My chest tightened, momentarily cutting off the air I breathed. I was sickened by the premature turn of events. I felt selfish because of the anguish Drake’s demise left behind. How would I carry on? How would I face walking into our house, the locker room, or even sharing a meal with our friends? A void, a huge black hole sucking me deep within its womb, refused to let me see that there would be light again.
I took a step back, finding it impossible to greet his parents or siblings. Sweat gathered in the palms of my hands. A hot flush was visible across my cheeks. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself if I spoke.
Bree’s rigid posture and the tears on her cheeks confirmed her grief.
Spence never left her side, tending to her, making me look like a fool in the process.
The anger swarmed within me, like a feral beast that had been caged. I didn’t know how long it would be before it escaped, leaving me surrounded by the embers of its fury.
I turned my back on them all and left the hillside grave, making my way back to the car. I needed to be alone. I didn’t want the small talk, or the pointless discussions about what a lovely funeral it was.
I needed silence. Peace from the constant misery, and the feeling of being completely lost.
* * * *
I locked myself away in my room for almost three days before I emerged, needing food and a shower.
Bree tried on more than one occasion to coax me from my pit, but she gave up when I told her to leave me alone.
The hot water coursed over my skin. I closed my eyes as the stream of heat penetrated my skull. A headache descended upon me and refused to move or ease up. The numbness was the worst. No matter which way I turned or how I tried to step out of my mind, the overwhelming sadness pulled me back in.
I was broken, lost and defeated.
A knock on the door echoed as I tried to ignore the pounding pain in my head.
“Logan, I’m making tacos. Do you want some?” Spence’s desperate attempts in getting me back into the land of the living fell on deaf ears. I didn’t reply, and after a few moments, he conceded. “Okay, well, you know where I am if you want some.”
I was sinking fast. It was unfair of me to put my friends through more anguish. Yet it was impossible to see past the end of my own sorrow.
Once I was back in the privacy of my room, I slipped under my covers again, hiding from the world. At least when I was alone, I didn’t run the risk of doing or saying something I’d regret.
There was only so much solitude a person could take before the cracks appeared. As I descended my path of self-destruction, school and training took a firm seat in the ‘I don’t give a shit’ list. Then the drinking began.
* * * *
I was heading across campus, minding my own business, when Jet bumped into me.
“Ah, you’re still alive, then?” she remarked, scoffing at me.
“It appears that way.”
Moving past her, I tried to continue the short distance back to the house.
Jet, of course, had other ideas.
“So I guess drinking yourself to death is the cure of all woes, huh?”
“Mind your own business,” I snarled.
“Whoa, easy there! Don’t go all batshit on me, dude,” she said, holding her hands up. “But from where I stand, you’re being a prick. You’re not the only one who lost a friend. Drake’s death has affected everyone.”
The venomous anger crept to the surface. “You don’t get to say his name and act like you know what you’re talking about,” I shouted, drawing the attention of two people nearby.
“No, but guess what, Logan? You have a girlfriend who’s had her gutful of hurt, and you’re not helping.”
“Then, why doesn’t she tell me that herself, instead of sending the dyke train my way?” I said, instantly regretting my homophobic remark.
“Nice, Logan,” Jet replied. A pained expression spread across her face. “You know what? Screw you, and screw whatever ‘this’ is. Fucking retard!”
Jet bustled past me, spitting on the ground. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be back home in Sitka.
* * * *
“Mom,” I cried. “I want to come home.”
“Logan, honey, you’re drunk,” she replied.
“I’m not. I’m just tired.”
I held the phone to my ear, listening to my mother’s calm voice. I craved my mother’s warm arms wrapped around me, telling me everything would be okay.
“Baby, I know you’re hurting over your friend,” she said.
Silence followed her statement. I didn’t know what to say. She knew me, understood how I worked, and she wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.
“Logan, if you want to come home, I’ll contact your father and have something worked out,” she suggested. “But are you willing to throw nearly a whole year of hard work away because of something that was never your fault?”
I soon found myself sobbing. “But I could have stopped it! I should have known. I let him down.”
“Oh, baby, it wasn’t your fault.” My mother tried to ease my mind. “What he did was out of your control. No one would have been able to foresee it. When someone is that far gone, there is no predicting their actions. It’s an impossible situation.”
Everything my mother said made perfect sense. As much as I wanted to absorb her words, the fickle side of my brain closed its door, holding a huge sign that said, No entry.
“I’ve got to go. I love you.”
Those were the last words I said to my mother before I opened the bottle of Southern Comfort and began to drink. I turned up the music on the docking station and lay on the bed, holding the bottle close.
When I was drunk, the numbness didn’t seem as bad. It became tolerable. At best, it didn’t hurt as much when I thought. Because even when I tried not to think about Drake, his face was always there.
The stillness of his face, the haunting glare of his eyes—an amalgamation of visions that refused to shift from my memory surrounded me.
I was scared that it would always be this way. I couldn’t see a way out of my grief, even though I told myself that I would find a way.
There were many things I would have liked to have said to Drake. Because of the suddenness of his death, I’d been robbed of the moment. I wished, more than anything, to have been able to settle our misunderstandings.
I was angry with him for leaving. He would never know the number of people he’d hurt with his death. Or the damage left in his memory. What hurt the most was the fact that he would never know how many people he’d touched with his effervescent spirit. He would never know how much he was missed and loved.
Acknowledging the emptiness was enough to push me over the edge. I was lost in my grief, but the pounding against the door was more than enough to make me sit up. I took a swig from the liquor and found myself pacing back and forth in my room. Sweat beaded my forehead. The room started spinning and the anxiety became overwhelming.
“Go away!” I roared, my voice drowned out by the sound of the music.
“Logan, open this door,” Bree shouted.
The rage swirled around inside me, amassing size and power. My mood was unpredictable, and I found it hard to control.
“Logan, just open the fucking door,” she shouted.
I ran a hand through my hair. My stomach spun before I let her in.
* * * *
I had no control over my actions as I dragged Ethan to my car. I had no real sense of what I was doing as I closed the trunk and drove away from campus. I didn’t care. I ignored the rational side of my brain, switching it off, hell-bent on teaching him a lesson. Even after the beating and the taunts, I still found myself at the bottom of the well, and I couldn’t seem to find a way out.
Moments later, I crashed the car, the impact from the tree sending a series of high-pitched screeches through my head. I held onto the steering wheel and tried to brace myself. The airbag hit my face and the ringing in my ears took o
n a whole new level of eeriness. Pain filled me and I could taste the blood on my tongue. I didn’t know where the pain was coming from. It burned through me.
Upside-down, I blinked a few times, listening to the hissing sound coming from the rear of the car. The water hit me as it gushed in through the broken window. Coughing and sputtering, I tried to take desperate gasps of air, my lungs burning with each intake of air. I called out for help. I didn’t want to die, not now, not like this.
My heartbeat slowed and the panic soon faded away into numbness. I took one desperate breath, my lungs filling with water. My mind went blank and my heart began to give up its fight. I lost all sense of what was happening, and everything became null and void.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bree sat on the side of the bed, still holding her rosary beads as I awoke from the nightmare. Her curls covered her cheeks as she silently prayed.
I didn’t disturb her, not until I was done looking at her. I bathed in her beauty, full of so much more remorse than I believed I was capable of. Clearing my throat, I touched her face.
“You’re awake,” she said, and smiled.
“Yup,” I replied. My mouth had grown dry and my lips were cracked. I needed something to moisten the back of my throat. “I’m a little thirsty. Can you?”
“Sure,” she said, getting up to fill a cup of water for me.
She held the back of my head and pressed the cup to my lips.
I took a few sips, my thirst quenched.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and lay my head back on the pillow. I stared at my leg as it sat in traction. “Are my parents still here?”
“Yes, they just stepped outside. I can go get them.”
I nodded and smiled at her before she left the room. As I lay there waiting for Bree to come back with my folks, I tried to think of what I was going to say. Whatever way I dressed the truth, there was no denying I’d behaved like a selfish son-of-a-bitch and had no one else to blame for my actions but myself.
My mother was the first to come into the room, her eyes red. From the look on her face, she’d spent quite some time crying. I couldn’t believe I’d put my poor sweet mother through all of this.
Tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes. She touched the side of my face, kissing my cheek many times.
“Sweetheart,” she muttered, running ran her thumbs across my cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”
I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry,” I cried.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re here, and you’re alive. Our prayers were answered.” My mother gazed at me for the longest time. “Never do anything like that again,” she warned with a serious look in her eye.
“I promise I won’t,” I said, shaking my head.
My father made his presence known. Clearing his throat, he stood at the end of the bed, looking at me with a grim expression.
“I’m sorry I let you down,” I said, swallowing my pride.
“The main thing right now is that you’re alive,” he said. “The rest can be dealt with later.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes. A throbbing pain burned down my leg.
“Is Ethan pressing charges?” I asked, knowing I couldn’t avoid the subject.
“Again, that is something we’ll discuss once you are discharged and have fully recovered. In the meantime, things are being taken care of, so you don’t need to worry about that.” My father’s voice never changed in tone. “You gave me a real fright when I got the call.”
I saw the worry on my father’s face. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His being here, waiting on me, meant more to me than he could have suspected.
“Who found me?”
“Who do you think?” My father glared at me. “You lost them for a brief moment, but they soon caught up with you. By that time, you were already in the creek.”
I was embarrassed by my behavior. Not once had I taken into consideration the effect it would have on everybody, including my father’s security team. I’d put so much emphasis on my own pain, I’d forgotten about the mess I’d leave behind if I had died.
I had always been the epitome of control, never once stepping out of line or doing anything that could harm myself or those I loved. Yet in the span of several weeks, I’d allowed myself to fall prey to the kind of demons a mind can let loose. I had fallen victim to my own torment and I’d been ill-equipped to deal with the rollercoaster of emotions.
I lay there on that bed, glancing from my mother to my father, seeing the hurt on their faces. I had so much more to give. I was worth more than the drunken thug I had become, and had been raised to think better than this. I promised myself that I would change everything, even if it meant dropping the contempt I had toward Ethan and apologizing.
“Do you know how long I’ll be in here?”
My mother sat down beside me and took my hands in hers. “A few days at least. You broke your femur, so depending on how well the bone heals, you’ll be in a cast anywhere up to six weeks.”
Holy Christ, I couldn’t believe it! “That means I’ll be missing finals!”
My father nodded and stepped around the side of the bed, his hands in his pockets. “I’ve spoken with Richard,” he said. “We’ve agreed that with the delicate nature of recent events, you’re entitled to a leave of absence until you have recovered and are ready for the fall semester.”
“Just like that, huh?” I said, sounding like a brat.
“Well, what other options do you have?” My father was right. I didn’t have many options coming my way. Not when I had messed so much up.
“What about the team?” I dreaded asking the question.
“Your season was all but finished. They can make do until you return in the fall,” my mother said, looking at my father.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” My mother shook her head. “You have a long road to recovery, Logan. You’ll need rehabilitation.”
“Are you saying my swimming career is over?” The panic and trepidation raced through me.
“Of course not. Your mother is just being honest with you,” my father said. “You’ll need physiotherapy, but we will have the best team assisting you on this journey.”
This was all I needed—more people interfering with me and my life. I had to drop my pride and accept all the help I could get, however, especially when my swimming career depended on it.
Bree scrunched her eyebrows together and tilted her head to the side. “You have to accept that you need help, Logan, regardless of all that big-boy pride you try to hide.”
She was right. I did hide much of myself from the world. I had always been a private person. Being the subject of the rumor mill and having all this attention on me made me feel more vulnerable than ever before.
After all the small talk and facing the truth, my father stepped out into the corridor to take a call.
My mother and Bree sat on either side of the bed. It was weird seeing the two women I loved most in the world sitting there, lavishing me with their attention. It occurred to me that I’d never formally introduced Bree to my mother before.
“So, I guess now’s a good a time as any,” I muttered, taking Bree’s hand in mine. “Mom, this is Bree, the girl who captured my heart.” I smiled. “Bree, this is my mother, my savior.”
I watched the women in my life exchange looks and chuckled.
“I know, honey,” my mother said. “We met a few days ago, while you were resting.”
That was my mother’s way of saying ‘when you were unconscious and not entirely aware of the world around you’.
“We’ve done a lot of talking,” Bree said.
“Uh-oh,” was my only response.
Bree laughed and lifted my hand to her mouth. She placed a soft kiss across my knuckles.
“Nothing that bad.” She giggled, then went all serious on me. “But we did talk about everything that’s happened.”
I swallo
wed hard, unsure if I should mention Drake and what had happened. The wounds were still so very fresh that even trying to contemplate the next few years of school without him—well, it destroyed me. I closed my eyes, knowing I would cave from hearing his name.
“Honey,” my mother said, “losing a friend is never easy, especially when something as horrible as suicide is involved. I can’t imagine the things that went through your mind when you found him. I want to think that the boy I raised knew he’d done everything he could when it came down to the facts.”
How my mother knew all the right things to say still astounded me. When all was said and done, she was the one who kept me on the straight and narrow. I wished she’d been closer to talk me down from the edge.
“Your mother is right,” Bree agreed. “What happened isn’t your fault.”
The hard lump grew at the back of my throat. For a moment, I couldn’t take another breath. It was horrible, yet I somehow found the strength not to allow the emotion to get the better of me as I faced my demons.
“I feel like I let him down,” I muttered. “I should have seen it coming, and that’s the worst part.” My chest grew tight. It was awful. Hearing myself say the words out loud made everything more real.
“He was depressed, honey. Depressed people are great at hiding their emotions, often becoming disjointed. You weren’t to know.” My mother tried to ease the burden.
“Maybe.” I gulped. “I mean, I don’t know.”
My father came back into the room and interrupted us, giving us his two cents. “How about we focus on your recovery and deal with all the demons as we go along?”
“Your father is right,” my mother agreed. “If you keep churning all the bad over and over again, you won’t be able to move forward.”
No matter what I said, my parents were adamant that I stop blaming myself for not being a better friend. In some ways, they were right. It wasn’t entirely my fault.
Part of me was still dead and dormant, however. I found it hard to forgive myself or move forward.
A Cross to Bear Page 30
