Hurt People Hurt People

Chapter Twenty:

I kissed him again. I wanted to do something, to hold him tighter, but nothing I did could rid the look in his eyes. His mood couldn't be pieced together any more than the mug he broke.

That was a eureka moment in my mind: the desperation with which I was trying to comfort him was just the same with which he'd spent the last few months trying to help me, both to no avail.

"That isn't true," I reminded myself. "He has helped me."

"Yes, but think of the hell he'll give you when he leaves," The Voice said. I nearly broke the kiss as this thought intruded on my mind. I'd never even considered the possibility of him leaving me. Things were too good to do so.

"Yes, you have thought about it. I am you. Whether you have done so consciously or otherwise, you have. And if the doubt is there, you have every reason to believe he'll leave some day."

I showed no sign of upset, save for the tears clouded in my eyes - yet he didn't seem to notice them.

*****

I spent nearly every day with Leah. That's all I thought about. Is Leah okay? Is Leah upset? Is Leah lonely? Is Leah giving up again, right now, while I'm thinking about it? It was consuming me. I was constantly on an edge. I never bit my nails, but now there was nothing left of them save for raw, pink flesh.

Despite my endless terror, she seemed strangely okay. She was still very pale, unusually so for her deeply tanned skin, but her spirits were high and her laughter was true. At night, when I was lying awake worrying, I tried to remind myself of this. If she was alright, why wasn't I? There was no point working myself up over something that even she wasn't stressed about. But the happier and healthier she was, the weaker and sadder I became. Guilt had started manifesting itself in earnest in my stomach, my chest spent it's time heavy and constricted with self blame. The Voice reminded me that I should have been there for her, should have kept them from videoing instead of giving in to my own selfish struggles. It is so easy to believe you're wrong when you're hurt, so easy that I listened to The Voice.

Two weeks later and I was still bringing round flowers, snacks and lunch, feeling as if by flooding her and her family with gifts, I could somehow find myself less at fault and free myself from my self inflicted torture. One day, while we were walking arm in arm in the empty park that the video was taken in, I found that my guilt came pouring from my mouth in a broken, awkward confession, purely because I could no longer carry the weight of it all.

"Leah. . . Look, the other night, when they took the video. I'm sorry, I feel so bad because I feel like it's my fault, I should have been there to stop them, I'm sorry. Yes. . . Yeah. I should have been there. I feel a bit bad about that," I gushed, my face aflame, knowing the clumsiness of my words and how useless they were now.

Yet she simply shrugged, saying lightly, "It's not your fault, you tried the best you could."

Relief nearly made me laugh out loud. My chest seemed to just release and all the unbearable pressure was gone.

After that . . . Everything felt OK again. I still fretted over Leah's welfare and mental state, scared she was hiding the fact she still wanted to die, but she was an open book to me. She always told me exactly how she was - and her words now we're "almost as good as I've ever been".

The guilt was gone. I could breath again. We planned future holidays together, adventures to the Cornish coastline that I loved so dearly and day trips to London to see the sights. We laughed and chatted and dreamed.

The rest of the week was as idyllic as that day. Alex, Leah and I spent hours lounging by the streams of Our Park, enjoying the weak sunshine of early April. I watched her heal day by day, her cheeks flushing with the air of spring. Both of us girls were homeschooled, allowing us to meet every afternoon - we'd relax for a few hours before going to meet Alex as he left from his school. It was perfect.