They say some people block out traumatic experiences. Their brains can’t remember. But I can’t forget. I so wish I could.
“Are you okay? You look pale,” Micah asks.
I try to breathe, but can’t seem to. It physically hurts my lungs as I try to force air into them.
Micah and Cam both move towards me.
“Isla, breathe,” Micah says.
I’m trying to!
But I can’t say the words.
Cam puts his hands on each side of my face, which forces me to look at his blue eyes.
“In. Out. In. Out,” he says, breathing with me.
I push the memories away.
The screams fade.
The blood is gone.
All I see are Cam’s eyes—the color of a summer sky.
The panic is gone and I’m okay. Most of the time, when I have a panic attack, I end up passing out and wake a few minutes later with a horrible headache.
“What makes you panic like that?” Micah asks.
I turn to look at him.
“First, you freaked out that day because I asked you why you hate the color pink. And today, because you talked about prom. Did something bad happen to you?” he asks.
“Everybody died,” I say. “Except me.”
“What do you mean?” Micah asks. His voice is tight and his face is scrunched up. He’s clearly confused, but most of all, he’s worried.
I open my mouth to talk, but I can’t. I feel warm tears run down my face. I didn’t even realize that I was crying.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Cam says. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want.”
I don’t want to.
But I can’t stop the words from pouring out.
I’ve been holding it inside for so long and I need to tell somebody.
“There was… this guy,” I say, starting out. “He was my friend. I mean, everybody was my friend. I was popular, I guess. I hung out with the cheerleaders and the jocks. But my friends weren’t always as nice as me. They liked to make fun of the other kids. Especially this one boy in particular, Derek Miller. I always stood up for him. I would eat lunch with him sometimes, just so he wouldn’t have to eat alone. And I would always volunteer to be his partner in class. All my friends thought I was weird because of it, but I didn’t care. Derek and I had a lot in common. He was an awesome guy.
“This one day, my friends were picking on him during PE. I don’t even remember what happened, but my friends were so mean. I stood up for Derek. I walked him to all of his classes that day because I was so scared that my friends who try to bully him again. It was out of control.
“I should have told somebody about it, but I knew if I did then I wouldn’t have any friends. They would turn on me. Maybe they would even start bullying me, I don’t know. Which was stupid, because my stepbrother never would’ve allowed that. I just should’ve…” I pause, taking a breath. “After the incident in PE, Derek skipped school for a few days. The day he came back, he was really quiet. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t want to talk to me. I understood why. I mean, the things they said to him we’re awful. I decided to give him a little space, but I wasn’t going to give up on him. He was my friend.
“That afternoon, after school was over, my friends and I were hanging out in the teacher’s lounge. The teachers didn’t mind us hanging out in there. We were waiting for cheer practice and football practice to start, and we were discussing prom. My best friend, Olivia, was head of the prom committee, so we were talking about the theme and the band. It was just a normal afternoon. I was excited, because the guy I liked had finally asked me to prom. We were flirting. And I didn’t even notice anybody else had walked into the classroom.
“I didn’t know anything until I heard the first shot. I stood there in horror as Derek Miller shot and killed all of my friends, one by one. There were twelve of us in that room. I just stood there, waiting for my turn. I didn’t try to hide, because hiding wouldn’t help. There was nowhere to hide—nowhere to run. And I just knew he was going to turn the gun on me.
“He wouldn’t shoot anybody who was standing close to me. I didn’t notice at the time, but looking back I realize that now. Derek never planned on shooting me. He saved my best friend, Olivia, for last. I think he hated her most of all. She cried and begged him not to do it, but he pulled the trigger without even flinching. After he shot her, he looked at me and said ‘I love you, Isla McAdams. You’re not cruel like the rest of them. That is why you get to live. Don’t ever change.’ Then he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.
“I still remember the blood covering me from head to toe. My favorite pink dress was drenched. I wasn’t even sure whose blood it was. I think it was a mixture. And I know my friends were wrong. They shouldn’t have picked on Derek, but they were my friends. They weren’t always cruel. They could be nice too.”
I look up, first at Micah, who has a look of horror on his face, then at Cam who has tears running down his own face.
“Everybody, aside from me and Olivia, died. But Olivia is as good as dead. She’s been in a comma for the past year and a half,” I say. “I spent my senior year of high school in therapy. I actually spent a few months in a mental institution. I wanted to be dead too.”
“What helped you get better?” Micah asks, after a moment of silence. His voice is naturally high as he asks the question.
“Longerguy279.”
“What?” he asks.
“My therapist got me into this program. I email this guy back and forth. I guess he’s had something horrible happen to him too,” I say. “We don’t ever talk about what happened though. We just talk about normal things. Like music and my crazy family. Without him, I don’t think I would’ve made it.”
“I’m sorry about everything you’d had to go through,” Cam tells me. “Nobody should ever have to live through the horror you have.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “I didn’t think I would be at one point. But every single day I get better. I didn’t want to come here, to college, but I’m glad I did. Meeting you two… having real friends… it’s helped me a lot. So now you guys know my story and we can move on. I don’t really want to talk about it anymore. I am not going to let it define my life. I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Good,” Micah says. “I’m glad you chose to come to college. Life here wouldn’t be the same if you hadn’t stalked me my first day here.”
“Stalked?” Cam asks, looking between us.
“I was people watching,” I clarify.
“She uses that as an excuse,” Micah says. “She was totally checking me out.”
Cam and I both laugh.
Micah is adorable in a nerd kind of way. But he’s kind of tall and scrawny. Not like Cam.
Not that I’m checking Cam out.
I absolutely cannot cross that line with him. It would be easy, but there is no way a guy like him would be interested in a girl like me. So, I lock away my attraction before it can turn into something more.
Camden and I—we’re never going to happen.
NINE
What are you addicted to?
“I told Cam and Micah,” I tell Dr. Sanchez when I meet her on Thursday morning at the coffee shop.
“You told them what exactly?” she asks.
“Everything. About Derek Miller. Everything leading up to it. And what happened,” I say. “I mean, I left out a few gory details, but they don’t need to know I was covered in somebody else’s brain, right?”
“Wow. You haven’t even told me everything,” she says. “I’m shocked.”
“I don’t want to tell you,” I say. “I mean, you already know. Not from my perspective, but still, you know. You’re being paid well to talk to me. Micah and Cam are my friends. I told them because I wanted to, not because I had to.”
“Good,” she says.
I smile.
I actually did something right.
“When are you going home?” Dr. Sanchez asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean to visit your family,” she clarifies.
“Thanksgiving, maybe,” I say. “Or Christmas. I wonder if I can put it off until summer. Do you think the school would allow me to stay on campus over Christmas break?”
She looks at me in a way that tells me I said something wrong. “Isla, you live so close to your home. It’s a two hour drive. And I know your mother misses you. Why not take the drive and visit them?”
“My mom doesn’t miss me,” I say. “And I don’t want to visit. I’m happy here. I have friends here. I have nothing there.”
“Take your friends with you,” she says.
“It would probably freak them out if they met my family,” I say. “I mean, sure I was a victim of a tragedy. But on top of that, I have a screwed up family. That’s something I can never change. They’ll probably think I’m crazy by association.”
“Your family isn’t crazy,” she says.
“My mom is more obsessed with her phone than a thirteen-year-old girl,” I say. “My stepdad is… well, a workaholic. And my stepbrother is an alcoholic. Everybody in my family has addiction problems.”
“And what are you addicted to?” she asks.
I hold up my large vanilla latte. “You’re looking at it.”
She smiles. “Isla, go home. Take Cam and Micah. It’ll be fun. I promise.”
“Maybe.”
She nods, knowing that is as close to a promise I will get.
But I probably will be going home. Because, despite how much I don’t like seeing Dr. Sanchez, I want to get better. So I will go because it’s one step closer to being normal.
One step closer to freedom.
…
That afternoon, while I’m hanging out with Cam in my dorm, I get a text from Scott. He never texts me, so I’m shocked.
Scott: Can you come home this weekend?
Me: Why?
Scott: Because I’ll be home and I want to see my favorite stepsister.
I snort out loud at the text.
Yeah, right.
“Who are you texting?” Cam asks.
“My step monster… I mean stepbrother,” I say, then laugh. “No, really, I did mean monster.”
“He’s an alcoholic, right?”
I nod. I don’t remember telling him, but I must have.
“What does he want?”
“For me to come home this weekend,” I answer, then text him back.
Me: Nice try.
Scott: Fine. I totaled my car.
Me: Shocker.
I’m pretty sure he can tell I’m being sarcastic, even via text.
“He totaled his car. Again,” I say to Cam. “This is car number four. That’s a shame. I actually liked that car.”
“Wow. Why do your parents keep buying him a new car?”
I shrug. “Maybe they feel sorry for him.”
Scott: Isla, I know I have pretty much treated you like crap for the past year and a half. I’m sorry. But I need you. I don’t want to go to rehab. They’ll go easier on me if you’re there when I tell them. Besides, I actually WASN’T drunk when it happened.
Like I believe that. Scott is always drunk.
“He wants me to be there when he tells them,” I say. “His dad is always threatening to put him in rehab for his drinking problem. But he never does.”
“Are you going to go?” Cam asks.
“Maybe,” I say, thinking about my conversation with Dr. Sanchez earlier. “You want to go with me?”
“It’s only fair,” he says. “You met my family. Guess I should meet yours too.”
Me: I will come. But I’m not sure my presence will be enough to save you. Don’t worry, though. Your dad is rich. Your rehab will probably feel more like a vacation.
Scott: A vacation INCLUDES alcohol. Rehab sounds miserable.
Me: Well, good luck. See you Saturday.
“Thank you,” I tell Cam.
When I look up, I see he’s looking at the pictures my mom had put up. The one of me and my friends.
“Are these your friends that…” Cam’s voice trails off.
“Yeah,” I answer, standing up. I walk over to him, and point at the picture of Olivia and me. “This is Olivia. She was absolutely my best friend. We were inseparable.”
“She bullied that guy too?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, swallowing hard. “I’m not trying to make excuses for her, but she had a rough life at home. She wouldn’t tell me much, but she had these bruises on her body sometimes that looked a lot like hand prints. School was her escape from all that. And it’s not an excuse. But I understand. Sometimes it’s easy to take your anger out on somebody you don’t even know.”
“I get it,” he says. “Doesn’t make it right, though.”
“I know.”
“You had a lot of reasons to be angry too. Sounds like your home life is pretty bad.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t always as bad as it is now. When Scott and I were younger, we were friends. Like, before the shooting. We got along. I remember staying up late with him, watching scary movies and eating junk food. And my dad left, so what? Lots of dads leave their kids. I still had my mom. Even if she ignores me most of the time, I know that she loves me.”
“What happened? Between you and Scott, I mean.”
“Scott’s girlfriend died,” I answer. “And a piece of his best friend, me, died. The people in that room were his friends too. He had a doctor appointment that day. I’m so glad he wasn’t there. I don’t think I could’ve handled him dying too.”
“The shooting…,” his voice sounds unnaturally tight.
“Yeah,” I answer. “And when he needed me the most, I… well, I was in a mental institution. So he turned to alcohol.”
“It isn’t your fault, Isla.”
“I know,” I say. “But I should have been there for him. I wasn’t the only one that suffered a loss. After I came home, we were both different. Scott came home every night drunk, and I stayed in my room crying all the time. Then we started fighting. And somehow, over the past year, we’ve grown to hate each other. Or he hates me. I want to hate him, but I don’t. He’s still my brother, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” he says, making me wonder if him and his sister haven’t always got along as good as they do now.
“Before… everything happened… Scott was my protector. Whenever we went to parties, he would never leave me alone. At the time I thought it was annoying. Boys were too scared to ask me out because of him.”
Cam laughs. “I think I like old Scott.”
“Just… think of him as the old Scott. The nice Scott,” I say. “Because when you meet him, you may end up hating him because of how he treats me. But it’s not really him. It’s the alcohol. It changes him. He has a bad problem.”
“Okay. I’ll be nice to him,” he says, then changes the subject. “So, are you going to invite Micah too?”
“Yeah, but I doubt he will come,” I say. “He has a date with Marisa this weekend.”
“The girl you set him up with?” he asks.
I nod. “Well, I didn’t really set them up. I just helped him find a common interest. He was checking her out at the football game, and I happened to notice that she had on a Rammstein shirt.”
“What is Rammstein?” he asks.
“A German band,” I say, grabbing my laptop and sitting on the bed. I pull up the song Amerika on YouTube so he can hear it while reading the subtitles.
I notice I have an email notification. It’s probably an email from Lonerguy279. I will read it after Cam leaves.
“Wow,” Cam says, once the song is over. He hands my laptop to me. “I wonder if that’s how the world really feels about us?”
“Maybe. America does kind of push their culture over on others,” I say. “Which is ironic, considering America is a bunch of different cultures mixed up into one melting pot. I like living here, though. I like the freedom we have.”
> “Yeah.” His phone goes off, so he pulls it out of his pocket. He sighs before putting it back. “I have to go. Giggi needs me.”
“Okay,” I say. “See you tomorrow? We can leave after you get out of your last class.”
“Okay,” he says. “See you.”
He walks out the door, so I check my email.
From: Lonerguy279
To: Pinkstar737
Subject: I’m sexy in your imagination ;)
Dear Pinkstar737,
Your description of me made me LOL. Though, you did get part of it right. My hair is blond! But my eyes are brown, not green. And I’m not so tall. Only 5’11”. Sorry to shatter the fantasy you had going of me. I sounded hot.
Maybe someday we can hang out. I would like that. But I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.
I don’t have a girlfriend. Not for a long time. But if a girl was jealous because I talk to you, then she wouldn’t be my girlfriend. You are what gets me through the day… the hope that I will have an email waiting for me when I get back to my dorm.
I suppose now it’s my turn to guess what YOU look like.
Dirty blonde hair… But more blonde than brown.
Light green eyes that either look green or blue depending on what color you’re wearing that day.
And I bet you’re 5’4”.
Let me know if I’m close.
Sincerely,
Lonerguy279
My mouth is open wide as I look at the screen.
How did he guess my hair color, eye color, and height?
The Day My Life Began Page 6
