The Day My Life Began

by Scarlett Haven

  I reply to his email.

  From: Pinkstar737

  To: Lonerguy279

  Subject: Fantasy shattered. I’m crying in a corner now.

  Dear Lonerguy279,

  How do you know what I look like? Do you know me in real life or something? Because you just guessed exactly the right things. If you don’t know me, then you’re scary good. Like, you should get a job working for one of those psychic hotlines or something. I’m going to have to up my “guessing what people look like” skills.

  You’ll never guess what happened. Okay, you might guess… My stepbrother wrecked his car. AGAIN. Yep, it’s the fourth car he’s totaled. He is lucky he hasn’t killed himself.

  Am I crazy that I still love him, despite all that he’s done? And despite how he’s treated me? I want to be his friend again. I miss him so much sometimes. I wonder if I will ever truly heal without him.

  I’m going home this weekend to help him break the news to Mom and Stanley. And I’m bringing my friend Cam with me. (Why go into a hungry lion’s den alone, right?)

  Anyway, wish me luck.

  Sincerely,

  Pinkstar737

  I shut my laptop and get ready for bed.

  It’s going to be a long weekend.

  TEN

  Just friends.

  I am sitting in the driver’s seat of Cam’s car. We’re on the interstate, heading towards Atlanta.

  Cam refused to ride in a pink car.

  I told him I refused to not drive home because I desperately needed to be behind the wheel of a car. Driving is my escape.

  So, we compromised.

  He was scared at first, thinking that there was no way I could drive a stick shift, but I assured him that Scott taught me how. He used to let me drive his Cobra all the time when I was fifteen. Sure, it was illegal, but we never got caught. If we would’ve, Stanley would’ve paid our way out of trouble.

  Back then, I wasn’t a good driver. I have no idea how I didn’t tear the transmission out of Scott’s car. But he was patient and taught me. I love him for it. And the reminder of who he used to be is why I am on my way home right now.

  “I feel like I should coach you about my family,” I say.

  “They’re that bad?” Cam asks.

  “Meh,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “My mom will love you. She will hug you and act like you’re the best thing that’s happened since bread pudding…”

  “Bread pudding?” he asks.

  “Hey, I love bread pudding,” I say. “Anyway, my mom will pay you attention for all of two minutes, if you’re lucky. Then she will get a text or a notification and then you’ll be ignored the rest of the weekend. Rest assured, it’s not personal. She does the same thing to me. But if she asks to take a selfie with you, just give in. There is no use in fighting it.”

  “Okay…,” he says. I can hear the hesitation in his voice.

  “Then there is Stanley, my stepfather,” I say. “He will be home very little while we’re there. Expect him to be cold, but polite. And when Scott shows up to tell him about his car, expect a lot of yelling.”

  “Okay…,” he repeats. Now he sounds worried.

  “And Scott,” I say, letting out a sigh. “Expect him to be completely hammered the whole time. He will be mean to me, but don’t worry about that. Don’t stand up for me or anything, okay?”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Because he’s my stepbrother and I love him. I’m asking you not to,” I say.

  “How can you love somebody who is so mean to you?” Cam asks.

  “It’s okay to love people who treat you wrong. Scott, at one point, was like a brother to me. I’m not giving up on him just because he has given up on himself,” I say. “Family doesn’t give up on each other.”

  “But if your family member crosses a certain line, then maybe it would be okay to denounce them.”

  “There isn’t anything Scott would do to make me feel like that,” I say.

  “What if he killed somebody?” Cam asks.

  “Then he’d be in prison, where they would force him to remain sober,” I say. “I would visit him every chance that I could. And I would love him. And if he ever got out of prison, I’d help make sure that he stayed sober so he’d never go back.”

  “I get why he liked you,” he says, his voice sounding distant.

  “He who?”

  “The guy who killed your friends. He was obviously a twisted person, but I get why he liked you. You’re so happy and optimistic,” Cam says. “I wish I could be more like you in that way.”

  I haven’t been called happy or optimistic in a very long time.

  Not since…

  “I can’t forgive him,” I say. “Derek Miller. I still haven’t forgave him. Part of me wants to, but I can’t.”

  “Someday, you will,” he says. “Keep trying. Every single day, try. It will happen eventually.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve had to forgive a lot of people in my life. Even if it seems impossible, it’s not. Especially for somebody like you.”

  “Somebody like me?” I ask.

  “You’re special, Isla,” Camden says. “It’s not very often that a girl like you comes along. What happened to you is terrible, and I wish it didn’t happen, but you’re alive. You’re alive because of a choice that you made—a choice to befriend a guy that everybody else made fun of. You didn’t care about the consequences.”

  “I did care,” I say. “If it wasn’t for Scott, I probably would’ve just stayed quiet during all of it. I would’ve just watched it, but never stepped in. I was scared of losing my friends. But I knew that Scott wouldn’t let that happen. So I defended Derek. And I became his friend.”

  “You don’t know that it wouldn’t have been the same without Scott,” he says.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Because your stepbrother was there. I think you would’ve been strong enough to step up without him.”

  “But I would’ve lost my friends,” I say.

  “Yeah, maybe,” he says. “But it wouldn’t change who you are inside. You would’ve made new friends.”

  “Maybe,” I say.

  But I’m glad I had Scott.

  “What were your friends like?” Cam asks, but I can hear a struggle in his voice as he asks the question. Maybe it’s because I told him about the bad things my friends did.

  “My friends weren’t bad people,” I say, feeling like I should defend them. “In fact, they were very nice. I always had a ton of fun hanging out with them. My stepbrother and me had the same friends, and we all hung out, like, all the time.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that your stepbrother is a completely different person now,” he says.

  “I know. When I think about all the time we had together, sometimes I wonder if they’re even real. Scott was my best friend. We did everything together,” I say. “He would even ditch his girlfriend if I asked him to hang out. We had a close relationship. He really was my brother.”

  “Did he pick on that kid?”

  “No,” I answer. “Back then, Scott never would’ve made fun of anybody.”

  “What about your other friend? The one you said would come to school with bruises,” Cam says. “What was she like?”

  “Olivia. Her mom died when she was young,” I tell him. “Her dad was an alcoholic. She didn’t talk much about it, but every time I went over to their house, there would be empty bottles of alcohol and beer cans all over. I only went there a couple times and we never stayed long. But she would come to school often with bruises. I asked her about it once, and she told me if I ever asked her again she wouldn’t be my friend anymore. I didn’t want to lose what we had, so I kept my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have. I regret it.”

  “Do you hate the guy who did it?”

  “It depends on the day,” I answer. “Some days, I pity him. What was so bad about his life that he needed to take it out on thirteen teenagers? They weren’t pe
rfect, but neither was I. We were young and were learning. Who knows what they might have turned out like if he hadn’t killed them.”

  “But they hurt him too,” he says. “The guy."

  “Yeah, they did. And I’m not excusing that,” I say. “But they didn’t do anything that was worthy of death. They were teenagers who were still learning how to socialize. And Derek Miller had a choice. I was his friend. I liked him a lot. I would have helped him if he would’ve asked, but he never did.”

  “Yeah,” Camden says. “I suppose he did have a choice.”

  “We all have a choice in life. I always hope I choose the right thing. Because I know better than anybody that making a mistake, even one as simple as being unkind to somebody, can be a deadly mistake.”

  …

  When we arrive at my home, Camden sits up.

  “This is your house?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yep.”

  “Your house is massive.”

  “Stanley’s house,” I correct. “Not mine.”

  I pull up to the front of the circle drive and get out. Camden follows me inside. When we walk in, nobody is there, not surprisingly. I told Mom we were coming, but I’m sure she just conveniently forgot.

  My phone goes off, so I pull it out.

  Mom: My appointment is running a little long. Should be home in a few hours or so. Love you.

  I roll my eyes as I show Cam the text.

  “Is she at the doctor?” he asks.

  “No. She gets professional selfies taken once a month,” I say.

  “A professional selfie?”

  I shrug. “My mom is weird. I warned you already.”

  He walks up to a portrait that my family took—Stanley, Mom, Scott and me. It was before the shooting a year and a half ago. I had just gotten my braces taken off and it was the first family photo we had taken in three years, mostly because I had refused to take pictures with my braces on.

  “You look so happy here,” Camden says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this big.”

  “Scott got me laughing. I don’t even remember what we were laughing at, but he could always get me laughing. Mom said I ruined the pictures because I pretty much laughed the whole time,” I say.

  “That was a good day,” I hear Scott say.

  I turn around and see him standing at the bottom of the staircase.

  “I didn’t know you were home,” I say, then point at Cam. “Jerk Wad, this is Camden. Cam, this is my brother, Scott.”

  “Your brother. Wow,” Scott says, walking down into the foyer. “I can’t believe you didn’t introduce me as your step monster.”

  “I considered it.”

  Camden walks up to Scott and sticks out his hand. Scott ignores it.

  “So, you’re dating my sister,” Scott says.

  “Not dating,” I tell him. “Cam is my friend.”

  “Friend of my baby sister, what are your intentions,” he says, walking closer to Cam.

  Scott decides now to play the big brother act?

  “Scott likes to pretend he’s older, but he’s really only three months older than me,” I tell Cam. “Don’t let him intimidate you.”

  Camden just smiles at me, then looks at Scott. “Isla and I are friends.”

  “That’s it?” Scott asks.

  “That’s it,” Camden answers.

  Scott looks at me with one eyebrow raised. I know this look. He doesn’t believe me.

  “Seriously, Scott. Just friends. I promise,” I tell him.

  “Okay,” Scott says, finally believing me. He points at Cam. “But if you hurt my baby sister, I will run over you with Isla’s pink car.”

  I laugh as I picture Scott driving my car towards Cam, and Cam running away.

  Both Cam and Scott turn to look at me.

  “What?”

  “I haven’t heard you laugh since…,” Scott’s voice trails off.

  I quickly change the subject. “Mom won’t be home for a while. Want to go get some coffee?”

  “Coffee? Since when do you drink coffee?”

  “Since college,” I answer.

  “Huh,” he says. “As much as I don’t want to ride in your pink car, I really want coffee.”

  “We brought his car,” I tell Scott.

  “Oh, thank God,” he says.

  Why does nobody want to ride in my pink car?

  Wait, stupid question. Even I don’t want to ride in that car.

  ELEVEN

  Beginning to like life.

  Scott.

  And me.

  With Cam.

  Drinking coffee.

  It’s so… normal. But it’s weird. It’s almost like I have the old Scott back. The non-alcoholic Scott. And I like it.

  When we get back to the house, Scott goes to his room, so I take Camden to the guest room close to mine, and then I go to my own room. I sit at my laptop, wanting to see if Longerguy279 emailed me back. I’m excited when I see an email from him now.

  From: Lonerguy279

  To: Pinkstar737

  Subject: Do you need a hug?

  Dear Pinkstar737,

  I wish I knew you in real life. You sound cute. I’m sorry that I shattered the super sexy image of me you had in your head… maybe you could still picture me like that. I think I like your fantasy better than my reality.

  Good luck this weekend! I’m surprised you’re actually going to go help your stepbrother out after all the bad things he’s done to you. Maybe you are crazy for still caring about him, but he’s lucky to have you.

  So… Cam… It sounds like things are getting serious between the two of you. Should I be worried that he is going to pull you out of the digital world? Will you forget all about me? :(

  Sincerely,

  Lonerguy279

  I smile at the screen as I hit reply.

  No matter how many friends I make, Longerguy279 will always be an important part of my life.

  From: Pinkstar737

  To: Longerguy279

  Subject: Yes, I need a hug. Lots of hugs.

  Dear Lonerguy279,

  Should I send you a picture? I’m not cute. Like, at all. In fact, when I told my friends how I used to be a “girly girl” they laughed… because I don’t do cute. I’m the opposite, in fact. I don’t fix my hair. Ever. And I don’t comb it that often. And I don’t even own any makeup. So that should shatter any good image you have of me.

  I hung out with my stepbrother earlier. Scott, Cam, and I went to get coffee. And it was pretty much epic. Scott was normal. And he reminded me of why I love him and why I put up with his craziness. He’s worth it. He really is. And I miss him. I wish he could be like that all the time.

  Don’t worry about Cam. He’s just a friend. A super sexy friend… but still, just a friend. And even if I did have a boyfriend, I could never forget about you. Without you, I never would’ve made it through the last year and a half.

  For the first time, I feel like I’m going to be okay. I’m going to make it through this. I’m not drowning. And as much as I HATE to admit it, Dr. Sanchez was right. College really is the best thing for me.

  There is a knock on my door on my door.

  “Come in,” I yell.

  The door opens and Cam walks in. I quickly end my email.

  Camden is standing at my door now, so I’ve got to go. BYE!

  Sincerely,

  Pinkstar737

  “So, this is your room,” Camden says, walking around.

  “Yep.”

  “There aren’t any pictures,” he says.

  “Nope.” After being hospitalized for three days with a panic attack after seeing a picture of Olivia, Dr. Sanchez told my mom it would be best to take the pictures down. I’m proud I can look at pictures now without freaking out too bad.

  But Cam doesn’t need to know that.

  “And your walls are white,” he says.

  “Only because my mom wouldn’t let me paint them black,” I say.

  He nods.


  “Not what you expected?” I ask.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “They used to be hot pink, but as you know, I now hate the color pink,” I tell him. “Actually, I’ve hated a lot of things the past year and a half.”

  “What about now?” he asks.

  “I’m beginning to like life a little more,” I answer. “It’s taken a while.”

  Cam sits beside me on the bed. “What are you doing?”

  For some reason, having him sit on my bed feels weird. I don’t know why. He does in in my dorm room all the time, but this is my home. It’s a different space. And I feel like it’s wrong or something.

  “I was emailing Longerguy279,” I answer, shutting my laptop.

  “Right. The guy you’ve never met.”

  “I don’t even know his name,” I tell him.

  “What if he’s a creeper?” Cam asks.

  “He’s not,” I answer. “My therapist set the whole thing up. I’m pretty sure he’s a client of hers. Like something bad happened to him too. So Dr. Sanchez set us up to talk to each other online. It has helped me through some really hard times. Literally, he is the only reason I have continued seeing my shrink.”

  “Then I’m glad you found him,” he says.

  “Me too.”

  My door opens again and Scott walks inside.

  “Sup?” he asks.

  “Hello, you’re supposed to knock,” I tell him.

  “Did Cam knock?” Scott asks, sitting on the other side of my bed.

  “Actually, yes. He did,” I answer.

  “Good,” Scott says.

  I put my laptop onto the bed beside me. “What are you going to tell Stanley about your car?”

  “He already knows,” Scott says. “It wasn’t my fault. Some seventeen-year old-girl was texting and driving and she hit my car. I got a concussion, so I had to go to the hospital, so Dad knows.”