Around nine forty-five, I dragged a hoodie from beneath my bed and hauled it over my head. The girls were playing a game of Monopoly near the cabin door. Brie held the dice as I passed. Her eyes landed on my hoodie for a second, her eyebrow arching.
“You can’t seriously be going out on a date for the second night in a row,” she said. “I mean, how is it fair that you get action and we’re stuck in this cabin playing some hokey board game?”
“What she means to say is: If you’re meeting Grant again, could you at least get us some food from the mess hall?” Jess said, nudging her friend. “I would prefer leftover brownies, if possible.”
“Or a jar of those dill pickles they set out when it’s hoagie day,” Steff said, glancing at me. “Those are amazing.”
“But brownies if you can only pick one,” Jess said.
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, quietly opening the cabin door.
Outside, a warm night breeze riffled loose strands of hair. I had made a concerted effort to avoid Grant the rest of the afternoon, but my emotions were in a tailspin.
How could I shut him down, when I cared about him? When the only thing I wanted to do was spend time with him? But how could I not let him go? How could I knowingly let this continue when my own demons were gnawing away at my conscience? When he thought he knew the real version of me but really had no clue?
No. In the end, this would be the best thing for both of us. I could detach before he had the chance to hurt me. He could do the same.
Inside Grant’s side of the cabin, the strum of his guitar drifted through the screen door. He was playing what sounded like an acoustic version of James Arthur’s “Empty Space.” It was hard to tell, though, with guys talking around him and the rhythm too muddled to hear.
I leaned against the porch, drinking in the dark. This time of night, stripped of campers and chaos, was the most peaceful. A stillness clung to the air, chilling despite the chaos of the day.
Releasing a breath, I stared down the opposite end of the road. A flashlight bobbed up and down in the dark, and I heard tennis shoes crunching against the path. The closer she got, the more defined Loraine’s face became.
“Are you doing cabin patrols?” I said, surveying her.
“No, but we need to talk.”
Dread curled up my spine. The tone in her voice walked a fine line between frustration and disappointment. Her expression was a mirror image of my mom’s when she was pissed. That told me everything I needed to know—we had a problem, and I didn’t know what it was.
I pulled away from the rail, mentally prepping myself for conflict. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m in trouble?” I said, stepping off the porch. “You sound like my mom, so I’m guessing yes.”
“I’d rather talk about this in private,” she said, pivoting the other direction.
I let out a long sigh. Another serious conversation was the last thing I needed at this exact moment. My plate was full. Full of worry. Full of chaos. Full of guilt.
“If you’re about to yell at me, it really doesn’t matter where you do it,” I said. “Just spit it out. What did I do and how do I fix it?”
“Madeline turned in your therapy notes today and I was looking over them when I realized you walked out of today’s session five minutes into it. Those sessions aren’t optional,” Loraine said, facing me. “They’re a part of the deal, remember?”
“A deal I didn’t realize I was agreeing to when I got here,” I said, stopping. “You threw that part in after I was already settled. I never would’ve agreed had I known.”
“But you did agree and here we are. You’re skipping out on sessions, and I’m the one who has to explain to your parents why you’ve been out here almost a month and haven’t made any serious headway with the person I told them was the best juvenile counselor this side of Houston.”
“Because as far as I’m concerned, none of my emotions or reactions or thoughts for that matter are anyone’s business,” I said. “I’ll end those sessions when I damn well want to, and if you don’t like it you can cancel them altogether.”
“Did you just swear at me?”
“Damn. Damn. Damn,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Why? Have I broken another cardinal rule of camp?”
“You’re about to get yourself written up.”
“Then quit lecturing me on how long I am or am not in therapy with a therapist I didn’t ask for!”
I glared at her, my temper flaring the longer she stood unmoving. How dare she expect me to talk to a stranger about my feelings? That had nothing to do with her. That had nothing to do with anyone but me and it was my decision.
“As long as you’re out here, you’ll abide by my rules,” Loraine said.
“I didn’t even want to come out here,” I said. “And if me opening up to some crappy counselor isn’t a negotiable, then you’re either going to have to kick me out or you’re going to have to get over it. I’m the one who gets to open up to people when I feel like it, so walking out of a therapy session is my choice. Not yours. Not my parents’. Mine.”
Her lips formed a thin line in the dark. Her shoulders turned rigid.
“Y’all didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” I said. “You and everyone else just thought they could pick and choose what’s best for me, but no one bothered to ask! No one ever asks!”
I shook my head, crossing my arms as heat flooded my cheeks. With the events of the day and the stress of what I had to do with Grant boiling already, I couldn’t handle this. It was too much.
“You and I both know everyone is just concerned for your well-being,” Loraine said. “You’ve been through a lot, Alex. You’ve seen way more than you ever should. That affects a person.”
“I know!” I said, throwing my hands up. “I was there! I lived it. I was the one trying to make it through my last year of school. I was the one trying to figure out how to live in a world where my best friend no longer existed. I was the one—”
Grief formed a knot at the base of my throat. I would choke on those words before I said them out loud. Before I ever admitted to anyone that I was to blame for Nikki. That I could’ve taken the keys.
Tears burned my eyes; emotion spiraled its way through me.
All these months and I had kept this to myself. I drowned in the guilt and internalized how I felt about it so no one would judge me for not doing more to save my friend, so I wouldn’t have to live with people knowing I could’ve changed the outcome but chose to be selfish instead.
But here I was, standing in some horrible reformation camp, giving it the exact same thing it wanted from me. Admission. Guilt. Acceptance of my faults and everything that came with it.
And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say it was my fault.
“Is everything okay?” Grant said from behind me.
His voice, so full of conviction, broke the last of what little resolve I was using to hold myself together. Tears burned their way across my cheeks. My guilt swallowing me whole.
“I can’t do this,” I said, stepping away. “I can’t. You. Him. I want to go home.”
“No!” Loraine said, shaking her head. “You have to quit holding on to all these emotions and just grieve, Alex. Quit running away. Quit being so stubborn and let us help you. Please.”
“How are you going to help me?” I said, facing her. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. You have no idea what I’m feeling. I lost my friend, Loraine. Someone who knew and accepted me long before anyone else ever did. Who saw me. The real me, and liked me anyway. You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone like that. You have no idea.”
“I do,” Grant said.
I closed my eyes, tears hot on my cheeks.
“I know exactly how that feels. I lost my best friend. My role model. My hero. And I don’t know how that played out for you, but I spiraled. I spiraled hard. Don’t do that. Not when you have people willing and ready to help you. Not when they want to help you.”
“So what happens when they realize you’re the one responsible for your own destruction?” I said, my body shaking as I forced the sentences out. “What happens when you have to explain to the people who have this huge faith in you that you’re the one who let your friend keep the keys? That you knew they were drunk and you let them drive anyway?”
The pair of them froze, the words a wall between us.
“You’re blinded by your faith in me,” I said, shaking my head. “You want to preach at me about how I can help myself. You want me to let it all out so I can move on. But I can’t move on. I can’t let it go. I have to live with this. And that’s something you could never understand. I’m on my own. Quit trying to help me.”
Silence filled the space as I headed for the dark, my admission breaking me down.
I was the one responsible for my fate. Now I had to live with it.