My favourite thing is the world is power. And on the week before Thanksgiving break, I have the power to choose where I'm going to spend it. That might be one of the most selfish thoughts I've ever had, but that idea is killed by the excitement of spending the break at Ana's house. Angie's coming too, since her mom is going to be too busy working to even cook a Thanksgiving diner. Angie never complains about her mom's work hours. "She's saving lives," she says.
It's not that I don't like going home for the holidays. Okay, maybe I don't. I don't like the tightness in my chest every time I see Maddie take a swig from a bottle of bourbon on the counter. I don't like pressure that forms behind my eyes every time I crouch onto my hands and knees to pick up shards of broken glass bottles. I don't like the anxiety that swirls around in my brain every time I hear my father's drunken laugh mix with my sister's in the middle of the night. I don't like who I become when I go back home. Stressed. Anxious. Resentful. I can barely look at my sister without picturing the girl who was so excited to go to the US to chase her dreams. And I hate myself for it.
Sometimes I think that I'm a horrible person. Maybe I know I am. Because I would rather protect myself from pain than to take other's away. Or try to. I would never call my sister a lost cause. I wouldn't even call my father that. I do not label the people I love with their addictions. But I'm so tired. Of going home to a family that's not going to even interact with me.
I don't believe that they'll miss me if I don't come home.
So I don't.
"Earth to Sadie," Ana says, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I shake my head, knocking away my thoughts. "I'm here."
"Barely," she mumbles.
"Don't be rude, Ana," Angie interjects.
We're sitting on the floor of our dorm, sharing our Advanced Physics notes. Well, Angie and I are exchanging notes. Ana is pacing around the room, recounting the plot of her latest favourite romance novel, as if it's not distracting at all. But I don't tell her to stop talking. I love her tangents.
"I'm not!" She protests. "Anyway, and then he brings her to this old abandoned building that she's always hanging out around, and they go inside, and you know what they find?"
"No, please inform us," Angie says, rolling her eyes. She'd much rather be studying.
"A whole-ass flower shop. Cause you know how she was always gardening and talking about opening a flower shop? Well he built it for her! Isn' t that so fucking romantic. If someone built me a flower shop, I think I'd die."
"Probably," I say. "Aren't you allergic to pollen?"
Angie starts laughing and Ana swats her on the arm. "I would die from how cute it is. Not the the figurative pollen."
"Can we go to the library?" Ana asks.
"Already aching for the sequel?" I ask her.
"First of all, fuck off. Second of all, no, this book was a standalone."
"Bummer," Angie snorts.
Ana ignores her and kicks off her slippers, replacing them with white boots. Angie stands up as well. "We might as well study in the library," she says.
"Way to kill the mood," Ana groans. She hates any subject that isn't English, but she's actually one of the best students in the school. She just hates studying. And doing assignments. And going to class.
It's Angie's turn to ignore Ana. "You coming, Sadie?" She asks, just as my phone rings.
The Caller ID reads "Maddie." I decline the call. "Yeah, I'm coming."
It's 3 AM. Angie and Ana are both asleep. After studying–barely–at the library, both of my friends promptly shut their eyes and passed out. Ana is still holding onto the book she checked out. I'm sitting with my laptop open and my headphones on, typing up the rest of my French paper. Carter Conners–my archnemesis–spent the entire class gloating–in French–about how he already submitted his five page paper. Naturally, I'm staying up to write ten pages and beat his ass.
Just as I'm about to submit my assignment, I remember the alert I received for a new voicemail, likely from Maddie. Typing in my password, I hear the automated message telling me that I have one new voicemail. A loud beep sounds in my ear before I hear Maddie's voice.
"Hey, Sadie, it's your sister, Maddie. Hey, look at that, our names rhyme. That's funny. Anyways, I'm calling to ask if you'll come over for Thanksgiving–right?–yeah, Thanksgiving break. You don't have to worry about money. I just sold my bed because I only sleep on the couch, so I can pay for your ride. Just, please, come. I need you. My brain hurts. Not my head, like I usually complain about, but I think my brain is broken. It's hurting me. And you're so smart and your brain isn't broken. I need you to take your good brain and fix my bad one. Please. Mom won't give me her brain. Just come back. I love you, Sadie, please don't stop loving me because I'm broken. You're still winning."
I can tell that's drunk from her slurred words. Still, I listen to the message three times, tears welling in my eyes.
Please be okay, Maddie.
She wants to see me. She thinks that I can help her. Even though I haven't been able to help her for two years. No matter how many times I try to send her to rehab. No matter how many times I try to help her get better. She screams at me when I do. It's the only time my sister has ever been violent with me. The last time I offered getting her some help, she chucked a shot glass at my head. I avoided a concussion, but I was left with a bruise beneath my hair and a pounding headache. She apologized after, saying that she's my older sister and that I don't need to look after her. I forgave her and shut my mouth.
I don't want her to think that I gave up on her. I would never do that. We're family, and I love her.
But then I remember the burn on my arm. The small divot on the side of my head. The pain in my chest. All accidents that she never meant to cause. All accidents that I don't blame her for. But I don't know if I can take another accident right now.
So, I save her message. But I don't respond.
I don't book a plane ticket back home.
I submit my final French assignment before I spend Thanksgiving break with my friends.
"She died two weeks later. She overdosed–drank too much–and it's all my fault."
I'm crying so much that I can't even see Carter, but I feel his arms around me, pressing me to his chest, giving me comfort that I don't deserve. I should've gone home. I should've returned her call. I could've said something to her. Made her finally stop drinking. Or drink less, so her body didn't give out from all the liquor. But, instead, I chose myself. And left my sister to die.
"It's not your fault," Carter whispers, hugging me closer to his body. He says that like he believes it. And all I want to do is scream at him that he's wrong. Because he's so, so wrong. I was selfish. I didn't go home because I didn't want to. I chose me over someone who was always there for me.
"You're wrong," I say, but it sounds so weak.
We're still in the back of the limo that he rented for us. We're on our way to his house that he invited me to. I pull off the medal hanging around my neck. It feels too heavy, like just one more thing that I took from Maddie.
Her school.
Her JW Debate victory.
Her life.
That last thought chokes me until I feel like I'm going to throw up.
"You are living in your head, Sadie, and it's making you believe that you did something wrong," Carter says, and I barely register the use of my name.
"I did do something wrong," I stress, avoiding his understanding gaze. His pity. "And I'm not living in my head. I think my head is the safest place I've ever been. It's when I step outside of it that everything goes wrong."
The panic attacks.
The nightmares.
All triggered by things that remind me of how I failed Maddie. In my head, Maddie is still alive and she's living her dream life. One that I didn't steal from her.
"This isn't your fault," Carter says. He's been saying that a lot, trying to convince me. Never did I imagine falling apart and Carter Conners being there to piece me back together. "You not going home for the holiday did not cause your sister's death."
"She left me a message," I sob. "She wanted me to come home. She needed help."
I'm choking on my sobs so much that I can't even get out the words I'm trying to say. Carter shushes me and strokes my hair.
"What if she drank more because she believed that I didn't love her? What if she thought that I stopped caring? I do care!" I scream the last three words as if Maddie can hear them. As if she can forgive me.
"You can't live off 'what if's," Carter says. "You can't beat yourself up just because you believe these 'what if's."
The thing about Carter Conners is that you can't help but listen to him. Even if I tell him that everything he says is bullshit, a subconscious part of my brain will always store his words. And, if I'm lucky, they'll travel to my heart.
"I miss her," I whisper the same words I said a week ago when I was eating waffles with Carter at Lux Inn.
"I know," he whispers. "I know."
I don't think anyone will ever understand what I would do to go back in time and fly back home for Thanksgiving break to hug my sister and never let her go.
I'm sorry, Maddie.
I love you.
I'm not letting go.
...
A/N
This was a bit of a heavier chapter and the final piece of the puzzle that explains what happened to Sadie's sister. And why Sadie has been drowning in guilt for so long.
Another chapter is coming soon...
Thank you for reading!