“Pretty damn perfect?!” I slam the book against the face of the locker across from me. The sound of my voice reverberates down the empty hallway. I thrust my hands through my hair, pulling hard, feeling the skin of my scalp tugging away from my skull, and let out the longest, loudest scream I can.
Full sentences are beyond me right now. All I’ve got are words. Tiny phrases. Like my head is one giant keyword infographic.
On purpose.
Legacy.
Love.
Lying to him.
Need.
Perfect.
Symptoms.
Lovelornness.
Blame.
My fault.
Her fault.
On. Fucking. Purpose.
Oh God oh God oh God. I pace the dark hall like a crazy person, raking my hands down my face over and over again, trying to make sense of all this.
The funny thing is it makes sense. It makes perfect sense, actually. I can think clearly enough to know that if I weren’t me, if I were some random person watching the movie of my life, I would get it. The picture is clear now. But it’s not making the right kind of sense, the sense that’s been in my head for the past year.
Here’s what I knew for certain: this whole mess was my fault.
Here’s what I know now: Meg believed that too, but not in the way I thought. And not in a way that makes me feel any better at all. She was so obsessed with me sophomore year that she didn’t go to the doctor when she started getting sick? Her cancer got bad just because I fucking existed? Are you fucking kidding me? Why would she ever write that? Why would she leave it in a journal for Alan to find? How cruel could she possibly be?
I can’t believe I used to like knowing that Meg had a crush on me before we got together. That was the first secret I learned from her journal, the green one before the checklists. Now I wish I didn’t know any of it. I wish I’d never laid eyes on her notebooks.
And the pregnancy, the one thing I knew I was to blame for—turns out it wasn’t my fault at all. Meg lied to me from day one. Used me, manipulated me, made me love her, let me fight for the abortion when she knew her decision all along, destroyed me just so she could leave something meaningful behind. Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?
Well, guess what you left behind, Meg? Nothing but misery and pain and regret.
I will hate you forever.