Why would she say some bullshit like that just to spite me? To hurt me? To know someone else was suffering other than herself?
I stood there, frozen in place, with the thought of Lance on my mind, and then, like a waterfall, all thoughts of him came rushing back to me. The way I found him floating face down in the swimming pool. The way I cried out for him to wake up.
Now I couldn’t breathe as people pushed around me, partying, drinking, not noticing the panic attack consuming me, not noticing the pain in my soul, which felt like it was being lit on fire.
I wanted to drown.
I wanted to drown so bad that night. In vodka. In whiskey. In tequila. In tears.
I looked to my left and found one set of eyes staring at me. As everyone else looked through me, those eyes watched me as if I were a case study, a mouse in a cage being experimented on. Shay was the only one who bothered to look my way, and she was doing that same shit she’d done last October. She was reading me, digging deep into my psyche and exploring my pages, unwelcomed.
Stop it, Shay.
I forced myself to move and pushed past her, brushing against her shoulder. “If you’re not going to fuck me, then stop staring at me, sunshine,” I huffed out toward Shay.
“Don’t call me sunshine,” she said.
Then stop being so damn bright.
I didn’t know what time everyone left my place, but I assumed Greyson gave them a nudge to leave at some point after 1:00a.m. When everyone was gone, when all that remained were empty hallways in my trashed house, I headed outside to the pool area.
The pool glistened under the moonlight. Lance’s birthday would land on a full moon this year. Part of me wanted to howl at it. Another part of me wanted to sob.
Instead, I walked straight into the pool, fully clothed. I soaked myself from head to toe, and then I went under. I never used the diving board because it messed with my head too much. I swam deep and stayed under the water as long as I could. I was good at staying under. It was what I’d spent the last year of my life doing—holding my fucking breath.
5Landon
You ever lie in bed with no desire at all to get up?
When morning came, I was tired.
Not only physically, but my mind yawned, too.
I shouldn’t have had a party. I shouldn’t have made that stupid bet. I should’ve taken Greyson up on a night of video games and pizza.
I hadn’t slept. I’d closed my eyes but opened them right up when the visions of the past kept knocking on my brain.
When the sun rose, my phone screen was full of messages from people who thought they were my friends, telling me about how amazing the party had been. None of those people were my friends, though. Greyson, Hank, and Raine were the only people I’d ever consider such a thing, and we’d known each other for pretty much all our lives. Everyone else was just shadows that passed by me day by day. White noise.
I didn’t reply to any of the messages, because they weren’t really talking to me. They were talking to the person I pretended to be on the regular. They talked to the rich boy who hooked them up with weed and booze. They talked to the rich boy who gave them popularity cred. They talked to the rich boy who changed their social status.
If they’d been talking to the real me, they wouldn’t have been impressed by the fact that it took every inch of strength for me to pull myself out of bed each morning. For a while, I wondered if it was this hard for everyone—getting up each day,dragging oneself out of bed. There were days when all I wanted to do was bury myself deeper into the blankets and not emerge from my room until weeks had passed. I couldn’t sleep, but I wanted to sit there in bed, alone with my dark mind. That was what I wanted to do that Sunday morning: be alone, stay in bed. Yet when I saw the messages from my parents, I knew I had to pull my shit together before Maria came over.
Mom:I got text messages and calls from our neighbors about a party. Are you OK? Call me when you get this. Love you.
Dad’s message was different.
Dad:Get your fucking act together.
Love you too, Papa.
I glanced at the time—it was already 10:01a.m.
I sat up and called Mom. She answered on the first ring. She always answered on the first ring. “Hey, Landon.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“How are you? How are things there? The neighbors seemed concerned.” Her voice dripped with worry.