"He's a breath of fresh air. The happiness to my sadness. The calm to my anxiety. He's an equal and opposite force, blocking me from the course of self-hatred I've been hurdling down my entire life."
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Mikaela Martin is almost certain quarterbac...
My entire being is a vortex, sucking in sadness that twists my insides into knots. I feel the weight of the world crumbling down upon me, because mine is shattered. The shards wake me in the middle of the night, piercing my chest and slithering into my mind, and I scream for Peyton and Cooper until Mom rushes in and assures me it was just a dream.
She's wrong. It's a nightmare, and I'm living it constantly, awake and asleep.
I saw Peyton again on Tuesday, a week and a day after he woke up. He hates the painkillers they're pumping into him, but when he tried replacing them with Advil, the pain was so horrible that he passed out. That happened Sunday. I was supposed to visit Monday, but he was still so distraught that Denise called and asked me to come Tuesday instead.
Yesterday, Maura stopped by my house and gave me a necklace. She sent Cooper's ashes to a company that compresses them into gems for jewelry. They're shaped like pawprints—hers purple, mine blue—and hang from silver chains. My new accessory doesn't match the gold moon necklace Peyton gave me for my birthday, but I wear them both, only taking them off to shower, which depletes all my energy when Mom forces me to every other day.
When Mom goes to work, my aunt comes over. I'm not allowed to be home alone. Sarah visited once, and she let me cry on her shoulder until her dad called and threatened to ground her for breaking curfew. Annalise also stopped by twice, but both times she tried to talk to me about everything, so Mom kicked her out. She texted me after each visit saying sorry. I'm too sad to hold a grudge or even care that she wasn't being a good friend.
The sadness is agony. I'm sad for Peyton, who's hurt and scared and overwhelmed. As hard as this is for me, it's nothing compared to what he's going through. I'm sad for Denise, who almost lost her son, who quit her job to stay with him in the hospital and at home whenever he's released, who wishes she could take away Peyton's pain.
And I'm sad for myself, because I found love, and it was ripped out of my hands—ripped out of my heart—just when I was learning to be happy. Just when Peyton taught me to like myself. Just when I started to believe that I was worth it. But now my boyfriend doesn't know anything about me, and he's too tired to learn, and I don't know if he'll ever want to. I don't even know if he's my boyfriend anymore.
The guilt is just as bad as the sadness. I could have told Denise that Peyton was considering driving to my house. I should have told Denise. Even if the consequence was Peyton dumping me and never speaking to me again, it would be worth it. I'd trade being heartbroken for the rest of my life if it meant Peyton would be okay.
If only the universe would let me make that exchange.
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A giant stack of papers smacks onto the counter, dropped by my red-faced, furious mom. "Where are the twins?" she asks.
