But I'd do it all overagain.Go through that awful brunch, socialize with fucking ChelseaPrintze, even nearly panic, because it got me my best friend back.Not just this hands-off version of himself that Sam's been eversince Miami, but the old Sam.
I don't know what made himhold me.Maybe it was just because I was so upset.Maybe he wouldhave hugged anyone like that if they were practically breaking downon his doorstep.After all, he does have superhero tendencies.Buteither way, I don't care.
All I care about is thatwhen we got our calculus quizzes back on Monday, he high-fived myninety.That he elbowed me when I teased him about something orother at lunch on Tuesday.That he put his hand on the small of myback to lead me out of the diner at lunch today.
I know it doesn't meananything.That we're still just friends, and that I asked for it tobe this way.But it's like I've gotten something back.SomethingI'd lost.Some level of comfort that I desperately needed for myown sanity.
And now that I have itback—that crucial inherent support—I feel different.
Don't get me wrong, Idon't feelbetter.I'm still miserable and lonely.I still miss Cam with everyfiber of my being, and miss being with Sam.Miss belonging to him.I still feel perpetually unsettled, as if something is alwayswrong,everythingis always wrong, and there's no way to make itright.
I still wake up screamingor crying nightly, never managing more than a few hours of sleep.I'm constantly exhausted.I'm still having trouble focusing inschool, except of course for calculus, which is the only subjectthat is ever granted my full attention.
But having Sam so distantwas fucking painful.And the new path my dreams have taken sinceMiami makes them even more unbearable than before.And now… it'sbetter to be exhausted than to try and go back to sleep.So yeah,I'm freaking miserable.
But I feel like if I atleast have him as a friend—a real friend—then maybe I can learn tolive with it.
In some ways, having theold Sam back, even through something as simple as friendly touches,has helped me regain some of the headway I lost inMiami.
I took Sam's advice andcreated a new Facebook page.It's pretty bare-boned.It doesn'teven use my real name, and the photo I chose was a group picturefrom our first night out in Miami, so no one who didn't know mewould be able to tell which of the six girls in the photo is me.But I didn't delete my social media accounts for fear of strangers.No, I'd been hiding from those who knew me.But I'm hoping thatsetting my profile to private will keep it hidden from anyone frommy former life who might be searching for a way to contactme.
I joined the incomingfreshman groups, not that I’ve made any effort in actuallysocializing, but at least I don't have to find aroommate.
I head straight home afterschool, do my homework and spend some time looking through the NYUcourse catalog.I don't realize I've dozed off until I startlemyself awake.God, I'm tired.
I drive to Dr.Schall'soffice half in a daze, blasting the cold air and slapping my owncheeks to try and retain some semblance of wakefulness.
It's a fairly uneventfulsession, as was this past Saturday's.After the debacle with my momI think Dr.Schall is hesitant to push me.But I do suspect he'snoticed the small change the return of friendly physical contactwith Sam has brought with it.It's in my demeanor, my mood.I'm farfrom confident, but I'm not huddled in a nervous ball practicallytrembling with anxiety either, so there's that.
Dr.Schall is pleased withme today.My report of attending Andrew's party and Sam's familybrunch wins me points for effort, and I soak in theapproval.Daddy issues, indeed.
We talk a bit about Sam'scousin's stupid comment, and I regret even mentioning it, or myreaction, when Dr.Schall repeats his lecture about my"understandable responses" and goes into his speech about PTSD, andhow my father and Robin essentially brainwashed me into acceptingblame for something I was innocent in.That I could have walkedaround stark naked and it still wouldn't have given Robin the rightto presume that I'd wanted anything, or that he had the right totake it.
And I understand what he'ssaying—I get the legal argument of consent.But that doesn't meanthat I hadn't been sending the wrong signals, and that if I'd justhandled things differently, it would have led to a differentoutcome.Perhaps to one in which Cam was still alive.
Dr.Schall changes thesubject to a less loaded topic when he notices I'm more or lesstuning him out and we end the hour with me promising again to tryand remember anything different about my dreams, and anything outof the ordinary that could have precipitated them.
But my dreams haven'tchanged.So there's no point.
I smell the Chinesetakeout as soon as I walk in my front door and I salivate at it.Ihaven't eaten a thing since lunch, and I was too tired then to havemuch of an appetite.I'm not much more awake now, but I'm hungryenough that it doesn't much matter.
I take pause when I hearmy mother's voice, obviously her end of a phone call.
Immediately I know it'sher.Michelle.Cam's mom.
My mom doesn't see me yet,or she'd be making some excuse to get off the line and pretend itwas no one important on the other end.
But itissomeone important.Michelle isfamily, and I realize that I miss her terribly.It's a sentimentthat, admittedly, has been overshadowed by the many otheroverwhelming emotions I've been processing over the past year.Ornot processing, as it is.And it's unfathomable why it's takenuntil this moment to realize it.
Because Michelle Fosterwasn't just Cam's mom, she was like a second mother tome, and I realize thatavoiding every reminder of my past has cut out someone who justdidn't deserve it.In fact, she deserved a hell of a lot betterafter losing her only son.
God, I just cut her out of my life like the rest of the peoplefrom back home—people who hurt me or let me down.But she didn't doany of those things.She was already dealing with the worst pain ofher life—and that after she'd already lost her husband some yearsbefore.
A fresh wave of guiltwashes through me.
In my cloud of depressionand anxiety, it never occurred to me that someone might need me.That the world was still full of other people, also dealing withlife crushing loss, and who I could have helped in some way.And inmy emergence from my fog, I was so focused on just making itthrough school, and then so caught up in Sam, that I told myselfthat my mom's keeping in touch with Michelle was enough.But Irealize now that that was a selfish lie.
Still, the thought ofgetting on the phone, of hearing her voice, utterly terrifies me.Iknow my strengths and weaknesses, and up until very recently, anyreal reminder at all of my past life could have been a precarioustrigger to a panic attack.And, even now, I can't be sure how I'llreact to hearing Michelle's voice.
