The Beginning of the End

X.

Stupified by her word choice, I watched as my sister—who likely would have more authority over our household than I ever would—helped my mom up out of comfort. The two walked out to leave me on my own (which involved me falling back on my bed and squirming around like a freak).

I decided to return to school a week after we came back from spring break. I was greeted by a clearly lost Heather, sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her legs.

"Hey," I muttered softly, taking the seat next to her. I wrapped my arm around her as she cried silently into my shoulder.

"She's so gone," she murmured among periodic shivers. "I can't even believe that I won't be able to see her, hug her, talk to her. Hear her voice."

I could only nod my head. I couldn't even remember the last time I had spoken a long and fully developed sentence that could trigger a pretty decent conversation.

"And now, I have nobody. Dinah's gone and it's like I don't even exist anymore. But now that Florence is dead, I have a little hope that something will happen between us. We'll be fine, JT, I really do have hope that something—"

"Why even bother?" I uttered, clearly regretting what I had said but not even bothering to say it out loud for her to hear.

Heather lifted up her head, hair washing over her shoulders. "Excuse me?"

"I said, why even bother?"

What a fucking dumbass.

Heather literally pushed me away, turning on her ass to face me. "What's that supposed to mean, JT? That I shouldn't care about the death of one of my closest friends? That I should wash it away just like you washed away your sense of dignity or respect?"

Paralyzed, and mouth agape, I received a stinging slap to the cheek. Heather rolled her eyes and got up, muttering "asshole" under her breath as she rushed off to her class. 

When I found the strength to get up and walk around again, I realized how much sadness I felt just walking down the halls. I found various spots around that I never knew would cause me so much sadness, especially the areas where I recall kissing or greeting Florence. When I was able to easily wrap my arms around her and feel complete and whole. When I was able to kiss her flawless skin and inhale the fruity scent of her shampoo.

When I was able to love and feel something. 

"JT. Please, outside with me," called the teacher. I hadn't even realized I made my way into the history classroom. The students all stared at me with pitiful stares, but the teacher could only cross her arms and cock her head to the side.

"Er—I'm sorry. Could you, like, repeat that?" I stammered, blinking furiously to knock myself back to reality.

"I was asking you to come outside with me. The rest of you, proceed reading the textbook with your partner, and God forbid I should catch you goofing off when I return. Understood?"

I got up while the class responded with a dreary "yes." It seemed that Florence's passing hadn't only affected me. While she may have been one of the quirky and odd students, it made her all the more likable by people. 

"What happened in there, Justin-Trent?" she asked.

"Ms. Atkins, I'd prefer you'd call me—"

"—JT, I'm sorry. But JT, what happened? Are you alright?" she asked, her hand on her hip and lush brown eyes staring deeply into mine.

I almost screamed, but my eyes expressed my frustration by showing my disbelief. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Her eyes widened to the eyes of marbles and nearly popped out. "Pardon? Did you just—"

"Ms. Atkins, I'm sorry. But in case you didn't know, I'm recovering from a dislocated arm or whatever the hell happened to me. And you know how I got that? I was in the car with Florence, one of the best students in this school and one of your smartest students. And our discussion, one that had been brought up by me in the first place, killed her. Ms. Atkins, Florence was so distracted by what I had to say that she ended up killing herself and nearly killing me!"

"JT..."

"Ms. Atkins, I watched Florence as the light left her eyes! I saw her bloody as it bled and dyed the car scarlet, leaving her body pale and bare! I'm living a life full of guilt and regret! I'm living with the burden of killing someone dear to me! I pretty much treated my mom and sister like trash! And I'm expected to be okay?"

Amidst tears, I recall saying the same speech to the school counselor minutes later. I engaged in an embrace with Ms. Atkins, who also seemed shaken to her core.

"The counselor, al-alright?" she stammered. The vice principal subbed for history while the two of us, the grief counselor, and my mom joined us in an office full of various pamphlets littered around the room.

The whole room was in tears again. Marks were left on my palms left by my clenched fists, a tactic I used so many times to keep from crying.

"Ms. Van Galen... JT, I don't even know how to respond," the counselor started, her trembling hand desperately trying to keep her notepad in her hand.

"Please... just call Pamela," my mom said. "What is there... What can I do?"

The counselor thrashed around the room, desperately searching for a clean piece of paper to be used as a little note.

"If there's one thing I would recommend," she started, sniffing as she went, "I think you should go... here."

She handed me a slip of paper with an address and number, as well as a name scribbled on it.

"It's the information about a mental health specialist and some other doctors. I think it's best that JT starts seeing a psychologist, and then proceed to another doctor to be tested for any mental illnesses."

I gasped. "Mental illnesses?"

"You know... Depression and anxiety just to name a few."

With her last comment, I turned to gaze into my mother's eyes. I figured that she could already tell the guilt I felt for had happened a couple days before, and she looked as if she could wrap me in her arms and hug me tight.

Turning back to the counselor, I said, "Alright."