by K. A. Tucker
“Trent is a young college guy who drank too much one night—like most college students. Then he made a horrible, stupid mistake.”
My hands clench and I lean forward in my chair, imagining myself spurting acid from my teeth to melt Stayner’s skin. “Mistake?” I hiss. I hate that word. I hate when they use that word to describe that night. “My parents are dead.”
Dr. Stayner’s finger pokes the air. “That’s the result of his horrible, stupid mistake. That’s not his horrible, stupid mistake, though is it?” When I don’t answer, too busy glaring at the navy blue checker carpet on the ground, I feel something pelt my forehead. I look down to see a paperclip on my lap.
“Did you just throw a paperclip at me?” I ask with complete sincere shock.
“Answer the question.”
I grit my teeth.
“What was Trent’s horrible, stupid, life-altering mistake?” Dr. Stayner pushes.
“He drove home,” I grumble.
Another paperclip pelts my forehead as Dr. Stayner shakes his head frantically, his voice raising a notch. “No.”
“He gave his keys to his friend to drive home.”
“Bingo! He made a choice—in his inebriated state—a choice that he shouldn’t ever have made. A very bad and very dangerous choice. And when he sobered up, he learned that that choice killed six people.” There’s a long pause. “Put yourself in his shoes for moment, Kacey.”
“I will not—”
Dr. Stayner anticipates and cuts my objection off at the knee caps. “You’ve been drunk before, right?”
I purse my lips tightly.
“Haven’t you?”
A night flashes in my mind without much thought. Six months before the accident, Jenny and I went to a field party and got loaded off Jagger bombs. It was one of the most fun nights I’d ever had. The next morning was another story.
“That’s right,” Dr. Stayner continues as if he can read my mind. Maybe he can. Maybe he’s a super-freak quack. “You probably did a few stupid things, said a few stupid things.”
I nod begrudgingly.
“How drunk were you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I was … drunk.”
“Yes, but how drunk?”
I level him with a glower. “What is wrong with you?”
Again, he ignores me. “Would you have driven home?”
“Uh, no?”
“And why not?”
“Because I was fifteen at the time, genius!” My fingers are turning white now, gripping onto the chair handles so tightly.
“Right,” he waves his hand dismissively. But his point hasn’t been made apparently. “What about your friend? Friends? Exactly how drunk were they?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Drunk.”
“Was it easy to tell? Was it so obvious that they were drunk?”
I frown as I think back to Jenny dancing and singing on top of a picnic table to Hannah Montana. How drunk was she exactly, I have no clue. Jenny would do that dead sober. Finally I shrug, the memory bringing a painful lump to the back of my throat.
“What if, at the end of the night, that friend told you they had stopped drinking hours ago and could drive home? Would you believe them?”
“No,” I answer quickly.
That finger goes up again, waggling. “Think about that for a minute, now Kacey. We’ve all been there. Out for a good night, had a few drinks. You know you can’t drive, but do you automatically not trust anyone else? I’ve been there, myself.”
“Are you making excuses for drunk driving, Dr. Stayner?”
He’s shaking his head furiously. “Absolutely not, Kacey. There’s no excuse. Only terrible consequences that people have to live with for the rest of their lives when they make one stupid decision.”
We’re silent for a moment, the doctor no doubt still waiting for my answer.
I look at my hands. “I guess that could happen,” I begrudgingly admit. Yeah, thinking back, there may have been one or two times that I climbed into a car, assuming the driver was fine because they said so.
“Yes, it could.” Dr. Stayner nods knowingly. “And it did happen. To Cole.”
My rage ignites suddenly. “What the hell are you doing? Are you on his side?” I snap.
“I’m on no one’s side, Kacey.” His voice has changed to even and calm once again. “When I hear your story—the tragic accident—I can’t help but empathize with everyone involved. You. Your family. The boys who died because they didn’t do something as simple as buckle their seat belts. And Cole, the guy who handed someone his keys. When I hear his story, I feel—”
I storm out of Dr. Stayner’s office then, with his shouts of, “Empathy!” following me all the way down the hall, into my room, looking for ways to crawl into my soul and torment me.
***
“How’s it going there?” I want to reach into the phone and hug Livie. It’s been seven days and I miss her terribly. I’ve never been away from her for this long. Even while I was in the hospital after the crash, she visited me almost every day.
“Dr. Stayner is definitely unconventional,” I mutter.
“Why?”
I sigh, exasperated, and then tell her what I know she doesn’t want to hear. “He’s a nut job, Livie! He yells, he pushes, he tells me what to think. He’s everything that a shrink isn’t supposed to be. I don’t know what quack school he went to, but I can see why Trent came out of here more fucked up then he went in.”
Trent. My stomach tightens. Forget about him, Kace. He’s gone. Dead to you.
There’s a pause. “But is it working? Are you going to get better?”
“I don’t know yet, Livie. I just don’t know if anything will ever really get better.”
***
Jenny laughs hysterically as a car passes us on the road. “Did you see the look on Raileigh’s face when I belted out Super Freak? It was classic.”
I laugh along with her. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” After I jumped off the hood of George’s truck and tackled one of Billy’s friends to the ground, I knew there was no way I was in any state to get behind the wheel so I gave her my keys.
She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, yeah. I stopped drinking, like, hours ago! I’m—”
A bright flash of lights distracts us both. They’re headlights and they’re close. Too close.
My body jerks as Dad’s Audi crashes into something, my seatbelt cutting into my neck from the force as a deafening sound explodes in the air. In seconds it’s over and there’s nothing left but silence and a strange eerie feeling, like all my senses are both paralyzed and working in overdrive.
“What happened?”
Nothing. No answer.
“Jenny?” I look to my side. It’s dark now, but I can see enough to know she’s not sitting behind the wheel anymore. And I know we’re in trouble. “Jenny?” I call again, my voice shaky. I manage to unbuckle my seatbelt and open my car door. There’s that saying, scared sober. I know that’s what I am now as walk around the front of the car, keenly aware of the engine’s hiss, and the smoke rising from the mangled hood. It’s totaled. My hands push through my hair as panic rises inside me. “Ohmigod, Dad’s going to—”
A pair of sandals on the ground stop me dead.
Jenny’s sandals.
“Jenny!” I scream, scrambling over to the patch of grass where she’s lying face down, unmoving. “Jenny!” I shake her. She doesn’t respond.
I need to get help. I need to find my phone. I need to …
It’s then that I notice another hunk of metal.
Another car.
It’s in far worse shape than the Audi.
My stomach sinks. I can faintly make out the outline of people in it. I stand and start waving my arms around frantically, without thought. “Help!” I scream. There’s no point. We’re on a dark wooded road in the middle of nowhere.
Finally giving up, I creep over to the car, my heart pounding in my ears. “Hello?” I whisper.
I don’t know if I’m more terrified to hear something or nothing at all.
I get no answer.
I lean in and squint, trying to get a glimpse through the broken glass. I can’t see … it’s too dark …
Snap. Snap. Snap … Like stage lights, suddenly a rush of light pours down over the area, illuminating the horrific scene within. An older couple sits hunched over in the front seat and I have to look away, the mess of bloody flesh too gruesome to handle.
It’s too late for them. I just know it.
But there’s someone in the back too. I rush over and peer in to see a broken body with raven dark hair cradled in the contorted door.
“Ohmigod.” I gasp, my knees buckling.
It’s Livie.
Why the hell is she in this car?
“Kacey.” Icy cold fingers grip my heart at the sound of my name. I peer further in and find a tall dark form sitting next to her. Trent. He’s hurt. Bad. But he’s awake and he’s looking at me with an intense stare.
“You murdered my parents, Kacey. You’re a murderer.”
The night nurse, Sara, rushes into my room just as I’m coming to, screaming at the top of my lungs. “It’s okay, Kacey. Shh, it’s okay.” She rubs my back in slow circular motions as a cold sweat breaks out over my body. She continues to do so, even as I curl up in the fetal position, hugging my knees to my chest tightly. “That one was unusually bad, Kacey.” She’s been in here a few times already, during my night time episodes. “What was it about?” I notice she doesn’t ask me if I want to talk about it. She assumes I need to, whether I want to or not. That’s the thing about this place. All they want you to do is talk. And all I want to do is stay quiet.
“Hmm, Kacey?”
I swallow the prickly lump in my throat. “Empathy.”
***
“So maybe you’re right.”
Dr. Stayner’s brow curves up in question. “Is this about the dream you had last night?”
My scowl tells him it is.
“Yes, Sara told me. She wanted me to know in case there were any concerns. That’s her job. She didn’t betray you.” He says it like it’s a line he’s said time and time again. “What happened exactly?”
For whatever reason, I tell him the entire nightmare, from beginning to end, shivers running over my body as I relive it.
“And what made it so horrible?”
I cock my head and glare at the doctor. Clearly he hasn’t been listening to me. “What do you mean? Everyone was dead. Jenny was dead, Trent’s parents were dead. I killed Livie. It was just … so awful!”
“You killed Livie?”
“Well, yes. It’s my fault.”
“Hmm …” he nods, giving nothing away. “How did you feel when you saw Jenny lying there, dead?”
My hands press against my belly button with the thought.
“So you mourned her,” he answered for me.
“Of course I did. She was dead. I’m not a sociopath.”
“But she was driving the car that crashed into Trent’s family. Into Livie. How can you possibly mourn her?”
I’m rambling faster than I’m thinking. “Because it’s Jenny. She’d never want to hurt anyone. She didn’t do it on purpose—” I stop short and glare at him, clueing in. “Sasha is not Jenny. I see what you’re doing.”
“And what is that?”
“You’re trying to make me see Sasha and Trent as people who laugh and cry and have families.”
His know-it-all brows rise.
“It’s not the same! I hate them! I hate Trent! He’s a murderer!”
Dr. Stayner leaps out of his chair and runs over to his book shelf, pulling off the biggest dictionary I’ve ever seen. He storms over and throws it into my lap. “There. Look up the word, murderer, Kacey. Do it! Look it up!” He doesn’t wait for me to, likely feeling his asinine point made. “You’re not a stupid girl, Kacey. You can hide behind that word, or you accept it for what it is. Trent is not a murderer, and you don’t hate him. You know both are true, so stop lying to me and, more importantly, stop lying to yourself.”
“Yes I do hate him,” I spit back, my voice losing some of its strength.
I hate Dr. Stayner right now.
I hate him because in the back of my mind, I know he’s right.
Chapter Nineteen
Dr. Stayner leads me into a small white room with a window overlooking another small white room. “Is this a one-way mirror?” I knock on it.
“Yes, it is, Kacey. Sit down.”
“Okay, Dr. Dictator,” I grumble, flopping into the pro-offered chair.
“Thank you, Patient Pain in the Ass.”
I smirk. Sometimes Dr. Stayner’s unconventional methods make this less painful. Mostly not, but sometimes.
“What punishment do you have in store for me today?” I throw back nonchalantly as the door pushes open. My body goes rigid and I suck in a mouthful of air when I see the face walking through.
It’s Trent.
Cole.
Trent.
Fuck.
It’s been weeks since I saw him last. With that light brown messy hair of his, striding in with those long, lean muscles, he’s as beautiful as ever. That much I have to admit. And I hate admitting it. Except now I see no smile on his face. No dimples. Nothing that resembles the charming guy I fell in love with.
In love with. I clench my teeth to fight the ache that comes with that recognition.
He takes the chair positioned directly in front of me. I don’t even need to know Trent to read the raw agony alive in his eyes. But because I do know him, or some slice of him, that pain screams out to me.
And it’s intolerable. Instinctively, I want to reach out and take it away.
Dr. Stayner’s hands push down on my shoulders a second before I bolt out of the room. “He can’t see you, Kacey. He can’t hear you.”
“What’s he doing here?” I whisper, my voice shaky. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You keep saying you hate Trent and we both know you don’t. He’s here so you’ll admit that to yourself once and for all and move on. There’s no room in your recovery to hang onto the idea of hatred.”
I can’t pry my eyes away from Trent, even as I deny Dr. Stayner’s words. “You are one fucked up, twisted doc—”
Dr. Stayner cuts me off. “You know that he’s also my patient, Kacey. And he needs as much help as you do. He also suffers from P.T.S.D. He also deluded himself into thinking he could bury his pain instead of dealing with it appropriately. He just did it in a less conventional way. We won’t talk about that now.” I flinch as he pats my shoulder. “Today, I’m cheating a little. This is a two for one session.”
“I knew it.” I shoot an accusatory finger up at him.
Dr. Stayner smiles as if my reaction is funny. I don’t find any of this funny. I wonder what the medical board will think of this when I report him.
“This is as much for Trent’s healing as it is for yours, Kacey. You are going to sit, and you are going to listen to what he has to say. After this, you won’t see him again. He’s leaving after today to go back home. He’s doing well but treating him effectively when he knows you’re in this building has been impossible. I can’t risk the two of you running in to each other. Do you understand?”
An unintelligible grunt is my only answer.
Dr. Stayner leans over to flip a switch beside a speaker. I could bolt right now. I could. I’d probably get away. But I don’t. I just sit and stare at this guy who I know so well, and not at all, and I wonder what he could possibly have to say. And as much as part of me wants to, I can’t force myself to look away.
“He can’t see you. He wanted it that way. There’s a red light to tell him his microphone is now on,” Dr. Stayner explains and I hear a soft click behind me. Glancing back, I see that he’s stepped out of the room, leaving me to face the guy who destroyed me twice.
I wait with balled fists, and a clenched stomach as Trent shifts in his chair
, pulling it forward until his knees touch the glass. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, dropping his focus to his fingers, fidgeting. Those fingers, those hands, they were my salvation not long ago, bringing me remarkable joy. How could things change so quickly?
With slow almost pained movements, Trent looks up, and he’s level with me, boring into my eyes, those light blue irises flecked with turquoise landing on me with such force that I’m sure he can see me. I panic, shifting to the left and right. His pupils don’t follow. Okay, so maybe Stayner isn’t lying.
“Hey Kacey,” Trent says softly.
Hi, I mouth back before I can stop myself, the sound of his voice wrenching at my guts.
Trent clears his voice. “This is a bit weird, talking to myself in a mirror, but it’s the only way I knew I could get through saying all that I needed to say so … I’m happy that you’re here, with Dr. Stayner. He’s a great doctor, Kacey. Trust him. I wish I had trusted him fully. Then maybe I wouldn’t have put you through all this.” He presses his lips together and looks away. I’m sure his eyes turn glassy, but they’re normal when he turns back to face me again. “I thought …” he swallows, his voice husky, “I thought that making you fall in love with me would fix everything else I had done to you. I thought I could make you happy, Kacey. Happy enough that if you ever did find out, you’d be okay with it.” He dips his head into his hands, holding his face for a moment before he lifts it again. A sad smirk touches his lips. “How fucked up is that?”
There’s a long pause, a chance for me to study him, to remember all those days and nights of laughter and happiness. I can’t believe it was real. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“What happened that night four years ago was the worse decision I’ve ever made, and one that I will live to regret for the rest of my life. If I could turn back time, and save your family, save my family, save Sasha and Derek, I would. I’d do it. I’d do anything to change it.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows. “Sasha—” he dips his head again. I close my eyes at the sound of that name. It still hurts, hearing it, but not as much anymore, I find. Not since Dr. Stayner’s lesson on empathy. When I open my eyes, Trent faces me again, unmistakable tears of hurt and loss spilling down his cheek.
