But how would that harm anyone? Blackouts happen all the time. And if it were a true emergency, then they’d find help. Haven has so many friends and family members in the area. Surely she can turn to any of them for assistance. Unlike me, I think to myself with more than a little self-pity. I have no one to turn to in real life. It’s why I need to take things into my own hands.
The adrenaline is still pumping through my veins when I get home. As soon as I get inside, I charge through the living room and rush up the stairs without even saying hi to my parents. I’ve only been gone for less than an hour, so they are still awake, watching TV in the den. If either of them wonders where I have been, they do not say anything. I lock myself in my bedroom and pace about the small space like a caged animal. I rip my mask off and take a few deep breaths. Did I really do what I just did, or have I imagined it all? Once again, I check the Slack group, and there is still no Haven in sight.
Holy shit. What a feeling. I really did just go out there and take matters into my own hands. I made it happen. I took her out. Another strange laugh burbles out of me. Game on, Haven, I think. How do you like it now? Now that the tables have turned. Is this what it’s liketo finally realize that you are not just prey at the bottom of the food chain? Learn at last that you, too, have teeth and claws that you can use to defend yourself? Well, it feels amazing.
Even though it is nowhere near my usual bedtime, as soon as the adrenaline drains from my system, I am suddenly left exhausted. I collapse onto my bed, my body covered in a cold sweat, shivering slightly. I think about checking Slack again, but my arms feel too heavy to even lift. I stare up at the ceiling, a small smile still on my lips, and in my mind’s eye, I rip those cables out again and again and again. The popcorn ceiling swims above me, and slowly, my eyes drift shut, and I allow myself the sweet escape of sleep.
I wake up with a start, my heart going from a resting state to a sudden gallop, my mouth opening into a shocked O as I take in an aggressive gasp. For just a moment, I’m back in the bushes outside Haven’s house, peeping into her front window at her sickly father. Then I blink, and I am back in my room, on my childhood bed, which is way too small for me. I will myself into calming down, doing my breathing exercises and looking around the room and making a mental note of the first five things that I see. These grounding exercises are such a lifesaver. My mouth is dry and fuzzy, as though my tongue has grown a carpet overnight, so before I let myself check my phone or do anything else, I pad into the bathroom and quickly wash up. Then I go back into my room, grab my phone, and go downstairs for some breakfast.
It is not yet 6:00 a.m., so Mom and Dad are still asleep. After last night’s adventure, I am famished, so I pour myself a bowl of cereal before finally settling down and opening up the Slack group. I check the channels where Haven would have likely posted if she was able to. #Commiserations is full of the usual whining about publishing-related matters, but nothing about a blackout. #Celebrations is still hopping from Haven’s news yesterday. People are still congratulating her. Noone else has made an announcement since, and who could blame them? Who would want to go after an announcement as big as Haven’s? The other channels are similarly Haven-free.
Victory dances inside me. This is the longest that Haven has been off the Slack group. But maybe it’s too early for a victory lap just yet. I go on to Instagram and check her profile, and sure enough, there she is. She posted three stories last night. The first one is a video of her talking into the camera outside of her house.
“You guys won’t believe what just happened,” she says, clearly distraught. “We just had a blackout. We have a generator, but the reason why we have a blackout is because something—probably a raccoon or something—has ripped out our cables, so we can’t get the generator hooked up onto the mains.”
The story ends, and the next one begins. “As many of you know,” she continues, “my dad is diabetic. And he has been through hell and back because he got COVID, and it was touch and go for a while back there. He is much better now, and he is home, thank god, but obviously he is still very fragile. I am worried to death because his insulin needs to be kept refrigerated, but now with no electricity we are in a bit of a bind. I do have relatives who live nearby, but they are all elderly, and we cannot risk passing COVID on to them. And with my dad having tested positive less than two weeks ago, I have no idea what we are going to do.” Her voice breaks then, and she whispers, “Sorry guys, just—”
The cereal in my mouth turns to cement. What have I done? The last thing I wanted to do was to harm anyone, not even Haven. I just wanted to have a break from her online.
The third and final story starts. Haven is now in a well-lit room, beautifully furnished but small. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much,” she says, blinking back her tears. “You guys are magical. So for those of you who are asking me what’s going on, a very kind soul has offered us their guesthouse to stay in. So I am here with my mom and dad—” At this, Haven swivels her phone around to show her parents sitting on a sofa in their pajamas. They smile and wave at the camera. “The three of usare going to share this one room, and you know what? It’ll be kind of like camping when I was little, right, Mom and Pops?” Mr. and Mrs. Lee laugh and nod. Despite the scary time that they have had, they look peaceful and content, grateful for the way things have turned out in their time of need. And, above all, they are still gazing at Haven with that same adoration, with a confidence that says that they knew she would somehow save the day.
There is a knot in my throat that takes lot of effort for me to swallow down. Inside, my emotions are a maelstrom of anguish. Self-hatred wrestling with everything else that I feel toward Haven—envy, guilt, rage, and a lot of other things that I struggle to identify. How does she do this? How does she land on her feet every single time? If ever I needed a way to prove that Haven is unfairly blessed, then surely this is it. What are the chances that a random internet stranger would see her desperate Instagram posts and offer up their guesthouse to her and her parents, one of whom has tested positive for COVID? But even as I think that, relief courses through me that someone has come in and saved the day, because if something had happened to Mr. Lee because of the stunt I just pulled, how would I continue living with myself?
Even though I have only taken three bites of my cereal, I find that I have lost my appetite completely. I leave the bowl in the sink and go out into the backyard. I plump down onto a lawn chair and mindlessly scroll through Twitter, filling myself up on complete strangers’ online rage. Maybe some part of me hoped that comparing my misery to others’ might make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Again and again, my mind goes back to last night, and my hands twitch with the tug of the electric cables. Shame burns me up from the inside. I need to do something to atone for what I have done. I am a good person, I know this. It is something Aliyah was so adamant I work on, because all Haven’s words have carved a certain darkness into me that I hate. I refuse to let myself be defined by what Haven has done to me. Last night, I lost my way. But I will find myself again.
With that in mind, I open up the Slack app, and I create a new chat group. One with everyone on it except for Haven. Then I start composing my message.
Chapter 19
Fern:Hi everyone, I don’t know if you have seen Haven’s Instagram stories, but something terrible happened to Haven and her parents last night. They had a blackout, and since her dad is diabetic, they had to stay at someone else’s house so he can keep his insulin injections refrigerated. They are very fortunate to have found a kind soul who is letting them stay at their guest house, but I am sure that it must be taking an emotional toll on them. I was thinking we could do something to cheer Haven up. What do you guys think?
The replies come in immediately.
Felicity:OMG yes I saw last night and I told Haven if I lived in SoCal, I would totally have opened my doors to them! Her poor dad!
Alicia:I saw that too. I can’t even imagine how stressful it must have been to try and find a safe space to stay in especially when her dad has COVID.
Marissa:Seriously! Why does it seem like the worst things happen to the best people?
The familiar feelings of frustration threaten to rise up once more, but I beat them down. So what if everyone is reacting in this irritating exaggerated way? So what if Marissa is referring to Haven as “the best people”? I caused this, and now I need to make reparations.
Fern:Yeah, It’s truly awful and so scary.
Felicity:100%! What are you thinking we could do to cheer her up? I am totally down for anything!
Fern:How about we all pitch in a little money to buy her a really nice gift?
Felicity:I love that idea! She has always wanted a really nice espresso machine. Maybe we can all chip in and buy that for her?
Yuna:I would love to, but money is really tight for me right now, because my husband got laid off and I am only working part time.
Marissa:Yeah, I’m so sorry guys, I would love to join in on this, but we are literally counting every penny right now!
Despair claws at me. I need to do something to make things okay again.
Fern:What about if we all made something for her? Whatever we can do, I guess. Crafts or ... well, Icould probably bake something for her ... stuff like that? Or a card? How about we get a giant card and we all sign it?
Felicity:Oh I love that idea! I think it might take a while for all of us to pass around a card though ... there are so many of us
