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If anything.
Jeremy’s face flashes through my head, not for the first time or the tenth…
I’ve lost count of how many times that I’ve been invaded by the fuzzy memories that led me back into rehab. Even that night he spent drunk on my couch, a good thirty hours before I flushed my two year sobriety down the drain, is a bit of a blur.
Well, save for that damning hushed, drunken confession of his.
That rings out in my mind clear as day.
I squeeze the phone as his words echo in my head, merging with what happened at the cemetery.
A part of me wishes I blacked that out.
Maybe then I’d be able to justify why I did what I did, when I did, where I did it…
My pulse quickens, my stomach getting all twisted up as more images rise to the surface.
My knee bobs, and I look out the window, staring at nothing, lost in the memories that haunt me. I don’t even realize how much time has passed—that we’re almost home—until the radio suddenly cuts out.
I look up, frowning when I see that Shawn is pulling into a motel parking lot, just outside Shiloh.
“What are we doing here?”
He parks. A belt clicks in release, and I look over at Shawn just as he turns toward me. He twists the volume control on the radio, silencing the Staind song playing.
“Seeing Way.”
I stare at him. My chest tightens, right along with my voice. “I thought he was staying with Reggie?”
While I meant it that I didn’t want him to know I was in rehab initially…I figured he’d find out eventually, when he decided to come back to the apartment.
He hasn’t been there this whole time?
“His dad got out a few weeks ago,” Shawn reveals. “They moved in here, since Reggie was staying at his dad’s house.” A beat passes. “I haven’t seen him since that night.” He doesn’t have to specify which night. “He’s barely left this motel room, except for therapy sessions. Only Ivy and Reggie have seen him. He’s… It hasn’t been good.”
Oh. My throat thickens, and I shake my head, unsure what to even say to that.
“I fucked up. We both fucked up.”
I frown, and my heart speeds up even more.
Shawn rolls his lips together, and casts a look through the windshield. “I’m so bad at this.”
I whisper, “Something happened that night, didn’t it?” I don’t specify that I mean after.
“A couple somethings happened that night,” he says. Shrugging, he adds, “Let’s just say, you’re not the only one who lost his shit that night.”
My eyes fall closed, and I nod. A part of me wants to ask him to elaborate…
But the part of me fresh out of rehab, and still coming to terms with everything…
Well, is it wrong that I don’t want to know?
I’ve got enough guilt on my plate. It’s not like I can go back and erase anything.
All I have is now, and what I choose to do next.
Worry about the breaths that come after, not the ones already wasted.
