Thinking about how far Jax is from me makes me want to cry, which of course pisses me off. I refuse to cry over something so stupid. Welcoming the anger to center me, I stare past Liv and out the windows.
“I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He’s put up this wall and I just want back in. I thought after everything we’ve been through together that he would always be here for me. Whenever I tried to run away from anything, he wouldn’t let me. He was always pushing me to be better, to be more than I am, even when we were kids. I just can’t believe he would let that go.”
Liv gets up and grabs a black teddy bear from a chair in the corner. When she hands it to me, I raise my eyebrow at her in question, but take the dumb bear anyways. My fingers roam over the soft fur.
“Squeezing your frustration into him will help.”
“Him?” My lips quirk up into a grin.
“Yes, him. Another patient of mine named him Mr. Bear.”
A unladylike snort escapes me. “Fitting since he’s a bear.”
Sitting back down, she waits for me to continue talking about everything else running through my head. I give the bear a squeeze before I pour my heart out yet again and realize the stuffed animal does indeed help. Go figure.
“I don’t understand how he can treat me like I don’t exist. That I don’t matter. I know he cares about me. I know I mean something to him. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t have been the one who found me that night in the pool, saving my life, if he didn’t care.”
I know I’m rambling, but I need to get this out. Liv watches me sit Indian-style with the bear in my lap.
“You never talk about that night you attempted suicide. The only thing I know is from your medical history. Are you ready discuss that night?” Liv studies me.
All of the air rushes out of my lungs. I know I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Just thinking about how weak I used to be makes me sick. I know that if I take this step and talk about that night, it will change me. I haven’t been able to talk about it . . . ever. I don’t want to be that weak, fragile girl I once was. I want to be strong. I need to tell my story, I need to really open up to Liv, so I can finally move past everything that happened to me six years ago. It’s time I talk about the night I tried to make the pain go away for good, the night I thought I had nothing to live for, the night Jax saved me from myself.
“I remember feeling nothing at all. I wasn’t sad or angry. I just was. It’s kind of like all of the emotions I was feeling since I woke up and Logan told me our family was dead floated away. The only thing I had left was knowing that everything about me that made me me, was ripped away and I was the one solely responsible. I felt like my home had no meaning to me anymore because everything that I held dear was stolen from me.”
I pause, trying to collect myself. It’s crazy to relive how I felt back then, thinking that there was no other option. I never would have believed that I could be here, calmly talking about this. I never thought I would make it this far. I never wanted to. Now? I want to stop feeling emptiness and guilt all the time. I want to stop pretending and be truly happy. I have to believe that it gets better. If it doesn’t? I don’t even want to think about that.
“I knew that I was was never going to be able to ask for my dad’s advice. I wouldn’t be able to lean on my mom as my rock anymore. My little sister died before she was ever able to fall hopelessly in love and live her life. And it was all because of me. I’m the one responsible for all the pain Logan is suffering through.”
As the memories and old feelings come back, I’m pulled from the couch to five years ago. I’m transported back to the pool the night I almost ruined everything.
The distinct scent of chlorine fills the cold air as I near the black gates. As I open them, I fill my lungs with my second favorite smell in the world. I gaze around to the water that brought me nothing but peace, up towards the white and red flags that made me feel like a champion, and all I feel now is despair towards the one thing that I cherished most in my life. It makes me laugh. It’s a sound that I’m not accustomed to hearing, nor is it the sound my laugh used to be. Instead, it has a darkened tone to it. It matches my soul, how fitting.
It’s chilly as I sit down at the edge of my high school pool. Putting my feet in the cold water, I instantly feel at ease. I’m finally doing the right thing for once in my life. I grab the bag of pills from my pocket, emptying the Norcos and muscle relaxers into my hand. The pills take up the entire space of my dainty hand. I try to remember why I’ve fought this for so long. I come up blank.
I watch the moonlight reflect off the water, the way it ripples as I move my feet through the Arctic water. Lifting my hands to my lips, I empty the pills into my mouth, and take a long swig of the water bottle beside me. Swallowing them all at once is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’m glad that I went back to my car for water since dry-swallowing these would have been tougher than taking my tiny birth control pills.
I lay back on the concrete and look up at the stars . . . waiting for the medicine to take effect. The stars shine brighter than usual tonight. The North Star, the one that points you home, mocks me by burning the brightest. I have no home.
After a few more minutes of stargazing, I slowly sit up. My head feels fuzzy. As I stand, I wobble a little while I strip out of my jacket. I stumble my way to the diving board. I’m in my favorite suit. The one my mom bought me when I made varsity freshman year. Taking another deep breath, I step onto the diving board, get into the position that was drilled into me at a young age, and dive into the water for the last time.
I swim one, one hundred, stretching out all my muscles with each stroke. Committing to memory how it feels to have the water glide off of me, how my back tightens before each stoke. Even with my head hazy, I execute the freestyle perfectly. Closing my eyes, I savor every breath because soon I won’t be breathing . . .
I take one final lap and then swim to the middle of the pool. I roll over onto my back and open my eyes to view the night sky. The white and red flags of Harvard-Westlake flap in the cold breeze. They used to bring me happiness, but now they only trigger agony. Every time I’m in the water I think of the last day, their last day, the day I lost everything. The white and red flags are the last thing I see before I allow myself to sink into the depths of the water. I hit the tile floor and blow out the rest of my remaining oxygen from my nose. I remind myself what I did and why I’m here. I’m responsible for my family’s death.
I remember the first time our father, Andy, bought Logan a soccer ball, the first time our mother, Quinn, took me to a swim class, and the first time Hadley had a recital. All of these blissful memories are quickly replaced by the last haunted flashes I have of them, of everything that I lost.
As I watch the last bubble of my air supply hit the surface, I hear Hadley’s screams. I begin to feel lighter as my body floats toward the surface. I don’t fight the darkness this time.
Forgive me, I think before everything goes black.
I’m gasping for breath as if I was thrashing in the water instead of sitting on the couch. I don’t even need to look at Liv to know that she’s about to tell me it isn’t my fault. I’ve heard it thousands of times before. It doesn’t change the truth, no matter how many times I’m told. She tries to rationalize, saying something about survivor’s guilt. I know she’s right, but it’s hard to believe her. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with much needed air, before I tell her the rest.