Day19
I puked. I sobbed. I clung to Sindri like a broken child. But I did it. I took the first step in reliving what happened.
They’ve been really good about it. They’re letting me skip group therapy this evening so I can lie in bed and catch my breath. But they didn’t give me any anxiety meds. They’re getting me to work through it without that crutch.
And without turning to my family or my girlfriend for comfort. Though signing her name in bed at night still has the power to make me feel steadier.
I can see what I’ve been doing more clearly now. Sex with her wasn’t what it should have been. I should have taken every opportunity to show her, with my hands, my mouth, every part of me, how much I love her and worship her. Instead, I used her to chase that brilliant ten second burst of oblivion, like a junkie after his next fix, not caring about anything else.
I’m going to put that right when I’m out of here, if she’ll allow me. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, but…I think maybeshe will. And I recognize that as the thoroughly undeserved second chance it is.
I’m doing OK. I’m worn out, and I’m not looking forward to doing any more regression therapy. But I’m managing more than I ever thought would be possible.
Day27
Callie’s death wasn’t my fault.
Callie’s death wasn’t something I could have prevented.
It just wasn’t.
Day29
Mrs Oberman’s death wasn’t my fault.
Every cell in my body still rebels against that sentence, but it’s the truth. And I need to work on accepting it.
Day35
Today I’m angry. Really, really fucking angry.
So much of my life, stolen. Wasted. So many people close to me have been so damaged by it all. And why? Because some dude felt he wasn’t getting what he wanted, what he thought he deserved. And almost everyone in my senior class had to die for it.
I wish I could face him in person. I’d fucking kill him with my bare hands. He’s been slowly killing me for years, and enough is enough.
He’s not using me to hurt anyone else ever again.
Letters written by patient 811051, Dean Gastright, as part of Program C (located in patient file, hand written in 1:1 therapy with Dr Rakesh Sindri)
Hey, Callie.
First of all, I am so sorry, mon ange. I haven’t talked to you like this for...shit, years. I regret that. Every single time I’ve thought about you over the past fifteen years has been polluted by that other image I carry of you. You know the one. Seeing the shot you took to the head has haunted me all this time, and you deserved better than that. I should have remembered the real you, my you, not Whitmire’s you. So I’m starting this by saying I am sorry, because I am.
I’ve missed you. So much. I can’t even begin to put that into words. And I’d have given anything to have taken your place that night. I promise you, if I’d seen what was coming, I would have jumped in front of you. I’d have let that bullet rip my own head open to save you, and done it gladly without a second of hesitation. I really loved you, beyond puppy love, beyond Cutest Couple titles, beyond what we were planning to do later that night.
A part of me will always love you, and hope that I made you as happy as you made me. Because you did, Cal, you really, really did. Every single day.
I know there’s no way I can ever really know this, but I honestly think you and I would have made it, as a couple. Gone the distance and beaten the odds. We were so insync, so wrapped up in each other. I believe in my soul that university would have quickly led to living together, and then me proposing, maybe on the day we both graduated. Marrying you the first chance I got. Jobs. Kids. Grandkids. Retiring as soon as we feasibly could and enjoying growing old together, seeing in your elderly face the girl I fell for, the girl now forever frozen in time aged eighteen.
We were perfect for each other. At least, you were perfect for me. You were perfect for the boy I was, and the man I was becoming before the world exploded around us.
Callie, I’ve met someone. And she’s perfect for the man I am now, the person who got left behind and pulled out of the wreckage of what you and I had.
I don’t know why I have tears in my eyes right now. I guess because this feels sort of like a break up. In some ways, I suppose that’s exactly what this is.
It’s been fifteen years, and things have changed. It’s inevitable. And you will always have a part of my heart that nothing and no-one else will ever steal away from you.
But the rest of me...it’s hers. Body and soul and mind and heart. I really think if you could have met her, you’d like her. You’d have been dizzied by how quickly she talks,mon ange, but we all are. And you’d have recognised the light in her and treated her with your trademark warmth, and I truly believe you and Liaden - that’s her name, by the way - would have been friends.
