They keep telling me that I should just let her go, let that night rest and move on with my life.
They don't realise that I still wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing for Chance and sobbing for myself and sobbing for the fucked-up world with...
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I know the way to Chance's house off by heart. I could walk there in the pitch-black of night, blindfolded and with my feet tied together and I'd still get there.
Chance and I became friends immediately after she moved into this house just a few streets away from mine. We were 10 years old. Seven years of friendship — of being inseparable — and now I'm alone without her.
I almost forget that Max is walking beside me, until he scuffs the toe of his shoe on the pavement, unwittingly reminding me of his presence. We reach Chance's house after walking in a silence that was only punctuated with passing remarks.
Inconsequential remarks, of course.
I catch myself wondering if anything with Max could be more than inconsequential. The thought is already proving true — he's here, helping me help someone who hurt him, somehow.
I can't imagine what's going on inside his head, shielded by that brown curly hair.
Knocking on the duck-egg blue front door with my knuckles, I rock forwards onto my toes then back onto my feels. Half-expecting Chance to come bounding down the stairs, a grin on her face.
But she doesn't; instead, no one greets us. I knock again, though it doesn't seem like anyone's home.
"Maybe he's out," Max suggests, doubt tinting his words.
"He's out!" A voice shouts from behind us, confirming Max's suspicions. We whirl around to see Chance's next-door neighbour, Morgan.
They smile and walk over, referring to Chance's dad, "Martin's out working right now."
"But it's a Saturday..." The uneasy doubt never leaves Max's voice. I wish I could make him relax; make him feel better about whatever's going on in his head.
Morgan shrugs. "Since what happened to Chance, he started spending all his spare time volunteering at the New Ridge Mental Health & Wellbeing Centre."
Why? It had never occurred to me until now that Chance could have had mental health issues; I'd always assumed that night was a result of everyone else, not her mind. Though maybe it's both.
"Do you know when he'll be back?" I hear Max asking, but I'm suddenly distant from it all.
Morgan responds with a time; time's only a concept so I don't listen. A hand closes around my arm, and I jump slightly, shaking me out of my reverie.
"He's not gonna be here for a couple of hours," Max tells me clearly, "What do you wanna do until then? It's your call, Rory."
"Uhm..." I know what I need to do; make up with him and apologise for pushing him (even though it didn't feel like I pushed him that much).
Yet it's awkward trying to own up to what I did, awkward trying to get those words out. I know Max and I both need to talk to one another more about... certain things, it's just taking the first step that's the hardest part.
