Complicated

Realizations

9

The deal I had made with myself back on Thanksgiving was to give my parents and the world one last shot each for offering me an escape from limbo. The Greg incident proved to me that I should never count on the world to help me. Hell, I shouldn’t have expected it to. The consumer world killed my sister. Why expect any better for me?

Pessimistic? No, realistic. You see, the world is like a gigantic wagon—once you fall off, you’ll never get back on it. The world doesn’t stop for you because the world doesn’t care about you. And if you haven’t done anything for the world, the world won’t do anything for you.

All my life, I lived as a follower. I loyally followed Amber, and when she failed to lead me anymore, I looked to the world. It offered me the latest fashions, styles, designs, gadgets. It tried to comfort me with materialism. I must admit, it worked. I was able to block out the hurt, the pain, the anger. My parents’ fights were manageable. The world elevated me to the status of Queen, expecting me to add to the world. That’s the world for you—it’ll drain you of everything you are, everything you have; it’ll offer limited benefits. The world is a leech.

And when I did nothing for the world, I was no longer needed—I had been easily replaceable from the beginning. I had my chance to do something. I didn’t take it.
I would have merely been demoted, but when Derek had to move, an opportunity opened widely. Why demote when you can destroy? Sarah took advantage of the opportunity, stealing my man, my throne. What was left?

She put Greg up for hurting me. Sarah was evil enough to stoop so low, but only through her minions—saving the dirty work for the dirty. She was eager to make me die out in flames. It made her elevation much more noticeable and dramatic.

But there was one factor of my life that she had left alone. It surprised me because, if she really was what the world wanted, then attacking my heart (and not just my relationship with Derek) would have stubbed me for good. My heart? Try Joshua West. If there was one person who hadn’t hurt me more than I had hurt them, it was Josh. Although he kept a strange distance and had bipolar feelings toward me, he never hurt me to benefit himself. And for that, I loved him.

But even my love for Josh couldn’t help save me. I discovered it too late. Upon reflecting after the Thanksgiving break did I realize my love. If I had realized it earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have decided, but since when has speculation made a difference?

The Friday following the Incident was barely manageable. Thousands of eyes made contact with me, but never once did I make eye contact with them. Everyone left a foot radius around me, even if they didn’t know why.

I drifted through the weekend. Not once did my lips part to speak. I had nothing to say. What was there to say? When your first kiss breaks your heart, your faux best friend betrays you, your sister’s last boyfriend sexually assaults you, your love has no idea how you feel—you don’t even know who to talk to. I wondered if that was how Amber had felt.

I was grateful that the next week of school would be my last before the end of the first semester. I didn’t want to do much more than skip, but it was finals week. Certainly I could last just five more days. The whole week, I gave my parents their last shot. I hadn’t forgotten. I wanted them to give me a reason to escape limbo into reality and stick around. If my parents helped me escape limbo, then they could help me through reality. So far, they had done neither. A small ember of hope still glowed.

I dragged myself through finals. I made myself study—not that it would really matter. I made myself ignore the perverted kids in my school. Everywhere I went, elbows were meeting my chest, hands were grabbing my ass, fingers were brushing my hair. Thanks, Greg. No—thanks, Sarah.

I wasn’t proud when I found out that I made all B’s. I knew that I could have done better.

My parents knew it, too. For some odd reason, neither harped on me. I took that to mean that they didn’t care anymore. What had changed? Other than the fact that my mom never seemed to be at home anymore and my dad seemed to be more melancholy, sad almost.

When I walked home in the freezing cold, I didn’t even notice the missing Honda. That had become routine. I entered the house. My dad was sitting on the brown couch, head in his hands. I joined him like I had back on Thanksgiving. Sheesh, so much had happened since then. My dad didn’t move a muscle.

“Dad?” I called.

My dad raised red eyes and a tear-streaked face to me.

Something was seriously wrong.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” I asked.

My father merely stared down at the ottoman. I cocked my head. The ottoman had a narrow piece of white paper resting on it. I carefully picked it up. It was a receipt. I read it.

It was the receipt for our Thanksgiving dinner. I didn’t think anything of it. Then I read who had paid for it: Keith White.

My jaw dropped. Sarah’s father?

No.

I flipped the receipt over and, in cramped handwriting, my mother had written:

         Good luck, Richard. It’s a shame things turned out the way they did.

I replaced the receipt and dropped my head into my hands, mirroring my father. I closed my eyes in quiet disgust.

“I should have seen it coming.” My dad spoke, voice tight yet weak. “The new jewelry, late arrivals, secret smiles…I should never have suggested for her to get that job.”

Colleagues? Wow, that was low even for my mom.

“You can’t blame yourself.” I found myself saying despite what I was thinking.

“I don’t.”

I gave my father a confused and critical look. Why not?

“I regret nothing.”

My heart fell. My mom was gone and my father didn’t regret pushing her away—he didn’t care. Or at least he wasn’t trying to care.

My father looked at the envelope I had placed on the couch beside me. He leaned over and picked it up. He opened it and slid the grade report out. He nodded, thinking of a response.

“Better than I expected.”

He said no more. Thanks, Dad.

I stood to go.

“Michelle?”

I turned. “Yes?”

“I have a business trip this next week. Unfortunately, it’s in the state of Washington. I don’t really want to leave you without a guardian, but looks like I have no choice. Your mother already left, and I don’t expect her to come back. Speaking of returning, I’m not sure when I’ll make it home. It may be late on December twenty-seventh.”

As if it was possible, my heart fell even further. He was going to miss the anniversary of The Day? And Christmas? And on top of that he didn’t trust me—I needed a “guardian.” Was he really going to leave me in my state?

“I’m going to go pack. My flight leaves tonight at nine. You’ll be okay if you eat dinner on your own, right?”

My dad rose, hesitating for my answer.

I blinked several times, too much trying to sink in. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, sir,” he corrected.

“Yes, sir,” I repeated, I sat back down.

“Good,” he said. He started for the stairs. He paused outside the family’s office, where the family computer and printer resided and where my computer was being held captive. “Oh,” he added, “you can have your computer back.”

I sat on the couch, waiting for my father to pack, waiting for everything to make sense, waiting, waiting, waiting. I was still quite unsure what was happening when my father left. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t come back.

He slammed the door behind him, took the Audi, shut the garage door, and was gone.

By that point, about three things I was pretty sure of: my parents had failed in helping me escape limbo; I had no car to drive; I was utterly and inexplicably alone.

I added stealing my mother to the mental list of everything Sarah had done to me. I silently thanked my mother for making this so much simpler—just how I’d always preferred live life.

I didn’t take my computer back to my room. I didn’t eat dinner. I didn’t think. I drifted off to sleep, wondering what my best option was. What had Greg suggested? Oh yeah, pills. “Less painful,” he had written. Like he cared. But he had a point.

I fell asleep while working out the details. Thankfully, I slept dreamlessly but well.