AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Holy fuck! I reread her entry until spots appear in my vision. My hands start trembling, my subconscious refusing to add the last piece of the puzzle.
My mind must be playing tricks on me.
Still, I keep going. The phone rings, and I let it go to voice mail.
They think I can’t hear them talk but I can. Damon’s convinced I need help, and despite the message it’ll send to the wealthy community, I can tell my parents are thinking it through. I spend my days in bed while Dad’s friend and private doctor examined and monitored me after the accident. They also don’t know that I know ... that I almost killed a man. They covered it up, they covered for me—my parents. And they dragged Damon into their criminal, immoral decision, forcing him to keep quiet. According to their hushed tones, the young man will be fine, since his bike barely damaged our car. Dad says the only thing that had to be replaced was the back door. Thank God—it could’ve hit Damon. The rider wasn’t going fast due to weather conditions, they presume, but he did fly off his bike. All Damon and I had to endure was the spinning of the car and a bruise or two. We didn’t even make it to the forest. So, I’m not sure why I need to see a doctor—mostly due to shock. The biker ruined my plans. There was talk of another biker, a woman, but my eyelids felt droopy by then and I fell asleep, sad that I failed.
Oh, Damon. No, no, no.
You son of a bitch! Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me I’m reading fiction.
I read every word, make sense of every vowel, taking it all in. I swallow the truth, the whole, entire truth, letting it fester inside my brain, forcing myself to believe it because it’s here in plain sight.
No, no, no.
It could’ve been on any road, on any other night, but thecoincidences seem too numerous to ignore.
A few months passed. I couldn’t write because my family considers my pen to be an object of risk. Risk that I’ll try and kill myself again. I rest a lot lately, popping pills and throwing my bleeding demons onto a canvas once I feel up for it. Damon’s fighting my parents tooth and nail over therapy. Despite their reluctance, they don’t leave me alone for a minute. My parents are there, or my sister, or Damon, or the help. Someone’s always there. Damon comes and visits me twice, sometimes three times, a day, but I can’t stomach talking to him much less looking at him. I should be grateful for Damon. He rescued me. In swerving us away from the forest, he managed to save us. He protected me after the incident. He’s like my angel with dark wings. But he doesn’t understand that I don’t need saving.
Angel. Angel. Angel.
No—he’s my angel. Hewasmy angel.
The dreams. Oh God—the dreams:brown hair, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of raw chocolate.
Could it be him?
No, it’s not. It can’t be.
I must be losing my mind.
The canvas—the paintings? Are they all hers? The murky paintings that follow Damon around like a wounded soul?
I’m even hungrier for answers now. At this point, it’ll wreck me not to have them.
Today’s the day Gregory’s getting married. And while he’s planning to spend the rest of his life with his bride, I’m planning my funeral. I have nothing left to give to this world, and if the pills I took don’t drill that notion in my brain, the mixture of alcohol and fentanyl sure does. Beforehand I write a note to my parents, one for my sister, and one for Damon. I already sentGregory an email, which counts as my final love letter to him. I don’t shy away from the truth they’ll seek through every line. I love them, but it’s not enough because I HATE myself. I hate who I’ve become. I hate what I’ve lost. And I don’t want to get it back. The fire burning my arms, my throat, is coaxing me to slice my neck and wrists. I’m more nervous of failing than I am of dying. More nervous that the sharp knife won’t do the job this time. So goodbye, sweet diary, thank you for listening to me when no one else did. Thank you for allowing me to pour my heart out to you. I’m sorry my own words couldn’t save me. I’m sorry Damon tried so hard, for so long, and yet in the end he couldn’t. In the end, we can’t save what doesn’t want to be saved. Farewell. This time I won’t fail.
Oh, my fucking God.
I shut the journal after reading the last page.
Despite what I think I know, what IknowI found out, I still pity Damon. He tried so hard, and yet nothing he could’ve done would’ve saved her; the same way I couldn’t save Harvey from his depression. Turns out, only Claire could.
My hands are shaking when I see Henrik calling me on my cell.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I say. He knows I’m at work, and it’s not like him to bother me during working hours.
“Gemma, I fucked up ... I let it slip that you moved in with your boyfriend.”
My heart halts. “Is he okay?” My mouth feels devoid of saliva when I think I hear Hen crying.
“No ... fuck, he’s not. He almost took a bunch of pills. I found him in the kitchen just in time.”
“No.” The word slips from my mouth in a whisper.
Why, Harvey?
“A-are you home?” I ask.
