"Everything was fine until we got off the highway and-and sped down the ramp. There was a sharp turn and it happened so quickly. We plowed into a group of people standing around a car.
"I remember coming to and smelling the burnt rubber, smoke, and something metallic saturating the air. Dan was hunched over in his seat, but outside there was screaming-just the worst sound I'd ever heard. I climbed out of the window and saw that we'd crashed into a parked car. The ground was slippery. There was so much blood. A woman lay on the street with this gaping wound; her chest was torn open-I could see everything: her organs, her ribs. And then I tried to close her up-these huge flaps of her flesh I pinned together, but she was already-she was already dead.
"There was screaming and I looked behind me. A little girl pinned under our car, as white as a sheet of paper. Her mother was crouching underneath-trying to lift it. Another person was pinned against the fence-he was definitely gone. I tried to save her. I lifted the car and her mother was able to drag her out, but she was so white and there was so much blood. Her lips kept moving and I held her hand. I still remember how tiny it was in mine. Her eyes never closed. She kept looking from her mom and back to me and then they froze inside her head and what little warmth was in her hand faded away.
"My father hired the best defense lawyers money could buy and paid off a ton of news outlets so that his name-our name, would never get dragged through the mud. Dan got court-ordered rehab and never spent a day in prison. We settled with the families. I kind of went crazy for a little while and was committed. I had really severe PTSD and my girlfriend at the time dumped me. She couldn't handle it. No one could. I never moved on. I could never get past it. How could I, when I killed those people?"
Will finished speaking, his deadened voice echoing horribly in my head.
I felt physically ill from all of the graphic descriptions of the bodies he and his drunken friend had mangled. It was much worse than I thought. I imagined what the scene must have looked like-limbs everywhere, chunks of flesh and blood painting the concrete, the girl trapped beneath the car.
William had survived unscathed. It wasn't fair. His face was twisted and red. His eyes burned holes in my head. "You can hate me if you want, I'll understand. You can't hate me more than I hate myself."
I searched myself for what I felt-I was confused, stunned, and sickened by the whole thing. I felt a flash of anger for how irresponsible they were-like Gatsby and Daisy, rich, reckless people destroying lives and retreating back into their wealth without a backwards glance. But Will isn't like that. He feels remorse.
"I think that the choices you made that night were awful. It was a terrible, terrible thing, but I don't hate you, Will. I feel sorry for the families. And you."
He made no move to defend himself. I think if I stabbed him in the chest, he wouldn't have stopped me.
I stroked his hair. "You're not a bad person, Will."
"I am."
"It wasn't your fault. You weren't the one driving," I said softly.
"It was my car," he said in a sharp voice. "I convinced him to go. That doesn't absolve me of all responsibility. If I hadn't been such a stupid, selfish moron, those people would still be alive."
"What about the people at the party who watched two drunk people leave and drive away? They're responsible, too. It's not all on you."
The darkness in Will's face lightened slightly. He looked up at me, slowly daring himself to believe me. "That's true, but-"
"It all makes sense now," I sighed. "You won't drink a drop of alcohol because you're terrified that something bad might happen."
"What bothers me the most is that I never got to set things right. I was never allowed to apologize to them."
He was like a hollow shell-he always looked so empty when he talked about the accident. The light behind his eyes died. It scared me.
"Are you in therapy?"
"No."
"Why not? You need it, Will!"
William rubbed his arm. "I can't talk about it."
I stopped in front of him and took his shoulders, giving him a little shake. "You just did. Will, you're having panic attacks all over the place. It's not something that's just going to fade away. You need therapy. Jessica's in therapy, you know."
Will was looking anywhere but me. "Good for her."
"It helps."
"Nothing can help. I just have to live with it."
"Are you so horrible that you don't deserve forgiveness? Visit the families. Apologize. Allow yourself to feel better."
"No," he said, looking terrified.
"You have to do it," I said in a flat voice. "Or you'll be miserable forever."
We both knew it was true. He would never be able to find a scrap of peace until he confronted his problems. Visiting them wouldn't be easy. He would have to be prepared for the hatred that would be flung in his face. I tried to think about how I would feel if it were my family. Would I be able to forgive him? I don't think so.
"Maybe I deserve to suffer for what I did."
"That's just your depression talking. You deserve peace. Will, I can help you with this. I want to see you get better."
He turned his back on me. "Can we please, please stop talking about it?"
"Sure." I sat behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle. It took a lot out of him to talk about what happened that night, and I wasn't going to forget that. "Thank you for telling me."
"I'll understand if you want to bolt. I'm giving you an out."
Am I willing to deal with years of being with an unhappy person? I hugged him tighter. I had hope for him. I could pull him out of the darkness. "No, I'm not going anywhere."
What he did was horrible, but William wasn't that person anymore. He wasn't a lost cause. I wouldn't abandon him.
He covered my hands with his and sighed in relief. "I need to leave this place," he said suddenly. "I need to see my dad in Chicago. Will you come with me?"
My face burned. I wasn't sure how I felt about meeting Will's dad. "Well, sure-but what about the campaign?"
"Luke will be upset, but I'm only going to Chicago to help him." He gently disengaged from my arms and began to dress himself. "I just think I need to do something."
I picked at a spot in the bed sheets with my nail and glanced at him, only to look away when he met my eyes.
"Spit it out."
"Why-why do you want me to go with you?"
He thought about it for a moment and gave me a weak smile. "I paid you for three weeks work and we've only had sex once."
"You're lucky that I have a sense of humor," I groaned in frustration. "Be serious for once."
"I like having you around."
I stood up and took his body in my arms, nestling my head under his chin. His warmth was so comforting; I leaned into him and felt my chest expanding, like a balloon inflating inside my chest. I like being with you, too. "What will you tell your dad about me? I mean, technically, I'm working for you."
"Technically, you're not working directly under me. Natalie, what are you really trying to ask me?"
My face burned. The lilt in his voice suggested that he already knew what I wanted to ask him, but he was going to force it out of me anyways. I needed to know where this was headed. I wasn't interested in a fling. "I want to know where this is headed, that's all."
He sighed. "Only a week ago, you were upset with me because I talked to your ex-fiancé."
"You didn't talk to him, you insulted him."
"Still." He pulled away from me, frowning slightly.
So, he still didn't trust me. I guess I can understand that. "I really like you, Will. I want to be with you. I just don't want to be used."
"Me neither."
I would never do that to you. I stood on my toes and kissed his mouth, feeling utterly giddy when he responded passionately, his arms circling my waist and tightening.
"Okay," he said when we broke apart. "Let's get ready. I need to charter a flight out of here."
I was already mostly packed, so I walked to the bright lobby and decided to check my email. It was the crack of dawn. I ascended the stairs to the terrace with a plate of lemon cakes and coffee, and sighed at the magnificent sunrise. The dark blue sky was giving way to the stretch of bright orange on the horizon. Puffy, pink clouds hung in the rapidly lightening blue. The colors were slowly coming to life; the sun illuminated the brightly painted homes and the swirls of bright blue in the ocean. Such beauty just wasn't possible. I took several pictures and attempted to sketch it, but stopped myself. It was more important to watch it. I felt an incredible sadness at the realization that I would soon leave this place. It was like going to paradise and being expected to return home to a world of concrete, and somehow be happy about that.