My parents take Nathan and I to Mobil on the Run for 50-cent drinks the next day. I fill my 32-ounce cup with crushed ice and Dr. Pepper, then snap on the lid and poke a straw through the hole.
After we pay, I take a long sip of my drink. Mmm, Dr. Pepper! Nothing like it.
"What do you wanna do now?" my mom asks as we get back in the car.
"Well Nathan's never been to the Arch," I tell her. "Maybe we could go there?"
"That's a great idea! You can't visit St. Louis without going to the Arch!" she exclaims.
So we drive to Downtown St. Louis and get in line for the Arch. It's a Monday, so there aren't many people there. We get in quickly.
It's a tight fit with four people, but we all get in to one little cubicle and ride up to the top. It doesn't take very long to get there.
"Whoa," Nathan breathes. "We're so high up."
"What? Don't tell me you're afraid of heights!" I tease him.
"Well..."
"Oh my gosh, are you really?"
"Yeah," he admits sheepishly.
For some reason, that makes me laugh hysterically. How can a 20-year-old guy be afraid of heights?
My mom whips out her camera. "Scooch in close," she tells us, which isn't really necessary since we're already squeezed in pretty tight. "Say cheese!"
We all smile and say "cheese" as she captures the photo of Nathan, my dad, and me.
"Can I see it?" I ask, and she shows me the picture.
I like it. Even without my mom in the photo, we look like a family.
Finally, the cubicle starts to move downwards. "Finally," Nathan mutters under his breath.
"Did you like it, Nathan?" my mom asks when we get out.
"Um, it was okay. I mean, it was cool, but-"
"He's afraid of heights," I interrupt.
Nathan blushes profusely, which makes me giggle.
My dad yawns and says, "Gosh, I'm tired. Why don't we head home and take a nap?"
"Oh, alright," my mom agrees. "I'll drive."
"Thanks, hun."
So we get back in the car and start the journey home, with my mom in the driver's seat.
"What do you think of St. Louis, Nathan?" she asks.
"It's a lot different than Maine, that's for sure," he replies.
"Could you see yourself living here someday?"
"Mom," I say firmly.
"Sorry. I just miss you, is all."
"That's okay, Mrs. Hart, I understand. We actually have an apartment picked out in Maine, though."
"Oh." I can tell my mom is disappointed, but she tries not to show it. "I'm sure it's a lovely place."
"Oh yeah. Two bedrooms, and a fireplace in the living room," Nathan tells her.
They talk more about the apartment and I just sit and listen, enjoying the sounds of their voices and the close bond they're forming. It's fun to watch, and it all makes the wedding even more exciting.
The wedding, by the way, is in six days. Less than a week away! In just six short days, I'll be Mrs. Nathan Dye.
- - -
Everyone else is taking naps, but I can't seem to fall asleep. My mom and dad are snoozing away in their bedroom, and Nathan is passed out on the couch. I try to doze off in my room, but it's not working. I lie awake, thinking about the wedding and my near future. My life as Mackenzie Dye. And then all of sudden, I'm thinking about the past.
- - -
I looked everywhere for Ashley, the girl I'd met at the party. But after two weeks of looking, I finally gave up. It wasn't because I didn't want to find her, or I thought she'd forgotten about me. It was the newspaper.
I was leafing through it as I sometimes did on Monday nights, when I saw an article that caught my eye. It was in the section about recent deaths. There was a small picture of Ashley, including her name and some info about her parents and her death.
"She's...dead?" I said to myself in disbelief. How could she be dead? I read the whole article, but it didn't reveal how she'd died. I needed to find out!
So I went to my room and researched her on Google. It didn't say anything except that she'd died last Thursday.
I couldn't believe it. I hadn't even gotten the chance to know her. I mean, she'd told me her story and we'd bonded over our rough pasts at a party, but it was nothing special. It was all my fault. I should've invited her to stay with me, or helped her find a homeless shelter. I could've done something-anything!-to make sure she was safe. But now, because I'd kept quiet and worried about what my stupid parents would think, Ashley was dead.
I threw my phone at the wall and heard it crack, but I didn't get up to check on it. My parents were home, but I didn't care if they'd hear me. I just started bawling.
They left me alone for about twenty minutes, but then my sobs got louder and more wretched, and my mom came in. "Are you alright?" What a dumb question to ask a crying person.
"Do I look okay?" I spat.
She paused in the doorway and examined my tear-stained face. It was probably as red as a tomato.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.
"No. I just...need...to be...alone," I choked out.
"Well, okay. Shout for me if you need anything." Then she left, and I continued to cry.
After about an hour, I was all cried out. I couldn't cry anymore; the tears wouldn't come.
I grabbed my razor from the bathroom and hid in my closet while I began to cut myself. Blood poured out of my wounds and I let it flow. It stung, but I let it seep out, and continued to cut myself all over. I didn't care if my parents would see; I needed to do this. I was to blame for Ashley's death.
Finally, when my skin was raw and covered in blood, I put the razor down. I was starting to feel light-headed from the blood loss.
I saw my half-empty bottle of vodka sitting in the corner, and decided I could use the comfort. I reached for the bottle and took a swig, feeling it burn as it traveled down my throat.
Suddenly, I started hyperventilating. I could barely breathe. My breaths came out short and ragged, and I coughed and choked on the humid air in my closet.
"Agh!" I screamed, and threw the bottle of vodka at the wall. It smashed and broke into a million pieces, spilling alcohol all over my carpet.
I was feeling very dizzy and out of control. The room started to go black. That's when I passed out.
- - -
I shake myself awake. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. I guess the memories helped with that, but now I'm sweating and gasping for breath.
Nathan runs into my room to see if I'm okay. Was I really that loud?
He sits down on my bed and wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Are you okay?"
"No," I say, and then I start to cry.
I sob into Nathan's shirt and he holds me and lets me cry, whispering "shhh" to soothe me.
Once I've calmed down, he asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"
I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him. He doesn't know about my struggle with the memories. He knows what happened, but doesn't know that it still haunts me. Should I tell him?
Finally, it all just comes tumbling out. I can't hold back; I tell him everything. About my nightmares, my memories, and the everyday activities that trigger them. And through it all, Nathan just listens. He lets me get it all out, and then he pats my back and kisses my forehead. "I love you," he whispers, and somehow, that's just what I needed to hear.
- - -
A/N: Did you like this chapter? Let me know!
What did you think of the newspaper?
Has one of your friends ever died?
Have you ever met someone like Ashley? And if so, did you try to help the person?
Have you ever looked through the death section in the newspaper? I have.
I don't know why I'm asking all these questions... But please comment! It would mean a lot to me. I love hearing from you guys!😄