A year since her mother had screamed at me in the hospital. A year since I’d clawed my way out of that car and left my best friend behind to die.
One year.
That’s three hundred and sixty five sleeps. Fifty-two weeks. Eight thousand seven hundred sixty-five hours.
I didn’t go to school that day. I left the house at my usual time in the morning, but instead of heading to first period Language Arts, I just walked. I walked past my turn and down to the park and then I just kept going. I thought about walking to another city, or to Washington, or maybe Canada, or right into the Pacific Ocean.
I don’t remember much of what came after that. I don’t remember getting home or looking for the pills or swallowing them or getting into my grandparent’s car.
Later, my parents and the doctors wanted me to tell them what happened—they wanted me to purge my thoughts. They wanted a clean slate. I think that they’d decided that it would be easier to build a new person from mishmash spilled on the floor than from me.
I can still see my mother’s face—eyebrows perpetually pulled inward, mouth pinched tight.
Did you mean to do it?
Just tell us.
We don’t want to lose you.
That’s what she kept saying… We don’t want to lose you.
Didn’t she realize that I was already gone?
***
The sound starts from far away. Just a buzz on the peripheral of sleep.
Then it gets closer… louder, brassier. The noise makes its way inside my head, pushing me over, sifting through my gauzy dreams and needling at the backs of my eyes.
I open my mouth, but my tongue feels swollen and dry. I lift my arm, but it crashes back to the earth. I try to blink, but it’s like my eyelashes have been pasted to my cheeks with rubber cement.
Oh. My. God.
What is wrong with me? My head is throbbing painfully like it’s been bashed into my headboard by a giant’s fist. My legs feel rubbery like—
“Wake up, Little Miss Sunshine!”
The high-pitched squeal snaps the membrane of grogginess and forces my eyes open. My bedroom is nothing but screaming brightness and sharp noises. Mewling loudly, I roll over and tunnel down deep under the safety of my covers.
“Rise and shine!”
Mara. What is wrong with her?
Mara bounces herself onto my mattress and grabs my arm. Leaning closer, she pushes the knotty hair away from my face and sticks her wet finger in my ear. I swallow and screw my face up. I want to tell her to leave, but nothing is working properly and the sound that comes out of my mouth seem closer to a grunt than an actual word. “Laaahf!”
Mara laughs. “Get up, young lady. Yesterday you told me that you were planning to meet Jodi in an hour.”
Dazed, I try to swat her hand away, but my older sister isn’t having it. With a loud huff she pulls on my legs until my lower half is dangling off the edge of the bed.
“I’m meeting Jodi at three in the afternoon,” I say roughly into the puffy pillow still clutched in my hands.
Mara snorts and slaps me playfully on my butt. “Yeah, Aimee. That’s in an hour.”
This is what finally gets me to turn over and sit up. The bedroom tilts precariously to one side and the walls swing in, causing my stomach to recoil.
“Ahhhhh!” Dropping my head and rubbing my hands up and down my face, I ask, “Is it really the afternoon already?”
“Yep. Sure is.” She stands up. “I would have let you sleep longer but I have to go over to the sorority house to help the girls get ready for the football game. We’re hosting Sig Ep after the game tonight. You should come! I could send one of the younger girls to come pick you up…”
I look at my window. I can see slivers of blue through the slats in the blinds. “Oh God. Too much information!” I rub my eyes. “How in the world are you so cheery right now?”
“I have epic hangover recovery powers honed during my two previous years of college.” Mara laughs. “And it helps that I wasn’t passed out when we got home so I was able to wash down some aspirin with about thirty gallons of water.”
Water. Something new flickers in my brain. “Ugh. What the hell happened last night?”
“Let’s see…” She pauses like she needs to think about my question. “Tequila, vodka and Cole Everly.”
Scrambled bits and pieces of memory start to flicker in my brain, but it’s still an incoherent hodgepodge of images. Cole’s face comes into focus and then the feel of his arm wrapped around me, and the scent of him, and the car and… I cringe and fall back to my mattress. “Holy crap. Last night was…” I wince. “Mara, it’s possible that I told Cole that I wanted to bite him.”