A part of me reveled in the silence that permeated my day. A part of me longed for the friendships and polite acknowledgments that I'd gotten from this crowd for most of my life. But that was a long time ago, emotionally if not physically, and I shouldn't dwell. If it weren't for Sawyer though, I think I'd have faded into the wallpaper of the school, wrapped in my loneliness and regret.
Luckily for me, Sawyer did her best to bring me to life. Well, she did her best to make me smile anyway. Her parents hadn't caved yet on the whole after school visit thing, so all we had was our time at school and the never ending rides she gave me. We took advantage though, laughing and telling jokes and stories throughout the day. Sawyer had a knack for knowing just what mood I was in and skillfully turning it around, if needed.
She didn't talk much about her own moods, but I kept a close eye on her after any class we were apart, waiting for some sign that she'd been mistreated by the girls at school. I was a little shocked when she'd confessed that she was teased over being poor. I guess I'd just never noticed.
She was bright and warm and funny, and that got my attention more than what she was wearing. Of course, now that my attention was brought to it, I did see that she almost wore the exact same outfit every day: same jeans with the tears in the knees, same silver ring on her thumb, same Converse sneakers. Really, only the long-sleeve shirt or sweater got rotated. And over it all, she always wore my letterman's jacket. I was finally realizing that it really was her only coat. I was finally realizing just what my handing it to her on that first day had meant to her. I'm sure she'd gotten some heat from the student body, and probably from her parents too, over wearing a boy's coat, but it was something she didn't have that she'd desperately wanted, and a stranger had given it to her. If that were me, I'd probably feel pretty bonded to that person.
As we ate lunch in her car, I also noticed that, more often than not, she didn't have anything to eat, and I ended up sharing my lunch with her. It wasn't even a conscious thought on my part, I just automatically grabbed whatever I had and split it.
My mom and I struggled, although she still refused to let me get a job and help her, saying I needed to be seventeen while I was seventeen, and I'd have a lifetime of working ahead of me, but we still had the basic necessities. Sawyer seemed to live just under that. It made me feel even more protective of her.
I'd thought about confronting Brittany, who seemed to lead the pack that teased her the most, but I didn't. I knew I wouldn't like it if she tried to take on Will or Josh, so I didn't attempt to fight her battles for her. Besides, she seemed to have a great handle on what was truly important in life. She understood better than most, that bad situations weren't necessarily permanent ones, and life could get better.
I had less of a handle on that. I usually felt a little melancholy about my life. It was less intense when Sawyer was present, but it was still there, and when she left, sometimes it was unbearable. My dreams eased that ache, but added a different one too. I'd missed my friends after our impromptu board game, which Sammy had won readily. When I had woken up the next morning, I'd stared at my ceiling for a good ten minutes, reliving the dream, committing it to memory...wishing it was real, wishing I could crawl back inside that dream and disappear - stay there forever. My dreams always felt so real. Sammy's laugh, Darren's dirty comments, Lil's sweet touches...it all felt more real than the bleakness of being nearly invisible at school. My head hit the pillow every night, ready to let go of my day, and spend some more time with them.
It didn't always work, I didn't always see them, but, when I did, it was divine bliss...and pure torture. Because a part of me knew, that no matter how real it felt, it wasn't, and my friends were long gone and buried, moved on to somewhere that I couldn't follow. And that sort of killed me.
I considered talking to the counselor about my dreams, about how I'd live in them if I could, but I never brought it up. I didn't bring up much around Mrs. Ryans. Sure, she asked a lot of questions and eventually got me talking about some of the tamer things in my life, but my friends were an issue I skirted around. She seemed to realize that too. She'd try and casually slip them into conversation - so how are things going in the classroom? Anyone trying to pick fights with you? Did you ever fight with your friends...Darren or Sammy or Lil? What were those relationships like?
Ah...smooth.
I'd look down and shrug and give her the standard 'I don't want to talk about it' answer of, "Everything was fine."
She finally did bring up the incident that got me sent to her in the first place - me being clearly out of it at school. She asked why I had done that, and in such a public way, and I'd shrugged at her and started to say "I don't know", when instead I slipped out, "I didn't, I was drugged."
Her eyebrows shot up as high as mine. I really hadn't meant to mention that. Locking my jaw, so I didn't spill any more, I watched her wide eyes take in my face. "You didn't?" She tilted her head as her eyes narrowed, appraising me, searching for the honesty of my admittance.
I straightened my posture and lifted my chin, meeting her squarely in the eye. I may be guilty of a lot of things in my life, but this was one thing I wasn't guilty of. Feeling an odd soft of self confidence, I decided to go with it. "No...someone slipped something in my water. I accidently drank it, when Sawyer gave me some Aspirin for my headache."
She tapped a pencil on her desk while she looked at me thoughtfully. I wasn't sure what she saw: a liar, a troubled kid, a victim. I didn't know what I wanted her to see either. I didn't feel like any of those things. Finally, she dropped her voice as she spoke, "That's a serious accusation, Lucas...have you gone to anyone about this?"
I shook my head. Without meaning to, I let out, "I don't have the best reputation. No one would believe me."
She sat back in her chair as she considered that. Her face struggled with something, and I wondered if she even believed me. A surprising flutter in my stomach caught me off guard, and I realized that I wanted her to believe me. I almost needed her to. Her face finally settled into a professional mask and she leaned forward on her elbows. "Do you know who did it?"
I immediately shook my head again. A small slice of happiness burst through me that she seemed to be believing my story, but I still wasn't going to mention Josh's name. That was a can of worms that I didn't need opened. Besides, I was letting him go...letting what he'd done to me go. Bringing it up, getting him busted - none of that mattered.
She narrowed her eyes at me again and I knew that she didn't believe that. I expected her to press me on it, but she surprisingly changed the course of our conversation. Maybe my admittance, made her believe I'd admit to more. "Lucas...can you tell me what you remember of the accident?"
My mouth dropped open as what she'd asked me, mentally took me back a step. She'd asked about my friends before, but never that, never about the actual wreck. It was such a shift from what we had been talking about, that my mind was too stunned to respond properly. Luckily, I was so used to the lie that it automatically rolled off my tongue. "Nothing." My senses recovered somewhat and I bristled at her question. Why did everyone feel the need to ask that? "I thought I was in here for being wasted at school. What does...that...have to do with anything?" I knew my face was a scowl, but I couldn't seem to soften it.
Hers softened as she looked over my expression. In a quiet voice, she answered, "It's all connected, Lucas. Are you sure you don't remember? What were you doing right before the crash?"
Laughing, talking...living. I shook my head, even more harshly. "I don't know. I...I don't remember. I already said that!"
Her face still calm, even though I'd just yelled at her, she said, "What is the last thing you do remember?"
I clenched the chair, preparing to stand and storm out of the room. Heat and anger coursed through my veins, all with an icy edge, an edge of fear. I wanted her to stop. I didn't want to talk about this. Talking about it would be like grabbing a knife and cutting out my own heart. I wasn't capable of that. My throat locked up and I sputtered for words while tears clouded my vision. "I...I...I don't. Please...stop..."
A tear rolled down my cheek and she sighed softly when she saw it. "I'm sorry, Lucas. I know this is painful, but it's part of the process. You need to get this weight off of you. It's smothering you. Don't you see that?"
I shook my head as more tears followed the first. I swallowed, hating that I felt on the verge of screaming and sobbing. I could feel more awful tears and looked at the floor to try and calm myself down. Wanting it to end, I muttered, "Nothing, I remember nothing."
She answered me equally as quiet, maybe bolstered by the fact that I hadn't fled the room yet. "They say beer was in the car, but you tested clean at the hospital...were you drinking, Lucas?"
My head shot up as the second most popular question passed her lips. I couldn't help the hurt in my face that she'd ask that. With everything we'd talked about and every connection I'd thought I'd had with her, I sort of expected her to instinctively know the answer to this. With an echo of hurt betrayal in my voice, I answered her question more thoroughly than I usually answered anyone. "No...I wasn't. I took the keys because Darren was drunk, then I drove us home. I was completely sober." Hardness entered my voice as I shook my head, another tear falling. Bitterly I spat out, "You can take that or leave it."
She looked down at her desk before lifting her gaze back to mine. She shook her head and her springy, red curls danced around her solid shoulders. A look of compassion crossed her face as she slowly answered me. "You're defensive."
Her compassionate look heightened my irritation. I don't want to talk about this. I didn't understand why she couldn't just let it go. I scowled, angry at myself for ever opening up to her. "No one believes me anyway, so what does it matter what I say? If I do or don't remember? If I did or didn't drink? None of it matters."
Her eyes widened as surprise flitted across her features. "Lucas...it's your voice." She leaned in over her desk again, her hair brushing over some papers as she tried to get even closer to me, maybe to convey that she really was on my side. "It's the only voice that matters. You're the only one that was there."
My face paled as I caught the error in her sentence. With only a ghost of a voice, I muttered, "No, I wasn't the only one there...that's the problem." My mind flashed to my friends screaming in the car...Lil's head smacking the window. I felt my stomach rise.
"That's true." She leaned back in her chair and sighed softly. "Alright, you are the only one that survived."
Her voice was soft and full of compassion, but my stomach rose even higher and my head started to swim. I dropped it and stared at my lap, wishing I could vanish. "I know that..." That was the one fact I was horridly aware of.
She leaned over again and surprisingly put a hand on my shoulder. "So...Lucas, one day you'll actually have to start living."
I looked back up at her, gazing at me with a genuinely sympathetic face. My body started to shake with the restraint to not break down in her office. She'd hit too many sore points - blow after blow. I was depleted, I was exhausted...I was done. I needed out of her office. I needed one of my comforts, be it Sawyer or a dream version of Lil. Standing on unsteady legs, I whispered, "Are we done?"