“Yup,” I say again, nodding my head slowly. “He has a bike.” I’m five years old, telling my dad about the cool kid next door with the awesome toy. It’s so demeaning.
“Ah,” he says. “Yes, he does. And how was it? Being on a bike again?”
Really? Is this guy serious? “It was good. I had fun. Is there a point—?”
“Since your best friend lost her life on one, I thought maybe there would be some hesitancy for you.” His beady eyes drill through his lenses at me. “A moment of panic, maybe.”
My whole body locks up. Well, there wasn’t until you said something, asshat. Shitty counselors and their shitty tactics. I glimpse an image of me ripping his little gray eyes out before I say, “Nope. It’s just like riding a bike. You don’t forget how.” I smile. It’s so forced I can almost hear my teeth cracking under the pressure.
But at least he didn’t say her name. No one gets to say her name. They don’t know a damn thing about her. Most people didn’t give a shit about my girl. They don’t get to use her death as a way to get something from me.
“And she didn’t die because of a bike,” I add. “A truck crashed into her and the road smashed her head in. It wasn’t her or the bike’s or Jessie’s fault.” My hands clench into fists. “It was the drunk asshole driving the truck that hit them’s fault.”
His brows pinch together, a curious look forms on his face. “You don’t—” He breaks off, looks down at the file, and I have a fleeting second of satisfaction that I tripped him up. He finds what he’s searching for and meets my gaze again. “You don’t think Jesse’s drug use had anything to do with the accident?”
A sharp razor is slicing my brain. Bottled-up judgments are leaking out of the cuts. Anger rises in my chest, fiery hot, but I get ahold of it before it’s unleashed. I know what he’s trying to do. I know the game, and I won’t play.
I press my back into the chair and push my fisted hands to my sides. “His blood alcohol level was below the legal limit. I know Jesse. He can operate a hell of a lot more fucked up than he was that night.”
“I didn’t say anything about his alcohol level.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “I said his drug use. Shouldn’t you consider Jesse’s actions, or lack of reflexes, his choices that night, as part of the outcome, Melody?”
“What the hell?” I lean forward. “You’re my shrink, right? Shouldn’t you be preaching to me about acceptance and forgiveness and all that shit? Coming to terms with things in order to move on? Why are you fixated on me blaming one friend for another’s death? That’s really messed up. We all partied. We all got high, had drinks, had a good time. We all took off knowing…” I grit my teeth, glare at his smug face. “Dar was my responsibility. If anyone’s to blame for what happened to her, it’s me.”
The words fly out of my mouth so quickly I don’t hear them until they’re out there, floating in the gap between me and Doc Sid. Drifting back to my ears. Pounding against my head.
Dar has always been under my wing. Since that moment in the Jr. High bathroom when I stepped in to protect her, she’s been my obligation. I let her ride with Jesse. I should’ve just put her drunk ass in the car. I shouldn’t have fucked Jesse and got all weirded out and wanted to bolt out of there. Just a minute later…just a second…and that truck never would have hit them.
“Melody?” His voice bleeds into my thoughts, and I blink. “I know this is going to come off as nonsense. You’ve heard it a million times on after school specials.” He smiles, like he’s relating to me. Like he’s getting down on my level. Douchebag.
“But,” he continues. “We are the company we keep. You’ve heard that before?”
I nod absently, no longer paying attention to his words. They’re drivel leaking into my ears.
“You’re a committed friend. You’d do anything to protect the ones you care about. I get that, I do.” He takes a breath, getting ready for the but… “But, are they protecting you back? You’re not here for long, so if you get nothing else out of this treatment, I want you to leave with this: take a good, hard look at your friends, and ask yourself if they’re going to help you get to where you need to be, or hold you back.”
He sighs when I say nothing. “Your choices are your own. You’re responsible for your actions. But it’s just as important to acknowledge the actions of those around you, Melody. You want me to assuage your guilt, tell you that it was nobody’s fault, when the truth is: every action has a reaction. There were a chain of events that dominoed and led to your friend’s death.” He flips the file closed. “All right. I think that’s enough for today.”
Yeah, he doesn’t have to tell me twice. Without any parting words, I stand and head for the door. A rock in my stomach. A hot lump lodged in my throat. Choking back the words I want to rail at him.
As I exit the counselors’ wing, and make my way toward the rooms, a sudden nausea consumes me. All I can see is Dar’s face: the smeared makeup; the knots tangling her hair; her drunk, happy smile; blowing a kiss; her vacant, lifeless eyes.
Then Jesse’s body moving on top of mine. Saying “no” and him driving into me…
I wobble on my feet. My hand reaches out to anchor me against the wall, gain balance. I have to get this shit out of my head. I don’t want to think about that night, or Jesse, or Dar, or any of it. It was just a horrible, fucked up night.
Actions.
We all played a part, my mind is whispering to me. Only is anyone more to blame?
When I finally get to my room, all I want to do is crash. Just fall face first into the lumpy mattress and sleep a thousand years.
But a single envelope stops me short at the foot of the bed.
A breath catches in my chest as I read the return name: Jesse.
Boone
A heightened awareness, a pit free of reason