I cried for Ryan and Holden.
I cried for the end of innocence. For the end of life as I knew it.
And then I cried for Preston, begging him to forgive me for letting him down.
Later that evening, I received a text from Holden. The doctor had told him that he’d been lucky. The break would heal in time. He’d be out this season, but most likely would be able to play next year. I breathed out a sigh of relief upon reading that, and texted him back a smiley face. After sending it, I stared down at the emoticon, wishing I could take it back. It seemed to taunt me with its large grin, and it made me feel like a liar. I wasn’t smiling like that. Nothing about me felt happy. But I didn’t know what else to say to Holden. I was glad for his good news. But did I feel smiley? Not even a little bit.
When he followed that text with another one, I shut off my phone and crawled into bed. It wasn’t cold inside my house, but for some reason I couldn’t get warm. Pulling the covers up over my head, I cocooned myself inside. Jasmine and Gianna had been calling and texting earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond to anyone. I knew I’d never be able to fall asleep, but I longed for it. Longed to lose myself in sweet dreams. To drift into nothingness.
I wondered if that was what Preston wanted. If he desired the same thing. Was that what drove him to do what he did? And more importantly, did he find the peace he desperately wanted? I hoped he had.
“Chloe?” Mom’s muffled voice came from outside my bedroom door.
“Yeah?” I called from under the covers.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I responded, because I knew she wouldn’t go away even if I asked her to.
I heard the click of the door as it opened, the shuffling of her feet on the carpet. My bed sloped when she sat on it. “Honey, you okay?”
“What do you think?”
When her hand rested on my legs from outside the comforter, I was sorry for my rude remark. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head even though I wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell what I was doing. The covers lifted from my face, my mom’s face coming into view. The genuineness of her expression and the love in her eyes broke me. It was like when I was a kid and I scrambled into her bed after having a nightmare. Back then I thought there was nothing my mom couldn’t fix. And when I got older and kids were mean to me at school, all seemed right with the world when I came home to have an afternoon snack with Mom. She was the only one who could console me the first time I’d had my heart broken by a boy.
And, in this moment, I needed her.
“Mom.” I sat up, shoving off my covers. Then I reached out my arms.
“Oh, sweetie.” Without hesitation she scooted forward and wrapped her arms around me. I slumped against her, pressing my face into her chest. As I cried, she stroked my hair and spoke soothing words. Tears streamed down my face, soaking her shirt and the ends of her hair. But I couldn’t stop.
When I was around ten years old my cat Otis died. I was devastated when Mom told me. Yet, I attempted to stay strong and not cry. But Mom encouraged me to cry. To release my emotions. She told me it was healthy, my body’s natural way of dealing with pain and loss.
So that’s what I did today too. I allowed myself to grieve. To feel loss. To feel sadness. To feel pain.
CHAPTER 23
Holden
School was closed the remainder of the week after the shooting. Counselors were on-site for parents and students to talk to, but I had no desire to set foot on that campus. I knew I would have to next week, but I was in no hurry to get back. Just the thought of being in that cafeteria turned my stomach. I’d hardly slept since the incident. And when I did sleep it was plagued with nightmares of guns, blood, and dead bodies.
Today was Ryan’s memorial service, and I was dreading it with every ounce of my being. Over the last few days there were moments when I could pretend this was all a dream. That I’d run into Ryan next time I went to school. He’d be an ass, and I’d call him on it. Then he’d razz me about football or something. But I knew that after today there would be no pretending. The service would make it all too real. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
My arm still hurt like crazy, but it was nothing compared to what I felt inside. Not only had I lost my best friend, but I felt like I’d lost Chloe too. The truth was that I wasn’t sure I ever really had her. But I wanted her. And now it didn’t seem like that would happen. She hadn’t returned any of my phone calls or texts since the night of the shooting. I knew she blamed herself, and I wished there was some way I could make her see that it wasn’t her fault.