Dear Emma

chapter 13 || kai

--edited

After the official first group therapy session, all I have to say is wow.

Was it cheesy? Incredibly. Did it make me hurt less? Not yet. But maybe everyone has a point about this. Maybe if I give it some time something really good can happen.

I hate therapists. After Emma died, my mom forced me to go to one and he was horrible. I did not feel safe and I never shared. I sat there every week giving the basic yes or no answers I gave everyone else

But this doesn't feel like therapy. It's just a bunch of fucked-up kids in one place all sharing their fucked up stories.

And for some reason, that makes everything easier. Even Jayden with his happy-go-lucky attitude. He said that this camp saved his life.

Maybe it could just save mine too.

~*~

I walk up to the rest of the group, who have already gathered around the picnic table cluttered with canvases and paints. The next table over, more than a good couple yards away, was filled with little kids scrambling around, playing with bubbles.

If I'm struggling so much with Emma's death, imagine these little kids. They don't even have a decent understanding of the world; how are they supposed to understand death? They shouldn't have to learn what loss is at such a young age.

"Hey," I say, facing the rest of the group, getting a "sup" nod from Hayden, a small smile from Zack, a "hey" from Callie and Ryder's arm around my shoulder. "What were you guys talking about?"

"Just my inability to do art. That was Syd's thing. I was the jock of the family and she was the artist," Hayden says, his face scrunching up a bit at the mention of his sister. I'm surprised that he casually throws her name around, unlike this morning.

I lost my best friend, which was hard. But losing your twin? To cancer especially? No doubt that that's a lot harder. I can hardly say Emma's name without feeling a pang of pain and guilt

At least he doesn't have to live with the pain of knowing that the person he lost chose to die.

"Don't worry, my stick figures look like a dog drew them," Zack chimes in. Callie goes to object, saying he's probably not as bad as he thinks he is, which causes the two of them to start arguing.

"Great! You're all here. Go and find your name on the canvas and sit down. Once everyone finds their spot, we can start," Jayden interrupts, coming from behind us, holding his clipboard.

All conversations stopped, realizing that we're gonna get personal again. We scatter away, scanning each post-it stuck to the canvases for our names. I find mine at the very end, next to Hayden and across from Zack.

"Hold up, I'm confused. Why are we painting again?" Hayden asks, picking up one of the brushes and inspecting it.

"It's easier to talk about things if you're distracted. By painting, your mind will be focused on what you're creating and you'll be able to- for lack of a better word- word vomit. This isn't about the artistic ability or lack thereof, so feel free to create whatever you want," Jayden explains using his hands for emphasis.

Sharing feelings is already terrible, but doing it without knowing exactly what I'm going to say? It's a whole other level of anxiety.

Next to me, Hayden gingerly picks up a thick fat brush and uses a dark red color to outline what seems to be words. Callie, who's diagonal across from me, already has 3 various sized brushes coated in different colors clutched in her palm and is working diligently.