Forever Dark(68)

It takes me a minute, and then I give him some truth he’s deserved for years. I look at the snow as I talk to him. “I was nine years old when I knew my life would never be the same. I knew, I just knew when I opened that little note that said check yes or no, that I would never be far from you. I can’t tell you why I did what I did. All I know is that while I wanted to be dead, wanted to trade places with Steven, you were what kept me alive. Just when I was drowning completely, you were the breath I needed at three AM.”

The thing was, I was never alone in all this. I had Cash. All I had to do was look for him.

His brow scrunches as he speaks. “Don’t you see though, this is so much worse than watching Steven die. With him it was instant. I knew when I saw him, when I lifted up his shirt there was no saving him. With you, it’s been years of this shit. You fucked around on me. You used me. But I let you. Now this,” he gestures to my appearance. “It’s sickening to see you this sick and I feel like I let it happen.”

“It’s not like that, Cash.” I’m trying to make him feel better.

“It is like that. And you’re not entirely to blame for that. All you had to do was look my way and I followed.”

I start crying again. And I don’t want to. I don’t feel like I’m ever going to be able to stop.

He stands and reaches out to cup my cheek, but somehow, I know this is a goodbye for now. Not a goodbye forever. I feel it in the warmth of his touch and the way his eyes soften when he looks at me.

“Madison, you have to believe. You have to want to believe there’s good in this world. When you do, maybe then you can love yourself enough to give that love to someone else.”

He hesitates for a half a second and then walks away. When he’s at the end of the bleachers and standing on the snow covered grass, he gives me one last look and smiles.

He smiles.

It’s not forced. It’s just him.

I know that being happy shouldn’t be so hard.

It’s supposed to be easy, falling for forever and living inside someone else.

Then life happens and the ugly creeps in to suffocate you. It’s like a crack in a windshield. At first it’s just a chip and then over time it spreads across the entire windshield. Before you know it you’re looking through the cracks just to see. You know they’re there and you see them every day. There’s no hope for them just magically disappearing no matter how hard you try to look around them. If anything, they’re a reminder the crack was there to begin with. A weakness.

But if you replace that windshield, are those cracks gone forever?

I don’t think they are.

I have cracks down deep in my soul that I know will always be there.

I walk back to my parent’s house. My tears haven’t stopped by the time I get there and I pray everyone is asleep so I don’t have to face anyone.

When I sneak through the back door, my dad is up, sitting at the kitchen table staring at a glass of water and a magazine I was sure wasn’t holding his attention.

He’s waiting for me.

I want to pretend I don’t see him, walk right past him, but he doesn’t allow it.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Who?” I stop in front of him and sit across from him.

“Cash. He called to make sure you made it home.”

The corners of my mouth twitch into a small smile as I wipe my face free of tears. “Yeah.”

Dad nods and then gives me that look. The one all fathers get right before they’re about to give you some advice in the form of a life lesson. He gestures to me with a wave of his hand. “Where do you get the money to maintain this habit?”

My heart pounds, I get defensive. “Why does it matter?”

He doesn’t like that. “I won’t keep paying your tuition and have you waste away the education on drugs.”

I know what made me think no one back home wouldn’t notice. At school, it’s less shocking. Here, my parents haven’t seen me since the beginning of September. My appearance has a little more of the shock and awe effect, I suppose.

Dad stands from the kitchen table and rubs my back. “I love you, Madison. Very much.” His lips press to my forehead. “Don’t forget how many people do.”

I haven’t. Sometimes that’s the problem.

When my head hits my pillow that night, my eyes drift closed. Maybe it’s that I’ve gotten a little off my chest, or that I’m finally being honest with myself that I have a problem. Whatever it is, sleep comes for a little while.



December 8, 2013



When I wake up Sunday morning, I’m staring at the picture of me and Macy I had on my nightstand. It’s the night before Steven died. Beside it is one of Cash and I after the game while we were on the field. He’s sweat-soaked and all smiles. And so am I.