
Douche Bag's lunch was delivered to him at the end of fourth period, and my eyes never strayed from his as he slowly unwrapped his deli sandwich.
The sudden buzz of his intercom startled me, making me jump slightly.
"Yes?" he said, holding the button down on his phone.
"Ms. Jones is here to see you."
"I'm in a meeting," he said, looking at me.
"She says she has something urgent to discuss with you."
"Fine. I'll meet her in the conference room," he said, clearly aggravated as he stood up from behind his desk. "I'll be right across the hall," he warned, exiting his office, but leaving the door open.
Once he was out of sight, I slumped in my seat, trying to appease my aches. What the hell was I doing? I couldn’t help thinking. I was only delaying the inevitable.
I could hear their muted voices from across the hall, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
A few minutes later, the door across the hall was thrown open and Douche Bag stalked back into his office, seething. Whore Cat followed behind him, smiling at me slightly before closing the door behind her.
Studying me critically, Douche Bag sat back down behind his desk, clutching a stack of crumpled papers in his hand. "Ms. Hanson, it has come to my attention that perhaps, though your actions were wrong, you may have been provoked. Do you recognize these notes in my hand?" he asked, holding them up.
Not sure where he was going with his new strategy of questioning, I looked at Whore Cat for clarification.
"It's okay, Madison, you can tell us," she said with kindness that had been absent before.
I wasn't sure what they expected from me, but I took a deep breath and finally answered him. "Yeah, they were meant for me."
"Do you know who they were from?" he asked.
"Yes, I have a box filled with them at home," I answered, relieved to be finally telling someone one of my biggest secrets. I didn’t even care that it was them who I told. It was just a relief to get it out.
"I see. Well, this changes things significantly. Throwing textbooks is obviously not allowed, but neither is bullying. Ms. Jones has pointed out to me that although your grades are not stellar, your behavior over the last four years has been. She also pointed out that sometimes, faced with continuous torment, eventually anyone would snap."
I looked at him confused as a small ray of hope unfurled inside of me. Was it possible that they wouldn’t suspend me, and that Donna would never know?